Witness in the Dark Page 11

  “It took me hours, and I needed stitches. I just don’t—” She closed her eyes and stopped talking.

  “Don’t what?” he pushed as he worked behind her.

  She took a deep breath. “I don’t want you to give up on me. I don’t want to be a problem. Or you might get sick of dealing with me and leave. I— I need you.”

  He paused in his sewing and came around to stand in front of her. All this time he thought she was being agreeable, it turned out she was terrified he would abandon her if she acted like herself.

  Was he really being such a bastard to her that his cold behavior had made her believe so little of him?

  Guilt swept through him. He’d only been trying to be professional. Obviously, he still needed to work on that.

  Bending down in front of her, he caught her green gaze. “I told you, you’re going to have to trust me. That means trusting that I won’t leave you to fend for yourself. Ever.”

  “But why would you do this for me?” She bit her lip again, but this time he didn’t have a sexual response.

  This woman had been through hell, and it seemed she expected it to get worse. That a stranger had no reason to be kind to her.

  Except, he hadn’t been kind to her. He’d been gruff and bossy. He knew gruff and bossy would keep her alive, but now he saw the cost.

  She was broken.

  And he’d helped do it.

  It would be nearly impossible to save the life of someone who didn’t care enough to want to help herself. He needed to do better.

  “The world doesn’t have a lot of good people like you in it. We can’t spare you.” He moved back to his stitching and kept his focus there as he tied off the thread and gave her another shot for the pain.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Her shoulders moved up and down as if she were trying to relax into the idea that she actually mattered.

  “I’m afraid the dragon isn’t doing too well. It kind of looks like a Pekinese with a long, pointy tail,” he said as he stood back.

  “The Girl with the Pekinese Tattoo,” she said, choking on a small laugh. “At least it’s original.”

  He reached for her shirt, and helped her pull it back on.

  “Damn, I must be slipping. I don’t think I’ve ever helped put a girl’s shirt on before,” he kidded, partly because he wanted to see her blush again.

  He put the ice pack on her sore shoulder and went to the refrigerator to pull out a bowl of soup with plastic wrap over the top. She was smiling again as he stood in front of the microwave heating it up, then brought it over to the table.

  “Thank you for everything.” Her voice was quiet as she looked up at him through her dark blond eyelashes.

  He smiled back, and something dark and lumpy inside him began to melt a little. “You’re doing really well, Sam. It’s not part of the tough instructor routine to praise the soldier, but I think you should know that what you did today was pretty damn amazing.” She needed to hear that.

  And he honestly meant it.

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “How long have you been afraid of the dark?” he asked as she took a sip of the beef noodle soup.

  She glanced up, startled. “How did you know?”

  “The hotel room. You opened the drapes a crack to let in the light from the parking lot. Plus, your only issue with taking the gun back seemed to be the darkness.”

  Her jaw dropped. See? It helped to pay attention.

  “I’ve been scared of the dark my whole life, I guess,” she confessed, then gave an embarrassed shrug.

  “Is that the only thing? The dark?” If there was something else she wouldn’t be able to handle easily, he needed to know.

  She nodded.

  “What about heights?”

  “No.”

  “Spiders?” He could barely say the word without cringing.

  She smiled. “I hate them, but if it comes down to them or me, I’ll put up a good fight.”

  He pursed his lips. “Hmm. I thought all women were afraid of spiders.”

  “So you have noticed I’m a woman?” she mumbled as she glared down at her chest.

  Yes. He’d definitely noticed she was a woman.

  Could she really be unhappy with the size of her breasts? He supposed a lot of normal-sized women were a testament to irrationality of society. But he liked her small, firm-looking breasts. Especially when they had been barely covered by a thin lacy camisole while he was stitching her up.

  “Trust me, I’ve noticed,” he said, and ran his finger along her jaw. She looked up at him, and for a moment he got lost in her eyes.

  They seemed to welcome him, urging him to come closer.

  So he did.

  Her breath brushed enticingly over his lips.

  He was nearly home when she laughed and sagged to one side. “Damn, you’re hot.” The words were slightly slurred.

  He frowned. Shit. He’d hoped she would have eaten more of her soup before the sedative took effect. It was mild to help with the pain, but on an empty stomach…

  On the other hand, he couldn’t kiss her when she was out of it.

  Saved from himself. All for the best. He shouldn’t even have been thinking about kissing her.

  Josiah Thorne would have his hide if he caught wind of that sort of behavior from one of his senior inspectors.

  “Hel-loo?” Sam giggled.

  Garrett hiked his eyebrows. “How are we doing?” he asked.

  She started to laugh again…then slid from her stool and landed right in his arms.

  Not exactly the way he’d planned it. He’d only meant the sedative to help her have a restful night’s sleep. She needed it.

  Now she was giggling like a drunken coed. He’d figured she was a lightweight. He hadn’t realized how light.

  “You are…very…nice-looking,” she murmured as he lifted her into his arms and carried her back to her room. “But tough. And kind of mean.”

  He placed her on the bed. “I am not mean.” He was okay with nice-looking and tough.

