clerk behind the desk said something and nodded her head in my direction. I could see Jack shift his powerful body, and I ducked behind the curtain, breathing deep in an attempt to keep from passing out. Please let him have the decency to leave when he realizes I’m in the room.
I held my breath and waited.
A few moments passed and then, “Hello, Chili.”
The voice was deep and gravel-rough around the edges. It was a sound so familiar that my traitorous nerve endings flared with a deep buried swoon of delight. I squashed the feeling with a viciousness that would have surprised even Attila the Hun.
“The name’s Killian. Use it.”
Chili Pepper had been my street name. We won’t get into why; it’s too embarrassing. But the nickname had stuck even after I went to live with Charlie and Claire.
Charlie had used the nickname affectionately, a clever, nurturing man’s attempt to make the scrappy, defiant teen who had invaded his household with swagger, a vulgar mouth and piping hot anger, relax and realize her identity wasn’t about to suddenly disappear simply because she’d ended up in the foster-care system. No one but Charlie had the right to call me by that name…. Okay, maybe Jack used to have that right, but not anymore.
My fingers tightened on Charlie’s hand. Wake up, Pop. Please wake up and rescue me before I make a fool of myself. But Charlie slept on, oblivious to the fact that I needed him more than ever.
I lifted my head and met Jack’s steady gaze. Air cramped in the back of my throat, squeezing it shut, hurting bad. I had to remind myself to breathe. His eyes were so dark, so deep and soulful blue that they seemed to sear right through me.
“It’s good to see you,” he said.
Yeah, right, I thought. Lie number one. Keep ’em coming Jackie boy. It’ll just make it easier for me to keep my hate on.
“Can’t say I feel the same way,” I said.
He ignored the dig. “I’m glad they found you. I was worried when I heard you were out tramping around in the woods chasing down some poor sucker who took a wrong turn.”
Lie number two. Jack O’Brien never worried about anyone or anything other than himself. I’d learned that fact nine years ago. “You’re not welcome here, O’Brien. Do us both a favor and shove off.”
I’d hoped to see a flicker of hurt in those beautiful eyes, but none appeared. He stared back at me with that familiar steady gaze, the one that used to make my knees melt and my body hum with a need so hungry and all consuming that I used to think I’d die if he didn’t satisfy it.
“I simply came by to check up on Charlie.”
“So, you checked. Time to leave.”
He raised a single dark eyebrow, but didn’t move. I gripped the metal bed rail and hung on for dear life. He’ll leave soon. Just hang on, Killian.
“You look good. Mountain air seems to agree with you,” he said as if we exchanged such pleasantries every day. “Things going okay for you?”
“Just fine. Thanks ever so much for asking.”
He waited, the stillness of his body putting me even more on edge. I didn’t bother asking him how he’d been. There wasn’t any need. No one asked about the condition of perfection.
“How’d this happen?” I finally asked.
“I don’t really know all the specifics. But they’re calling it a hit-and-run.”
“What’s the matter, you aren’t in the loop anymore down at the station?”
His eyes stared into mine, and a flicker of something close to pain or regret flashed through them. But it was hard for me to tell because the emotion disappeared so quickly.
“I’m not on the force anymore, Killian,” he said. “I quit a few weeks after Pop was sentenced.”
I swallowed hard. Now that was a surprise. Jack loved the force almost as much as Pop, maybe more. I wanted to ask what he was doing with himself, but that meant admitting I might actually be interested.
“I joined the fire department. I’m working as a paramedic.”
“Interesting choice. Must be all that compassion and gentle caring you’ve got stored up, huh?”
Jack ignored my sarcastic dig. “I might not be part of the force anymore, but I know the guys will all be working hard to find out what happened. None of them will let it drop until they find the SOB.”
“Yeah, right. Just like all you guys worked your tails off to clear his name nine years ago.” I smacked my forehead with the palm of my hand. “Oh, wait, I’m getting that confused, aren’t I? It’s you who trashed Pop’s name and got him sent to prison in the first place, wasn’t it?”
“I gather from your tone that you’re still having a hard time getting over that, huh?”
I met his gaze dead-on. “I’d strongly advise against holding your breath if you’re waiting for any words of forgiveness from me, O’Brien. It ain’t gonna happen.” I glanced down at Charlie, my heart torn that he was the one getting the shaft again. “If you want to know the truth, I dream every night of you getting what you deserve.”
“And what exactly is it that you think I deserve?”
“Believe me, you don’t want to know. Now get out of here.”
I fiercely willed him to go away, but he wasn’t on my wavelength anymore. Once, not too long ago, people used to accuse us of being inside of each other’s heads, finishing each other’s sentences and laughing at jokes only the two of us heard. But Jack broke that thread when he’d incriminated Charlie to save his own skin.
“I talked with Elliot over at the Two-Four. You remember Elliot Standish, right?”
I nodded abruptly, concentrating on the rise and fall of Charlie’s chest as the respirator blew air into his lungs, breathing for him, keeping him alive.
“Elliot says that they have two eyewitnesses. They’re working from a sketch of the guy and a partial plate number.” He shifted a little to the right, as if trying to catch my eye, but I avoided eye contact. I had to avoid eye contact. Jack’s eyes had the power to reduce me to a puddle of emotion. I wasn’t taking any chances, not now. Not when I was already an emotional wreck. I needed my wits about me. I needed to figure out what had happened to Pop and who had hurt him.
“Give them a few more days and they’ll have something,” he said.
I smoothed a wrinkle in the sheet over Charlie’s chest, the starched fabric stiff and crisp beneath my fingers.
“Killian—?”
I glanced up. The angular planes of Jack’s face had arranged themselves into an expression of concern, but I wasn’t fooled.
Lie number three. Jack O’Brien was an expert at appearing concerned. It was another thing I had learned at Charlie’s trial.
“What?”
