CHAPTER FOUR
Present Day
IT HAD COME again.
Dexter’s dreams—this one—left him exhausted with only a snippet of memory to clutch to each time. There was a crowd. She was there. His wife—a woman no one remembered. And something big was about to happen. Something that would affect him far more than anything else in his life ever had.
And if Chaplain Dexter Knight could ascertain if the outcome were negative or positive, he might find the dream—or nightmare—much more effective to moving on. Either way, it shouldn’t leave him in the kind of panic that stole his breath and woke him from a deep sleep, the vivid images fading faster than snow on a hot summer day, the anxiety slow to do the same.
It didn’t mean anything. A dream was just that. A cognitive response tied to an emotional feeling embedded in stilted scenes created in his mind during REM.
But this one…
Dexter adjusted the strap of his messenger bag as he exited the TSA checkpoint inside the Charlotte-Douglas International Airport. He should have insisted on taking a taxi. Told his kid sister he was perfectly capable of arranging his own transport. Insisted on going home—going anywhere but Charlotte and taking part in an event he had no business being at. Stay on his rear end in front of prison inmates in the hopes of salvaging lives, where the worst thing that could happen would be a toothbrush sharpened to a shank.
No, the worst thing that could happen was the entire program being shut down.
The results are inconclusive, Dr. Knight. We are starting to question this use of resources. And with the latest incident…
Of course they were. They depended on prison inmates to provide honesty when the opposite had landed them exactly where they stood. Feeding into lie after lie, hoping for an escape from reality. Did his sessions accomplish anything? Some days he wasn’t sure. Others…
Dexter wanted—needed to change that. Instead of flying home to Raleigh and proving the work he did wasn’t only about keeping inmates calm and compliant, he found himself approaching one blond-haired detective who was likely to lead him into danger rather than safety.
And yet you’re not running.
He wasn’t. He should be. Life had already taught him that. It was one thing to encounter dangerous criminals—dangerous individuals—in a professional capacity, another to do so in his personal life.
Willingly.
Not that Detective Charleen Davis was dangerous. She just had a knack for finding it and winding up stuck in the middle, safety be damned.
Even now she stood in the center of a good-sized crowd of travelers moving in either direction, her green gaze stuck on something on the ceiling above her. Her long blond hair framed her face and brought out thick lashes. She was oblivious to the mother with a screaming toddler who had to sidestep a tall man with a bright red backpack to avoid running into her. Backpack Man’s eyes roamed over Charleen and lingered.
The scene sent pinpricks of unease up Dexter’s spine. Made him want to step in that man’s path and demand answers.
As if she sensed a shift in the air, her focus snapped downward. It lit on Backpack Man before bouncing to Dexter. Barely controlled panic swam in her eyes. The emotion skipped the distance between them. Landed in his spine and zipped upward as if her mental state were his own.
The guy continued toward the TSA gates—in Dexter’s direction and beyond—without a second glance at Charleen.
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even appear to breathe. And then she shifted on her feet as if this were the last place she wanted to be and he were the last person she wanted to be with.
He’d seen an array of emotions rumble across her face in their brief acquaintance—if two in-person meetings counted for anything. Determination, anger, frustration, disappointment, and sadness.
Never panic.
He didn’t want to understand her, but on a very basic level, and after some spectacularly awful encounters, he did.
Last summer, instead of meeting the need head on, whether it be as far-fetched as friendship or merely offering a willing ear, he’d ignored the strange connection they had. Was still trying to do that, but God had obviously taken his no thanks and marked it return to sender.
So here he was. Approaching a woman he shouldn’t want to understand. One he shouldn’t think about at all beyond the best way to avoid her. Except every time they came into direct contact, he couldn’t.
“Hey, Dexter.” Her voice held a bit of a rasp, his name floating on it. “Nice flight?”
“I can’t complain, though I’ll admit to wishing I were back in Raleigh.” He cleared his throat. Didn’t know why the truth sounded so awful. Or why he’d said anything at all.
“No love for Charlotte?” A flash of white teeth roamed over her bottom lip. Moisture gathered on the upper one and a pale hue covered her skin. Her gaze moved to something near his right arm, then zipped back up.
His eyes were drawn to the spot. A jagged two inch tear in his jacket trailed over his bicep. A flash of something stuttered to life in his mind before disappearing. He traced the damaged material. It hadn’t been there when he’d put it on. He would’ve noticed a hole that large.
Had he caught it on something somewhere?
