Vanishing Act (16 page)

She offered a small chuckle while shaking her head. “That's not what I mean, and you know it.”

His throat suddenly went dry, and he swallowed uncomfortably. But he didn't have a response. His history hadn't changed. Couldn't change. He still had nothing to offer her. And he had to tell her as much.

No matter how much he cared about her.

B
eneath Danielle's cheek Nate's shoulder tensed, his muscles twitching slightly. She lifted her head and tried to swing around to face him, but his hand on her shoulder kept her from twisting fully.

“Nate? Is something wrong?”

He cleared his throat and opened his mouth, as though ready to speak. Like a fish he closed it without saying a word. Such unusual behavior from a normally confident man.

Silence hung heavily on them, as she finally shifted from his embrace and turned to meet his gaze. His eyes were clear, but she couldn't read his emotions in the dark gray depths. There wasn't even a hint of blue in them today, and it made the fair hairs on her arms stand on end.

Rubbing the bumpy flesh on her forearms, she finally broke eye contact, searching for something—anything—else to focus on.

“Danielle.” His voice was soft, pleading, as he hooked his index finger beneath her chin. Lifting until their eyes locked again, he swallowed thickly again. “I'm sorry.”

Dear, Lord.
It was the only prayer she could manage before the ambiguous look in his eyes solidified, and her
chin started an uncontrollable quiver. “You don't—I mean, you and I—there is no—”

And then she couldn't stay seated a moment longer. Her feet pounded the floor as she paced wall to wall, her apartment never feeling so small. Nate stood as well, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. With hunched shoulders he looked smaller than usual.

And was that pain etched across his face?

“Danielle, I am sorry. I didn't mean for this to get so far out of hand. I thought I could make it so no one would get hurt. But I can't be who you want me to be. I have a history and a past that I refuse to repeat. I won't be my father or my grandfather.”

“But you're not them!” Her voice rose and almost cracked before she clamped both hands over her mouth and turned her back on him. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she knuckled them away with clenched fists. He wasn't worth crying over. He wasn't.

Maybe if she kept telling herself that, it would make it true.

Father, we have something special. I know we do. Why won't he take a chance? Can't he see that I'm scared, too? But I'm willing to try for a future together. I'd rather push through my fear than miss out on what You have for me. Why is he being so stubborn that he won't do the same? He's not his father! Why can't he see it?

Nate walked across the room, getting so close to her back that his breath stirred her hair. She longed to turn into his embrace and just have him hold her. But that could only make things worse.

“Danielle, I'd hurt you if we tried to pursue something between us. Don't you see? I'd only end up ruining whatever we could have had. There can't be an ‘us.'”

Swallowing the sob that rose in her throat, she clenched
her fists and turned to face him. Imploring with her eyes, she tried to convey every confidence she had in the two of them—every reason for them to stay together. He looked away, shaking his head, and she reached for his arm.

“Nate. Please. We can do this together. I know you want us to be together.”

Something like hope flashed in his eyes for a split second before he shook his head. “No.”

“Please—”

“No.” Another curt shake and a small step back as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don't want it. Whatever you thought this—” he pointed back and forth between them “—was, it's not. I'm sorry…but don't you get it? This is for your own good. I'm no good at relationships.”

She just shook her head. “How would you know? You tried once in college, and it didn't work out. Why won't you try again?”

“I know my history.”

“That's not
your
history!”

“Yes it is. My dad. My grandpa. It's all my history.”

“But you could break the cycle. You don't have to live like they did. Aren't you willing to even try?”

“And risk hurting someone I genuinely care for?” He sighed, stabbing his fingers into his hair. “Danielle, I do like you. A lot. I don't want you to be upset. And I'd never want to hurt you the way that I inevitably would. I just—” He shrugged, his face pinched with pain.

She rubbed her eyes, pressing against the burning there, as she walked around the couch, needing a little more space. There had to be something she could say, something she could do to convince him of the truth.

