Anya’s grip tightened until her knuckles turned white. “You are?”
The concern on her face nearly stopped him cold. Who was this soft woman? He’d only met her once, but at seeing the bruises on her face that day, he’d wanted to kick the shit out of the person who’d caused them. Immediately. “Yeah. I was shot on a job and got between an asshole who didn’t want to pay child support and the loud woman demanding it. Took a bullet to the shoulder.” It had been just a graze, and he was fine. Denver, his brother, had gotten shot the same week but was also fine. That had been one shitty week.
Her eyes widened, but her jaw kept a stubborn tilt. “I don’t want to shoot you.”
“Then we’re in agreement.” His calmness was serving to throw her off balance, and he needed her to relax before she shot him, damn it. “Lower the gun, and we can talk about it.” Snow billowed down, and he twisted the windshield wipers into faster action while turning left toward the apartment building. “I’ve given you a shock. You doing okay?” It was a stupid question, but he had to offer some comfort.
She shook her head. “No. I keep wondering what’s happening right now to Loretta. What is she going through?”
“She’s tough and smart. She’s hopefully getting free.” He wanted to hold on to the hope. Badly. He tried to turn Anya’s focus so she’d calm. “Last time I saw you, you had bruises on your neck.” He’d wondered who had dared to hurt her.
“Yeah. I shifted right when I should’ve gone left. Loretta’s partner was training me.” She looked out the window, her body one tense line. “I’m not so good at the physical stuff.”
“Really?” he barked out before he could stop himself, his gut dropping. “I’ve heard many an excuse and lie, but that’s a new one. Most battered women go with the ‘I fell down the stairs’ explanation.” He winced. That hadn’t been nice. “Sorry.”
Instead of getting angry or cowering away, Anya seemed to focus on him. “Wow. That was a serious leap in logic, buddy.”
He paused.
Her chin lowered. “You sound as if you have experience in that area.”
Now he stiffened. “What are you? A shrink?” he muttered.
“Well, kind of.”
He turned her way. “Do you practice? With patients?” If anything, she became more intriguing every time she talked.
“No. I’m a professor of criminal psychology at Ocean City College. So I could’ve been a shrink.”
The stunning redhead was a professor? “Tell me the truth about the bruises.”
Her shoulders settled and her arms stopped shaking. “Loretta’s partner was teaching me some self-defense moves, and I honestly moved the wrong way. He pulled the punch, but . . .”
But delicate skin like hers bruised easily. It sounded like she was telling the truth, but he knew from experience how often victims lied. “Right.”
She blinked. “What’s your deal? You have definite issues, don’t you?”
His chest hurt in an old ache. He sighed and took another turn, correcting when the truck fishtailed again on the black ice. “My mom was killed by an abusive boyfriend when I was a kid. She was addicted to drugs, and we never stayed in one place long, but she always managed to find the biggest dickheads in the world to fall for. The last one finally killed her.” His tone had remained low and matter-of-fact, even as pain exploded in his solar plexus.
“I’m sorry,” Anya whispered, her eyes glassy. “That’s terrible.”
His phone rang.
She stiffened, her hands shaking more. God, she really was going to shoot him.
He gingerly pulled out the phone to read a text. His entire body tightened. “My brothers have a lead on your sister. I have to go.”
“What’s the lead?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“I don’t know. They just said to suit up.” He took another turn.
“Brothers?”
“Lost Bastards Investigative Services is owned by the three of us—Ryker, Denver, and me. We’re brothers.” They were all he had in the world, and if something happened to either one of them, his heart would be cut out. So he understood her need to find her sister. He really did. Everything inside him wanted to gather her close and provide shelter.
Her gaze turned to the deserted snowy road. “I’m going with you.”
Hell, no. “I can’t have you with me if I find the guy.” Not only would she be in the way, he didn’t want her to see Loretta if the serial killer had finished with her. The guy had a pattern, and it wasn’t pretty. Considering Loretta was an FBI agent, the killer would probably want to make a statement. A nasty one.
