Falsely Accused. Shirlee McCoy

of the law.

      He seemed willing to bide his time.

      He also seemed convinced she was responsible for the two crimes he was investigating.

      “You’re heading to the rehab facility?” Titus asked, stepping into place beside Wren as she walked to a black SUV.

      “Yes.”

      “Mind if I come along?”

      “Why?”

      “Because I should have visited Abigail a long time ago and didn’t.”

      “Now is probably not the time.” She opened the back door of the SUV and slid in. She would have closed it, but he grabbed the top of the window and held it open.

      “I’m going. If I have to drive myself, that’s fine, but with the headache I’ve currently got, it’s probably not the wisest choice.”

      She frowned, her forehead creased, her usually perfectly styled hair falling around her shoulder in wild waves. She had smudges of dirt on her cheek and shadows under her eyes, and she looked...

      Tired?

      Worried?

      Sad?

      Maybe all those things. Years ago he could easily have read the expression on her face and in her eyes.

      Now he wasn’t sure what she was feeling or thinking.

      “We could give you a ride to the hospital,” she suggested. “Or back home.”

      “I’d really like to visit Abigail and offer my condolences. I know how much Ryan meant to her.”

      Mentioning Ryan seemed to loosen something inside Wren. She sighed, her shoulders bowing as she pulled her injured wrist closer to her chest. “All right. We’ll give you a ride. When we return, I’ll have Radley take you home.”

      “So, that’s the kind of job a guy gets when he travels from Boston to help you? Chauffeur?” Radley asked as he got into the front passenger seat.

      “There are worse gigs,” the attorney said. “Go ahead and get in, Mr. Anderson.”

      “Titus,” he corrected as he rounded the SUV and did as she asked.

      “And you can call me Annalise.” She started the engine and pulled away from the house.

      Annalise.

      Right.

      He’d remember that.

      Hopefully.

      The throbbing ache in his head wasn’t doing much to motivate him. All he really wanted was to take a nap. Not a good choice with a head injury.

      “You’re not falling asleep, are you?” Wren’s voice speared into his conscious, and he realized he’d closed his eyes and was drifting off.

      “I was thinking about it,” he admitted.

      “Don’t,” she commanded, her gaze focused on the window and the world outside. She was doing her best to ignore him. He couldn’t blame her, but he didn’t like it.

      “You’re getting bossy in your old age, Wren.”

      That got her attention.

      She whirled to face him, her dark eyes flashing. “Old? You’re a year older.”

      “Ten months,” he corrected, as if she didn’t know or couldn’t remember.

      She did.

      Wren had an uncanny memory and a keen intellect that had made her stand out in middle and high school. Based on how far she’d come since her years at the university, he’d say she hadn’t changed.

      “I know.” She sighed. “You need to stay awake for a while. Closed head wounds can be just as dangerous as open ones.”

      “I know.”

      “So...” She glanced toward the front of the vehicle and lowered her voice. “Why are you here instead of at the hospital?”

      “I already told you, I want to see Abigail.”

      “That’s not the only reason.” It was a statement rather than a comment.

      “You’re right. It’s not,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t like what’s gone down. You seem to be at the center of it, and that worries me.”

      “I see. You want to play knight in shining armor and rush to my rescue?”

      “I want to be the friend I should have been nine years ago,” he replied.

      Her eyes widened just enough to show that he’d hit a nerve.

      “The past is the past, Titus. How about we not bring it up?”

      “I owe you an apology.”

      “And this is your way of giving it? Riding to the rehab facility with me?”

      “Offering you support.”

      “I have support.” She waved her hand at her coworkers.

      “Now you have more,” he replied.

      She frowned. “This isn’t the time or the place to discuss what I think about that.”

      “Good.”

      “But we will discuss it,” she continued, turning away again.

      He studied her profile, tracking the angle of her chin and the smooth plane of her cheeks. She was an older, more stunning version of the teen he’d spent so much time with. More polished. More streamlined. Even with her hair falling in tangles and her clothes ripped and stained, she looked sophisticated and professional. Everything she’d once told him she wanted to be.

       I’ll never be like her.

      How many times had she said that? When they were teens and young adults, it had been a constant theme in her life. She worked hard to assure herself that she would never be like her mother.

      “If there is a choice between you staring at me and you sleeping,” she murmured, “I’d prefer you to sleep.”

      “Even with a head injury?” he asked, curious to hear her response.

      She glanced his way, the frown still in place. “No,” she replied. “So how about we discuss what isn’t going to happen.”

      “Between us?”

      “There is no us. There is a volatile situation that I don’t want you involved in,” she replied.

      “Unfortunately, you’re not going to get what you want, because I’m already involved.”

      “No—”

      “This got personal the second someone trespassed on my property and began shooting. I’m not going home and forgetting that happened.”

      And he wasn’t going to forget that they had once been good friends who would never have turned their backs on the other’s troubles.

      If Wren thought that he was going to turn his back on her now, she was wrong. Despite the past, despite the hurt that was between them, he still cared, and he was still willing to do whatever it took to make certain she stayed safe. If that meant accompanying her wherever she went until the perpetrators were behind bars, then that was exactly what he planned to do.