Found Wanting (34 page)

She must have drifted back to sleep for a few minutes, because she woke when Mitch called out from the kitchen. "Soup's on."

Pushing herself off the sofa, she followed the scent of tomato soup into the kitchen, where she was greeted by another delicious scent: coffee.

Mitch was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved, navy T-shirt identical to hers, clothing that he had picked up for them both at Wal-Mart. As he set a cup on the counter and filled it from a thermos, he said, "We're running low on fuel for the generator. I'll have to make a run in the next few days to get some more."

She sipped the hot coffee. "Damn, this is good."

"You're not going to start talking to a log, are you?"

She gave him a baffled glance. "Huh?"

"Guess you never watched that TV show Twin Peaks. The guy was always raving about the coffee and the pie. And there was a lady who talked to a log."

Her brain had stalled on the sentence before the last. "There's pie?"

Chuckling, he gestured behind her at the table outside the kitchen door. "Go have a seat. I'll bring dinner to you."

She didn't move, holding the coffee cup just under her chin so the steam and its heavenly scent wafted right up into her face. She remembered how busy he had been in the kitchen earlier in the day, had determined from the cooking smells that he was making something tasty, but she had been too lethargic to investigate. Now, however, her interest was piqued. "Please tell me there's pie," she said.

He grinned. "That's a surprise."

Feeling fortified by the coffee and the banter, she went to the table and settled onto a chair, noting for the first time how cozy the cabin was with only the light from the fire, thunder rumbling occasionally in the distance. If not for their circumstances, the ambience could have been considered romantic.

Mitch walked in with two bowls of soup, one of which he set before her with a flourish, along with the roll of crackers he'd tucked under his arm. "First up, tomato soup a la Progresso."

Picking up her spoon, she asked, "Did you talk to your partner today?"

"Yes. She said Grant Maxwell left the hospital today. He's doing well."

Her relief was profound. "That's excellent news."

"She's going to drop in tomorrow to give us an update on her progress."

"Where's she coming from?"

"The District. It's about a two-hour drive."

She studied him, struck once again by confusion. The man had seemed to hate her guts a week ago, and now he and his partner were putting themselves at risk to help her. He'd just spent seven days of his life cooped up with her in the woods, working his butt off to keep them warm and fed. He had killed a man to save her life.

Her stomach rolled as she remembered being splattered with the hit man's blood, and suddenly, tomato soup was not the least bit appealing.

"Are you okay?" Mitch asked.

Looking at him, she was struck by the concern on his face and fumbled for something to say. "I don't understand why you're doing this."

He took a sip of coffee, seeming to think carefully about his answer. "I made a mistake."

"You make it sound so simple."

His laugh was low, humorless. "It's not. It's complicated as hell. I don't even understand most of it. All I know is that Layton Keller is not the man I thought he was, and you're not the woman I thought you were."

"What changed your mind?"

"I met you."

"I doubt that did it. It was shortly after you met me that you handcuffed me to a bed."

Reaching out, he ran his thumb lightly over her left wrist, where the bruises had faded. "And I've been meaning to tell you how sorry I am about that. And several other things."

She dropped her hand into her lap, startled by the tingling that raced across her skin at his caress, even more unnerved by the breath that lodged in her throat. At a simple touch. She didn't trust herself to respond, and besides, what could she say? It's okay that you manhandled me, let's do it again sometime?

He studied her face, his gaze sober, and she wondered what he was looking for. Resisting the need to shift, she turned her attention to the bowl of soup before her. It was still unappetizing as hell. Life in general had become unappetizing, she thought. Even if she managed to get Jonah back, would she be able to make him understand why she had done the things she'd done? Would he hate her? Would he pull away, distance himself?

Mitch cleared his throat, and she glanced up at him in question.

"Lost you for a sec," he said.

"I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

"I was telling you what changed my mind about you."

"Right. You met me." She sat back, unconvinced and wondering why it mattered.

He rested his elbows on the table. "Let me put it in clichéd terms: Actions speak louder than words, and your actions did not support the picture that Keller painted of you."

"You said you've known him for two years. You've known me a week."

"Ten days, actually," he said. "In two years, I never saw Keller risk his own life to protect someone else."

"When did I do that?"

"At Rachel's. You threw yourself on top of her when we were being shot at."

"Oh."

"And in Chicago, when I was about to walk into the hotel room into a loaded gun, you warned me. You could have let me come. That hit man would have taken care of me for you."

