Every Step She Takes (Who's Watching Now Book 2) (29 page)

Damn. She needed to call Rachel and make arrangements to retrieve her dog. Maybe in the morning because right now she couldn’t face a conversation with her sister. One sympathetic comment and she’d break down all over again.
If
her sister was in the mood to commiserate. More than likely Rachel would tell her she’d brought her troubles on herself. Facts were facts, and Grace honestly didn’t blame Travis for lashing out. She just hadn’t expected the wound to go so deep.

After running a brush through her hair, she left the bathroom and crossed to the bedroom door. Beyond the barrier, all was quiet. Her shoulders slumped. Pushing it open, she stepped out and stopped when a lid clattered. The scent of herbs and chicken teased her senses.

The living room was neat and tidy. Broken glass had been swept up and the disarray straightened. While she’d indulged in a temper tantrum in the bedroom, Travis had cleaned and cooked. Tears threatened again.

When he rounded the end of the counter and met her gaze, his eyes were sober. “I made soup, but it can wait. We need to talk.”

Her steps dragged as she walked to the couch and sat. “What’s left to say?”

“I don’t know, Grace, probably plenty.” He dropped onto the far cushion, leaving a good two feet of space between them, and ran a hand through his hair. “Right now I want to hear what happened earlier today. I questioned your neighbors, but no one saw a stranger in the building.”

“How did he get in then?”

“I haven’t a clue, but no one was home in the apartment above yours. I’ll check back later to see if he noticed anyone.”

“Mr. Peterman. He probably let Rogers in.”

“Not after I gave him a lecture on the dangers of allowing strangers into the building when I ran into him in the lobby last week.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, but not everyone listens when you give orders. Mr. Peterman does what he wants.”

“Kind of like you.” His words were delivered in a hard, flat voice.

Grace pressed her lips together and breathed through her nose, uncertain how many more jabs she could take.

“Sorry. I won’t belabor the point.” Leaning forward, he planted his elbows on his knees. “So your fellow tenant let Rogers into the lobby. He jimmied the lock on your door, tossed your apartment and left. He didn’t take anything?”

She shook her head. “Not that I’ve noticed. What jewelry I have is still in its box. All my electronics are accounted for, and I don’t have any knick-knacks worth stealing.”

“Did you call the cops?”

“I was
with
a cop. What would be the point of calling 9-1-1?”

Color tinged Travis’s cheeks, but he didn’t respond.

“Nolan said he’d write up a report.”

“Marconi isn’t big on following procedure, is he?” Travis let out a breath. “Rogers didn’t break anything but pictures and the mirror?”

“No. Weird, I know. Why would he paw through my stuff? I don’t get it. I don’t know this guy, so why would he take such a personal interest in me?” She shivered. “It freaks me out, knowing he was in here looking at my things, touching my clothes.”

His voice softened. “The clothes will wash. He didn’t touch you. That’s what matters.”

“I know, but it’s still—unsettling.”

A day ago he would have slid across the expanse of scarred leather and pulled her close, comforted her with a hug. Or kissed her until she forgot all her problems.

Staring straight ahead, he didn’t move an inch. “So, Rogers followed you to Bodega Bay and took a shot at you. I’m thankful you at least had the sense to call Marconi to watch your back, though why he didn’t stop you from going I’ll never understand.”

“Maybe because I made it clear I’d go with or without him.”

“He should have locked you up.”

Grace gritted her teeth. “Rogers didn’t follow us. I drove straight from Gretchen’s house in her car to Nolan’s then back to drop it off when he insisted on driving. Nolan knows what he’s doing, and he assured me we didn’t have a tail.”

“Then how did Rogers locate the safe house?”

She shrugged. “He must have a contact inside the FBI.”

“Or Estrada does. Shit.” Travis scowled. “Rogers was probably there to take out Sutton when you screwed up the works. For some reason he took a shot at you instead of waiting to complete the hit.”

“The same reason he trashed my apartment, I would imagine. Too bad we don’t know what that reason is.”

“Whatever, it’s personal.”

“Isn’t that a lovely thought? I have the personal attention of a hit man. Lucky me.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He let out a sigh. “Out of sheer, morbid curiosity, how’d you get into the house to see Sutton?”