“I’d love to hear all about your flight, but I’m in a little bit of a hurry.” Her voice centered his attention back to her face. A shaky hand tucked a strand of hair behind one ear.
“Right. Anything to do with the guy with the backpack?”
She froze. Her gaze hit his. “Noticed that, did you?”
Dexter scanned the area. Didn’t see anything that caused alarm. “Kind of hard not to. He almost took you out with that bag. Plus, there was panic all over your face.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t move, her voice a tad higher than normal.
“Do you know him?”
“Oh, yeah.” A smirk pushed her lips to one side of her face, but there wasn’t anything lighthearted about the motion. “We hang out all the time and he didn’t even stop to say hi.” She shook her head and headed for baggage claim.
He followed.
Her voice floated back to him. “I don’t know him. Do you?”
“Nope.” If he did, there would’ve been a conversation about the encounter. He didn’t like it. Plain and simple. There didn’t have to be a full analysis on it from his end.
Charleen tucked her hand in the pockets of her black vest. “Then why the questions?”
“Your reaction. It was…” Much like the moment gunmen had charged Mercy hospital. Seconds before he’d taken a bullet to the gut.
There are no heroes, buddy.
Shock had blasted through him. Been written across Charleen’s face along with determination—as if she knew how things would play out. And something far scarier he couldn’t name.
“Yeah, yeah. Panic. Heard you.” She regained some color. “I think you’re overreaching.”
“Am I?” Maybe he was. Maybe the lack of sleep—or the myriad of dreams when he did sleep—was catching up with him. Maybe this connection he sensed didn’t even exist.
“Yes.”
“And if I say I’m not buying it?”
She shook her head, her gaze scanning the crowd. “I’d tell you this is a horrible time to play psychoanalyze the cop. I’ve already got a guy for that, and while it turns out I’m just the normal amount of weird, he’s really digging for the gold.”
“You sound like some of the inmates.”
A grimace crossed her face. “If that’s the line you’re using, it needs work. A lot of it.”
“What?” A laugh burst from him, strange and freeing. “Being compared to inmates doesn’t do it for you?” Not that it was the angle he was going for here.
He wasn’t going for anything. Except making it home in one piece.
She stopped. Her mouth opened. She blinked up at him as if he’d grown a million eyes in the last second. “That was very Finn-esque.”
Finn-esque? “Spending a lot of time with my brother?”
“Only when he shows up to help Juliana around Knight House. I use the word help loosely and in relation to eating food, finding himself in some interesting situations involving members of the opposite sex, and being far too open about it.”
Dexter cringed. “Sounds about right.”
Finn was taller, more muscular, and wore his hair longer. Talked to everyone with ease, able to charm even the hardest-to-please individuals. Judging from the disgust traveling across Charleen’s face, Finn had failed where she was concerned.
Which would’ve made Dexter laugh long and hard in another universe. One where he wasn’t wondering if he needed to punch his little brother or sit him down for a serious talk.
Probably both, for the little good it would do.
“Now that you’re home, you can keep tabs on him.”
That would work well. “Finn’s old enough to handle himself.”
“If you say so.” Her eyes dipped to his abdomen. “How’s the stomach?”
“Do all of your conversations go like this? Jumping from topic to topic?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “So? The stomach?”
“Missed everything vital.” Thanks to sheer luck and his concern over the two women with him, one of them—Charleen—in a heap on the floor of the hospital. There was only an occasional twinge from the ordeal. “Let’s avoid a repeat.”
She eyed him. “Roger. I’ll keep gun-carrying suspects from your airspace. In the meantime, do me a favor. When you see an armed man coming at you, run as fast as you can in the opposite direction. Don’t step in front of his line of sight.”
The reaction had been automatic, his protective instincts much stronger than fear of death. He’d already been down that road and survived. He hadn’t been about to cower behind two women—one a teen. “That’s a funny way of showing gratitude.”
“I attempted a formal thank you. Your hospital room was inundated with beasts.”
He bit back a laugh. “By beasts you mean…?”
She resumed walking. “Your family.”
He could agree with that assessment. On occasion. Six months ago that expression fit the bill as he recuperated following a hostage situation gone wrong inside Mercy hospital. Horribly wrong. His family had swarmed into his room like locusts and dominated the entire wing. “Ah. The kind you’d find in nightmares.”
“Yeah.” A hint of mirth crept into her eyes making them a lighter green. “Those guys. No family. No idea what to do when someone’s mom and dad start throwing out questions. Or hugging. Crying. Laughing.”
