Carolina Blues (10 page)

She closed the window and locked her door before slipping downstairs and outside into the gilded summer light.

Opening the garden gate, she felt a touch along her spine like the finger of her mother’s fears. She hesitated, looking up and down the empty road. Maybe she should call Jane or Meg. Or at least let Tess know where she was going. But that was anxiety talking. This was Dare Island. Nothing was going to happen to her here. Unless she got run over by a random cyclist.

Anyway, the walk was good exercise, past Fletchers’ Quay and along the harbor before turning inland through more residential streets. Lights blinked on in windows as she passed. A dog barked and was hushed. A line of pelicans glided over the rooftops, black against the radiant sky, and her heart lifted.

She turned into Jane’s drive.

It was . . . darker under the trees. Chairs loomed out of the shadows. Lauren hurried up the wooden steps, clutching her shiny new key. A security light—new since the vandalism?—threw the spindles of the porch into sharp relief.

Through the front windows, she could make out the silvery glow of the refrigerated cases, a faint spill of light from the kitchen. No laptop in sight.

Swallowing, Lauren unlocked the dead bolt and nudged open the door.

Beep beep beep
. A soft, warning sound.

Startled, she looked around. Red lights on the coffee machines. Red
EXIT
signs above the doors. Nothing unusual, nothing alarming. She ducked behind the counter.
There
. Her breath whooshed out. Her laptop was there, safely tucked away on a ledge under the register.

She grabbed it.

Beep beep beep
from the kitchen. Had Jane left an oven on? A timer?

Still holding her laptop, Lauren crossed to the shadowy kitchen. Dim lights gleamed on stainless steel. Beside the back door, a panel glowed.
Beep beep beep
.

She sucked in her breath.
The security system
.

Her heart hammered. She should have called Jane. She should have . . . Should she just leave? Or was there some way to turn it off? She hurried closer to take a look. Text blinked on the tiny screen.
ARMED
.
ARMED
.
ARMED
.
Like a missile or something.

Oh, crap
. She stared helplessly at the keypad.

The kitchen exploded with sirens.

She gasped and flung her hands over her ears. Her laptop cracked against the panel and slithered to the floor.
Shit, shit, shit.

The sirens blared, stabbing her ears, vibrating through her body like electric shocks. Her chest tightened.

Don’t panic
. She forced her eyes open.
Breathe. In, two, three
 . . .

Another blast shattered her concentration. She was nearly blind.
The dark, the sirens . . . Get down! On the floor!

A phone shrilled from the wall, tearing against the horns. She stumbled toward it, her breath choppy, desperate for relief. For silence. She fumbled for the receiver, her hands shaking. “Hell . . . Hello?”

“This is Island Security.” She could barely make out the words through the deafening brays. “Can you give me the passcode, please?”

Her mind blanked. Her head pounded.
Passcode?
“You need . . .” She tried to think. “Jane.”

“Is she there?”

More sirens. Black spots danced before her eyes.
Make it stop. Please
. “No.”

“The passcode, please,” the voice said implacably.

She gripped the phone, her palms sweating. “I don’t have it. I . . .”
Work here
, she wanted to say. But she had no air.

“If you can’t give us the passcode, we will notify the police.”

Rough voices shouting, glass breaking. Gunfire.

Stay down! Police!

She curled in on herself, struggling to breathe.

“Ma’am, the police are on the way.”

She slid to the floor, holding the receiver to her chest, the sirens blaring in her head.

T
HE SECURITY ALARM
blared like a damned air raid siren, covering the sound of Jack’s entrance. He swept a look around the kitchen. Lauren curled on the tiled floor, her back against the wall, gasping for breath.

The sight of her hit his chest like a bullet.

He pushed down his instinct to go to her. As a sniper, you learned to control your reactions, to get into the zone where you were calm. Controlled. You couldn’t make assumptions. Especially ones that could get you killed.

Senses alert, heart pumping, he scanned the room for potential targets, the corners, the shadowy aisles.
Nothing
. Lauren was alone.

He relaxed his grip on his weapon and stepped deliberately into the dim light.

Her head jerked up as she saw him. No blood, but she was definitely not all right. Her body shook. Her eyes were dark and cavernous in her flushed face.

He strode down the narrow work aisle and plucked the phone from her chest. “Ned, it’s Jack Rossi.” He cupped the receiver, pitching his voice below the screaming sirens. “Yeah, everything checks out. You want to—”

The alarm cut off.
Relief
. In the sudden silence, he could hear Lauren wheeze.

“Yeah, it’s her.” Her eyes met his. He held her gaze as he spoke into the phone. “Front door was open. Have you reached Jane yet? Well, keep trying . . . Thanks. Yeah, I’ll lock up.”

Lauren wrapped her arms across her chest, as if she could physically hold herself together.

He’d seen Marines freeze like that in battle, their systems on overload, flooded with adrenaline and cortisol. And after battle, too. The body had no way to distinguish between real and remembered danger. The reactions were the same.
Fight or flight
.

He didn’t tell her to calm down or suck it up. If she could have calmed herself, she would. And telling her there was nothing to worry about would just make her feel crazier.