“Your friend Fritz should employ smarter bodyguards. I blustered my way inside, and then Casey backed up my pack of lies. He seemed pleased to see me.”

“I guess that means you got your story.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry if it pisses you off even more, but I need to spend the evening writing the article. My editor wants to run it in tomorrow’s paper.”

“Why would it piss me off? You’re just doing your job, right?”

Biting her lip, she rose from the couch. “I should get started.”

He stood. “I’ll make a salad to go with the soup. After we eat, I’ll run to the store. We’re out of everything.”

“You aren’t leaving, for Seattle I mean?”

He turned, a scowl drawing his brows together. “You think I’d desert you when this freak broke into your apartment once?”

One shoulder lifted. “I already said I wouldn’t blame you.”

His chest rose and fell. “That really makes me angry.”

“Why?”

“If you have to ask, you don’t know me at all. Go write your story. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

She opened her mouth then shut it. At this point, talking would only make the situation worse. Choking on the lump in her throat, she walked away. The story wouldn’t write itself.

A spider crawled across the ceiling bathed in the dim morning light filtering through the blinds. Travis glanced at the alarm clock. Six twenty-five. No point in lying in bed when he certainly wouldn’t sleep again. He’d maybe gotten a total of two or three hours rest during the night. Anger, regret and just plain misery had made sleep impossible. Grace moved restlessly on her side of the bed. He suspected she was awake, too, but pretending otherwise. The woman was a pro at avoiding an uncomfortable situation—not that it should surprise him. Grace took care of herself.

Sliding from the bed, he headed for the shower. He’d intended to sleep on the couch but relented when she pointed out it was a good six inches shorter than he was. Instead, they’d occupied their own sides of the mattress. Not talking. Not touching. He wasn’t looking forward to a repeat performance anytime soon.

Stepping beneath the shower’s spray, he hung his head and let the heat soak into him. He certainly wouldn’t be getting any warmth from Grace. At the moment, he wasn’t sure he wanted any. He’d thought she was different. He’d believed she’d always tell him the truth, even if he didn’t want to hear it. Wrong on both accounts.

Ten minutes later he left the bathroom. The bedroom was empty, the bed neatly made. Not her usual haphazard style, which probably meant she was still upset. Yanking a T-shirt over his head, he wondered if he was overreacting. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so betrayed if it had been anyone else. Someone he wasn’t crazy in love with who’d taken advantage of his trust.

Grace was in the kitchen cooking eggs. When he entered the room, she glanced up and smiled—if the faint quiver of her lips could be considered a smile.

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

Toast popped up as she slid eggs from the pan onto a plate. After dropping the slices beside them and topping the meal with strips of bacon, she set it on the counter next to the butter and jam. He pulled up a bar stool and sat.

“Eat. Mine will be ready in a minute.” Cracking two more eggs into the pan, she waited with the spatula poised then muttered something under her breath and slid bread into the toaster.

He concentrated on his food until she sat beside him. “What are your plans for the day?”

“Work. Then I need to go get Wylie.”

“How about I drop you off at the paper and then pick him up for you?”

The fork in her hand stilled above her plate. “Would you mind?”

“No.”

She stabbed into the yolk. “Why’re you being so nice?”

He sighed. “Because there’s no point in holding a grudge over something so petty as picking up the dog. I’ll save it for the bigger issues.”

Her eyes reflected a mix of emotions as she met his gaze. “I truly am sorry.”

“So am I. What I said to you yesterday was inexcusable.”

“Is this where we kiss and make up?”

He wanted to say yes, wanted to pull her into his arms and forget everything except how much he cared about her, but the ache in his heart wouldn’t let him. “I need more time.” Wadding his napkin, he tossed it on the counter. “You and my ex have more in common than I thought.”

Her head jerked up. “What?”

“Val lied, too, told me she was going on a spa weekend with her girlfriends.” He pushed his plate away. “I had to hear from my brother—
my brother
—that he saw her coming out of a downtown hotel with her freaking personal trainer. Still, I gave her the benefit of the doubt, listened to her excuses for three more months. Then, as the topper, she served up divorce papers.”

