She Can Run (18 page)

Jack commiserated. No one wanted an audience for an emotional breakdown. As she fought for composure, he wiped any trace of sympathy from his face. Not an easy task.

Beth hadn’t moved, but pain shadowed her face. Jack guessed she was too exhausted to cover it up. The shadows under her eyes were dark as bruises, as if she hadn’t slept in a year. Then again, maybe she hadn’t. Not if she had nightmares like this one.

She drew in an audible, ragged breath, and Jack wished he’d been able to make her stay in the hospital overnight. He’d feel a lot better about the situation if she’d had that CAT scan.

Her shoulders trembled. A protective instinct surged through Jack’s body.

The sudden desire to hold her in his arms was overwhelming. It wasn’t sexual. Oh, who was he kidding, there was definitely a sexual component, but this was more than that. His arms ached with the desire to comfort her as she cowered, small and alone, against the headboard.

He needed to hold her.

Jack’s heart hammered as if he were walking on a frozen pond, waiting for it to break under his feet as he turned and slid backward, toward Beth. “Must have been some nightmare. A concussion can really mess you up. I’ve had my share.”

Beth froze as he eased toward her. Their hips were nearly touching when he stopped. Stretching his legs out on the bed in front of him, he leaned back against the pillows and waited for a response. When she didn’t pull away, he slid his arm gently around her shoulders and drew her to his chest. She stiffened for a moment reflexively, but a few seconds later, she gave in with a sigh and sagged against him. Warmth surged through Jack’s chest. Her hair smelled like antiseptic instead of berries, but he inhaled anyway. Underneath the hospital smell was her scent, and Jack drew it in as affirmation that she was here, safe, in his arms.

Her breathing slowed as she relaxed back into sleep and physical exhaustion won out over nerves. A shiver passed through her body. Careful of the bandage on her arm, Jack lifted the blanket over her shoulders and closed his eyes. The adrenaline that had kept him operating at full tilt during the crisis had dissipated, sapping all of his energy.

As her sleep deepened, she pressed closer, as if her body sought more contact with his than her brain would allow when it was awake. Her heart thumped against his chest.

Jack lay in the dark, savoring the feel of her soft body clinging to his until sleep claimed him as well.

Jack blinked at the predawn light filtering through the blinds. Beth’s body was warm and relaxed against his. Her head rested on his chest. Her breasts pressed against his ribs. He could get used to waking up like this. But how would Beth feel about the vulnerability she’d shown last night? Or the fact that she’d slept in his arms all night long? Given her aversion to physical contact, he doubted she’d be comfortable with the situation.

Slowly, and with some regret, he slid out from under her and gently eased her onto the mattress. The light fell across her face, highlighting her bruises against her pale skin. An ache formed in Jack’s chest. She looked like she’d been beaten. She didn’t stir as he rose and crept from the room.

Downstairs, he grabbed a quick shower. Ben was already in the kitchen when Jack headed for the coffee pot.

“I’ll feed the horses,” Ben volunteered.

Jack considered Beth’s accident. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to Ben. “Wait for me. I’ll go with you.”

Ten minutes later, the sun was barely above the trees as Jack stood in the barn aisle and stared at the ladder debris. Broken bits of woods of various sizes were scattered in a ten-foot arc. He would call a carpenter this morning, but he couldn’t leave this mess in the aisle. Leaning on his cane, he bent down and started tossing pieces of wood into a wheelbarrow.

Ben slid the last stall door shut, latched it, and returned the scoop to the feed room. In the stalls around them, buckets banged against wood as the horses ate. “I gave them their grain, but I don’t know how I’ll get hay out of the loft.”

“We’ll get the extension ladder out of the garage as soon as I get this cleared away.” Jack picked up a board. Bent, rusty nails protruded from the end.

“Can I help?”

“You could find me a rake.” Jack could not let Ben near this junk. God only knew when the kids last had a tetanus shot booster, and they’d spent more than enough time in the ER last night.

Ben jogged off on his quest. Jack picked up a split ladder rung and moved to toss it into the pile when a mark on the edge caught his attention.

What the hell?

The narrow cut looked fresh and clean, and cut straight across the grain, not like it had broken by accident but as if someone had cut through it with a saw. Had to be a coincidence. The wood was old and worn. Chances were it had simply fallen apart. The only other possibility was that someone had done this intentionally, to try to hurt Beth. Jack’s gut clenched at the image of Beth’s battered body. He could still feel her curled up against him, soft and vulnerable in the dark.

He glanced up at the loft, roughly twelve feet above his head, then looked down to reexamine the broken wood in his hands. Beth could have broken her neck in the fall, but sabotaging a ladder wasn’t an efficient way to try to kill a person. The chances of the attempt being successful were too slim.

No. This had to be an accident.

But as Jack gathered the remaining debris in the wheelbarrow and carted it back to the garage, the back of his neck began to itch.

A suspicious accident was an excellent way to flush someone out of hiding.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Beth blinked. Daylight stabbed her eyeballs. She squinted at the bedside clock and winced. She hadn’t slept till noon since she was a teenager. Guilt edged into her thoughts. Were the kids OK? Although she knew in her gut that Jack would look after them, habitual panic crept over her. They had to be scared.

She needed to get her butt out of bed. Seeing her up and moving would alleviate their fears. She also had to get down to the barn and retrieve her gun before Jack found it. Ben had stashed it the night before while Jack went for the car. Ben could handle the Sig, but the sight of the gun in his hands always brought Beth’s deepest fears bubbling to the surface.

She sat up slowly. Her head throbbed, and her elbow was stiff and swollen. She grimaced. Pain shot through her cheek. Her body ached like she’d been beaten—she happened to know just what that felt like. On the bright side, being upright did not generate dizziness or nausea. Not bad, considering how far she’d fallen.

