eyes.
Catherine.
“You’re supposed to be at my place,” he said, biting back the harsh words that were on the tip of his tongue.
“I have to get to the hospital.” Her voice shook, but it was the only indication of her fear.
“Not at the risk of your life.”
“The person who attacked me would have to be crazy to hang around.”
“The police were okay with you walking off?” Because, he wasn’t.
“There are officers all over the road looking for evidence. I was safe enough,” she hedged.
“You didn’t get permission to leave, did you?”
“I was waiting to be interviewed. It was taking too long.”
“You can’t do your grandmother any good if you’re dead.”
“I’m not, so it’s a moot point,” she said, her cheeks heating, her eyes flashing.
“It doesn’t pay to take chances.” He tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice as he followed her down the stairs.
“I need to get to the hospital.” She grabbed keys from a small table in the foyer and shoved them in her pocket, her hand shaking.
She put on a good show, but she was terrified.
“You’d better let the police know that you’re leaving.”
“They’re smart. I’m sure they’ll figure it out.” She walked outside, and he followed, ignoring her dark look. “Thank you for your help, Mr....?”
“Osborne. Darius.”
“Catherine Miller, but I’m sure you already knew that.”
“I’ve seen the news stories.”
“Who hasn’t?” She smiled, her eyes empty and quiet. “You saved my life, and I don’t take that lightly, but I’m fine now, and I need to get going.”
So did he. He’d planned every minute of his two-week vacation. Paint the house. Strip and refinish the hardwood floors. Fix the leaking kitchen sink. Get the house he’d bought three months ago in order so it seemed more like a home and less like a place to stay.
But the bruises on Catherine’s face, the welts on her neck, the quick beat of her pulse in the hollow of her throat made him hesitate. “How about you let me give you a ride to the hospital?”
“I have a car.”
“So do I.”
“What—”
“The police are here.” Darius cut her off as a police cruiser parked on the cracked and crumbled driveway. A tall dark-haired officer got out. Darius knew him. Deputy Sheriff Logan Randal. They’d run into each other on a couple of cases, and Darius had liked the guy.
“Catherine!” Randal called. “You were supposed to stay inside and wait for me.”
“I told you my grandmother needed to be picked up.”
“I can send an officer for her.”
“And scare her to death? I don’t think so.”
Randal sighed and took off his hat, running a hand down his jaw. “Osborne, you were there when everything went down?”
“I heard Catherine’s screams, but I didn’t see the perp. No sign of him here, either.”
“I need to leave.” Catherine sidled past, and Randal grabbed her arm.
“Whoa! Slow down, Catherine. I can’t let you walk away unescorted. We don’t know who attacked you, why he did it or where he is now.”
“Neither do I, and Eileen is waiting.”
Obviously, they knew each other.
Even more obviously, Catherine didn’t care about the connection or Logan’s authority as an officer of the law. She seemed bound and determined to leave.
“I’ll escort her to the hospital.”
“I don’t need an escort.”
“Yeah. You do.” Darius followed her down the porch steps and around the side of the house.
She ignored him, not glancing over her shoulder, not telling him to leave. Just walking, sunlight pouring over her bright red hair and casting shadows beneath her eyes.
He could go back to his renovation work, go back to his first day of vacation and let Logan deal with Catherine and the person who’d attacked her.
He could, but he followed Catherine to a rickety garage, anyway, because following her was a whole lot better than going home to his silent house. His boss and friend Ryder Malone had insisted that four years was too long to go without a vacation. He was probably right, but vacation without family didn’t feel like much of a vacation. All it did was remind him of what he didn’t have.
Catherine hefted the garage door, but he pulled her back before she could walk into the dank interior.
“Let me check things out, first.”
He expected her to argue, maybe tell him to go home, but she stepped aside, staring out over the golden-brown fields, silent, stiff and expressionless.
He had the impression of careful control and deep emotion.
That made him want to poke a little, see what kind of reaction he could get.
Surprising, because he didn’t believe in poking or prodding or searching for something deeper. He’d tried it before, found what he’d wanted to find instead of what was there. He wouldn’t make that mistake again, but he would check the garage and make sure danger wasn’t waiting in the dark corners and deep shadows.
He turned away from Catherine and walked into the musty garage.
TWO
Please, go.
That’s what Catherine needed to say to Darius.
Two words that she’d said to all the news reporters, old friends and strangers who’d come around trying to get the scoop on the Dark Angel of Good Samaritan over the past two months.
She couldn’t manage to get the words out, and she stood silently as Darius preceded her into the garage.
No one was there.
She was as sure of that as she was that the sun would shine in the morning, but she let him look, because she didn’t want to be alone. Not yet.
Her neck burned and throbbed, but she didn’t touch the bruised skin, tried not to remember the feeling of fingers on flesh or think about what might have happened if Darius hadn’t called out. Another minute, and she would have been out of breath. All the fighting skills she’d learned in prison had been useless against someone double her size and strength.
Would she have died on the dusty old road?
She shuddered, taking a step into the dim garage. It smelled of gasoline and oil, mildew and wet wood. She’d have to tear the place down eventually, but she had too many projects on her hands already, and not enough time to get to them.
“It’s clear. Come on in,” Darius called out, and she hurried to the 1965 Buick, grabbing her purse from under the front seat. She took out her cell phone, shoving it into her pocket. Leaving it in the car had been a mistake that she wouldn’t repeat. From now on, she’d carry it everywhere.
Just in case.
She gave in to temptation, touching the swollen place on her jaw, the hot flesh of her neck. Raw and dry, her throat tightened, her breath catching.
Stop!
The last thing