words were right, but Brayden’s body language added an important postscript to it. It was good that the stalker hadn’t found her, but if—and that was a huge if—she considered what he’d just asked her to consider, it would almost certainly mean her coming out of hiding.
It would also probably mean having to deal with the stalker all over again.
Oh, mercy.
Ashley wasn’t sure she was ready for round two.
Round one had nearly killed her.
“And I really have started over here,” she continued, talking more to herself than to him. “I mean, I’m doing something that matters.”
For once in her life.
Of course, that was the problem with doing something that mattered. It didn’t automatically exclude other things that mattered, too.
Like her nephew.
But a baby? This was no easy fix. No easy choice.
Brayden walked closer, hovered over her a moment and sank down onto the chair across from her. Directly across. The knees of his pants brushed against her jeans.
His gaze met hers. And there it was. That shock of stunning green. She’d almost forgotten all those tones of vibrant color in his eyes.
Almost.
What she hadn’t almost forgotten was his face. Ruggedly handsome by anyone’s standards. Good Celtic cheekbones. A naturally tanned complexion. Toned and lean.
He was thirty-three now and had tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. Character lines, people called them. As if he needed any more character on that face.
Brayden pulled his gaze from hers. Shook his head. Mumbled something indistinguishable. And rammed his hands into both sides of his hair. “I wouldn’t have asked if—”
“If it weren’t for Colton,” Ashley finished. “Oh, I really do know that. I can only imagine what it cost you to come here today.”
Eye contact again. Barely a glance, though. He even cleared his throat. In the six-plus years she’d known Brayden O’Malley, she’d never heard him clear his throat. Ditto for any nervous gestures. The Rock of Gibraltar, Dana had called him. But today, Ashley was seeing a very different side of the Rock. The edges were definitely crumbling a bit.
“And I can imagine what it’s costing you to even consider it,” he admitted.
Touché.
There was an understanding, maybe even a bizarre empathy, left between them after all. And of course the memories were there, too. Lots of memories. Of the old professional arguments between a dedicated homicide cop and an equally dedicated and frequent pain-in-the-ass criminal defense attorney.
And they especially had all the old arguments about Dana between them.
Well, one argument really. The one where they’d accused each other of getting Dana killed.
I hope like hell I never see your face again.
Because those words Brayden had said to her long ago just wouldn’t go away, because they started to pound in her head like war drums, Ashley stood to give herself some breathing room.
“Take some time,” he offered when she started to pace. “Think about it.”
Ashley managed a nod. Somehow. Even though it seemed as if every muscle in her neck was knotted and stiff.
Part of her desperately wanted to jump at the chance to help her nephew. And another part of her just plain resented Brayden for bringing all of this to her.
But this wasn’t just about Colton. Nor was it just about Brayden and her.
It was also about a baby.
A baby who could potentially save a child’s life and complicate everything else. Because a baby was permanent. A bond. And it would mean bonding with a man who had trouble even looking her in the eye for more than a couple of seconds.
A man who couldn’t forgive her.
A man who was a reminder that she couldn’t forgive herself.
How could she possibly conceive a child under those circumstances?
Yet, how could she risk losing her nephew?
Pacing, repeating each of those arguments to herself, Ashley caught a glimpse of Brayden in the mirror on the antique sideboard on the other side of the table. Still stoic. Still soldier stiff.
Except for his eyes.
And in that glance Ashley realized that Brayden had the same questions, the same concerns, the same fears as she did.
“You wouldn’t have to give up your life,” he added. “But I know it’d change everything.”
Yes. It would. Heck, it had already changed everything. The life she’d so carefully put together, the sanity she’d found, hadn’t been shattered exactly, but it was no longer intact, either.
“I’ll have think about it,” Ashley assured him. But she couldn’t do that with Brayden in the room. She needed time. Alone.
Mercy, where had all the air gone?
Because she was sure she was on the verge of tears, and because there was no way she wanted Brayden to see her cry, she had to get out of there.
“I’ll call you,” she said, making sure her tone indicated this conversation was on hold.
And she was obviously successful in getting that point across because Brayden didn’t say anything, and he didn’t follow her. Ashley started toward her room.
Just as she detected the smell.
Was it smoke?
Ashley turned back around. So did he. He lifted his head slightly. And it was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he’d recently had a cigarette. But it was an unnecessary question. Because Brayden didn’t smoke, and besides the smell wasn’t in the living room.
She spun toward the hall just off the back of the kitchen and saw her bedroom door.
And the thick black smoke oozing from beneath it.
Chapter Two
Brayden didn’t waste any time.
The moment he smelled the smoke, he pushed past Ashley and raced through the kitchen, frantically searching. No smoke there, and no obvious source of fire.
“It’s coming from my bedroom,” Ashley informed him, pointing toward the hall.
She started ahead of him, but again, he moved around her and hurried to the room she’d pointed out. He saw the smoke drifting along the floor. And worse. Rising. It wouldn’t be long before it made its way through the entire house.
He touched his palm to the door.
It wasn’t hot. Thank God.
The old-fashioned faceted-glass doorknob was cool, as well. So, he opened it. Cautiously. Peering around the corner. When he was satisfied that he wasn’t about to face a full-scale blaze, he gave the door a shove with his shoulder.
No backdraft or wall of fire.
That was the good news. But the bad news was there were foot-high orange-red flames on the dresser tucked into the corner, and the flames weren’t staying put, either. They were quickly eating their way toward the draping lace curtains on a nearby window.
“Grab a fire extinguisher or some water,” he yelled back to Ashley. “And call the fire department.”
Sheltering his face from the blaze, he latched onto the curtains and ripped them down from the thick brass rod. Best not to give the fire any more fuel. It already had enough with what was left of the array of dried flowers, scented candles and pictures on the