  “Uh-huh. You don’t like me.”

  “Of course I do.” He liked her plenty. Too much, in fact. She was strong and determined and self-confident. Except for that one area—her looks.

  He couldn’t understand why she never saw that her asshole of a boyfriend had just been manipulating her into thinking she wasn’t attractive so she wouldn’t leave his ass.

  No doubt the jerk had said lots of things to make her feel self-conscious. Nothing blatant—that would have made her see the guy for what he was. Subtle insults. Garrett had seen it before in witnesses. Intimidation by insult was a common method of control.

  He wished Sam had known what the guy was up to. She should know how beautiful she was. Had no one ever told her?

  “I might look like a boy. But I’m a girl.”

  With that, she slid off her pants and threw them at him.

  He ducked out of the way, but not before he’d gotten a glimpse of her long legs and the neon green lace panties.

  Goddamn. He might have looked longer than he should have, but he managed. “Listen to me, Sam. You do not look like a boy.”

  But she hadn’t heard him because she’d fallen backward onto the bed and was already out cold, snoring softly.

  He went over and gingerly positioned her on her side, and propped a pillow along her back so she wouldn’t roll over on her fresh stitches. After covering her with the blanket, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. Because that was what people did when they tucked someone in. He was pretty sure…

  Her damp hair smelled like peaches and cream, and with an inner groan he vowed to never let her pick her own shampoo again. He stroked her cheek and smiled at the thought.

  She was exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, but in sleep she finally looked peaceful. He wished she could always look this way. It wasn’t fair that she was running for her life. She deserved better.

  He admired her in ways he’d never expected. She gav
e everything her best shot…even when everyone else in her life had let her down. She was better than the lies.

  Like Lance, for example. Garrett knew from his own investigation that the loser had already cheated on her three times before he sent the text that night. Garrett hated the bastard.

  But he also knew he was no better, himself. He was lying to Sam, too. A lie so big it made Lance look like a saint in comparison.

  But Garrett had no choice in the matter. He was stuck in a bad situation. Unfortunately, Sam would be the one to pay.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered before he left her room.

  God, how he wished things were different. If he’d been a normal guy who’d met her at a bar on a normal night in the normal way, they might have had a fighting chance.

  But as it was, he didn’t deserve her trust, or her smiles.

  And especially not her kisses.

  When she found out the truth he was keeping from her, she would hate him.

  And he wouldn’t blame her one bit.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When Sam woke, she was in her room and the sun was coming through the curtains like it was high noon. She sat up and waited for the room to spin, but it didn’t. Everything was where it was supposed to be.

  Except for her pants.

  She was wearing her black T-shirt and a pair of neon green panties. Where were her pants? Oh, no. She remembered laughing and—

  Christ. She’d told him he was hot. Why would she do such a thing? She hadn’t been in her right mind.

  She jumped out of bed and found her jeans in a pile on the floor. After yanking them on, she went out to confront Garrett.

  “What did you do?” she yelled as she went into the living room. He was cleaning another gun.

  “I asked you if you wanted something for the pain and you said yes.”

  “I didn’t ask to be knocked unconscious.”

  “You needed sleep. I knew you’ve been having trouble turning off, so I…shut you down so you could get some rest.”

  “Did you have a nice time?” she snapped.

  “Well, you were kind of giggly. I don’t know.” He smiled.

  “I meant taking off my pants.” She pointed at him hotly.

  “Oh, whoa. Hold on. I did not touch your pants,” he protested.

  “Then why wasn’t I wearing them?”

  “You said something about being a girl, and then you took them off and threw them at me. I didn’t touch them. I swear.”

  She kind of remembered that now and decided to believe him, and after a few seconds she calmed down.

  “You shouldn’t have drugged me,” she grumbled.

  “It was mild. It shouldn’t have knocked you out like that. It’s not my fault you’re a wimp.” He was smiling with all the dimples. “How’d you sleep?” He tilted his head to the side, looking adorable and innocent.

  “Like I was drugged. How do you think?” She let out a breath.

  He cleared his throat. “Let me see your back.”

  This time, she pulled the back of her shirt up just enough that he could inspect the wound. She wasn’t taking it off again.

  He nodded, then checked her hand. “How’s the sore shoulder?” he asked.

  She moved it around. It was stiff, but okay. “Good.”

  “Then have some breakfast and go get the rifle and another box of ammo.” He pointed toward the door.

  Well, what did she expect? Sympathy?

  Finding the shack in the light of day was much easier after having stumbled into every tree in the forest the night before. She’d made it in less than fifteen minutes.

  Anticipating she would have to come back again later that night, she’d made little signs of her own. It was obvious Garrett had scratched the arrow into the bark and cut down the tree as markers. Natural markers. So, she did the same. She’d used rocks and branches and even a clump of moss to mark her way.

  After she retrieved the gun, it only took her twenty minutes to get back to the cabin from the bunker.

  Rather than go into the house, she went straight to the shooting range, knowing Garrett was going to send her down there, anyway.

