Page 31 of The Pretenders of Copper County
“Good,” I grunted. “That’s good.”
Except Ihadhurt him, back at the bar, and we both knew it.
“I, uh, I wanted to say…” I cracked my neck from side to side. “What I said back at the roadhouse… about you acting…”
“Stupid?” He lifted one fine eyebrow.
I winced at the sound of that word on his lips. “Yes. That. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, and I shouldn’t have said it.” I shifted in the bed, which made my ice packs fall to the mattress with a wetplop, plop.“I fucking hate that word. I’ve hated it ever since my fourth-grade teacher said it to me, and I really hate that I said it to you.”
I hated that I’d seen it hit him, center mass, and I hadn’t apologized immediately. Hated that I’d protected him from bullets and flying punches but hadn’t protected him from my own fear and frustration.
“I was upset. And I know that’s no excuse, but someone incredibly smart once told me that people sometimes say things in anger, and it doesn’t make them a bad person.” I gave him a winning smile as I quoted his words back to him. “They just need to apologize and make amends.”
“I don’t understand why you were so upset in the first place.”
“Don’t you? For one thing, your safety’s at risk, and you’re not taking it seriously—” I broke off, realizing that I was getting upset again just thinking about it. In a more conciliatory tone, I added, “I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you, though. I was thinking about that whileyou were off drinking with your new friends.” I shook my head, remembering how quickly the women had adopted him. “The way I acted was unprofessional.”
Chris lifted his chin. “And unkind.”
“Yeah.” My voice was rough. “The thing is, it pissed me off that you keep saying you were kidnapped. I, ah… my last job was…” I scrubbed a hand through my hair. I didn’t talk about this stuff. Talking wouldn’t change anything, so it was better to move on andkeepmoving. But maybe I owed him an explanation. Maybe that was how I could make amends. So I talked.
“My protectee was going to be the star witness for the prosecution in a business fraud case against her ex-husband. A few weeks before the trial was to start, she told me she’d changed her mind. She didn’t want protection. My bosses figured—correctly—that she’d gotten cold feet about testifying. They wanted me to keep her under protection temporarily and give them a chance to talk her around because otherwise, her ex would walk. She argued that she had a right to change her mind, to not spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder. She said I was holding her against her will. She begged me to let her go before anyone could talk her into anything.”
Chris watched me carefully. “What happened?” he whispered.
“To her?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I like to think she crossed the border to Canada and changed her whole life around so no one, including her shitty ex-husband, could find her. That’s what I’d do if I wanted to disappear.”
“No. I-I mean, what happened to you?”
I snorted. “Nothing good.”
“B-but you did the right thing.”
Right for her? Maybe. If she stayed safe. But the casedidcrumble. Her ex went free. Justice hadn’t been served.
“No, I didn’t. I nearly lost my career—a career that should have always been my highest priority—in the aftermath. My priorities are back on track now, and I’ll be damned if I let any of that happen again.” It came out like a warning because it was. “But none of that is an excuse for what I said. So, I’m sorry. I promise I’m going to be more professional from now on.”
Chris nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeated. But the damn man didn’t move a centimeter closer or look any less wary than he had when we got here. “So… could you maybe stop trying to blend into the wallpaper or whatever you’re doing? I hate to break it to you, but I can still see you.”
In fact, I couldn’tstopseeing him, which was another thing I’d realized back at the bar while Chris was pounding whiskey. Every freaking inch of Chris Winowski radiated “Notice Me, Reed Sunday,” from his expressive face to his red-bitten lips to the borrowed sweatpants—mysweatpants—which he hitched up periodically. He was like a tiny splinter in my consciousness, a spark in my peripheral vision that kept riling me up and throwing me off my game.
I didn’t onlyneedto keep him safe because it was my job; Iwantedto keep him safe because… Christ, who even knew why? Maybe because I was attracted to stubbornly loyal, bafflingly adorable miniature humans with soft, brown eyes and questionable taste in movies and television shows?
Which didn’t mean I planned to act on that attraction. I didn’t.Couldn’tif I wanted to keep working for the Division. And as I’d told Chris, I loved this job. Way too muchto risk it because I couldn’t keep my dick in line. No piece of ass, no matter how sweet or fascinating, was worth that.
I sat up, rubbing a hand over my sore ribs—nothing broken, and they’d be fine by tomorrow—then patted the end of the bed in friendly invitation. “Come. Sit.”
Chris stared at me, then stared some more. His throat clicked as he swallowed. And then he honest to God pulled the ugly curtain in front of him. “N-no, thank you. I’m comfortable right here.”
“Right. Sure you are.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Look, if you want to stand all night, that’s your business. But I need to make a phone call to figure out where we’re going next, and then I need to sleep for at least a couple hours, so I need you to promise me you’re not going to attempt another daring trellis escape the minute my back is turned.”
Chris frowned. “There’s no trellis here, Reed. We’re on the first floor?—”
“Chris,” I said, louder now. “Tell me you’ll stay here with me. That you’ll let me protect you.”
“Tonight? Oh. I mean, sure.” But his eyes immediately darted to the door, giving him away.
