moved into serious territory. Then his work had concluded and he’d had to return to Washington.
He’d promised to call…to come back every weekend. But she’d never seen or heard from him again. Not once in three years. She’d called everyone she knew to call. Had even shown up once at the address he’d given her. A neighbor had told Rowen that she’d heard Mr. Hunter died.
That moment had served as the final straw. Rowen couldn’t take anymore. She’d worked for months after that to put him behind her. It wasn’t until the past year that she’d finally felt free of his irrepressible memory. Now, here he sat in her kitchen. A new trickle of ire gave way to a stream of outrage.
She braced her hands on the cool tabletop and closed her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Rowen, you must listen to me,” he urged.
This was insane. She pushed up from her chair, the legs scraping across the old brick floor. “I’m sorry.” She backed away a step, needing the distance. “I can’t do this.”
“Rowen, wait—” He pushed to his feet, simultaneously reaching for her. The abrupt move jarred the table, sending both cups tumbling over and coffee sloshing across the table.
She tried to grab her cup but only succeeded in sending it spinning off the edge to crash on the rustic floor.
Swearing hotly, she turned to dive for a dish towel, but her attention jerked back to her guest. Those gloved hands had closed over his ears as if the sound of shattering stoneware had been too much for him. She’d jumped at the sound herself. The racket wasn’t easy on the ears, even when one was expecting it. But this. She watched as he slowly relaxed, unclenched his jaw, took a deep breath, then lowered his hands. This was an altogether different type of reaction.
Realizing that she was staring, Rowen crouched down to gather the broken pieces of stoneware, her mind whirling with more questions. What the hell had happened to him? Was he sensitive to noise, as well as light?
“Let me help you.”
He had apparently recovered enough to grab the dish towel and stoop down next to her. Her gaze lingered on him as he mopped up the mess they’d both pretty much been instrumental in making.
“Thank you.” She took the towel and the broken cup and quickly disposed of them before turning her attention back to him. He waited right where she’d left him, next to the table. She should just ask the questions throbbing in her brain. He was the one who’d shown up back in her life, not vice versa. She had a right to know, didn’t she?
No. Nothing he could possibly say would change what had happened.
She wasn’t doing this. She would not let him drag her back down that road. “I have to get to the office.” So much for coffee. She’d pick some up on the way. Right now, she just wanted out of here…away from him. “Say what you have to say and go.”
Evan, with an ache still reverberating in his skull, understood why she felt this way. He’d hurt her. Memories of what they’d shared tumbled one over the other into his mind before he could stop them, adding to his misery. He’d hurt her deeply. He wasn’t strong enough just now to fight the sentimental pull of that shared history. But he had to fight his personal feelings, had to try and make her see.
He ignored the pain that attempted to fragment his thoughts. Though the medication dulled his senses to a degree, he was still susceptible. Any unexpected sounds or sudden moves set off a shockwave of excruciating pain. He hated the way the medication left him off balance. But it was the only way he could tolerate the bombardment of sensations outside of his secluded home.
With her impatience mounting, he had no time for long drawn-out persuasion. Clearly, playing on her compassion wasn’t working. Cutting to the chase was his only remaining option.
“You have four dead bodies,” he said flatly. He had known that what he intended to propose would require a good deal more finesse, but she wasn’t going to allow him the luxury. “No motive, no evidence, no acceptable manner of death.”
Her gaze narrowed. “How do you know about the fourth one?”
He couldn’t very well tell her that the stench of death still hung on her clothes or that her fragile emotions screamed loudly of what she’d experienced that morning. A move like that would prove detrimental to his cause. He knew Rowen…knew how she processed all that she encountered. She was already on the defensive.
“I know,” was the best he could do.
Her guard moved up to the next level. Now she assessed his potential as a suspect. It was instinct. Part of what made her tick.
“What do you know about these murders?”
“I know that the Reporter is inciting panic.”
The Reporter had a reputation for just this kind of exploit. For twisting the facts and magnifying the ensuing theories. But then, didn’t all media do the same thing to one degree or another?
She nodded. “Vampires.”
A frown marred her forehead, as if she’d only just thought of how his appearance and his sensitivity to light played into portrayals of the widely fictionalized and glamorized subject. Her heart skipped a beat before taking off into a faster rhythm, one influenced by the adrenaline filtering into her veins. He could feel her trepidation.
“But you understand that’s not the case,” he suggested in hopes of moving her past the topic.
She stared at him a moment, her responses slowed by her lack of sleep during the past few days. She needed to rest. But she wouldn’t. She was on the case now. Rowen O’Connor was as relentless as she was meticulous.
“Do I?” she asked, countering his suggestion. She gave a little shrug. “You have no idea how I feel. You don’t know me anymore, Hunter.”
On that score, she was very wrong. He sensed her bitterness, the pain she felt at seeing him. But he could not allow those emotions to interfere with what had to be done. That she called him by his surname told him just how deep the cut went even if her physical reactions hadn’t.
He wanted to reach out…to touch her, but he did not dare. She looked so fragile, so very vulnerable. The hasty bun into which she’d arranged her waist-length hair upon getting this morning’s call had started to fall, allowing golden brown strands to drape around her shoulders. Her matching brown eyes, the color of melted caramel, looked tired, the smudges beneath testimony to her lack of sleep.
The fatigue in her slender frame vibrated beyond the confines of the tailored suit she wore. She needed him, whether she understood that just yet or not.
He could not fail. He’d risked far too much already simply coming here. Considering her bitterness toward him, his only hope for winning her over was shock value. He had only a small window of opportunity to prove just how much he knew. He had to make her listen.
“A whole new dimension will be added to this case today,” he warned. “You must be prepared for the harsh focus that will come your way almost immediately. But more treacherous is the danger to you personally. You mustn’t get so caught up in the fray that your attention falters from protecting yourself. Words can’t hurt you, but there are other things that can and will if you are not very, very careful, Rowen.”