Clearing her throat and taking a deep breath prepared her for her last try. “Don't you think that God would help you make a relationship successful?”

“Of course, I believe He would. If that was His plan for me. But it's not. I realized a long time ago that I'm supposed to be single for the rest of my life.”

Her breath left her nearly as fast as it had at the moment of impact after her bike crash. Clinging to the back of the couch, she leaned over and tried to regain control.

She felt Nate make a step toward her and held up her hand to stop him before raising her eyes to meet his. “A long time ago? You knew a long time ago? That you'd be single forever.”

He nodded, confusion covering his face. “Yes. Back in college. After everything with Georgia.”

This man by words and actions had shown that he cared for her—made her believe they could have a future. She'd let him into her life—the first person she'd let see the real Nora since before that terrible night in the alley.

And like a coward he'd betrayed that promise and her trust. He'd never even thought about having a future with her. He'd led her on, letting her hope for the best, all the while never putting his own heart on the line.

Ire that she hadn't even known existed rose in her heart. She tried to tamp down the anger splintering her soul before realizing it could give her the strength to send him away.

“If that's how you want it, then I want you out of my house now,” she said, her tone rigid, all trace of tears vanished.

“I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to be like this.”

“It's too late for apologies. I want you out. Get out now!” She pointed at the door, and he nodded, resolute as he walked to the door.

“Fine. But I'm going to be outside your door all night.”

“I don't care what you do. I just don't ever want to see you again.”

 

“God this all went so wrong. I have no idea what just happened here.”

Nate sat in his car, leaning against the steering wheel and watching Danielle's door. There hadn't been any movement since she kicked him out of her house more than three hours before. The outside light still shone, but all of the lights behind the curtains and blinds were off. She was sitting in total darkness or laying in her bed, trying to sleep.

Maybe she could sleep, but he knew he wouldn't be able to rest for a long while.

“God, give me wisdom.”

He'd been shooting spurts of prayer toward the roof of his car at irregular intervals since Danielle kicked him out. It seemed the only way to let go of bursts of steam that threatened to shoot out of his ears.

He'd thought that she wasn't getting as attached as he was. He'd thought they could stay friends and no one's heart would be risked. He'd thought…well, a lot of things.

Apparently none of them right.

“God, how did I end up messing up this situation so badly? I just don't understand. I was doing everything right.”

Except for kissing her around just about every corner.

“Except for that,” he grudgingly admitted. “But I was in control of the situation. I had it completely covered. Danielle was safe—
I
was safe—and we were so close to figuring out who's after her.”

He could feel it deep in his gut. After years in the Bureau, he knew the instincts that kicked in right when a case was about to break. And this case was about to break.

And, of course, he was completely out of control of the
whole situation. He was good at being in control. Good at solving cases, investigating leads, following tracks.

He was terrible at being idle. Terrible at not knowing what to do next. Terrible at not being in control. But that was exactly where he found himself.

The moon slid behind a cloud, laying a blanket over the outer edge of the parking lot where Danielle's light didn't reach. The wind stirred, and the dried leaves of fall rustled in haphazard circles.

He was antsy. He had to get up and do something.

Stepping into the brisk autumn air, he made a quick walk around the building's perimeter. It was completely dark on the other side of the building, the clouds blocking the light from even the strongest stars.

As he walked, his mind kept conjuring Danielle's face, her soft features and bouncing brown hair, but he couldn't think about her now. That mess was a distraction. One he hoped they could work out later. Right now was about the case. About protecting Danielle.

With a conscious effort, he brought the details of the case to the front of his mind, thinking through the little things that had fallen by the wayside during the last couple days of panic. Ridley and Kirk had both been suspects of sorts, but obviously neither of them was the Shadow. So who was it? Was it another man in Andy's auto class? Someone they'd bumped into at church? Someone from the Y?

He methodically thought through the men he'd come in contact with, dismissing each with either an alibi or lack of menace.

