any expression in her tone. “Our home was broken into when I was ten. My mother was killed.”
For a second his face took on the fierce expression of a warrior who would defend his tribe to his last breath, then it softened and she recognized other emotions—a certain kindness for those who’d been hurt, a touch of sympathy, maybe pity.
Pity was something she didn’t want and didn’t know how to handle when it was offered. She usually mumbled something about life going on and changed the subject, but now her throat closed and she couldn’t say a word. Old emotions, heightened by the events of the day, threatened to overcome her. She swallowed hard and refused to give in to them.
“Were you there when it happened?”
She shook her head.
“Did they find whoever did it?”
Again she indicated the negative.
“Crimes by total strangers are not often solved,” he told her, his tone gentle as if she were still that hurt child of long ago. “There’s no connection or motive for police to follow as there is with husbands or boyfriends.”
“Yes, that’s what the detective said who handled the case.” She returned the bag to him, having eaten three or four bites of the treat. She took a drink of coffee and noted that it was much better than the brew Chuck had given her earlier. The warmth eased the cold spot in her chest, and she relaxed once more. “Thank you for the cake. That was thoughtful. Now I have a question. Why did you bring it?”
“Well,” he drawled, “I know that jail food comes from the lowest bidder.”
That made her laugh. “It wasn’t so bad. We had spaghetti and rolls and a piece of lettuce with a sliver of carrot that was supposed to be a salad, I think.”
After that they talked about the worst meals they’d ever had as if they were acquaintances who were fast becoming friends. He told her the three kids in his family had to take turns preparing meals once a week. He had her cracking up over his description of recipes made with green stuff like lime gelatin or broccoli. His cousin Jeremy would clutch his throat and accuse him of trying to poison them.
“Your family sounds like mine,” she told him. “I took nutrition classes in college, but I could never convince my brothers that green, leafy vegetables were really good for them. They now send me magazine clippings that extol the value of blueberries.”
“Ah, smart men,” he said.
Laughing, she glanced at him, then away. Then, pulled by unexpected forces stronger than her will, she met his gaze through the dull glint of the steel bars. Their eyes locked. The laughter faded.
Something was happening to her. She felt it as a primal shift somewhere in her soul. He felt it, too, she thought. His chest lifted and fell in a slow, careful breath as if he, too, were on shaky ground.
She looked away, wondering how they could have gone from laughter to something profound and infinitely challenging in a heartbeat.
Maybe arresting people did that, although it wasn’t what she would call a bonding event. Recalling his arousal as they struggled, she felt heat creep up her neck. That had certainly been a new and different experience for her.
He could have hurt her, but he hadn’t. Instead of fury, she’d seen self-mocking humor in his eyes when he’d told her to quit thrashing about.
Though she’d been frightened until he’d shown her his badge, their struggle had been oddly exciting, too, she decided after she thought it over while sitting here in the cell. Other than her father and brothers, she knew she had a problem with trust of the male half of the population.
The fact was that men always expected more than she was willing to give at the moment. Just when she was starting to feel comfortable with the guy and with kisses and caresses, then, well, things moved too fast, becoming too demanding. One date had accused her of holding out.
She’d been left feeling humiliated and in the wrong for reasons she didn’t know. It certainly hadn’t increased her comfort level with the opposite sex.
Glancing at her captor’s hands as he linked them together between his knees, his gaze on the floor as if deep in thought, she realized that no matter what defensive move she’d made, he’d countered with only enough force to halt it, but not once had he bruised her in any way.
When he’d folded her into his arms and pulled her against him, it was as if she’d been wrapped in a protective cocoon and all he’d wanted to do was keep her from getting hurt. It was such an odd thought….
Staring at the dull green wall, she admitted she was mystified by his visit, by their shared laughter, by the intriguing currents that ran between them that were almost as disturbing as her arrest.
“It’s late,” he said. “I should leave and let you get some rest.”
“I don’t think I’ll sleep very much tonight.”
He nodded. “I was still wound up after the day’s excitement, too.”
“I’d have thought arresting people was old hat to a special investigator for the National Park Service.” Her tone was mildly sarcastic.
He grinned, then winced and touched his nose. She was at once sorry she’d been so rough, even though it was his fault for scaring her.
“Hardly,” he said. “Mostly I authenticate archeological finds for the department and set up security, especially on ancient sites like the dig up at the canyon. I investigate thefts and other problems at various national parks. They send me wherever they need some help.”
“I see.”
Regaining her equilibrium, she decided his work sounded like an easy job to her, nothing that called for springing handcuffs on innocent people without warning.
Gazing at his nose, which was noticeably swollen, she forgot her indignation over the arrest and advised, “You should ice your bruises for forty-eight hours, then switch to four minutes of heat followed by one minute of ice three or four times a day after that for two or three days.”
“I kept an ice pack on it most of the afternoon.”
“Good.” After observing him for a moment when he made no move to leave, she asked quietly, seriously, “What are you really doing here? I think you came because you want something from me.”
Before answering, he drank the last of the coffee. He crushed the paper cup and tossed it in a waste-basket near the door, then studied her for several seconds. “I want you to take me to the guy you said gave you the pottery.”
“Tonight?” she asked incredulously as disappointment hit her. She realized the cake, the kindness and the easy laughter had been a method of softening her up before he made the request.
“No, but soon. I don’t want him to get word that something funny went on at the store.”
Leaning against the wall behind the cot, she took a drink of coffee and noticed he was dressed in dark slacks, a white shirt informally open at the neck and well-shined loafers. She’d already noticed his aftershave, the fragrance familiar to her from their earlier encounter.
So,