He hunkered down beside her, his weight on the balls of his feet. Not crowding, not threatening, not even touching her the way he wanted to. Just there. Her dark, dilated gaze fixed anxiously on his face. He began to breathe slowly in and out. In through the nose, out through the mouth, deeply, deliberately, again, regulating her breath with his, until the rhythm caught and held, until she realized what he was doing and began to breathe in time with him, in and out, in an intimate cadence like sex.

Until they matched, sharing the same rhythm, the same breath. The tension screwing his insides slipped a half notch.

“You must have really wanted a muffin,” he said.

Her breathing broke on a laugh. Something turned over in his chest. Like his heart.

She got to him. Not her vulnerability, not just that. He’d never been attracted to weak women. But the strength and humor she found to face and fight her fears.

She stretched out her hand and patted the computer on the floor beside her.

“You left your laptop,” he guessed.

She nodded. “I . . .” Her lungs wheezed.

“Give it a minute,” he suggested.

“I’m fine.” A pause, measured in breaths and heartbeats. Her color deepened. “I feel stupid.”

In his years as a cop, he’d responded to a lot of false alarms. It wasn’t her fault that Jane hadn’t prepared her for the new security system. “At least you got your laptop.”

“Probably busted. I dropped it. When . . .” She ran out of air and flapped her hand toward the back door.

Understanding twisted him up.
When the sirens went off
.

Her breathing was easier now. Jack straightened, reaching out his hand to help her to her feet.

Her fingers were like ice. She gripped him—
I’ve got you, it’s okay
—and lurched to her feet.

“Oops.” She staggered.

He steadied her with an arm around her waist and then gave in to temptation and pulled her close. Instead of resisting, instead of fighting to get away, she pressed her face against his chest and held on as if she wanted him there, as if she needed his strength and reassurance. As if he were worth holding on to.

She was still recovering from a panic attack, he told himself. Her pulse was too rapid, her breathing choppy. He was support, nothing more.

But it felt so good to be wanted like that, to be held like that. She was warm and soft against him, her skin hot and sweet. She made a little sound, burrowing against him, pulling him around her like a blanket, and he went hard.

Taking advantage.
Hell
. He loosened his hold, easing himself away before she noticed his dick trying to get in on the action, pressing for her attention.
This isn’t about you, you bastard
. “You want to test it?”

She raised her head, her eyes dazed and dark. “What?”

Test me
, his body begged.

He cleared his throat. “The laptop. You want to check if it’s still working?”

She blinked like a woman waking up after sex. “Oh. Okay.”

She stooped unsteadily to pick it up, flashing the tattoo before she straightened. A crack zagged across a corner of the case. The DVD drive stuck out slightly.

She took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. Not that he’d done anything to apologize for. But he’d been married ten years. You couldn’t go wrong with
I’m sorry
.

She shook her head impatiently. “It’s fine. Everything’s backed up to the cloud. Not that it was worth much anyway.”

It
. The laptop? Or her work?

She tapped the power button. The laptop ticked like the timer on an explosive device before the screen flickered to life. “It works,” Lauren said hopefully.

Something—a fan?—clunked and whirred. Not a good sound.

“Turn it off,” Jack said. “Save the battery.”

She nodded and closed the lid. Her head bent. Her fingers tightened on the plastic.

That small, betraying gesture ripped him up inside, made him want to go forth and slay dragons. Or hit something. Anything besides dealing with actual tears, actual feelings.

“Sorry.” She straightened her shoulders. “I’m really glad you’re here. I’m not usually like this.”

She was talking. Not crying. That was good. “You’re doing great.”

She gave him a disbelieving look and he bit back a grin. She was coming back.

“How often does this happen?” he asked.

“Me breaking into places where I work?”

But he wouldn’t be put off by her wry tone. She
was
coming back. But wherever she’d been, in her thoughts, in her head, was a dark place. “The PTSD.”

She opened her mouth. Shut it. “That’s not . . . It’s not the same. I’m not a Marine.”

“But you have flashbacks,” he guessed.

Her breath hitched. “Not as often as I used to.”

He didn’t say anything.

“It was just a panic attack,” she said. “I’m not . . . I’m fine.”

He wondered if she’d been saying that for so long she actually believed it. Or if she was only concerned with what other people believed. “You got something you can take for them?”

The doctors in Afghanistan were always pushing pills. To sleep, to stay awake, to relieve pain or push the demons away.

She shook her head. “They never last long,” she reassured him. “I’ll be better in a minute.”

She was the shrink. She should know. But her hands on the laptop trembled.

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms against his chest so he wouldn’t grab her and upset her careful equilibrium. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

*   *   *

L
AUREN CLOSED HER
eyes against temptation. She was aching and shaking inside, and he looked so good, he sounded so calm, so confident and controlled. She wanted to lean on him, to sink into him. To burrow into his chest and absorb him through her pores, make him part of her. Hers.
I’m not going anywhere
.

She shut the laptop with a little snap. He didn’t mean the words that way. She forced a playful note in her voice. “No hot date tonight?”

He shook his head once, side to side. “You shouldn’t be alone. Have dinner with me.”