He was willing to bet the questions made her the most uncomfortable. The mundane ones. In front of a firing squad full of angry Nazis? No problem. One mother wanting thoughts on chartreuse would cause a volcanic-like amount of panic. “They have a way of—”
“Worming around a person and sucking every last detail out?” Irony laced the words.
Something like that. “Have they been successful?”
She shook her head.
“If you stay very still, they won’t see you.”
She eyed him, golden flecks standing out against the deep green, the earlier anxiety almost gone. It shouldn’t have made a difference. Shouldn’t have made his tense muscles relax a small fraction.
“That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”
“It’s a trap, then. One minute you think you’re in the clear, the next at the center of a loud, obnoxious crowd full of people jumping and dancing. Probably crying whenever little Johnny stubs his toe.”
He nodded. “Right. Poor Johnny. He puts up such a brave front, all while thinking about the next hard piece of furniture that will attack him.”
She tucked her tongue into her cheek as if she wanted to laugh but couldn’t trust herself with the emotion.
“Had you actually made it to my room, you would’ve been smothered by all of the above.” They would’ve tried to take this woman under their wings. Seen right through the chip she carried on her shoulder. Suffocated her much the same way they’d been smothering him for the last four years.
He tolerated it because they were his family. He doubted Charleen would do the same.
“Dad’s a hugger and Mom would’ve burst into tears while talking your ear off and thanking you profusely. They’re big on appreciation and heroism. There wouldn’t have been a quick escape. They would’ve wanted every detail.”
“Then I dodged a bullet, so to speak. They probably would’ve stoned me the minute they figured out I was the reason you were even there.”
Right. That. “Is that some strange form of apology?”
“No.” Her gaze traveled the length of him before resting on his face, all seriousness.
It made him wish he’d never brought the subject up. That he could put the semblance of lightheartedness back in the air around them.
She stopped. “Putting someone’s life in jeopardy is not an excusable act.”
He stuck his hand in his pants pocket. He’d envisioned this conversation—and its indistinct number of possible endings—while in the air. He’d taken a bullet because of her actions. They hadn’t talked since. There’d been a few times he’d contemplated picking up the phone just to see what she’d say. “That so?”
A gleam entered her eyes. “If I were going to apologize—and I’m not since you’re half to blame and I wasn’t the one with the gun—it wouldn’t be right here. Right now.”
The gun hadn’t been in his possession either. They’d both been broadsided. “It’s okay, Charleen. I didn’t need or expect one.”
She rolled her eyes. “How many creeps does a girl have to take down before getting a little respect?”
“None.”
“Well, the words active shooter and gun didn’t get the job done. You weren’t moving very fast. So here we are. You with a scar to prove it.”
He had so many other wounds it didn’t matter. “If you’d have explained a little faster, maybe not barged into the room without warning…”
She shook her head. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”
That he remembered well and at the most inopportune moments. The exact moment he’d chosen to trust other people’s perceptions—something he tried not to let happen—instead of his gut. There was no point in rehashing the details. “You didn’t even make it onto the nursing floor, did you? Maybe not even past the lobby.”
Charleen straightened, her features mimicking the straight-laced motion. She pulled the edges of her black vest closer to her body, her hands clenching either side. “I assume you have luggage?”
He rocked back on his heels and gripped the strap of his bag. “Uh-huh.”
Her gaze dipped to the spot. An audible swallow filled the silence as if snakes might leap from the brown material and strangle her. A sizzle of anxiety swirled around them, thicker than before.
He obviously needed to go home and sleep. For about twenty-four hours straight. “I can come back for it.”
She hesitated, hadn’t looked up. “Your call.”
“That’s what you wanted to hear, right?” The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them.
Her eyes zipped to his. “That’s me. Full of spit and vinegar. Just waiting for the opportunity to prove I don’t care about anyone. Life is one big merry-go-round.”
Another day, another lifetime, he might have laughed. This woman had spit and vinegar, no doubt—he’d been on the receiving end of it. The rest were words she’d put together and didn’t mean. The truth was stamped across her face in an I-dare-you-to-challenge-me glare.
If he did, they’d circle back to this point. He’d been circling it for months all on his own.
“I’ll pull the car around.” She turned.
He grabbed her hand, halted her forward movement. Her fingers easily fit inside his palm, the skin warm and soft against his. Awareness spread through him.
Her eyes collided with his, but she didn’t move from his grasp.
“Apparently I’m a little heavy-handed with the spit and vinegar. I’ve upset you—”
She tucked part of her bottom lip inward. “You haven’t.”
