here.”
Guilt fluttered in the center of his chest as her expression grew hard and cold. Mara Jennings had never been hard or cold, even when she should have been. Her kind, forgiving nature had made her an easy mark for his pathetic neediness, and he’d come to depend on her being there, being willing to overlook his copious flaws, whenever he needed her.
He supposed it was good she’d finally drawn a line he couldn’t cross. He just hated that he’d been the one to add that hardness and coldness to her sweet nature.
“There’s still the matter of seven thousand dollars,” he said.
Taking a step back, she let go of the door. Pressed by his boot, it swung open, and he took a step inside, his gaze taking in the small front room. What he saw nearly stole his breath again.
The place had been completely wrecked.
* * *
THE TROUBLED LOOK on Jack Drummond’s face was the only warning she got. Following his dark gaze, she saw what she’d missed in her earlier agitation.
Whatever else the intruder might have wanted, he’d made a shambles of her cabin. Ripped-up sofa cushions lay scattered about the room, fluffy clumps of foam and fiberfill stuffing littering the floor. Books had been pulled from the built-in shelves and discarded. A floor lamp lay on its side, the glass shade shattered.
Every ounce of adrenaline seemed to drain from her body in a flood, leaving her boneless and despairing.
“Who did this?” Jack’s deep voice rumbled up her spine.
“Who do you think?”
“But why?”
She turned to meet his troubled gaze. “I have no idea.”
Which was a lie, of course. She had a couple of pretty good ideas, actually. She just wasn’t sure which one was the right one.
“Should we call the police?”
Her nerves reawakened in a rattling jangle. “No.”
“Your boss?”
She thought about it briefly. Quinn would know what to do. But could she really trust him? She knew the man’s interest in her was anything but altruistic. He might be her boss, he might even have been her savior at a particularly dangerous time of her life, but he wasn’t her friend.
She didn’t have any friends. Not anymore.
“You need to go,” she said in lieu of an answer.
“And what if that guy comes back?”
“He won’t,” she said, even though she knew someone would come back eventually. The only thing of value in this cabin was her computer system, and it was locked behind about five levels of physical security. And even if someone had stolen the computers themselves, they’d have had one hell of a time trying to get past her digital security.
She might look like an ordinary woman these days, but she wasn’t.
She wasn’t ordinary at all.
“Okay, if that’s what you want, I’ll go.” Jack’s voice was outwardly calm, but she heard a thread of discord vibrating just beneath the surface. “But I need just one more question answered.”
She sighed. “What’s that?”
“Why on earth do you think you owe me seven thousand dollars when you know as well as I do that I stole that money from you?”
Her stomach knotted painfully. Well, hell.
“Has something happened to you, Mara? You didn’t remember me right away today at the diner. You didn’t remember anything about the money. And right now you’re looking at me as if you’ve never seen me before.” He took a step closer to her, his movement slow and careful, as if he expected her to bolt.
He wasn’t entirely wrong. Even now she could feel the muscles bunching in her legs, as if her body was instinctively preparing for flight.
“A lot has happened,” she answered in a carefully neutral tone. “I lost my sister. I left everything I knew to make a new start. And I didn’t expect to see you here in Tennessee.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s all you’re going to get.”
“Okay.” He reached inside his jacket.
Adrenaline stormed her system again, and she brought up the pistol to bear on him. “Don’t.”
He stared at her, his dark eyes wide. “My God, Mara. What’s happened to you?”
“Take your hand out of your jacket.” To her dismay, her voice trembled. But her hand, at least, remained steady.
“I have a cashier’s check for the seven thousand plus interest. That’s all I was reaching for.”
“I don’t need the money. I don’t want it.”
“I need to give it to you.” His voice sharpened. “I owe it to you, Mara, and if I don’t do this—”
“Give it to a charity.”
His eyes narrowed. “Your place just got trashed and you’re telling me you couldn’t use seven thousand dollars to fix the damage and buy you a new sofa?”
Of course she could use it. She just couldn’t take it. Not from him. Not this way.
“Just give it to a charity. Wounded Warrior Project or Goodwill or St. Jude’s—anything you want. If you want your sins off your conscience, do it that way. I’m not in the business of absolution.”
His dark eyes snapped with a flare of anger, but it was gone almost as soon as it arose. “Fine.” He removed his hand from his jacket and reached up to touch the back of his head, wincing as he did so. When he brought his hand in front of him, his fingers were sticky with blood.
For a second, she flashed back to that night, four years ago, when she’d come home to a house on fire and her sister lying dead on the living room floor. She’d known, in the brief seconds she’d had to make her decision, that there was nothing she could do anymore for her twin. The blood pooling around her sister’s head painted a gruesome picture of what had happened while she was away picking up takeout for their dinner.
Her sister had been murdered, the fire set to cover up evidence.
And, for better or worse, she’d let it burn.
“I don’t suppose you have a first-aid kit handy in all this mess?” he asked quietly, his gaze still focused on his bloody fingers.
The urge to push him and his bleeding head out of her cabin was nearly overwhelming. But he might be more injured than she thought, and the last thing she needed on her own conscience was another death.
“Find somewhere to sit down,” she said, blowing out some of her
