on the man who did this to her....
He muttered a curse and dropped to a chair next to the bed.
Meghan jerked and groaned without opening her eyes. Durk leaned in close. “You’re safe, Meghan,” he whispered softly. “You’re going to be all right.”
If she heard him, she gave no sign. His mind drifted back to the night they’d first met. At the last minute he’d let his mother, who had been ill with a stomach virus, talk him into attending a fundraiser in her place. It was one of her pet charities, an organization dedicated to helping pay medical expenses for physically handicapped children needing surgery.
He’d been in stressful meetings all day and had gone to the gala with plans to deliver her speech thanking all the donors for their contributions and then immediately cut out.
But then he’d spotted Meghan Sinclair across the room and become totally intrigued. She was stunning in an emerald-green ball gown and a crown of the most gorgeous red silky hair he’d ever seen.
But the real fascination came from the impact of watching her flip her wrist and empty a crystal flute of champagne in the face of his least favorite Texas politician. Durk had no doubt that the jerk deserved it.
Durk had made a point of meeting her after that incident and ended up driving her home and staying for breakfast—two days in a row. He’d never fallen so hard, so fast—not since Ellie Jenkins had kissed him in the sixth grade.
His thoughts shifted from the past to the here and now. Meghan was in the hospital, confused and battered. Ben Conroe was lying in a morgue. And somewhere a killer was going on with his life.
Eventually Durk must have dozed off because the next time he looked at his watch, it was an hour later. He stood, stretched and went to the bathroom. He relieved himself, washed his face in cold water and went in search of coffee.
After he finished the cup of strong brew, he slipped quietly back into Meghan’s room. Only this time, Meghan’s eyes were open wide and she was staring at the ceiling. She moaned as he approached the bed.
“Are you in pain?” he asked. “Should I get the nurse?”
She turned and looked at him, then closed her eyes again.
“Can I get you anything?” he repeated.
Still no response, but he was almost certain she was awake.
He sat and stayed quiet until she squirmed and began to rub her left hand. Then he stood and moved close to the bed.
“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked, sure that if she were fully conscious, she’d have questions about the attack.
She shuddered and finally met his gaze, staring at him as if he’d interrupted something important.
“Who are you and why are you in my bedroom?”
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