Page 24 of Chilled

“Give me a minute, and I’ll go with you.” He nudged the door closed with his foot.

“That’s just it. I don’t want you with me.” She needed the space to clear her brain. Nick Tarver had a way of filling every inch of every room with too much testosterone and his broad shoulders. Geez! How did he expect her to get any sleep knowing he was in the next room? Having him so close crowded her.

“I insist.” He carried a black duffel bag into the adjoining room and turned to close the door. With his hand on the knob, he gave her a narrow-eyed stare. “Don’t think of going out without me.”

As the door closed behind him, Brenna’s lungs pinched behind her ribs.Oh, no. The familiar pain lanced across her chest, and her heartbeat sped up so fast she felt dizzy. Get a grip, she told herself. You can’t fall apart now. She’d gone several years since her last full-scale panic attack. Why now?

All she knew was that she needed to get outside. She couldn’t think until she had fresh air against her face and filling her lungs.

She lunged for the door and was twisting the handle when an image of Dr. Drummond floating beneath the ice hit her so hard she staggered backward.

Dr. Drummond had been her salvation through the dark years following the barn fire. Years when she’d thought she’d never quit having dreams of being locked inside a barn where smoke filled her lungs and flames leaped at her clothing. The good doctor had helped her through the fear and panic, helped her past the crippling nightmares. Now she was gone, and her killer was out there somewhere.

The irony struck her. Just when the claustrophobic panic attack consumed her, making her seek the wide-open spaces, she realized she was no safer outside than inside.

Was being out in the open-air worth dying for? Still, she couldn’t stay in this room. Her lungs felt as heavy as when they’d been filled with black smoke. Brenna inhaled a shaky breath and closed her eyes, visualizing an open farm field full of bright gold sunflowers. She dragged in another breath and gasped when hands gripped her shoulders.

“Are you all right?” She could hear Agent Tarver’s voice, but she couldn’t open her eyes. He gripped her upper arms, turned her toward him and shook her gently. “Brenna, look at me.”

She eased open her eyes and fell into his deep green gaze, like the green of summer wheat before it ripens into gold—a bright, open field of summer wheat in the sunshine. Brenna took a deep breath.

“What’s wrong?” His hands still held her arms.

“Nothing,” she said, but her body began to shake. She shook so hard her teeth rattled.

“Nothing, hell.” Nick pulled her against him, and she buried her face in his T-shirt.

She couldn’t stop the tremors racing through her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he said against her hair, his hand stroking down the middle of her back.

“For being such a... wimp.” She forced the words past her clenched teeth.

“You’re not a wimp.” His breath stirred the loose tendrils by her ear. Brenna concentrated on that feathery feeling that was so light and free it dispelled the remembered thickness of smoke choking the inner lining of her lungs.

Her hands dug into the front of his shirt, and she held on, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath her fingers. The solid planes of his body grounded her, pulling her out of the smoky barn and back into her hotel room. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal.

When her heart rate slowed to a manageable pace, she inhaled the faint scent of aftershave and leather that was a part of Nick Tarver. What was she doing in his arms? How had she come to lean on him like her life depended on it? He was one of the perfect people, flawless in every way.

Untangling her fingers from the jersey fabric of his shirt, she pushed away.

“Uh-uh.” Nick’s hands on the small of her back stopped her from falling backward. “Not until I’m sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” She forced a light laugh, pretending humor she didn’t feel. “Really.”

The tight grip slackened, and Brenna moved away, reaching up to push the hair behind her ears, forgetting at the last moment her hair was up in a ponytail. Her hand dropped to her side.

“Want to tell me what that was all about?”

“No.” She turned her back to him and walked to the center of the sitting room, rubbing chill bumps from her arms. Why did she feel cold now that Nick’s arms weren’t around her?

He stalked her, coming to a halt behind her. “Tell me anyway.”

His body emanated warmth in such a way she was drawn to him, aching to lean against him. But she couldn’t. Her panic attacks were something she had to overcome on her own. She couldn’t rely on anyone but herself to pull her through. Yet, it had been nice—no, it had been a huge relief to rely on Nick’s strength until the attack passed. In Nick’s arms, she hadn’t felt the aloneness that still haunted her from the barn fire.

“Brenna.” Her name rolled off his lips like a feather’s stroke. “If I’m going to protect you, I need to know from what.”

“This has nothing to do with the killer.”

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