When she’d learned he would fully recover, she’d come to the decision that she would not, could not, be with him anymore. Not after what had happened to her father.
But even though she’d hurt him, he’d still saved her life. “Thank you,” she said, voice a little too loud in the tiny living room. “For what you did.”
He shrugged. “Who’s after you?”
“I don’t know.”
He pulled out his phone. “I’ll call my uncle Tuney. He’s a detective. Maybe he can help.”
He’d already become too involved. “I’ll handle it myself, Jackson.”
The muscles worked along his jaw. “A guy with a knife almost kills you and you think you can handle it yourself? I guess that shouldn’t be a surprise.”
She hated the bitterness in his tone, but it ignited a flicker of anger inside her.
I’ve been by myself since I was nine. I won’t depend on anyone, Jackson. Especially you.
“The police will help me.” She went to the cage and whispered softly to Kiwi. He fluffed his feathers and put his beak to the bars for a kiss.
“No slam on the cops, but this is a small town with only a few overworked officers.”
“I can handle it.”
“No way,” Jackson said, eyes blazing. “Why can’t you admit that you need me?”
She faced him, cheeks hot. “I’m not your responsibility, Jackson. I don’t belong to you.” The glimmer of grief in his eyes made her breath catch.
“I know,” he said, voice suddenly soft. “I learned that the hard way.”
Her cell rang again. She answered quickly, desperate to escape the emotion shimmering on Jackson’s face.
“He’s coming,” someone whispered into the phone.
She tensed and Jackson edged close as she pushed the button for speaker phone. “Who is this?”
“Tyrone.”
Valerie struggled to focus on the tortured voice of her only relative, Tyrone, her father’s cousin. Jackson’s muscled shoulder was pressed next to hers, his warmth causing her temperature to rise.
“Tyrone? Where are you?”
Tyrone had found her six months before, but it had taken him weeks of dogged determination to convince her to trust him enough to let him into her life. Somewhat into his fiftieth year, Tyrone was gruff and cynical, brilliant and, she suspected, lazy. But to a woman raised in the foster care system, Tyrone had the one quality she could not resist—he was the only relation she had in the whole world, the one person who could add to her sketchy memories of her father, a firefighter, who’d died in the line of duty when she was nine.
After Tyrone had broken her down, she’d come to enjoy spending time with him, and now they met every week to photograph birds, his favorite pastime. At least, they had…until he’d fallen off the radar two weeks ago.
“You have what he wants,” Tyrone whispered.
“What?”
There was a sharp intake of breath. “Can’t talk now. Lock yourself in. I’ll—”
“Tyrone?” Valerie cried into the phone.
There was no answer.
After a long pause, the phone disconnected.
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