“Oh, may I have a water too?”
“The water is for you,” I tell her, pushing her menu a little closer. “Find something you want to eat.”
Her eyes are down on the table, but there’s a shy smile on her lips. I hope it means I’m not being too pushy, because the way I feel about her is even surprising me.
“I’ll give you a minute and grab your drinks. Be right back.”
I glance over the options. I need fuel. I’m not sure when I will have time to eat again, but the thought of greasy eggs and bacon with buttered toast just doesn’t sound appealing anymore.
“What are you getting?” Harlyn leans over, and her chin almost lands on my bicep.
“Maybe a sandwich. How about you?”
“I kind of want to try the strawberry stuffed French toast, but I should probably be good and have oatmeal.” The latter part of her sentence comes out dejected. The only time I eat oatmeal is at a continental breakfast, and while I don’t hate it, I get why she wouldn’t be excited for it.
Barbara is back as fast as she promised, so I take the choice out of her hands. “We’re going to have strawberry stuffed French toast, oatmeal with all the fixings on the side, and the egg sandwich, with bacon on wheat.”
“I can’t eat all that,” Harlyn whispers in my direction.
“I can.”
“Anything else?” Barbara doesn’t miss a beat.
“Not just now, thanks.” I dismiss her while Harlyn continues to mutter under her breath, something about being careful about what she says. I ignore her rambling, take the wrapper off the straw, and dunk it into the water before pushing it in front of her. “Drink.”
Her nose crinkles up. “When did you get so bossy?” she asks, but her lips wrap around the straw before I can answer.
“When you came running out your door and scared the shit out of me,” I tell her truthfully. Her face falls, and I instantly feel guilty, as if I’m blaming her.
“It scared me too. What am I going to do?” Her head falls back, and she sinks lower into the bench. The question seems more introspective than directed at me, but I answer her the best way I can without freaking her out.
“We’re going to find out who it is and put an end to it.”
“The police have had years to figure out who it is and haven’t. I don’t even know if they will believe me. The only proof I have that someone was even there was the fact that something was moved. They will think I’m cracked out like I thought my sister was.” She rolls her head to look in my direction.
While I can’t deny how beautiful she is, I can’t ignore the dark swaths under her eyes, or the other evidence of exhaustion marring her features. I hate what she’s had to deal with and that she had to do it alone, but that’s over now.
“It doesn’t matter if they believe you or not, Harlyn, because I do, and I’m not going to let anything else happen to you.” I make a promise I shouldn’t, but I’m helpless not to.
Her eyes search my face, making me wonder what she’s thinking, but I don’t have to wait long. “I wish I could be sorry for dragging you into this, but I can’t even pretend a little.”
I lean down. It would be so easy to kiss her, and I know she would let me—I can see it in the way she’s looking at me—but I don’t. I need her to know my help doesn’t come with any strings, no matter how much I want them. “If I haven’t made it perfectly clear, Harlyn, you didn’t drag me into anything, and the last thing I want is for you to be sorry.”
Her eyes slip down to my lips, and I have to move back so I don’t say fuck it and seal my mouth to hers. She’s scared and hurting, and I’m not going to take advantage of that, even if a part of me thinks it’s totally acceptable to use whatever means I can to make sure that, at the end of this, Harlyn Wade is mine.
“After we eat, we’ll talk about the next steps.” My voice is thick with more things than I care to admit. I take it as a good sign when she softly agrees.
CHAPTER 13
Harlyn
Conversation is kept to a minimum until nearly all the plates are empty. I polished off three halves of thick French toast myself, while Boone ate his sandwich and the bowl of oatmeal with the leftover berries on my plate once I said I couldn’t eat another bite. I would be lying, though, if I said the next stephasn’t been at the forefront of my mind. When the waitress tops off our coffee for the second time and leaves a small paper bill on the table, Boone is finally willing to talk about it.
“I can only think of two ways to handle this. We move you into a safe house, which would alert this guy we’re onto him, and he could go dark before we find him.”
I hate that idea. Even if he leaves me alone for a little while, I will always be looking over my shoulder, not to mention he would get away with killing Hayzel. “Or?” I prompt.
“We can play his game.”