Her body language—tensed muscles and stoic features—screamed the opposite. The chip on her shoulder wouldn’t allow her to admit it. He knew that. “How about we back up?” He released her. “Thank you for taking time out of your day to come get me. I know my sister and Amanda didn’t leave you much choice.”
They hadn’t left him much choice either, each separately. Amanda for legit reasons and Juliana…
Charleen didn’t move. Her gaze lit around the airport before returning to his face. Anger didn’t rest in her eyes, but something else. It called to him. Made him want to ease the shadows lurking. Tell her it was absolutely okay to be annoyed with this little situation. To despise manipulation, even as well-meaning as it was. Assure her that this was not his doing. That the past was exactly that—something that didn’t need to be reopened.
Which was insanity at its finest. Charleen would never open those gates for anyone—least of all for him. And he shouldn’t care if she ever did.
“They’re meddling.”
“Maybe Juliana. It would be an odd form of payback. I’ve been looking out for her since we were kids. Not all that rescuing was wanted.” And she often made the task difficult with her need for secrecy. Especially in the last few years.
Much like Charleen.
“They could be conspiring, even.” A sparkle replaced the other emotion.
He shook his head. “This isn’t a covert op. No life-or-death situations here.”
“Not right this second.”
Whoa. “What?”
She turned and headed for the door.
He stood in place. Rewound their conversation, got hung up in a few places. Then he blew out a breath. The sooner he got to his parents’ house, the sooner he could get the torture over with and the less chance he had of being sidetracked, injured, or handcuffed by or with this particular woman.
Then he’d return to Raleigh. To inmates who sometimes accepted his offered help for exactly what it was. A final kindness. His way of proving there was so much more to life than whatever they’d decided to do that landed them in prison, on death row, and facing the end of a poisonous needle.
Why you bothering, Knight? These cats are only goin’ one place. It ain’t no pool party.
It didn’t have to be that way. This didn’t have to be…
Charleen was already ten steps ahead of him and making a beeline for the exit. He caught up to her. A blast of cool air hit him as the doors opened to the chilly winter air. “Why don’t I get a taxi? You can get back to whatever I’m keeping you from and I’ll—”
“No can do.” She dug a set of keys out of her left front pocket, determination written all over her face. She used her free hand to pull the black vest closer to her body. The wind whipped her hair in swirls around her face. “Team Conspire had specific instructions. Gotta keep you alive for that ridiculous waste of money the city is calling a remembrance ceremony. As if anyone wants to rehash the Pilot’s stadium bombing or the hostage situation.”
Dexter bit back a groan and forced a breath through his lips. Hoped it would free the rolling tidal wave inside him. He hadn’t agreed to go. He’d been forced into it as a result of his involvement with the hostage situation last summer. “It’s an In Honor of the Fallen ceremony.”
“Yeah. That.” She flexed her shoulders as if they were stiff. “Sounds like a fantastic way to invite more crazies to our doorstep. Wave the red flag and entice the bull. Why Amanda doesn’t get that is beyond me.”
His childhood friend’s wife would walk into a lion’s den wearing a coat of freshly slaughtered calves if it meant saving a life, fixing the past, or laying ghosts to rest. “Have you asked her?”
Charleen shook her head. “I don’t know about you, but I’m sick to death of talking about it.”
That he understood and agreed with.
“I want it to go away.”
___
They needed to get out of here.
“I second that motion, Vi.” Beth walked alongside Charleen as she and Dexter exited the airport sans his luggage.
Charleen needed to figure out who this Elliot character was and what Jo intended to do with him if she found him and handed him over.
Beth shook her head. “Too risky. Not enough information.”
Charleen was well aware. The thoughts had been circling inside her mind since she’d spotted Jo the second time. And even as she tried to tell herself everything would be fine—really tried to cling to the tidbits of easy conversation with Dexter and the fact that the future wasn’t set in stone—she had a hard time believing it. Had a hard time putting that much trust in a complete fifty-fifty situation.
Beth’s gaze lit on the people around them. “Just because Jo appeared in the airport this time around doesn’t mean the events will occur again. It doesn’t not mean that something worse might happen.”
Charleen couldn’t risk it. She shouldn’t. Not even for Dexter’s conversation. Not until she understood exactly what had happened in that moment.
But she couldn’t rush him out without an explanation. As evidence by the scar on his stomach, that method hadn’t worked so well last summer.
And the truth…
“My vote goes there.” Beth stopped a few feet in front of them. “You say the words. Simple.”
