Page 44 of Under Fire

Something’s going on with you—and I’m going to find out what.

Alisa felt screaming anxiety rushing through her body, taking in Dean’s words. She felt tears springing to her eyes. Something cracked inside her in the absence of Warren’s protection.He said he’d keep me safe.

As Dr. Roske’s phone conversation became more involved and she pulled up more images, she placed her hand on the phone’s receiver.

“My apologies, Alisa,” Dr. Roske said, excusing her. “Take a break. Let’s come back to this.”

Alisa hauled up her bag, nodding politely at the doctor and taking her leave. Her knees nearly rattled together as she galloped out of the office, down the staircase in the hospital and outside for some fresh air. Or, what she imagined would be fresh air.

After all those years in LA, she should have known better. The air was hot and smoggy, and immediately she had to shed her blazer, exposing her creamy sleeveless blouse that was too thin to be worn on its own. She peeled off whatever she needed to stop feeling dizzy.

Dean knows. He fucking knows.

Sweat beaded on her chest, the air too thick to breath effectively, so she made a break for her car in the parking lot. Of course, that wasn’t a solution. The old, beat-up lemon was a thousand degrees and practically melting under the coastal sun, and it didn’t have air conditioning. Even still, she jumped in, needing to be sheltered and alone, manually rolling down the windows in front then turned on the engine.

How could he know? He has been nearly three-thousand miles away.

In all the years, she’d never gotten the feeling that Dean was keeping tabs on her. Watching her. But, then again—she’d never done anything except school and work.Not much to keep tabs on.

Digging in her bag, she grabbed for her cell again but found her fingers grazing on a sharp corner of something. She gazed over, seeing it was just the corner of the folded-up check Warren had issued her.Damn. Eventually she was going to have to make a decision—cash it or tear it up.

Alisa leaned forward, closing her eyes and resting her head against the lava-hot steering wheel, praying.

“Why did I have to meet you?” Her face twisted as she thought of Warren running his lips up and down her throat. He was the only man she wanted.Needed.

Warren had changed everything. He’d made her feel like she belonged when she was with him—like she wasn’t so socially stunted, like she could have a man like him.

Yet, every day that had passed since he’d left, reality had become more and more bleak. She didn’t even have his number to track him down. He’d always called her from a blocked ID. What was she supposed to do—show up at his house and demand answers? She shook her head, sucking in breath as she pulled the car out of the parking lot.

Dean was coming home, and everything was going to go back to the way it had been.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered to herself, feeling a stray tear run down her cheek. “I can’t—”

Her future life burned through her mind as she began the slow crawl home. The afternoon traffic back to her apartment nearly drove her crazy on a good day, let alone a day where she was unable to focus on anything but the aching feeling in her chest. She wanted to be home, she wanted to be outside, she wanted to be at work—but at the same time, she didn’t want to be anywhere.

As she rolled into the parking lot at her apartment complex, she drew out her cell again, desperate to see if that time—maybe, just maybe—there would be something from Warren. Maybe he’d finally gotten off work, maybe he’d finally thought of her. Her hopes were high to see any sign of life from the man who had claimed more than just her body.

“I just need answers,” she said to herself, trying to justify a thought that had been percolating in her mind for days. “Why did he leave?”

It was well into evening, and there was no doubt he would be home—wouldn’t he? Where did he work, anyway? Her mind trailed to that very secretive looking facility outside of Wrightwood, and how hush-hush he’d been about it when she’d probed him. He had some connection to that place.

Her face twisted into tears as she sat back in the driver’s seat, her hand on the door to get out. She flitted her sad gaze up to her small, lonely apartment—a place of solace and peace, a place where she had found refuge for years, a place where Warren’s scent still lingered. Like a scalpel piercing through her chest, she felt the blade turn and her esophagus jerked.His damn masculine scent.

Then, her cell rang, stopping that thought. When she jumped to check the caller display, her stomach sank when she read the name—Dean Teller.

Exhaling, trying to collect herself, she answered politely.

“Alisa.” Dean’s frustrated voice came through the line. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing—are you ready to come back?”

“Hell, yeah,” he said. “But you know what? I’m getting worried, Alisa. You haven’t been very good, have you?”

“What?”

“Don’t play games.”

“It’s not what—”

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