"Maybe I thought you were the lesser of two evils."

"Either way, you saved my life." He smiled. "Now, are you going to eat that soup or am I going to have to pour it down your throat? Because we both know I can take you."

His eyes, as dark as coffee with just a splash of milk, gleamed, sending her pulse tripping. Rattled. That's how she felt with that glittering gaze on her. That and suddenly too warm.

Thankful for the distraction, she picked up her spoon and tested the soup, determining that it tasted good after all. And she was starving. She reached for the crackers.

They ate in silence, as they had the entire week. It wasn't a tense silence or a particularly comfortable one. It was simply the silence of two people who had too much to say and had gotten used to not saying it.

Mitch cleared his throat. "I have a question for you."

She mentally braced herself. "All right."

"What's your favorite Arnold movie?"

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Schwarzenegger. Everybody's got a favorite."

It was an odd question, but it also seemed safe to answer. "Kindergarten Cop."

He grinned as he pushed his empty bowl back. "You didn't hesitate."

"It's a toss-up between that and Terminator, but I'm partial to the kids in Kindergarten Cop."

He cradled his head in mock agony. "It's not a tumah," he said, parroting the famous Arnold accent.

She laughed, relaxed some.

"My son loved it when I did that," he said.

That surprised her. "You have a son?"

He nodded, his humor fading. "Tyler. He lives with his mother."

"How old?"

"Seven."

She saw by the way he fixed his gaze on the table that it was painful for him to talk about it, so she stayed silent, letting him determine the course of the conversation.

"I haven't seen him in three years," he said with a note of sad wonder, as if he were speaking to himself rather than to her.

"Why so long?" she asked.

"Because I was an idiot." He gave her a tight smile. "I imagine that surprises you."

"That you have a son?"

"No, that I messed up with my own kid."

She registered the self-loathing in his gaze. Whatever had happened to separate him from his child, he had punished himself about it for a long time. "It's not too late to make it up to him."

"You make it sound easy."

"I'm sure it won't be, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try."

He considered her for a moment, then smiled. "Perhaps when this is over, I'll give it a shot." Rising, he collected their empty bowls. "Next course coming right up."

He disappeared into the kitchen, and she heard the clatter of dishes on the counter and the scrape of a spatula against a skillet. When he returned, he had two plates with grilled cheese sandwiches. Sitting down, he resumed their earlier conversation as if they hadn't taken a detour into his personal life. "It's interesting that you'd pick those two Arnold movies."

As she sank her teeth into the grilled cheese, Alaina tried to see the connection, but an unexpected flavor distracted her. Garlic. He must have sprinkled it on before grilling the bread.

"In one," Mitch was saying, "you've got a woman who has started a new life for herself and her son after escaping from the child's brutal father. In the other, the woman is on the run from a ruthless, unstoppable killer."

She didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed that he'd related her screwed-up life to action movies that had relatively happy endings. That he'd put that much thought into what her life was like unnerved her. "Is this some kind of Arnold-movie psychoanalysis?"

"Maybe. I have a theory that you can tell a lot about a person based on their favorite Arnold movie."

Seeing the laughter in his eyes, she relaxed a little more. "Then what's your favorite?"

"Conan the Barbarian."

A smile tugged at her lips. "This theory has merit."

"What would Jonah pick?"

"Probably Terminator 2."

"That's what I would have guessed."

"Why?" she asked.

"Kid on the run from something he doesn't really understand." He slid a finger down his nose, as if to remind her of how she'd bloodied it. "The kid's mom kicks butt."

She set down the second half of her sandwich as her newfound appetite and humor fled. "The kid's mom was pretty much nuts."

"Well, you're not nuts."

"How do you know?" she asked.

"Most of the time, I have good instincts."

"If they're so good, why didn't they tell you to get as far away from me as possible?"

"They did," he said.

"Then why didn't you?"

"I already told you. I made a mistake."

"And you're willing to die to correct it?"

"I'm not willing to die at all," he said. "It bothers me that you seem to be."

"Don't tell me you wouldn't die to protect your child."

"I would. In a heartbeat." He paused, as if debating the wisdom of saying what he was thinking. When he spoke, an edge replaced his earlier playfulness. "But I can't help but wonder how you reconcile that with the reality that you wouldn't be in the position you're in now if you hadn't kidnapped him to begin with."