  After getting five shots in the center, she took it up to the house. Her shoulder was protesting, so she didn’t try for the extra credit shots. He hadn’t appreciated her efforts yesterday, so why bother today?

  When she walked into the house with the target in her hand, she froze. On the counter was a towel, a pair of scissors, and the hair dye. She looked at Garrett. Traitor.

  “We discussed this,” he reminded her. “We have to be ready for anything.”

  She swallowed, but didn’t argue.

  He took the gun and the target, and patted the stool he’d placed in the middle of the kitchen. As she got situated, he hung her target on the refrigerator and put the gun on the table next to some cleaning supplies. He picked up a towel and draped it over her shoulders. “Please don’t cry,” he murmured.

  She wasn’t about to promise anything. It would depend on how badly he hacked up her hair.

  “Have you ever done this before?”

  “Yeah. I’m not bad. I took a couple of classes.”

  She laughed nervously. Right. She totally believed that.

  He combed through her hair. “Can I ask you something?”

  “What?”

  “What’s the deal with women and their hair?”

  She had no idea what he was really asking, but decided to go with the truth. “I don’t know about other women, but for me, my hair is the only thing I have that is remotely sexy. You’ll see when you cut it off. I’ll look like a twelve-year-old.”

  She ground her teeth to keep from crying. She was being hunted by people with guns and she was tearing up over her stupid hair?

  But she couldn’t help it. A whimper escaped at the first snip of the scissors.

  “You’re killing me, Sam. Please?”

  “Sorry.” She squeezed her eyes tighter, just wanting it to be over. The cutting didn’t take too long. She didn’t spare more than a glance at the long, blonde tendrils on the floor.

  It was just hair. What was the big deal?

  As he pulled on plastic gloves and mixed up the color, she fought the urge to run out the door. He sneezed a few times as he worked the color through what was left of her hair, but kept going with the stinky concoction. When he was finished, he pulled off the gloves and set the timer on the microwave.

  “Do you want to help clean the rifle while your hair processes?” he asked conversationally.

  She didn’t laugh at the fact that the big, tough federal agent knew her hair was processing. Instead, she nodded.

  He went over all the names for the components and showed her how to clean the barrel. She’d started to feel comfortable with the gun in the last two days, but after seeing it in pieces, she felt like she knew it on a molecular level.

  When they finished with the rifle, they tore down the Glock and did the same thing. They were putting it back together when the timer went off, causing her to jump.

  “You’re acting like you have an appointment with the firing squad.” He rolled his eyes and led her to the kitchen sink.

  She leaned over and he began rinsing her hair.

  His hands were strong, and it felt nice to have him washing her hair. It also felt nice to have him pressed up against her as he moved. She closed her eyes and, despite everything, smiled, enjoying the sensation of his big hands in her hair. Twice, she thought she felt something move by her hip. Something firm.

  When he shut off the faucet, she jumped again. She’d gone somewhere else for a moment…somewhere she shouldn’t have been going. Not with Garrett.

  He handed her another towel. “All done.”

  She wrapped it around her head and twisted it up on top. After a brief hesitation, she said, “I’m going to go look.”

  “I’ll stay out here. In case you need a moment.”

  She walked back to her bathroom, b
racing herself for the worst. As she unwound the towel, short copper strands fell against her head in layers. She shook it out and fixed it with her fingers.

  It wasn’t too bad. It was actually kind of cool. Nothing she would have had the nerve to do herself. The color made her eyes look even greener.

  She went back out to the living room for his appraisal.

  When he looked up, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He muttered a soft, “Oh, hell.”

  “I didn’t think it was that bad,” she said with a frown.

  “Not.” He swallowed. “Bad.” He blinked. “It’s…kinda hot.”

  “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

  She couldn’t remember Lance ever telling her she looked hot. Not even when she was trying to look hot.

  “I don’t just say stuff, Sam. You know that.”

  She nodded. It was true. He wasn’t one for idle chitchat or meaningless compliments.

  “It’s…sexy.” He shrugged it off, but it was the best compliment she’d ever received.

  She tried to moderate the stupid smile on her face. “You did a nice job,” she told him, honestly.

  “Is it dry yet?”

  “Almost.”

  “Good. Go to the bunker and get me two boxes of nine millimeter ammo.”

  She glanced out through the window and glared at him. Of course he would make her do it now. It was dark, and she’d already confessed that she was frightened of the dark. No doubt he was playing amateur psychologist, trying to get her to face her fears.

  Well, she didn’t want to face them. She wanted to hide inside where monsters couldn’t get her.

  If such a place even existed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sam knew Garrett was putting her through all this for her own good. And after his comment that she looked sexy, it was probably for the best that she leave the cabin for a little while. Before she did something to embarrass herself.

  Like kiss him.

  “If you make it back in less than half an hour, I won’t make you do it tomorrow night,” Garrett offered.

  A half hour would have been doable in the daylight. Close, but doable. But at night?

  Damn.

  He winked. “We’ll be doing hand-to-hand combat when your shoulder heals. You can hit me then.”