One step at a time. He would find a way to get through this day.
Preferably before the flashbacks started bombarding him, reminding him of other gunshots. Other victims. Other young men he had been powerless to heal.
He closed and locked the door behind him before moving toward Abigail’s car to help her from the vehicle.
“Thank you.” Stepping from the car, she smiled up at him as she took his hand. “You really didn’t have to do this. Brandon talked me through how to use the new alarm today.”
Vaughn couldn’t articulate how much he needed to see with his own eyes that she was safe for the night, so he didn’t try. “Brandon and his brother installed the same system at my house last year,” he explained, walking her past the phlox, daisies and Texas bluebells she had planted on either side of the walkway.
Her skirt had blooms all over it, too, embroidered sunflowers on a blue background. The hem brushed the encroaching leaves of her runaway garden. She was a vibrant woman in every way, her lush curves making him ache to touch her. Hold her. As she reached the new security panel blinking dimly beside the front door, she turned to him. Waited while he checked his phone for the temporary code she was supposed to reset within forty-eight hours.
With a soft beep, the alarm was disarmed, allowing her to open the door.
“But explaining the alarm system was only a small way he helped me today. He has a gift for woodworking.” She raked a hand through her dark hair, sifting curls behind one shoulder as she set her handbag on a table near the door and flicked on light switches that illuminated the kitchen and living area. She drew a deep breath, and her voice took on a different tone when she continued. “He is certainly very sharp and mature for someone who just turned twenty-four.”
If Vaughn had forgotten her sister’s age, he would have known it by the way Abigail carefully enunciated the number. She would have been twenty-four, she’d told him.
And by the way her eyes clouded over with still-fresh grief.
He didn’t have much comfort to offer tonight, but he reached to pull her against him. Hell, maybe he did it for his own sake as much as hers. Because having her cheek rest on his chest, the scent of her hair in his nose, managed to steady him as they stood in the soft spotlight from a modern chandelier. He felt a breath shudder from her and guessed she felt the same thing as him.
A momentary ease. Shared strength. Connection.
And yes, undeniable attraction. Desire for her roared through him.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” she told him, pulling back to peer up at him.
He frowned, not following. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
She slid out of his arms and into the kitchen, pulling two bottles of water out of the small refrigerator and setting them on the breakfast bar.
“I was stressed about the police interview and the possibility of future talks with the FBI.” She waved him toward one of the bar stools and then sat down in the other one at the counter. The bright red chair covers and chrome legs looked like the furnishings in a fifties’ diner. “I snapped at you about buying the security system because you didn’t want me at your place overnight.” She sipped from her bottle, then pressed the cold plastic side of it to her forehead. “That was uncalled for.”
He slid into the seat beside her, telling himself he’d only stay for another minute. Just long enough to clear up whatever it was she was feeling badly about since she hadn’t done a damn thing wrong.
“I have a hard time sleeping at night,” he admitted. Haltingly. Because he definitely didn’t want to linger on the subject. “If you were getting the vibe that I was retreating, it was because I didn’t want to fall asleep next to you and potentially...” Shout and freak her out? Lash out physically while he fought phantom combatants? “Wake you. If I had bad dreams.”
Better that he sounded like a five-year-old battling a bogeymen than admit the truth. That his nightmares were flat-out terrifying for him and for anyone unfortunate enough to witness the event. Tonight, after losing a patient, he knew his brain would replay the worst of the worst.
He tipped some water to his dry lips, thinking he should forget about smoothing things over and just get out of her house now. Settle in for a rough night at home with his dog.
“Isn’t that something Ruby helps with?” Her dark eyes were compassionate, but—thankfully—held no trace of pity.
Of course, she didn’t know how bad it could get.
“Definitely. But I wasn’t ready to trust the system with you there.” He kept his explanation light on details and hoped it sufficed. Jittery from keeping his emotions in check all day, he speared to his feet, ready to leave. “I’d better let you get some sleep.”
“Oh.” She stood, too, setting down her water bottle. “I have something for you first.”
Slipping past him, she disappeared into the shadows of her studio, where she hadn’t turned on any lights. She returned with a thin leather portfolio and passed it to him.
“For me?” he asked, not sure what she’d be giving to him.
“It’s just a little something. A gift to make up for the way things unfolded this morning.”
“You didn’t have to—” he began. Then, he saw the present.
His completed portrait rested inside. The same charcoal drawing he’d glimpsed in her papers that first day he’d come to her house.
The strokes of her pencil were sure and strong, the outline of his face captured indelibly. His hair. His shoulders.
Yet there was something else captured in the drawing. Something beyond his likeness. He saw a weariness in his face. A haunted look in the eyes. Was that how she saw him?
Or was that the reality of how he looked now? A changed
