Page 16 of Bad Blood Bear

Lissa nodded. “Thank you,” she said. She knew the woman meant well, but drug rehab wasn’t going to fix what was wrong with her. Maybe the clinic could, though.

She walked out of the office toward the waiting area, hoping no one was there waiting for her. Hoping she could just walk out to the nearest road, stick out her thumb, and get the hell away from this town before her past caught up with her.

But there was someone waiting for her. A huge hulk of a man with messy blond hair and scruff on his face, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Tank rose from his chair in the waiting area as Lissa came out the door. She stopped dead when she saw him, looking shocked. She was carrying a battered manila envelope with her things in it, and she looked even more hollow-eyed and exhausted than before. He could smell the blood on her.

He felt a sudden urge to just sweep her up in his arms and carry her off. His bear wanted to feed her and tuck her up and curl up around her, holding her so she wouldn’t be scared and nothing could hurt her.

But he had to be careful. He was painfully aware of the security camera in the corner of the room. If he set her off again, they might not let her leave, and if what he suspected was right, they couldn’t risk having that on video.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s get out of here.”

He saw her eyes flicker briefly towards the camera. Of course—she was a thief. She would always know where the cameras were.

She walked with Tank toward the door, her holey old sneakers slapping on the linoleum where one of the soles was coming loose.

Note to self: get her some new shoes. And warm boots for winter. And some of those sexy high heels that looked good with dresses. No—no sexy heels. Or dresses. He was just helping her out, not becoming her sugar daddy, for fuck’s sake.

He ushered her out the front door, reaching over her head to hold it open as she walked outside. The temperature had dropped from the day before, and it was chilly out. The cold didn’t bother Tank, but he saw Lissa shiver in her thin t-shirt, and he had to resist the urge to put his arm around her shoulders and pull her close.

Don’t get emotionally involved, he reminded himself. You promised Flynn you wouldn’t. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t.

She didn’t say anything while they walked to his truck, just kept giving him sidelong glances. He went around to the passenger side and opened the door for her, but she pushed it shut and faced him.

“Why did you bail me out?” she asked him bluntly. Those huge blue eyes looked up at him, staring into his as if she could see right through him. “How did you even know I was in jail? Was it on the news or something?”

He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. This next part was delicate, and he was going to suck at it.

“No. I saw you run out there, in the middle of all those people at that party, and I couldn’t get there in time. I couldn’t stop it, and I felt like shit about that. So I tried to do the next best thing.”

She frowned at him, confused. “You were there? At the party?”

He shook his head again.

Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step back. “Were you following me?”

There was no sense in trying to deny it. He nodded. “Yeah.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Have you been stalking me?” she demanded. She sounded pissed, but underneath he could smell a tiny bit of fear, well-concealed.

He ran his hands through his hair again, frustrated. He’d never been good at explaining things, and he didn’t want her to be scared of him. Even if she should be.

“It’s not like that,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows, still inching away from him. “Steaks? Fancy shampoo? Lurking by my squat to follow me at night? What would you call it?”

“Okay, it’s kind of like that,” he admitted. “But it’s not creepy, or anything,” he assured her.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not the one who gets to decide that,” she snapped. Her confidence seemed to be coming back.

“Fine,” he said. “Fuck. I suck at this. I kept trying to forget you, okay? But my b—my conscience wouldn’t let me. It kept telling me to check up on you and try to help you. I didn’t even want to,” he added. That wasn’t true. Part of him wanted to, and part of him didn’t want to feel anything.

She tilted her head, studying him. “Why am I picturing you wandering around like cartoon Pinocchio, with an annoying cricket on your shoulder telling you that stalking is in some way a good thing?”

Tank snorted at the thought of his bear as a singing, dancing Jiminy Cricket. “No idea,” he said. “Because you have a bizarre imagination?”

She just kept backing up.