Nothing was simple. Charleen took in a deep breath. Tried to settle the intermittent pulse of anxiety flashing through her system. All she had to do was get him wherever he needed to go in one piece. She could figure out everything else after that.
“I’m with you, there. About wanting it to go away.” Dexter’s words echoed around Charleen, the honesty doing funny things to that organ in her chest.
She had to have heard wrong. Of all people, shouldn’t he want to discuss the past? Hash it out. Straighten the kinks? She threw a glance over her shoulder, then turned and continued walking backwards. “Yeah? No group therapy session? Expose a few misconceptions. Chase away demons.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “If that’s what you were hoping for, you’re out of luck. I’m here as a spectator.”
Probably the nicest looking one she’d ever seen. Charleen’s gaze hit the place Beth stood now, near the edge of the road.
There was no point in denying it. No reason he ever needed to know. And she was likely not the first woman to notice his violet eyes, warm smile, and the way the bit of stubble forming on his strong chin defined it. “Reluctantly, I see.”
“Very.”
“Smart.” She stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, turned and waited for traffic to halt. She didn’t take her eyes from the street. “Where am I taking you?”
He moved next to her, his scent filtering in the air around them. “Are you still driving that busted Toyota?”
“What’s everybody got against it? It runs, it’s paid for, and I’ve had it a long time.”
“There’s a big dent in the driver’s side for one.”
She’d rigged it so it would open and close after the hit-and-run last summer. “I’ll get a new door when I have time.”
“The door probably costs more than the entire car is worth.”
“And?” It was evidence that she wasn’t willing to give up just yet. A reminder of where the blankness came from and when it had started. Not that she needed any help in that department.
A high-pitched scream hurtled through the air and sliced through her thoughts. It echoed in Charleen’s mind, the threat not immediately clear. She stood frozen, mid-step, her arm extended toward Dexter as if it were a seatbelt restraining a passenger. She scanned the area while trying to slow her heart.
A white Ford Econoline barreled closer, its speed well above the fifteen miles per hour dictated by airport signs. It veered in their direction. A couple dodged the vehicle as it ran over a No Parking sign and headed right for where she and Dexter stood.
She’d put them in danger. Again.
Beth moved in front of them. “Run, Vi.”
Right. Run. “Sometimes, I just want to be normal.”
“What?” His voice rippled over her skin.
She should’ve left as soon as she’d spotted Jo and his stupid red backpack. Not taken any chances for some easy conversation or placed bets on the hope that history wouldn’t repeat itself.
Charleen backed away from the crosswalk. Her foot caught on the edge of the curb, her legs folding with the disturbed balance. Dexter grabbed her upper arm and pulled her into his body, his opposite hand winding around her waist as he all but lifted her from the ground and headed for the door they’d exited.
The vehicle had done nothing to correct its path. If anything, it appeared to have followed their course. The early morning light glinted off the windshield, a glimpse of the driver nonexistent.
Like last summer. The van was the same. The dent in its front bumper identical to the one that had T-boned her that day.
She needed to think. Needed to figure out what this jerk wanted—beyond Elliot. Find a way to destroy his chances for personal gain. Because these things were always personal.
“Get a move on it.” Dexter’s voice was stern.
A grinding noise filled her ear as the van scraped across the brick building feet from them. Dexter forced her into the corner near the automatic doors. Covered her body with his.
The vehicle smashed into the entrance. A violent eruption of glass shattered around them. Dexter’s hold tightened. A high-pitched hiss filled the space before the engine coughed and died. A billow of dark smoke filled the air. Made it difficult to breathe.
Or it might have been because her face was pushed into Dexter’s chest, the smell of his cologne and the rapid beat of his heart filling her head. Making her forget where they stood. The danger around them.
A siren blared.
“Talk to me, Charleen.” His words were muffled, then he pulled away from her, his warm hands moving over her head and shoulders. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” No. No, she was so far from okay, an out-of-sync heartbeat that had nothing to do with their close call proving the point. She’d denied having a soft spot, because that meant weakness she couldn’t afford to hand over to anyone. How could she avoid the stark truth with the way he’d swooped in and protected her?
Again.
When all she’d shown him in their brief acquaintance was what had to seem like complete idiosyncrasies. She’d been standoffish and he’d been nice. Charming, even.
You need to get away from him.
“Hey.” His voice was soft as his fingers tilted her head upward, his palm resting on her cheek. His touch sent a zap of something into her bloodstream. She held still, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.
“Look at me.”
She complied, his violet eyes in her field of vision and full of warmth. This, she could get used to.
