Jared didn’t have to do more than glance at her face to see how upset she was. Her skin was pale, her features tinged with an anguish that was muted only by fatigue.
Without a word, he left the hospital and headed for the center of town. Worried, he looked at her often. She didn’t move, didn’t open her eyes, didn’t speak. He was beginning to wonder if she’d fallen asleep when, just as he pulled up at her townhouse, she raised her head.
He didn’t ask whether he could come in. By the time she found her keys in her briefcase, he was helping her out of the car. Taking the keys from her hand, he unlocked her front door and pushed it open, then stood back while she disengaged the burglar alarm. When she closed the door, he was inside.
Dropping her briefcase on the floor of the foyer, she looked up at him, but he had no idea what she saw. Her eyes were distant. “I’m—I think I’ll take a bath,” she murmured. Without another word, she turned and started up the front stairs.
Jared looked after her until she’d rounded the railing on top and disappeared into what he assumed was her bedroom. For a split second he considered following. She seemed so out of it. He would gladly have run her bath, helped her in, brought her a glass of wine, bathed her—with no sexual thoughts in mind.
But she hadn’t asked him to follow. Much as he craved her need for him, she was still an independent woman. She hadn’t invited him up; he couldn’t go.
Ten minutes later, he thought differently. The house was too quiet. He hadn’t heard a sound—not footsteps or the creak of the wood floors, not the open or close of a drawer or a closet, not the faintest trickle of running water.
He wouldn’t have been surprised if she had passed out. She’d been going for nearly twenty-four hours under intense stress. He was worried.
Knowing that he couldn’t just sit and wait, he went quietly up the stairs. There were three doors at the top, two open and one partially closed. The open ones led to a bathroom and a bedroom. Both rooms were empty. He went to the third and knocked lightly.
“Savannah?” He pushed the door open. The room was dim, with only the pale light of dawn filtering through the window. It was enough to light her slim frame. She was curled sideways in a large wing chair. Her cheek was pressed to the leather, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. She was shaking all over. The sight wrenched his insides.
Crossing the carpet, he knelt down by the chair and whispered, “Savannah?” He touched her face with the backs of his fingers. “What is it, babe?”
She shook her head and held up a hand to tell him she’d be fine in a minute, but he closed his large hand around hers and took it to his neck. The warmth of his skin contrasted so sharply with the chill of her own that she greedily opened her hand. She needed more of that warmth.
Her eyes opened and told him so. He didn’t need to be told twice. Drawing her down to where he knelt, he settled her between his legs and wrapped her in his arms. The same cheek that had been pressed to leather was now pressed to his chest.
Still she trembled.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, tightening his arms around her. “It’s okay. Just try to relax. It’s okay.” He rubbed his chin against her hair, massaged her back with his hand. All the while his heart beat rapidly. He worried about her, but mixed with the worry was a kind of pleasure. She was such a strong woman, yet she still had her moments of weakness. And in this one she needed him.
He looked down at her face, brushed his lips to her brow. It was damp, clammy. He held her head flush to his chest, wishing he could do more, knowing instinctively that nothing more would help. She just needed to be held.
So he held her while she trembled, murmured soft words of encouragement from time to time, rubbed her back, stroked her hair, absorbed her shivers until gradually they lessened. She took longer breaths, then deeper breaths. At last, flattening a hand on his chest, she eased herself back.
Reluctantly he let her go. As she stood, she nudged her knit skirt down to where it belonged just above her knees. Her head was bowed, her eyes on the floor, her voice paper-thin.
“I’d like that bath now.”
“Can I wait here?”
She nodded. Then, in her stockinged feet, since her shoes lay where she’d kicked them by the side of the chair, she padded out of the den.
This time, Jared heard sounds. He could monitor her activity by listening—to the whine of the closet door, the rattle of hangers, the slide of a drawer. She was not deliberately broadcasting what she was doing, but his ears were well trained in the art of detection.
There had been many nights in that elegant home in Seattle when he had listened to the prominent woman who was his wife dress for one political affair after another. He had listened to her undress later. He had even listened to her work, to the sound of her pencil rasping across the paper as she plotted her latest brilliant trial tactic. He hadn’t listened hard enough or long enough, or he’d have known when she’d called her lover.
He had been trusting. He had been a fool.
Of course, he had known that Elise was a scrambler. He had known that she had ambitions in life. All of Seattle had known that. And it wasn’t as though he was an innocent entering the marriage. He had ambitions of his own, into which Elise fit nicely. When she cheated on him, those ambitions became tainted.
The sound of running water snapped him from the wave of memory, and he smiled. Savannah was taking her bath.
He trusted Savannah. He didn’t wonder how or why, he just did. Perhaps it was arrogance on his part, but he didn’t think she could look him in the eye and lie. If anything, the reverse was true. When she looked him in the eye, she opened up—reluctantly and unintentionally, perhaps, but he wasn’t complaining.
Shifting on his heels, he looked around the room. It was den, library, and office combined, and was small, cozy, and charming, none of which he had noticed when he’d first entered the room. He had only seen Savannah trembling then.
She was quiet now. The occasional ripple of water told him just where she was. He pictured her, but this time he didn’t smile. She wasn’t happy. Whatever had happened to Megan had spread its ugliness to Savannah, too.
Rising from the floor, he went to the window and stood looking out over the awakening city until he heard the water begin to drain from the tub. Seconds later, Savannah rose from the water.
