Page 98 of Near Miss

Would this ever be over?Another round of police or FBI with more questions and no answers about Lachlan and his whereabouts. Active federal investigation, they said. The security guards downstairs had stopped calling her for permission to let them up.

She yanked open the door and froze.

“I told you to always look through the peephole first.” The admonition was flavored in aged whisky with a hint of the sea—a melody of Scotland that drew her in like a piper’s flute.

Her fingers tightened around the water bottle hard enough to send liquid over the rim to wet her fingers.

Shadows bruised Lachlan’s eyes, the lines bracketing them more pronounced. His skin had a sallow tinge, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

She drank him in, waiting for a burst of joy to engulf her.

It didn’t come.

Anger, then—she’d be struck by fury any second.

That didn’t happen either.

Numbness.

Bingo.

“How did you get past security?”

“The security in your building is a farce.” Lachlan strode past her to her living room. He rubbed the back of his neck, then shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

She tried not to notice how the action stretched his forest green t-shirt across his sculpted chest or how the color matched his eyes.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t let me come up if you knew I was here.” He eyed her carefully. “You’re angry with me.”

She arched her brows. “Why would I be angry?”

“Sophia, I—”

“Would it be because you disappeared for two weeks, and you couldn’t manage to pick up the phone?”

“I—”

“Not to let me know if you were alive, where you were? Because I wasn’t important enough for you to bother?” So much for numbness.

The fear and grief she’d been mired in for two weeks rose like a tidal wave to swamp her. Her vision hazed, and her muscles twitched with the need to release the pent-up emotions.

She stomped over and jabbed a finger into his hard chest. “You suck.”

“I know.”

Jab.“Everything I did, I did to help you.”

“I realize that now.”

Another jab. “You don’t deserve a minute of my time.”

“I ken.”

“You don’t deserveme.” Her voice broke. She poked him again.

This time, he trapped her hand to his chest and wouldn’t give it back. “I know that better than anyone,mo chridhe, but I’m asking you to give me a chance to explain.”

This close, his familiar scent reached her nose. His body heat warmed her palm, the thud of his heart echoing beneath her fingers. His eyes willed her to listen.

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