CHAPTER 6
With a swift intake of air, her face went slack with shock. The woman didn’t hide her emotions worth diddly. It was all there in her features—horror and compassion and disbelief.
“Kidnapped! How awful for you and for your parents! How old were you?”
“Twelve,” he answered tersely, cursing himself for bringing the whole thing up.
He wasn’t sure why he did. He never talked about it. Never. He was sure Charlotte’s case history showed up in his file at the Bureau—the intensive background check done on him before he was accepted at Quantico would have turned up the whole grisly story. But none of his superiors ever brought up the kidnapping and he never volunteered the information.
So why tell Lisa Connors? A woman he barely knew, a woman he suspected had enough secrets of her own? Maybe because her columbine eyes had looked all soft and concerned and because it had been so long since someone had worried about him.
Or maybe because on some subconscious level, he still felt about as low as that imaginary garter snake he’d been thinking about earlier for the warning he’d given her to keep her daughters away from him.
Maybe he wanted her to make the connection he hadn’t been able to spell out—that seeing her daughters, listening to their innocent laughter, was a painful reminder of the guilt he carried inside him over his sister’s disappearance.
In the light spilling into the room from the bathroom he could see the brightness of unshed tears in her eyes. Damn, he hoped she didn’t cry. Not over him.
“It happened a long time ago. I’m not sure why I would have said her name in my sleep. Like I said, I must have been having a bad dream.”
He didn’t like explaining himself and he especially didn’t like feeling responsible for those emotions swimming in her eyes.
“Look, I appreciate you coming to check on me,” he said gruffly. “But as I told you, I’m fine. I was sleeping and I would like to get back to it, if it’s all the same to you.”
She looked as if she wanted to say more about Charlotte—how could he expect otherwise?—but after a moment she followed his lead and let the subject drop.
“Are you sure you won’t take something for your pain?” she asked.
That dead horse again. He sighed heavily. “If I do, will you leave me alone at least until the sun comes up?”
“Yes. If you take a pain pill, I promise I won’t bother you again until morning.”
“Great. Let’s have it, then.” He held out a hand and waited while she opened the prescription bottle and poured out two of the blasted things. She poured him fresh water from the pitcher she’d brought in earlier in the evening and handed him both.
Though he felt about as mature as a four-year-old, he concealed the nasty-tasting pills under his tongue and made a big show of pretending to swallow.
She bought it, apparently, because her features softened into a smile. “Anything else I can do for you before I go home?”
“Yeah. Turn off the monitor. To be honest, I’m not at all comfortable having you listen to me while I sleep.”
“Agent McKinnon—”
“Don’t you think you could call me Gage by now?”
“Gage, then. You need some way to reach me if something were to happen to you.”
“I have the phone right here. Since one of those pills makes me loopy enough, I’m sure two of them will knock me into next week.”
“Are you sure?”
“I like my privacy. That’s why I left the hospital in the first place. How would you like it if you had to try to sleep knowing somebody was listening to your every move?”
Gage was relieved to see that soft compassion give way to exasperation. He could cope with annoyance far easier than he could handle tender-hearted sympathy.
To his relief, she crossed to the baby monitor and switched it off. While her back was still turned, he spit the pain pills out into his hand and hid them beneath his blanket with a maneuver that was as slick as it was sneaky, if he did say so himself.
When she turned around, he tried for an expression as innocent as he could make it.
Maybe he was spreading it just a little too thick because she narrowed her gaze suspiciously. He thought she might be on to him but she only sighed. “Has anyone ever told you, Agent McKinnon, that you could give lessons in stubborn to a whole barnyard full of mules?”
He managed a smile. “Not in those exact words but I’ve been called worse.”
“Just make sure you remember who’s to blame if you fall out of bed and end up spending a cold, miserable night on the floor.”
“Not you, of course.”
“And don’t you forget it.” With crisp, efficient movements, she reached out to straighten his blankets one last time, leaning close to him as she did and sending another sweet hint of that clean, honest violet scent washing over him.
In a demoralizing moment of self-discovery, Gage forced himself to face the horrible realization that maybe a warped corner of his psyche secretly enjoyed her fussing over him.
No, he just liked her. He could count on one hand the number of people he genuinely liked but there was something about Lisa Connors he found refreshing and decent. She represented a whole host of things that were missing from his life—things he never even noticed weren’t there, like kindness, gentleness, compassion.
Beyond that, he had to admit he was physically attracted to her. With that short, wispy haircut and her delicate features and those big blue eyes, she reminded him of some kind of mystical creature out of a novel. A wood sprite or something.
If he didn’t feel so lousy, Gage would have been tempted to check if that curved bow of a mouth tasted like violets, to skim his fingers over that skin to see if it could possibly be as soft as it looked.
If he tried, would she push him away or would she welcome him into her arms?
Gage cut off the crazy line of thought when he felt his body stir to life under the blankets she had just straightened.