Oh
. Heat swept through her again, burning her up from the inside.

Her mind whirled. He was asking her out? Now, when she was sweaty and nauseous. Why was he asking her
now
? Her armpits stank. All she needed to cap off her evening—and his—was to puke all over him at some restaurant. “I’m hardly dressed to go out.”

His eyebrows lifted, very slightly, and she flushed. Because the truth was nobody dressed up on Dare Island. Not even to go out. She simply wasn’t confident that she could handle food right now.

Or noise.

Or people.

She just wanted to be alone. Except that wasn’t true, either. She stared at him helplessly, her insides churning.
Rescue me
.

Those dark, dark eyes watched her. “We could go to my place. I’ll make dinner.”

Shock and pleasure zinged through her. Okay, she knew what
that
meant. She didn’t have to be alone. She could go home with him and have sex.
Yes
, said her body. Her brain spun like the little blue circle on her computer screen, struggling to keep up. She looked at him from under her lashes, hungry for his strength, stealing glances like he would catch her and make her give them back. “You cook?”

A corner of his mouth curled. “Well enough.”

“Okay.”
Come on, Lauren, you can do better than that. Deep breath. Smile.
“Are you going to make red sauce?”

“Not this time.”

Implying there might be a next time. The thought made her giddy.

Or maybe that was the residual effect of her panic attack.

She wanted this, she thought as they went outside. Wanted Jack, filling her up, taking her hard, making her whole and complete.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t getting something out of the deal, too, she told herself as she locked up, as he placed a quick call to the security company. At least . . .

She slid him another glance as he got into the vehicle beside her. That had definitely been his erection, pressed up against her. Twice. Once when they’d kissed at the inn, and just now, after he helped her off the floor. So he must want her, too, she thought hopefully. Even if he hadn’t called.

She settled into the passenger side, reaching for the seat belt. Something scrabbled in the back of the SUV like a rat in a Dumpster.

“Ohmygod.” She jerked and grabbed at the dashboard. “What was that?”

Jack’s lips twitched. “Dora Abram’s intruder.”

“What?”

He gestured with his head. “Behind you.”

Cautiously, she turned. The top of the Fletchers’ big animal trap stuck up from the cargo space. The backseat in between prevented her from seeing inside.

“If that’s a snake, I’m out of here,” she said.

Definitely a smile this time. “It’s a cat. The island has a big feral population.”

She relaxed back into her seat. A cat was a million times better than a snake. “We have the same problem on campus when the students go home for the summer. They don’t think about what it means to a pet to be forced outside and left behind.”

“I don’t think this one was a pet. The locals say the island cats have been around since the early shipwreck days. Like the island ponies. They’re wild animals, not house pets.”

She turned again, but she still couldn’t see inside the cage. “What will happen to it?”

“Tomorrow a volunteer will take it off island to the humane society. They have some kind of spay-and-release program for adults. This one’s young enough, though, it’ll probably be adopted.”

Her instinct—to
do
something, to help—stirred. “What about tonight?”

His shoulders rolled in a shrug. “I’ll take care of it.”

Warmth glowed in her midsection, broke on her face in a smile. “You are such a nice guy.”

He grimaced. “Not really. There’s no animal control officer on the island. I’m just dealing with a problem.”

Right. Guys did not appreciate being called
nice
. Nice guys did not get the girl. Nice guys finished last.

And maybe he really saw his actions that way. Maybe he was so used to doing the right thing that it wasn’t a big deal to him. But she didn’t know a lot of guys who would put themselves out like that, who would choose the right thing, the compassionate thing, over whatever was convenient.

He was kind of amazing, actually.

“Uh-huh. Just doing your job,” she teased.

His eyes narrowed. “Where are you going with this?”

She wasn’t sure. She’d been so glad to see him when he walked into the bakery. She was so grateful she didn’t have to be alone. But this wasn’t all about her. Or it shouldn’t be. She didn’t want to burden him with obligations. With expectations.

She took a breath. Released it. “I’m just wondering if you brought me home out of a sense of duty or because you felt sorry for me.”

“Jesus.”

“I don’t mind,” she assured him hastily. She’d had no objection to being his rebound relationship. Why not his pity fuck?

Meg’s voice played in her head.
As long as you know going in that that’s what it is.

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I asked you to dinner,” he said very deliberately, “because you shouldn’t be alone.”

“It’s okay. I get it.”

He shot her a hot, dark look. “No, you don’t. You shouldn’t be alone. And I want your company.”

That was nice of him to say.

“I want your company, too. Thank you for inviting me.” She smiled crookedly. “Us.”

“Lauren.” His voice rubbed over her, making all the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up in warning or pleasure.

“What?”

“You’re not some stray I’m bringing home for the night.”

She made herself smile. “As long as you’re not dropping me off at the shelter tomorrow to get spayed.”

Unexpectedly, his hand left the wheel and covered both of hers, pleated together in her lap. Such a simple, human touch, warm and reassuring. His kindness made tears burn at the back of her eyes.

“Stop worrying,” he said.

“Okay,” she said promptly.

And worried for the rest of the drive.