Pursuit: Blood Bandits MC (8 page)

“But she still wouldn’t give me any details, you see, and I did try. You don’t know how hard I tried.” Darlene looked like she was about to cry. I patted her on the shoulder, feeling like an awkward ass, but it looked like it meant something to her that I tried at least.

“Did she say when she’s coming back? I mean, she needs the money, right? She can’t stay away forever.”

“I know, I know. I’m worried sick about her, really I am.” I heard Darlene’s name called behind me. She waved to a customer. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “Just sit here.” I did like she said while she rushed off.

So she was gone all week, and she said it had to do with him. Why would she stay home because of him? Was he threatening her? Had he hurt her, and Darlene just didn’t know about it? Maybe he was following her around and she knew he would attack her at the diner again? None of my theories sounded any better than the others. They were all trouble for Kara.

“So? What do you think?” Darlene asked.

“Is she gonna lose her job if she doesn’t come back soon?”

“Oh, God, no. Charlie loves her too much. She’s a good waitress, too. I know that isn’t saying much…”

I waved her off. “It’s not easy. I get it.” I thought it over. There was only one thing I could do. I looked at Darlene, wondering if she would go along with me.

“I need Kara’s address,” I said.

She looked just as nervous as I had known she would. “Oh, gee, I don’t know about that.”

“Come on. Please.”

“Listen, I know you wanna help her, but…I mean, she’s gonna be pissed enough when she finds out I was talking to you about this. She’s a very private person. She doesn’t want anybody knowing her business. And between you and me, I think she blames herself for a lot of what went down between her and that asshole. A lot of women get that way, you know?”

Yeah, I knew what it was like to blame myself for something. More reason for me to want to talk to her, at least.

“I’m worried about her, Darlene. Now, either you give me her address so I can maybe protect her, or you worry about pissing her off. Meanwhile, anything could be happening to her right now.”

“Don’t you do that. Don’t you put that on me,” she whispered.

“It’s true, though. What are you more worried about?”

“I don’t want to violate my friend’s privacy.”

“And I promise, I’ll tell her you put up a fight before you gave me her address. I swear it.”

She grimaced, but pulled out her order pad to write down the address. “God, she’s gonna hate me for this. But you’re right—I would hate myself even more if anything happened to her and I didn’t help her in any way I could.” She pulled the sheet from the pad, smirking. “You’re good, you know. You should’ve been a lawyer.”

I laughed. “Yeah. Well, I’ve had enough experience with them.”

She blushed when she realized what I meant.

Kara

After getting off the phone with Mom, it was a quiet afternoon. There was never anything good on TV on Sundays, and we’d gone through every single movie in our collection over the course of the week. We stuck to reading stories together instead. Emma was getting better every day when it came to reading her simple little books, though there was more than once that I caught her making up the stories as she went along based on the pictures she saw on each page. I was more than happy to let her go at it. How much longer would I get to have her as a baby after all?

How much longer would I get with her? No. I couldn’t allow myself to so much as entertain the thought of losing her to Eric. It was an impossibility, plain and simple. She was my little girl, not his. He was only her biological father, part of her genetic makeup. She might have gotten his nose, the curve of his mouth, but did he know the songs she liked to sing during bath time? Did he know how to cut her sandwiches? Did he know her favorite food? Color? Movie? Book? Did he know she was afraid of the dark and needed a nightlight at all times? No. He’d never bothered to find out either. I couldn’t let him ruin her imagination, her spunk, her need to know things. He would never, ever have the patience to sit and answer her endless questions. He didn’t love her. He only wanted to make me suffer. I was so sure of it.

I leaned in, taking a whiff of my daughter’s freshly-washed hair. She smelled like Johnson’s baby shampoo, but something else, too. Something entirely her. I could never quite put my finger on it. I couldn’t get enough of whatever it was.

Naptime couldn’t have come soon enough. I loved my daughter, but an entire week with her had started taking its toll on me. I needed a little quiet time. Darlene had been kind enough to include two bottles of wine in my grocery delivery. I made it a point to ration them carefully, since I didn’t know when I would next be able to get my hands on any. Money would be tighter than ever after missing a week of work.