“I need to get back to my girls,” she said, deflating his fledgling interest faster than backing through a tire ripper.
She wasn’t his kind of woman at all. As appealing as he might find her on several different levels, she had a couple of major shortcomings that would keep him from ever pursuing anything with her—two little girls.
He had a strict policy against becoming involved with women who had children, a policy he wasn’t about to bend, even for someone as attractive as Lisa Connors.
“Right,” he muttered. “Good night, then.”
“Be sure to call if you need me.”
“I will,” he lied.
After she left, he pulled the pills from their hiding place beneath his blanket and tossed them into the trash, trying not to notice the soft, sweet scent that lingered in the air behind her.
Yeah, he might sleep better with the damn things. But he would be far more comfortable knowing he had all his faculties about him.
Besides, since she turned off the monitor, he could sleep free from the worry that he might call out the names of any more of the ghosts that haunted him.
* * *
“You can tell me the truth now, girl. How are you and our favorite grouchy hottie really getting along?”
Allie paused in the middle of pouring a glass of Estelle Montgomery’s favorite diet soda after the home care nurse’s daily check on Gage.
In the week since her patient had returned to his house and she had begun caring for him, she had come to savor these few moments with Estelle after a full day of tending to a churlish man who made no secret of the fact that he didn’t want her there.
Still, as much as she enjoyed visiting with the nurse, she absolutely did not want to have this particular conversation with her.
“I…fine,” she lied. “Just fine.”
“Really?”
Allie debated her answer while she added a slice of lemon to the lip of the glass. She had a feeling Estelle could see right through her polite lie. She should just tell her the truth, that Gage McKinnon and his dark temper and gorgeous looks made her more nervous than a whole room full of yellow jackets.
If she entertained any misconceptions that their encounter that first night might have been the beginning of a wary friendship, Gage quickly quashed them. He didn’t really complain about anything, he was just abrupt and brusque and deflected any of her attempts at conversation.
None of this could be easy on him. She could sympathize with him on that score. She always hated the times she had to be in the hospital, even though she’d been dealing with the medical complications of her diabetes since childhood.
Allie suspected Gage was used to being in the middle of the action, not sidelined to a hospital bed. He was probably going stir-crazy trapped in this small house with a woman he didn’t know and two little girls he didn’t want around.
Worse than his cool abruptness, though, was that disconcerting way he had of scrutinizing her out of those steely gray eyes until she was blushing and stammering and deathly afraid the man could look inside her and figure out all her secrets.
“He’s challenging, certainly, but we’re finding our way. Things have been better since I’ve given up trying to push the pain meds on him.”
“Still being stubborn about that, is he?”
Allie shrugged. “One thing I’ve learned since nursing school is that sometimes the patient really does know best, even though we don’t always like to admit it. If he wants to tough it out, I can’t argue with him. He seems to be handling the pain his own way.”
“By being as difficult as he can be.”
Allie smiled. “Not really. He’s quite undemanding, compared to some of the patients I’ve had.”
Estelle glanced down the hallway toward Gage’s closed bedroom door, then leaned closer to Allie with a conspiratorial smile. “You can tell old Estelle the truth now. Is the equipment below the covers as good-lookin’ as what’s above?”
“Estelle!”
Somehow the nurse managed to look as innocent as a baby kitten, even though her dark eyes snapped with laughter. “Come on, girl. It’s an honest question. The man has been mightily blessed in the muscle department, at least what I’ve been able to see. I imagine you must have noticed when you’ve helped him take a sponge bath.”
Her face caught fire and she knew she must be as bright pink as the scrubs Estelle wore. “I wouldn’t know. He insists on taking care of his, um, personal duties himself. All I do is fetch and carry supplies for him. Water, wash-cloths, soap. That sort of thing.”
“Does he let you at least help him wash his hair?”
Oh, heavens. She’d never even thought to offer help with washing his hair. How had he been doing it on his own with just a washbasin? Probably not very well.
She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid not to ask if she could help. Heaven knows, the man would rather bite off his own tongue than ask for anything on his own.
He would probably love a good shampoo. The idea of burying her fingers in that thick, dark hair to lather and rinse him made her insides go jittery and warm. She sighed at herself. Get over it, Allie! The man was a patient. That’s all.
“I’ll ask him today if I can help with his hair.”
“You want my opinion on how to handle that one, don’t ask him anything. Just show up with a basin and shampoo. What’s he gonna say after you’ve already dunked his head in the water?”
“‘No way in hell.’ And maybe ‘Oh, and by the way, you’re fired.”’
Estelle’s chest bounced with her laughter. “Aw, sugar, the man’s not crazy. He won’t fire a cute little thing like you, especially one who can make chocolate chip cookies like my mama used to do.”
She chomped on another one and Allie spent a moment wondering if she could indulge in one cookie. She did make a fine tollhouse, if she did say so herself. After calculating what she’d eaten that day and what her levels were the last time she checked she decided she could afford one half of one cookie if she ran a test strip after Estelle left.