But suddenly his mind jumped to the weight of Danielle's foot in his hand the night before as he gently laid the frozen-veggie bag on her ankle. Her skin was soft and pale, and it brought to mind the first time he'd administered first
aid to that same ankle after she'd been chased through the woods.

That day he'd run around his entire complex, looking for the man who chased her. But he'd only seen a woman.

Immediately another memory jumped to light. This time of the shoe prints on his deck. As he looked at them in his mind's eye, they were smallish. Maybe too small for a man's. Could it be a woman's?

But how had he dismissed those clues?

He pounded his fist on his thigh, catching the corner of the bruise that Kirk had given him. He groaned in pain and disgust with himself.

Oh, Lord, I've been looking for a man, but it's a woman, isn't it? I've been distracted, worried about my feelings for Danielle, and I've missed the clues. I was so worried about being in control of this mission and my attraction to Danielle, that I overlooked the most obvious part of the assignment. Please forgive my arrogance and help me find the woman that's after Danielle.

His suspect had been sitting in front of him the whole time, and he'd failed to even recognize her.

On the backside of the building, he picked up his pace, hurrying toward Danielle's door. They had phone calls to make, and this wasn't about whether or not he'd misled her about their relationship. This was about her safety.

He was almost to the corner when the moon escaped from the protection of the clouds. Its light was already beginning to fade, dawn on its way. But it was enough to reflect off the metal barrel that materialized before him.

“Won't you ever leave?” asked a voice, sweet like chocolate and hard as iron. He knew it immediately. “I swear, everywhere I go, you're there. It's like you won't let Nora out of your sight for two minutes. Who are you?”

Nate opened his mouth to answer, unsure just how honest to be, but she didn't seem to really care.

“It doesn't matter. This ends now. She's mine.”

He didn't hear the gun firing. He only felt a searing fire in his right arm before falling to the ground.

 

It sounded like a car backfiring right outside her window. Or a gunshot.

Danielle jumped from a sound sleep, glancing at her clock. It was just past five, and she hopped out of bed to investigate. Throwing a sweater over her pajamas as she tiptoed across the living room, she glanced at the lock on her front door. Still in place. Peeking through the blinds, she spied Nate's car sitting where he had parked it the night before. But he wasn't there to expand his academic horizons.

He was probably asleep in the office. Definitely. He wasn't in danger. She hadn't heard him moving around in the office last night like she usually did, but her mind had been filled with other things.

A twinge of concern plucked at her heart, and although she tried quickly dismissing it, her stomach rolled. He was a grown man. He could handle himself.

Except if that had been a gunshot.

If it had been a gunshot aimed at Nate, she needed to check it out. No matter how angry he had made her, she wouldn't run again. No matter how much her insides quaked at just the thought of going outside. She wouldn't turn her back at the first hint of danger as she had with her father.

But Nate wasn't her father. He'd taught her better than to run away, showed her how God had given her the strength to stand up for herself and the ones she loved.

“God, help me! I do love Nate,” she sighed, running to her bedroom.

She wasn't the same woman, either. The one who had made a huge mistake, who bolted from the alley a year and a half before, was long gone, replaced by a woman who would never abandon someone she loved.

She threw on her coveralls, the first thing she could find. Pulling her hair into a ponytail and shoving a couple pins in it to keep strays in place, she didn't even bother checking the mirror before running for the office. She closed and locked her door as she hurried around the side of the building toward the front door. Once inside she found no sign of Nate or his usual air mattress. Hands in her pockets, she spun around confused.

Where was he? Had he believed her the night before when she said she never wanted to see him again? She'd been angry. Hurt. Maybe overreacted a bit.

And what about his mission?

She backed into the garage, turning on the overhead light. Its brilliance compared to the barely there morning sun made her blink rapidly. When her eyes did finally adjust, her mind couldn't make sense of the woman standing before her, arms crossed defiantly across her chest. The woman's normally jovial expression had been replaced with a hard glare that made Danielle tremble.