“I love you, sweetheart.” I smoothed the dark, baby-fine hair back from Emma’s temple before kissing her forehead. She was so sweet, so loving, and so sleepy. She curled up in a ball, arms around her favorite teddy bear.

“I love you, Mama.” She closed her eyes, a resigned note in her voice. I realized just then that she hadn’t asked all day if she would go back to school in the morning. I wondered if she already knew. Had she heard me talking with Mom? Or did she sense it somewhere deep inside? I wouldn’t have put it past her to figure it out on her own.

My thoughts sent me straight to the kitchen for a glass of wine. I savored the first sip of the cold, crisp Chardonnay, then sighed when I realized how important that glass of wine had become. Who was I?

I walked to the living room, swirling the wine in the glass. I used to drink a lot of really nice, expensive wine when I was with Eric. Just another one of the little extravagances he’d assured me were only for my benefit. The wine had become a crutch after a while, one which I’d had to monitor carefully from that point forward. That was something he’d never picked up on, the drinking. The eating, yes, and he’d bothered me incessantly over it. But not the drinking. I would still have a glass of wine with dinner, especially if we went out—something which became less and less likely over time. Otherwise, I’d cut out the glasses I used to drink alone, while he was on a business trip or golf outing or anywhere else. The wine I would drink to dull the incessant aching of my heart.

My phone was off, as I tended to leave it when not in use. I decided to take a chance, letting the wine bolster my courage a bit. I squeezed my eyes shut as I turned it on, then held my breath as it started up and eventually showed me the number of missed messages. Only a half dozen since I’d gotten off the phone with Mom. I couldn’t help but check those which had come in before then. The same insanity as before. How could I do it to him, why didn’t I know how good I’d had it with him, I would pay, whatever. I couldn’t even care as much as I had. I was still on my guard, but I wouldn’t let him break me.

A sudden knock at the door was enough to send me into a paroxysm of panic. I froze, looking around the room for a weapon. I never had random visitors, and Mom would have told me when we chatted if she planned to visit. Besides, I’d told her to come over the following day.

There was nothing in my reach to use as a weapon. I didn’t even have any big knives in the kitchen. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get close enough to use a knife, anyway. A bat would have been perfect, but I didn’t have one of those either. I would have to buy one. If I could.

Another knock. I jumped a little that time, staring at the door. I thought my bladder might give way.
If I stay very still, he won’t know I’m here. He’ll think I’m out
. I thanked God that Emma was in bed, quiet. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe very slowly and quietly.
He’ll go away. He’ll go away
.

“Kara? It’s Dom. From the diner.”

My eyes flew open. “Dom?” What the hell? How did he know my address?

“Yeah. It’s me. I’m glad you’re here. Can I come in, please?”

I didn’t know him from Adam. How was I supposed to trust him to come into my apartment? I didn’t even know for sure that it was him. That thought sent me scrambling off the couch, tiptoeing to the peephole.

There he was, just as I remembered him. Same stunning body, same dark hair flopping over a tanned forehead. Same dark eyes. Stubbly cheeks. He looked good enough to eat.

Down, girl. A half a glass of wine and your hormones rage out of control
. It wasn’t the wine—at least, not entirely. It was the memory of our kiss, too. The best kiss of my entire life. A woman didn’t forget about a kiss like that. The promise of it. What would come after it, if only I would allow it to happen.

“You still there? Hello? I feel like a real asshole, standing here, talking to a door.”

I flipped the locks, then opened the door. “You might want to watch your language,” I hissed, waving him in.

“Oh, sorry. The kid around? I wasn’t thinking.”

I sighed as I closed the door, locking up again. “She’s not ‘the kid.’ She’s Emma. And no, she’s napping, so please be quiet.” Once he was in the apartment with me, I didn’t know what to do. He was there. Really there. I couldn’t deny the little bit of relief I felt at the knowledge that I didn’t have to be alone. I was so tired of being alone, having to shoulder everything myself.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, wanting to get that little bit of information out of the way before we could talk about anything else. “How did you find out where I live? Let me guess. Darlene?”

“She fought tooth and nail against giving me your address, I swear to God. I finally convinced her. She cares about you.”

