Can't Fight This Feeling (13 page)

“Okay, okay,” he soothed. “Just the lamp by the bed.” It was only four steps away. He flipped on the dimmer bulb and then doused the brighter one on the ceiling.

She slid against the door to the floor and then crawled to where her robe was flung on the end of the mattress. She quickly shoved her hands in the sleeves, her gaze on the floor.

“Angelica. Sweetheart—”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She dropped her head to her bandaged hands. “I’m sorry. You can hate me. Please do.”

“Angelica...” He crouched down and tried to peel one palm away. She resisted as if her life depended on it.

“There are ugly words for what I just did to you,” she said. “I know it. I just thought that...with you...” She swallowed a sob. “Please go away.”

Brett shook his head, not feeling the least bit angry or frustrated, though he didn’t think she’d believe that. Instead, there was only his protective instincts rising up, ready to build a barrier between her and the world. Between her and himself, if necessary. “Do you really want me to leave? Maybe we should talk about it.”

“Not tonight,” she whispered. “Please. I’m so embarrassed.”

He weighed his options. Doing things her way seemed the best of them. “All right,” he said slowly. “Will you be okay alone?”

She still wasn’t looking at him. “I’ll be better.”

It killed him to hear those words.
Oh, baby.
Rising, he gave her one last assessing glance. She was still curled in on herself, knees up to her chest, hair and hands obscuring her face.

Those elastic bandages were nothing. Physically, he knew she was fine.

But emotionally...hell. He had no idea exactly what he was dealing with here, but one thing was certain. There were monsters he needed to slay and there was no sense denying his driving need to pick up the nearest weapon.

No matter how vulnerable that might make him in return.

* * *

A
NGELICA
HAD
DECIDED
she would never talk to Brett again. Never see him again either, if she could possibly help it. That seemed a tall order, given they lived next door in an isolated location, but she could sure as heck try. Instead of going home after her shift ended at the hardware store at 6:00 p.m., she decided to stop by the historical society’s headquarters. The president had texted her earlier in the day. Somewhere in the offices, he’d misplaced the hard copy list of some potential invitees for next year’s gala event that weren’t yet entered into the society’s computer files.

Angelica was certain she could put her fingers on it and the time it took would postpone the possibility of running into Brett.

She was mortified by the drama she’d enacted the night before.

It had been more than ten years since she’d been pawed in a dark room, unable to cry out or get away. Since then, she’d thought she’d managed to overcome that first unpleasant exposure to sexual touch. In college she’d occasionally dated, concocting elaborate safety procedures with a friend involving texts and drive-by check-ins.

When she was twenty-two, she’d taken the virginity of the twenty-year-old, mild-mannered librarian’s aide at her college. It was her first time, too. They’d both been grateful to each other.

Subsequent interludes with the young man had been less than successful—the first had been no better for her, but she’d been happy enough to get the deed done—and they’d parted ways without hard feelings. A few weeks before graduation she’d been studying late one night and happened upon him and a dazzled-looking sophomore between the stacks. Over the girl’s naked shoulder they exchanged looks.

He’d given her a thumbs-up.

It had appeared that one of them had gotten over his shyness.

While she, on the other hand, had never completely let go of her hang-ups. Or just never completely let go, period.

In truth, nobody had made her want to, until Brett Walker. It had started with those weekly fantasy fests over the summer, when she’d watched him work in shorts and nothing else. Bronze skin over bulging muscles. Sweat beading on his shoulders and running in rivulets down his chest.

She’d owned up to the ogling and it had seemed to amuse him. What if she’d confessed to more? Would he find it funny that she had lain in bed at night, imagining him, touching herself like she’d ached for him to do?

Well, last night all she’d wanted was for him to do that touching she’d been dreaming about for so long.

And then she’d gone and ruined it. Maybe
she
was ruined.

Pulling into the historical society’s parking lot, she blinked away gathering tears. Stupid to cry. Even stupider when the parking lot was dimly lit and filled with furrows and lumps she’d like to avoid to spare her convertible’s undercarriage.

Her car door snicked as she closed it, a loud sound in the quiet of evening. The society’s headquarters were a few blocks away from the center of the village of Blue Arrow Lake. For the first time, she noticed how isolated it could feel in the dark.

In summer, the light had lasted longer, of course. She’d never visited when it felt so much like...night.

At the front entry of the building, she paused, clutching the keys in her hand. Not all the volunteers had their own set, but she’d had to open up early a few times leading to their silent auction. And then—there was nothing overt she could point to—all of her went on high alert.

The keys bit into her flesh as she gripped them more tightly. Her hairline prickled. Alarm churned in her belly.

Tiptoeing, she moved away from the front door and retreated to the far side of her car. She exchanged the keys for her cell phone, making sure the former didn’t jangle when they landed at the bottom of her purse. Without thinking, she hit one of the first contacts in her list.

“What’s up?” Brett’s voice. Brett. He’d programmed his number into her phone the day before when she’d crewed for him.
In case you need to get my attention when I’m wearing the hearing protectors. I’ll have it on vibrate.

“Angelica?” He said it sharply. “Is something the matter?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered into the phone. “I have a funny feeling.”

“Where are you?”

Afraid his voice might carry into the night, she hunched her shoulders to huddle around the phone. “Outside the historical society.”

“What? Why? Never mind.” He sounded annoyed...maybe with himself. Maybe with her.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said quickly. “I can handle it.”

“Don’t you dare. Get in your car, lock it. Call 9-1-1. I’m not far from you.”

“The cabin is a long—”

“I’m at my office. I’ll be there in no time.” He ended the call.