He flinched when she laid her hand on his arm then shrugged it off.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was thick with tears. “I’m sorry she did that to you, but I’m not your ex-wife. There’s nothing going on between me and Nolan. Ask him.”

“That’s not the point. You lied to me. Worse, you betrayed my trust.”

She closed her eyes for a long moment. “I’m not denying any of it. Is there anything I can do to make things better?”

He snorted. “This isn’t a scraped knee.”

“I know.” Her hand shook as she pushed her hair behind her ear. “Still, I wish—”

“I wish, too.” Standing, he walked into the kitchen to load his plate into the dishwasher. “I’ll repair your busted lock while you shower. Do you have a screwdriver?”

“That’s it? We aren’t going to talk about it anymore?”

Her eyes, wide and filled with pain, twisted the knife in his gut. “Give me time, Grace.”

She nodded and looked away. “The screwdriver’s probably in the bottom drawer next to the stove.”

“I’ll install a new deadbolt this afternoon, but if I can get the lock functioning, it’ll deter any petty thief while we’re both out today.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He couldn’t look at her any longer and walked away.

They were behaving like polite acquaintances, not two people who’d changed each other’s lives. At least he hoped he’d changed Grace’s. She sure as hell had smashed all his preconceived notions about where his future was headed. Even if he wasn’t ready to forgive—and he’d probably never forget—he hated the idea of giving up those dreams. He couldn’t give up on her. Not completely. Not yet.

* * * *

Rachel was at the counter ringing up a customer’s order when Travis walked through the door of the Book Nook. She gave him a quick smile before wishing the chubby woman in tight, pink pants a good day and sending her off with a paperback romance, a latte and a cinnamon roll.

“That looked good.”

“You have a thing for fuchsia?”

It was a moment before he got her meaning. After all the drama with Grace, laughing felt good. “Those pants would look great on you or your sister. Not so much on that woman.”

“They’d clash with my hair. Want a cinnamon roll? They’re the absolute best, if I do say so myself.”

“I could go for a sugar fix. Do you have a mangy dog somewhere around here?”

“Wylie’s sleeping in the office.”

The bells over the door jingled as an older gentleman wearing a bow tie and a sweater vest strolled through and headed over to the history section. A young woman in a flowing skirt, her dark hair a mass of tiny braids, followed him inside.

“Hi, Chandra. How’d the meeting with the florist go?”

The woman ducked behind the counter before answering Rachel’s question. “Great. We decided on chrysanthemums for the centerpieces.”

“Sounds perfect.” Rachel waved a hand. “Chandra, meet Travis. He’s come for Wylie.”

“Too bad. That dog is quite a character. I was kind of hoping we could keep him.”

“Grace loves him too much to give him up. Nice to meet you, Chandra.”

“Likewise.”

Rachel stepped around the counter, handed Travis a napkin topped by a cinnamon roll dripping with icing then headed toward the rear of the store. “I’ll be in the office if you need me,” she called over her shoulder.

Travis followed Grace’s sister through the rows of books. When they reached a cubbyhole of a room near the back door, Wylie opened one eye then scrambled to his feet, tail waving. Bending, Travis scratched his ears.

“Strangely enough, I missed him.”

“He does grow on you. Have a seat.” She pointed to a tan chair with a stack of folders on it before dropping into the swivel chair at the desk.

Travis set the folders on the floor then sat. The determined look in Rachel’s eyes told him he wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.

“I talked to Grace.”

He kept quiet and ate a bite of the pastry. Since he didn’t know how much Grace had told her sister, he wasn’t going to open his mouth.

“She’s hurting. I could hear it in her voice.”

Taking a breath, he let it out slowly. “I don’t want that any more than you do.”

“I know you don’t. When you look at my sister, your eyes reveal how much you care about her. Maybe that’s the problem. If Kane did to me what she did to you, I’d be destroyed.”

“I’m not blameless. I said a few horrible things in the heat of the moment I deeply regret.”

“I guess that makes you human.”

“It’s no excuse.”

“Are you as hard on the people around you as you are on yourself?”

He picked at the cinnamon roll, his appetite gone. “God, I hope not.”

“Grace went through a tough situation when she was still a girl. She probably hasn’t mentioned it, but—”