“Yes, I know she does. I’m lucky to have her in my life. Okay, so she gave you the address. Why did you want it in the first place? Did I not give you correct change?” Then I remembered the more-than-generous tip waiting for me at the club’s table, and some of the arrogance melted away. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“No, it’s okay. I get it. I’d wonder why I was here, too.” He pointed to the couch. “Can I sit?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Make yourself comfortable.” Why the hell not? I’d evidently lost all control of the situation, so why not let him do whatever he wanted?

He looked around. “This is…small.”

I snickered. It looked even smaller with him in it, since he was so big. I wondered if his body would even fit on the sofa if he laid down on it. He had to be six and a half feet tall, maybe a little less. And all of him was muscle. My heart got a little fluttery when I looked at him. What would he want with me?

“Yeah,” I said, bringing myself back to the topic at hand. “It’s all I can afford right now. You know how it is. Times are tough. Ex is an asshole. I have no money. And so on.” I still stood, unsure what to do. Should I sit? Between the two of us, there wouldn’t be much room left. I’d have to sit fairly close to him, and he’d spread himself out to the point where we’d make contact whether I wanted us to or not. Standing was safer, I decided.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” I reminded him. “I would like to know. Why did you look for me at the diner? What is it that you wanted?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I had to make sure you were okay.”

Something lit up inside me. A little spark which grew into a tiny flame. It burned in the darkness of my heart, where so many things had died over time. The hope that there were still nice, genuine men in the world being foremost among those dead beliefs. I didn’t want to fool myself into thinking he was nice, but the hope was there. I hoped he meant it.

“But Darlene could have told you that. Right?”

“I’m the type of person who likes to find out for himself. I like to see with my own eyes.” He looked me up and down, and I cursed myself for the ratty workout pants and tank top I wore. Not only did I look like a slob, but a half-dressed slob. I knew the outline of my breasts was clear through the thin cotton material, and a blush colored my skin. It didn’t help that he gave me that sexy smirk when he read my mind, as he could clearly do.

“Now you’ve seen me. You know everything is okay here. Why don’t you leave now? My daughter is taking a nap, but she’s bound to wake up soon. I don’t want you…confusing her.”

“Confusing her?” He shrugged. “What’s so confusing about me?”

“The fact of you, for one. I don’t have…men here.” I blushed again. Would he ever not have that effect on me? I told myself I wouldn’t know him long enough to find out, so it didn’t matter.

“So you tell her I’m a friend of yours.”

I smirked. “I don’t like lying to my daughter.”

He smirked in return. “So what do you tell her about her father? You tell her he’s a good guy, right? How is that not a lie?”

My skin went hot again, but this time it was out of anger. “Don’t you dare presume to tell me how to talk to my daughter. What I tell her is my business, not yours. Now I would appreciate it if you would leave my home. Please.”

He didn’t budge. I sighed in exasperation. “What do I have to do to get rid of you?”

“Oh, you’re not getting rid of me. Not until I know why you didn’t go to work all week.”

I opened my mouth to reply, planning to give him an excuse, when my phone buzzed. Crap! I’d left it on the end table, right next to Dom’s arm.

“I wasn’t feeling well, and then Emma wasn’t feeling well. Somebody had to stay here with her.”

He nodded. I noticed how he didn’t seem to care about the phone, which was a relief. “Who watches her when you work those super late shifts at the diner? They couldn’t have stayed with her?”

“I can’t ask my mother to spend all day with a sick child,” I explained. “She’s older now. It’s too much for her to deal with. And why the heck am I justifying myself to you? It’s none of your business!”

He grinned. “I don’t know, but I know you’re full of shit. You would do anything for that kid. You would find a way, just to be sure you could make money that day. No, I don’t believe you. You’re holding something back.”

“What difference does it make? Oh my God, you’re driving me crazy. I’ve never felt like I was literally speaking to a brick wall before.” I would have thrown my glass of wine in his face if I hadn’t fretted over wasting it. Instead, I finished the glass.

“Wine? This early in the day?”

“Again, none of your business. If it bothers you so much, you’re more than welcome to leave.”

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve never spent all week with a three-year-old before. I’m sure I would have been hitting the hard stuff days ago, like before breakfast.”

That made me laugh. I sat on the edge of the sofa, as far away from him as I could get. If he felt offended, he didn’t show it. His face remained bland, impassive.

“So, like I said. Why don’t you try telling me the truth. What’s happening?”