“I imagine before he gets those casts off,” the nurse went on while Allie broke one cookie in half and savored the rich, crispy treat, “the two of you will butt heads on more things than just a shampoo or two. Like my mama told me on my wedding day, just make sure you both know who’s boss.”
Allie laughed at Estelle’s knowing look. “He is the one who pays my salary.”
“Why let a little thing like that get in the way of making sure the man knows what’s what? I’m only sorry I won’t be around to watch the fireworks.”
Allie frowned at the nurse. “You won’t?”
Beads clicked in her cornrows as Estelle shook her head. “This is my last official visit. Mr. Sexy FBI Man is stable enough I don’t need to check in every day unless he takes a turn for the worse. From now on the home health agency will probably just phone a few times a week to see how he’s doing and to check if you need any supplies. But I want to hear everything you find out about our hottie, you hear me? I’ll take you to lunch at the Barking Frog next week and you can unload everything on old Estelle.”
Her sharp pang of regret made Allie realize how much she’d come to enjoy these daily chats with the nurse.
Estelle was the only close friend she had found since she left Philadelphia and she would miss her bitterly. She needed these visits. While she and Estelle shared a soda or a cup of tea, Allie didn’t feel so very alone and afraid.
She hated this! She wasn’t sure she had the personality for the transient, isolated life forced on her by Joaquin and Irena. She craved safety, stability. Firm, solid ground under her feet.
Friends had always played a vital role in her life and she hated knowing she was weaving connections—like this fledgling friendship with Estelle—only to inevitably watch them unravel when she moved on.
For the rest of their visit, Allie was subdued, depressed. After a few more moments, Estelle rose to go.
“Much as I’d like to stick around and have another few dozen of these cookies, I’ve still got to hit my last patient of the day. You think Sexy FBI Man is crotchety, you ought to spend a few minutes with Miss Annabelle Stephens. The woman’s a hundred if she’s a day and couldn’t hear a nuclear explosion if it went off in her ear but that doesn’t stop her from bitchin’ at me nonstop from the minute I walk in the door. You give those cute little girls of yours a kiss for me when they get back, you hear?”
Allie nodded. Gaby and Anna had begun a daily ritual of playing at the park in the afternoon with a sixteen-year-old neighbor girl who tended her little brother and sister during the day.
The children had quickly become friends and the arrangement seemed to be working out well for everyone. Jessica Farmer was grateful for the extra spending money Allie gave her for taking the girls along, Gaby and Anna loved having other children to play with, and for two hours a day Allie didn’t have to worry about them annoying Gage.
She certainly didn’t want them underfoot while she washed Gage’s hair, assuming he didn’t jump down her throat for suggesting the idea.
After Estelle left, Allie gathered a washbasin and filled it with warm water, then found shampoo and clean towels from the laundry room. With her heart pounding in trepidation, she went to his room and knocked.
“Come in,” he answered.
She huffed out a shaky breath and pushed open the door. Her patient was sitting up in the wheelchair she knew he despised, typing something on his laptop computer with ESPN buzzing softly from the television set.
He looked up, his gray eyes dark with irritation. “Give it a rest already, Connors. Haven’t I been poked and prodded enough for one afternoon by your friend?”
She almost backed out of the room, but at the last moment she straightened her spine. His hair did look a little dull. Besides that, lines of fatigue fanned out around his eyes. He was pushing himself far too hard, far too fast. He spent a big part of every day having her help him with the rehab exercises ordered by his physical therapist, doing them two or three times more often than the PT recommended. She knew some of the exercises were excruciating, but Gage refused to give in to the pain.
It wouldn’t hurt him to relax a little, to allow himself to enjoy a bit of pampering. “Estelle made me realize I have been slacking in some of my responsibilities.”
He frowned. “You’re doing fine. Except you don’t seem to know when to lay off and let me have a moment of peace.”
She decided to let that slide. “I thought perhaps you could use a shampoo.”
He finally looked up from the computer, his expression baffled. “A what?”
“You know,” Allie narrowed her gaze, considering, “I think that wheelchair puts you just at the right height so we could use the kitchen sink. It will mean some tricky maneuvering but I think we can manage it and it will be much easier than using a basin.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I was offering to help you wash your hair. I should have suggested it earlier in the week but it never occurred to me until Estelle asked about it. Trust me, the whole world seems a brighter and happier place when you have clean hair. I think you’ll find you feel much better.”
He looked completely flabbergasted at the idea, but then his gaze shifted subtly to the small mirror on the bureau. He cocked his head at his reflection then frowned at her again.
“I don’t need a shampoo.”
“Maybe you don’t need it. But it won’t kill you, will it? I promise, you’ll feel better.”
“You’re going to hound me about this until I give in, aren’t you?”
“How did you guess?” She smiled, remembering Estelle’s words about letting him know who was in charge.
He sighed and typed a few strokes into the laptop then closed the lid. “Let’s get this over with, then.”