Physical assessment complete, her hand drifted to the indentation of Jack’s head and shoulders on the mattress. She lifted the pillow and held it to her face. Closing her eyes, she let his masculine scent waft over her. For a second, she longed to feel his body next to hers, solid and warm, fooling her brain into thinking that everything would be all right. Her body tensed. One innocent night together and his absence left her bereft.

She’d let him get too close.

There was nothing she could do about it today. With her injuries, she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The estate was the safest place for the children. James had said so. And he was the only person she truly trusted. Not for the first time, she thought she should have told him her whole, humiliating story. He wouldn’t have doubted her. But what could one elderly man do? James didn’t have money or any kind of power.

But Jack did. Jack could help them.

Should she tell him everything? Not only did Jack have the financial resources, he’d been a cop. A homicide detective. He’d seen things far worse than domestic abuse and attempted murder. Surely he’d believe her. Wouldn’t he?

That was the real problem. She just didn’t know for sure. Her story was pretty far-fetched. In her current physically vulnerable state, the risk was too great.

She dangled her legs off the mattress for a few seconds before pushing herself to her feet. Her knees wobbled but held as she shuffled into the bathroom. One glance in the mirror and her eyes filled. She’d been hurt before, but Richard had been smart enough to keep his fists away from her face. A few broken ribs hadn’t been a problem, but a congressman’s wife couldn’t have a black eye.

The bright lights emphasized the bruise on her temple. Her eye was black. Between the bruising, her pallor, and the bandage on her forehead, she looked like a walking corpse, something out of
Night of the Living Dead
.

She eyed the concealer and pressed powder in the medicine cabinet. Not going to happen. There wasn’t enough makeup in Hollywood to make her look alive. Plus, the skin on her face was too tender. The best she was going to manage this morning was clean. And that was going to hurt.

Beth took a deep breath, turned the tap to warm, and washed the dried blood from her face and hair. Stripping off her bloodstained clothes, she scrubbed the hospital smell from her skin. A few minutes later she eased into a pair of sweats and an oversized T-shirt.

Even with a clear head, Beth took a firm hold on the banister as she descended the curved stairs. Her knees were still shaky, her body ridiculously fatigued from washing up.

Shock lit up Jack’s face as she stepped into the kitchen.

“What are you doing out of bed?” He leaped to his feet, limped across the kitchen, and cupped her uninjured elbow. “Why didn’t you call for me? You shouldn’t have come down the stairs by yourself.”

Beth barely registered the words. Instead her attention focused on the warmth of his palm on her arm. Heat flowed from his skin to hers. His aftershave drifted down, and Beth resisted the urge to bury her face in his neck for a deep sniff. If she did, he’d wrap his arms around her and pull her against his long, hard body. She already knew what it felt like to be embraced by his strength, and she leaned toward him like a plant growing toward the sun.

Fire gathered in her belly. She froze. She was in deep trouble. Over her head, sitting on the bottom of the ocean deep. She
should
have been embarrassed about her behavior the night before. But her whacked-out body chose to flood with pleasure at the physical contact instead, as if it knew where it belonged—in his arms.

Clearing her throat she managed to reply, “I’m fine, really.”

He led her to a chair and eased her down into it. His hand slid up her arm to squeeze her shoulder for a second. The tension in his fingers transmitted the concern he didn’t voice.

Beth lifted her eyes to his. There was something else there in addition to worry. Desire? No way. Impossible. Not the way she looked this morning.

Her thoughts returned to the way his arms had felt around her cold body the night before: strong, reassuring, protective. His presence had kept her nightmares at bay. She hadn’t slept that deeply in years. Her heart told her this man would not betray her.

Her heart?

She jerked her gaze away. The quick movement of her eyeballs sent pain flashing through her temples.

What was wrong with her? The knock on the head must have killed too many brain cells to process rational thought. She’d had two serious relationships in her life. One had ended in death, leaving her with a broken heart she’d never get over. The second man she’d trusted had beaten the hell out of her, then imprisoned and tried to kill her. She could not rely on her instincts. Her heart was too easily deceived. Her heart was a total chump.

Jack’s forehead wrinkled as he registered her withdrawal. Disappointment crossed his face. She could only hope he’d attribute last night’s weakness to pain and disorientation rather than the deep attraction she felt for him.

His hand slid off her shoulder, leaving her cold in its absence. He took a step back and winced as he reached for the counter for support. “What would you like to eat?”

Beth’s stomach churned, either from the headache or emotional turmoil. Or both. “I’m not really hungry.”

“Head hurt?” he asked, brows furrowed.

At her nod, he moved to the counter and slid a piece of bread into the toaster. “Let’s see if you can get a piece of toast down. Then I’ll get you some aspirin.”

With an elbow on the table, she rested her forehead in her hand—anything to keep her eyes off Jack. She didn’t trust herself to remain aloof when her body responded to him without consulting with her brain.

A bark drew her gaze to the door. Henry stood on the patio. The second Jack let him in, he trotted to Beth’s chair, rested his massive head in her lap, and whined. She stroked his head.

“Where are the kids?” She steeled her spine and turned to Jack. She needn’t have worried. He’d erased all traces of desire from his face.

“Mrs. Harris took them down to the pool.” He opened the fridge and poured a glass of juice. “Henry was with them. I wonder what brought him back? He must have been hot.”

Jack set the toast and juice on the table, along with a bottle of aspirin.

As Beth began to eat, Henry lowered his body to the floor and rested his head on her bare feet with a sigh. Although her foot fell asleep, Beth left the dog’s head right where it was as she drank her juice and swallowed two tablets.