Shivering, she opened the door and climbed into the passenger side, sliding low so that a casual eye might not notice the vehicle was occupied. Then she dialed the emergency number.

Brett made it to the parking lot first. He glided into the spot beside her, his headlights off and his truck silent. As he turned into the lot he must have cut the ignition.

She crept out of her car as he exited his in near-silence. “You stay here,” he said in a whisper as he passed.

Um, no. She dogged his footsteps as he approached the building. He glanced around, rolled his eyes. His forefinger pointed toward her car in insistent demand. She shook her head back and forth.

He touched her breastbone with the tip of his finger and then drew it along his throat.
I’ll kill you.
Another poke in the direction of her vehicle.
Go back.

She patted her chest, then drew up her arms in a running position, jerking them up and down to indicate speed.
I’m fast. I’ll be okay.

He gave another extravagant eye roll, then made a circle at his temple. She didn’t know which of them he was trying to say was crazy, but he turned toward the building without further communication.

Shadowing him, she hooked his back belt loop with a finger. He didn’t appear to notice.

Tethered like that, they mounted the steps. Pausing at the front door, she could tell he was listening hard, as was she. “Do you hear anything?” she breathed into his ear.

He waved her question away. Gripping the knob, he tried turning it. It didn’t move.

“Locked,” she whispered, an embarrassed flush rising up her neck. Her voice rose to near-normal volume. “I imagined it. Nothing’s going on.”

Then a clatter came from inside the building. An “eek.” Footsteps.

Angelica heard voices inside say “Shh” and “Shit” and “Go, go,
go
!”

Brett cursed and tried the door again. “I have keys,” she said, and began digging through the purse hanging over her shoulder.

The footsteps sounded like a stampede, and they weren’t coming toward the front. “Rear door,” Angelica said, and started to scurry around the side of the building.

“Damn it,” Brett exclaimed, following at her heels. “Would you get the hell back?”

She stumbled over a coiled hose, he tripped on her and they both fell in a tangle of limbs. “Are you okay?” he asked in urgent tones, getting to his knees.

Winded, she couldn’t speak, and then realized he couldn’t see her nodding in the darkness. She clutched at his forearms, trying to express she was okay.

Instead of understanding, he sat and drew her into his arms. “Angelica.” He gave her a tiny shake. “Angel face, are you all right?”

She coughed, trying to move oxygen through her lungs. “I’m fine,” she manage to choke out. “Go ahead, I’ll be okay.”

His hold tightened. “You’re more important than whatever’s happening.”

“I’m fine.” She struggled out of his hold and managed to get to her feet. “I want to know who’s sneaking around even if you don’t.”

Cursing under his breath, Brett grabbed her hand as she rushed toward the back exit. Now she registered the sound of muffled laughter, the slamming of a door, the kick of an engine starting up.

A narrow lane at the rear of the building led to a lower street. As they rounded the corner they saw a truck rocking down the skinny slice of crumbling asphalt. Its bed was teeming with human figures...and one not so human.

“Piney!” Angelica cried. The stuffed bear bounced as the speeding vehicle took a sharp right. A male voice howled, a girl’s shrieked, raucous laughter lit up the quiet.

She turned on Brett. “They stole Piney!”

He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Looks like it.” Then he mounted the back steps and peered in the half-open rear door. “You’ll know better than me if anything else is missing.”

She peered around his shoulder. A couple of lights, the ones they left burning overnight, illuminated the interior. It didn’t seem as if anything was disturbed. “We don’t even keep petty cash here. I guess they might have stolen some ground coffee. The stuff we stock is pretty good. We get it from Oscar’s. I think I remember seeing a couple of beers in the minifridge.”

“A bear and some brew,” Brett said mildly. “Quite the haul.”

Angelica felt like a fool. “I shouldn’t have called you. I shouldn’t have called the sheriff.”

Even as she said it, the lights of a cruiser pierced the darkness. “Great,” she said, now more miserable. “They’re here.”

“Let me handle it.”

She trailed him back to the parking lot. The sheriff’s car had stopped near the front door, and a man in a tan uniform was looking about. “Brett,” he said, as they came around the corner. “Why are you here?”

Her next-door neighbor took Angelica’s hand. “Helping out, is all. She called me and I told her to call you.”

With Brett’s grip warm and firm on hers, she remembered him asking,
Do you have someone to take care of you?
She’d lied then. She wanted to lie to herself now and pretend that he could be a shoulder to lean on.

“Hi, sir,” she said, disentangling herself from Brett and stepping forward. “Let me tell you what happened.”

The other man had switched on a powerful flashlight. Between that and the light bar on his vehicle, the lot was bright enough for them to see each other’s expressions. The man glanced at Brett when she’d told her side of the story.

“I tried the front door,” he said. “Then we went around to the back. We didn’t touch anything, but we did see a stuffed bear head off into the great unknown.”

The uniformed man’s brows rose. “Huh?”

“A recent acquisition,” Angelica explained. “He’s been in a place of honor in the foyer.”

“Blue Arrow High Grizzlies,” Brett added. “Homecoming’s coming up.”

The other man chuckled. “High school prank?”

Brett lifted a shoulder. “My guess.”

Though the law officer sighed, she could tell he didn’t think it was the end of the world. “Ma’am,” he said, addressing Angelica. “Mind calling the head of the society? We’ll get him down here to verify if anything else has been stolen.”

“Sure thing,” she said, and dug once again for her phone.

As she did so, she noted that the officer and Brett took a stroll around the building, giving her a chance for escape.