Page 19 of Destroyed With You

And yet I can’t look away.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.” I meet his eyes, then drop the towel. “I want you to stay.”

Chapter Seven

“Winston?” I say now, as the memory of our shared past cuts through me, cold and bittersweet. “Is it really you?”

I take a step toward him, wanting desperately to touch him. But another more rational part wishes that he weren’t here at all. “What are you doing here?”

“Just stop right there,” he orders as I start to take a second step.

I freeze. There was a time when I’d known without a shadow of a doubt that he would never hurt me. That he’d die to protect me. But that time is definitely not now.

His hand on the gun is firm, and the barrel doesn’t shake at all. If I’ve rattled him, he’s not showing it. And there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll pull that trigger if I don’t do exactly what he says.

It’s no less than I deserve, but that simple truth saddens me. I never thought this day would come, and now that it has, all I want to do is run away. But not from the gun. No, what I want is to escape that hard, lost look in his eyes.

“We should talk.” I cock my head toward the bed. “Can I sit?”

His eyes narrow as he looks me up and down. It’s a cold, assessing look. Nothing remotely sensual about it, and yet my traitorous body responds. My skin heats. My nipples tighten. My skin flushes.

I remember with sudden clarity the last time we’d been together. The living room had been lit with firelight, and we’d drunk wine and made love on a blanket spread across our living room floor. I cherish the memory, and a knife-edge of anger cuts through me because I know that the same memory only hurts him now.

“Please,” I say, edging sideways.

“Don’t fucking move.”

I freeze. “Why are you here?” I ask again. “And why do you have a gun? I thought you left police work.”

“You thought?” he repeats. “You thought?” He takes a step toward me, but not too close. “Funny. I didn’t think the dead could think.”

“Winston—”

“No.” The word is sharp and cold as steel, and I see the pain reflected all over his face. Pain that I caused. “Tell me.”

I lick my lips. “I know that you left Hades. You moved to California. You quit law enforcement and retired and volunteered at an animal shelter.”

I’d been glad of that. That the life insurance I’d put in place had allowed him to leave police work behind. And he’d finally been able to get a dog. I’d told him I was allergic back in the day, but it wasn’t true. In reality, my handlers didn’t want any creature in my life that might, literally, be able to sniff out my secrets.

His eyes narrow slightly as he studies my face. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you kept an eye on me? Tell me what you saw, Linda. Because if it wasn’t a man broken completely in two, then you had the wrong damn picture.”

“I know,” I say. “I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t—”

“What?”

“I wasn’t spying on you. I only wanted to know that you’d be okay.”

He laughs at that. A hard, raucous sound. “Okay? Okay? Are you insane? My wife was dead—at least I thought she was. I’d been ripped to pieces. And you’ve been keeping tabs on me for all these years?”

“No. I—”

“What?” he snaps, and I have to work not to recoil from the vitriol in his tone.

“I stopped watching. Once you were settled in Orange County with your house and your work at the shelter, I never paid attention again.” I lift my chin. “It hurt too much to watch what you were doing and not say anything.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?”