No, she couldn’t.
“Did you hit your head? Feeling dizzy?”
Obviously. She shook off his touch. Had to get it together. He’d saved her. Time to say thank you and move on. “I’m okay. You?”
He nodded. “This is the van that hit you?”
Oh crap. She’d said that out loud. “Maybe. I-I don’t know.”
Dexter turned toward the vehicle, anger written across his features.
She grabbed his arm, felt the bulge of his muscle beneath her fingers. “Wait.”
“He could’ve killed someone.”
There was no movement from inside it. Everything around them was still, the people nearby watching with rapt fascination. As if this happened often.
Charleen’s heart launched into her throat. This was wrong. “Just wait—”
A booted foot hit the glass of the inside of the passenger side window. It shattered. “Consider yourself warned, Vi.” The words came from inside.
The unmistakable sound of a gun went off. A gush of warmth sprayed across her face and neck. Beside her, Dexter started to go down, the light in his beautiful violet eyes fading. His life flowed from his body and dispersed.
No. Her heart hit the ground. Please, no.
She caught his weight. Toppled to the concrete with him. Her elbow made contact with the rough surface. Pain shot throughout. Warmth flooded around her arms, red spreading over the sidewalk.
Her stomach surged upward. This wasn’t happening. Not Dexter. He didn’t deserve this. He was one of the good guys. Always at the ready for defense. With the right course of action.
A pinch started in her throat.
A scream exploded around her and bounced back as her own.
“Maybe it’s time to part with the car?” The deep voice filtered through the chaos in her mind.
Her eyes snapped open. Dexter stood next to her outside the airport. No blood. No bullet.
Oh God. She swallowed. Her heart threatened to vibrate out of her chest. Heat rose to her face. Something pricked the back of her eyes. The urge to rush her hands over him surged in heavy waves. He stood there with a curious expression on his face, one that hinted of the smile lurking underneath.
She waited for the rush of sickness traveling in time brought. It didn’t come. She probably wouldn’t have noticed it over the intense need to wrap her arms around Dexter to make sure he was real. Alive.
“You okay?” He shifted, almost as if he meant to comfort her, but couldn’t decide if that was the best course of action.
Why would he be sure about anything pertaining to her? She’d never given him a reason to think she’d accept kind overtures. Or accept anything at all. Ever.
She hadn’t even been able to walk through those hospital doors last summer. Just been stuck watching him and his family with a sense of complete failure washing over her. Much like now.
“You gotta breathe, Vi. And then get yourselves out of here.” Beth walked through the steady stream of people passing by.
“Y-yeah.” Breathe. Charleen gripped her keys until the pain of metal against her flesh was intense. “How badly do you need your luggage, Dexter?”
“It’s okay. I’ll come back.” He had both hands around the strap of his messenger bag. His violet eyes scanned her. A dusting of something black sat on his forehead.
What the…?
It drew her closer. Before she could stop herself, she was up on tiptoes, her fingers on the spot. Rubbing away a sooty residue. His skin was soft and warm against her fingers.
No blood. No hole. No damage. And the memory?
Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t. Promise me.
Just like the hole in the ceiling inside the airport and the slit in his jacket, this remnant hadn’t faded with a backward slide. For one minute it hadn’t been all her.
He’d gotten a bullet for his efforts. One she’d somehow managed to erase.
For how long?
“What are you doing?” His breath brushed across her forehead, his voice full of warmth and something else.
She stopped. Locked eyes with him. An indescribable emotion flitted across his face and zinged right to her heart. If she lost it—hugged him and sobbed into his embrace—he’d think she was out of her mind. He’d be polite. He’d let her fall apart. She didn’t have to be his long-time friend to know that.
And when she got it all together? What then?
There could never be an explanation. This soft spot couldn’t continue, as tiny and new as it was. She swallowed. “Dirt.”
He brushed her hand away. Rubbed at the area.
She stepped away from him. Tried to block out the feel of his lifeless body in her arms. Tried to steady her shaking hands.
“Yeah.” Beth appeared next to them, one dark eyebrow higher than the other. “I can tell there’s no sparks.”
Not sparks. Something else. Something bigger. Darker. Scarier. Consuming.
“You’re getting whiter by the second.” Beth’s gaze wasn’t on her but their surroundings.
As if Beth’s words had stirred the angry giant in her body, Charleen’s stomach gave a sickening gurgle. Dexter couldn’t witness that. In fact, he should probably stay as far from her as possible. “You should get your bags. I’ll pull the car around.”