“You were just a boy.”
He worked his jaw for a moment before scoffing. “You don’t know anything.”
“Then tell me.”
“Fuck,” he said under his breath, and then to himself, “That’s what you get for coming home to people who know you.” Addressing her again, “You have to rest. Try to catch some sleep.”
“You brought me here.” She was playing dirty, using his exhaustion to wear him down. She was sticking her finger into an open cut and twisting it around, but he’d pressed a thumb on her bruises too. “You owe me the truth.”
“If I’d known you knew, I never would’ve left you here.” He added, “Alone. Now go back to sleep.”
“Did it happen here, in this room? Is that why you’re keeping me here?”
He stood abruptly. “Do you think I’m fucking nuts?” Turning slightly so that his profile was hidden from her, he rested his hands on his hips and exhaled through his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was calm. Emotionless. “You haven’t eaten all day. I’ll make you something more appetizing than a supermarket sandwich. Do you like sushi?”
“I’m not eating. Not until you tell me.”
He rubbed a hand over his brow. “Why are you doing this?”
Why indeed? It wasn’t her job to heal him. His suffering wasn’t her responsibility. She shouldn’t worry about his feelings.
When she didn’t reply, he moved to her side and uncuffed her.
She lowered her arms with relief, then winced. Shit, that hurt.
“Sore?” he asked, studying her too closely for her liking.
She looked away. Part of the problem was that she was still in love with the complicated boy. Joss was a man now, and she couldn’t reconcile the man with the boy. Neither could she cut a lifetime’s fixation from her heart in a single day.
She jumped when he touched her arm.
“I said I won’t hurt you, Cle.”
The memory of the previous night flashed through her mind as the warmth of his palm seeped into her skin. In an involuntary response, her body heated. She wanted to push him away and hate him, but she couldn’t help but close her eyes. His touch was innocent, nothing but a massage to alleviate the ache in her muscles and aid the blood flow, but it felt like crossing a line. The man wasn’t the boy. The boy was mysterious, wrapped up in pain and darkness. The man was a threat, his darkness much more dangerous. He was her enemy, and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.
She pulled away.
He froze, then dropped his hands to his sides. “I wouldn’t have handcuffed you if it wasn’t necessary.”
It almost sounded like an apology. He stood so close she could hear his breaths as he inhaled and exhaled. She could smell the scent of clean soap on his skin, the same scent of last night.
As if a switch had been flipped, he turned brusque again. “You need to move around to stimulate your blood circulation or your body will become sore.” Walking to the door, he said, “Come.”
The order tightened her throat. He wasn’t going to kill her, not when he still needed her. Right?
“Come, Cle,” he said when she didn’t move.
She sat up reluctantly. “Where are we going?”
“Stop looking at me like that. We’re just going down to the kitchen.”
After a moment, he offered his hand like an olive branch. Not wanting to test his patience, she got up and put her palm in his. She had to choose her fights wisely.
He led her through the door into the dark corridor. Wooden floorboards creaked under her bare feet. The temperature dropped a few degrees, and she couldn’t help but pull back when goosebumps ran over her arms and the hair at the back of her neck stood erect.
He flipped on a light switch and rubbed a thumb over her wrist. The small act shouldn’t have reassured her, but she found comfort in it nevertheless. How warped to feel safe in the clutches of her kidnapper. How twisted to feel a spark under her skin, to imagine intimacy in the touch.
The light on the landing was bleak, making the dusty air seem grainy. They moved down a staircase with a carved balustrade and through a small entrance hall into a narrow corridor that led to a kitchen. Once he’d flicked on the light, he let her go.
The kitchen was big. The walls and floor were covered with olive-green tiles. A cooking fireplace dominated one wall. All the old houses in the area had one. Copper pots and pans hung against the chimney. The only other means of cooking was a coal stove. Instead of doors, yellow and green curtains covered the cupboards. A buffet stood next to the shuttered window, the shelves filled with blue and green crockery. Everything looked old, but the room was spotless.
As if reading her mind, he said, “It’s old, but it’s clean.”
She stared at his stony face. “If you didn’t plan on coming back to this house, why did you have it cleaned?”
He turned his back on her and started packing ingredients from the fridge onto the counter. “I’m selling it.”
“Oh.” That meant he wasn’t staying in town.
“If you like, you can give me a hand.” He walked to the table and pulled out a chair. “Or you can sit here.”
She remained on the spot, questions running through her mind as he washed his hands and pulled a knife from the block on the counter. Silence stretched as he dribbled lemon juice over a fish fillet and flattened it with the blunt side of the knife.
Swallowing, she asked the question that held the answer to her fate. “When are you leaving?”
“When this is over,” he said without looking up from the cutting board.
She moved closer, willing him to face her. “When will it be over?”
He scraped the knife over the fish. “When I’ve done my job.”
Her heart started thumping, the direction of the conversation dragging it along. It was like approaching a waterfall, knowing she was going to tumble over. Rushing ahead, already
