“You were run down while you were helping a stranded motorist. I’m sure you know how often that happens. The fact that the car accelerated could mean that the person driving it was drunk. It doesn’t necessarily mean he was specifically targeting you.” Lacey made the argument without believing in it. Jude had worked as a homicide detective. She didn’t believe he’d jump to conclusions about what had happened.
“That’s what NYPD said. With no other attacks against me, they had no choice but to call the accident a hit-and-run.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?” He met her eyes, searched her face, seemed to see much more than other people did. Much more than Lacey wanted him to see.
“Because it hurts when the people you care about won’t help you.” She knew that more than most, but that was a part of the past she preferred not to dwell on.
“You’ve hit the nail on the head with that one. You said you were hungry. Let’s go eat.” He opened his door, cutting off further conversation.
By the time she got out of the car, Jude was already standing by her door, tapping his fingers impatiently on the roof of the car and scanning the other parked cars. “You move pretty slowly for a woman with two good legs.”
“And you’re awfully impatient for a guy who’s got nothing better to do than stand around waiting for me.”
“Who said I don’t have better things to do?”
“Your brother said you’re on medical leave.”
“I am. That doesn’t mean I’m not working.” He put a hand on her lower back and urged her toward the diner, his touch firm and gentle, his stride hitched but confident.
If she hadn’t been looking so closely, Lacey wouldn’t have noticed the sheen of sweat that beaded his brow or the deep lines that bracketed his mouth. Pain. He was in a lot of it, but a guy like Jude would never admit it.
He held the diner’s door, his mouth set in a grim line, and Lacey decided it was time to take control of the situation. She motioned a waitress over and pointed to a booth that overlooked the parking lot. It was near the door, had wide benches set close enough together that Jude could put his feet up and offered a quick escape if he was feeling too bad to stay. “Do you mind if we sit there?”
“Go ahead. You’re in early, Mr. Sinclair. Or late. Guess it depends on how you look at it.” The young waitress glanced from Jude to Lacey and back again, her kohl-rimmed eyes and pierced brow at odds with the sweet innocence of her face.
“We’ll just call it both.” Jude smiled, but to Lacey it looked more like a grimace. He needed to sit down. Not stand around chatting with the waitress.
“How about we discuss it at the table?” She took his arm, tugging him toward the booth and offering the waitress an apologetic smile. Rudeness wasn’t Lacey’s thing, but taking care of her clients was.
“Want me to bring you your usual, Mr. Sinclair?”
“Coffee would be good, but no pie.”
“How about bread? We’ve got fresh pumpkin bread. I helped Louis make it an hour ago.”
“Sure. Why not?” Jude dropped into the seat, wincing a little as he slid toward the window.
“How about you, ma’am? Can I get you something while you’re looking at the menu?” The girl turned her full attention on Lacey. Bold pink strands of hair were woven liberally through her dark-brown locks, and her stance said she was ready for a fight. To Lacey, looking at her was like looking into the past and seeing herself as she’d been as a teenager. Alone. Scared.
Lacey blinked, surprised that she’d be thinking about that time in her life. The girl she’d been had ceased to exist so long ago it was as if she’d never been. God had given Lacey a second chance, a new life. If she kept focused on that, everything else would be okay. “Coffee would be great. Three creams. Two sugars. A slice of the pumpkin bread and a cup of whatever your soup of the day is.”
“Corn chowder.”
“Great.” Lacey forced a smile and fished in her pocket for the packets of Tylenol she kept there. Like Jude, she’d been through her share of trauma. She still felt the effects of it years later. Right now, Jude needed the pain reliever a lot more than she did. She tore open the pack, dumping two caplets in her hand and holding them out to Jude. “Take these.”
He looked at the medicine and frowned. “What are you? A walking pharmacy?”
“Just a woman who likes to be prepared.”
“I appreciate the effort, but I don’t need it.”
“Sure you do. You just don’t want to man up and admit it.”
“‘Man up’?” His lips quirked in a half smile that softened the hard angles of his face.
“That’s what I said.” She smiled back, staring into his eyes. At the moment they were velvety and warm, inviting in a way she hadn’t noticed when she’d looked into them before.
Dangerous in a way she wouldn’t dare acknowledge.
“All right. You win. This time.” He took the caplets from her hand and swallowed them dry. “I think I could take another three and they wouldn’t touch the pain.”
Lacey covered his hand, squeezing it gently. “Why don’t we go back home? I’m not that hungry, and you obviously need something stronger than a couple of Tylenol.”
“Even if I were back home, I wouldn’t take anything more than what you just gave me.” He flipped his hand, capturing hers before she could pull it away. “So, tell me, Lacey, what convinced you to travel all the way from Chicago to work for a guy like me?”
“I haven’t had my own place in a while. When I was told I would if I came to Lynchburg, I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” But that was only part of the reason she’d taken the job. The other reason wasn’t as concrete. The feeling she’d gotten when she’d first spoken to Grayson about his brother had chased her into her dreams and refused to let her go. She had to take the job. The more she’d prayed about it, the more she’d understood the necessity of it.
“You drove halfway across the country to have your own place?”
“Exactly.”
He eyed her for a moment, his eyes winter-gray and filled with questions. “I guess you want me to believe that.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because you don’t seem very materialistic, and I have a feeling you would live in far worse conditions if it meant helping someone in need.”
He was right.
And that bothered Lacey.
Jude had only met her a few hours ago and already knew more about her than most clients learned in a month. “Who says I’m not materialistic?”
“Your car.” His gaze
