“You don’t have to justify yourself to me,” he said quietly. “My mother was like you.”
“I’m not trying to justify myself. I’m saying that I have an idealistic attitude toward marriage. Frank thought I owed him sex for a nice meal and got furious when I wouldn’t cooperate. And for the record, I didn’t even really provoke him. He beat me up because I suggested that he needed to drink a little less beer. That was all it took. Kell barely got to me in time.”
He let out a long breath. “My stepfather hit my mother once, for burning the bacon, when they were first married. I was fifteen.”
“What did she do?” she asked.
“She told me. I took him out back and knocked him around the yard for five minutes, and told him if he did it again, I’d load my shotgun and we’d have another, shorter, conversation. He never touched her again. He also stopped drinking.”
“I don’t think that would have worked with Frank.”
“I rather doubt it.” He studied her wan, drawn face. “You’ve been through hell, and I haven’t helped. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I know that won’t erase what I said. But maybe it will help a little.”
“Thanks.” She finished her roll and coffee. But when she got through, she put two dollar bills on the table and pushed them toward him.
“No!” he exclaimed, his high cheekbones flushing as he recalled with painful clarity his opinion of her as a gold digger.
“I pay my own way, despite what you think of me,” she said with quiet pride. She stood up. “Money doesn’t mean so much to me. I’m happy if I can pay bills. I’m sorry I gave you the impression that I’d do anything for it. I won’t.”
She turned and left him sitting there, with his own harsh words echoing in his mind.
* * *
Kell was lying on his stomach in bed. His bruises were much more obvious now, and he was pale and weak from the surgery. She sat down beside him in a chair and smiled.
“How’s it going?” she asked gently.
“Badly,” he said with a long sigh. “Hurts like hell. But they think I might be able to walk again. They have to wait until I start healing and the bruising abates before they’ll know for sure. But I can wiggle my toes.” He smiled. “I’m not going to prove it, because it hurts. You can take my word for it.”
“Deal.” She brushed back his unkempt hair.
“Your old boss came by last night,” he said coldly. “He explained what happened. I gave him an earful.”
“So did I. He’s back.”
“I’m not surprised. He was pretty contrite.”
“It won’t do any good,” she said sadly. “I won’t forget what he said to me. He didn’t believe me.”
“Apparently he’s had some hard knocks of his own.”
“Yes, that explains it, but it doesn’t excuse it.”
“Point taken.” He glanced past her toward the door. “You’ve got bodyguards.”
“Yes. Some of Eb Scott’s guys. They don’t like each other.”
“Chet has a chip on his shoulder, and Rourke likes to take potshots at it.”
“Which is which?” she asked.
“Rourke lost an eye overseas.”
“Oh. Dead-Eye.”
He chuckled and then winced. “That’s what he calls himself. He’s got quite a history. He worked for the CIA over in the South Pacific for several years. Now he’s trying to get back in. His language skills are rusty, and he’s not up on the latest communications protocols, so he’s studying with Eb. Chet, on the other hand, is trying to land a job doing private security for overseas embassies. He has anger issues.”
“Anger issues?”
