I'll Be There Part 14

"How much do you think we have now?"

"Couldn't say."

"A foot? Two?"

Cord shrugged.

Change of tact. "How long did I asleep?"

He added a couple of logs to the fire. "Since we got here yesterday." He brushed his hands off and set the screen back in place. "You should be in bed."

"So you said, but what you mean is anything to keep from talking to me."

"There's a difference in talking and being the subject of an investigation."

"You would know." He gave her a look, and she forced herself to take a more subtle approach. She'd handled more reluctant subjects than him. Okay, maybe not. Still..."I'm sorry. I can come on a little strong," she offered.

His dark gaze met hers, but rather than comment said, "How's your temperature?"

"I haven't taken it, but I feel much better."

He touched her forehead, and she felt her skin warm at the contact. Her heart rate picked up and she sighed. She-who had never sighed because of a man's effect on her-sighed. Why now when the situation was so impossible?

"You shouldn't overdo it."

"Sitting in front of the fire, reading, doesn't take much effort."

"I see you found the stuff the sheriff left for you."

Jenny folded the paper and rested it on her lap. "I haven't read a word."

"Right."

"No, really. It seemed strange to me, too, but I can't seem to concentrate."

Cord nodded and stared at the fire. The flames cast a glow over his dark skin. Jenny bit her lip. She had a crazy urge to reach out and trace the straight line of his jaw that the beard couldn't hide. She wondered what he'd look like without it.

"How'd you get the scars?" she asked again.

Cord sighed. She could see him trying to decide if he wanted to tell her or not. Waiting silently wasn't a ch.o.r.e. He was easy to look at.

"I got them in a... work accident."

"Oh." She thought maybe he'd gotten them in a fight. Jenny set the paper and magazines aside. "What happened?"

Another pause, and then, "A window shattered."

"Ouch. How many st.i.tches?"

"I don't know."

Jenny grinned. Any man with that kind of wound would know how many st.i.tches he'd gotten. It hadn't been a minor injury. He'd know. "How many?"

"Twenty-three."

"That must have been painful."

"Not really."

Maybe this had something to do with why he lived like a hermit. "Was anyone else injured?" she said casually, not looking at him, but anxious to hear his response.

He turned toward her then. The wall came up, making his expression unreadable. Fair enough. She'd let it go, for now.

He sat beside her, facing the fire. For long moments, he stared at the flames and she looked at him. Tight jeans did little to hide powerful thighs and calves. He may be a hermit, but he stayed in shape.

"Have you given much thought to what will happen when you go back?" he asked.

That surprised her-that he would be interested or that he'd care to make conversation with her, but she was thankful he was finally speaking. She hugged her knees to her chest. "You know, I don't really worry about what's going to happen. Having no control over what happens, however, is frustrating as h.e.l.l."

"I can see where that would be hard for a woman like you."

"A woman like me?"

"Independent, headstrong-"

"Why, you do know how to turn a girl's head with such pretty words, Mr. Goins."

"Confident," he added.

His gaze moved from her face to her neck, then lingered everywhere as it slid down the rest of her, all the way to her toes and back to her face. Jenny started to sweat from a heat that had nothing to do with the fire.

"Attractive."

"Careful. I'll have to issue a retraction," she teased.

He returned his attention to the fire, but not before she saw the heat in his eyes and the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I try not to think about it," she said softly.

"What?"

"What will happen after I testify."

"Haven't they told you?"

She shook her head. "They gave me some general information when I applied for WITSEC, but they haven't told me anything specific about the relocation or what I'll be doing when I get there."

"I'm sure you'll do all the things you did before."

Interesting. Did he know how this would work or was he just speculating? She didn't ask; just decided to let him talk. "How?"

"I'd think you'll get your new ident.i.ty, and they'll find you somewhere to live and a new job. It may not be writing for a newspaper, but you might be able to still work in your field."

"Under a different name."

"Yes."

She smiled. "I have given that some thought." She smiled and rocked back and forth. "I think of it as a game where I get to reinvent myself. New name, new surroundings, new people to meet."

He rolled to face her and propped up on an elbow. He was entirely too appealing for her to be expected to think coherently.

"What have you come up with?"

"In my make-believe scenarios?"

"Yeah. What name would you choose?"

She smiled. "Well, in one scenario, the one where I'm a femme fatale, my name is Lola LeBlanc. Isn't that a great name? It just rolls off the tongue... Lola LeBlanc. I'm from New Orleans, and I have a Louisiana accent." She mimicked that particular brand of southern, lowering her voice. "I have a s.e.xy occupation like running a lingerie shop or a boutique inn that caters to couples who want to get away for a romantic escape."

He cleared his throat, then sat up and leaned against the hearth next to her. "Interesting, but both those occupations would probably involve too much interaction with the general public for it to be safe."

She looked away from him, purposely trying to be coy. "Spoil sport."

"Next scenario."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be enjoying her game. Whatever it took to loosen him up a bit.

"Jane Reeves, librarian."

He laughed. "No."

"Why not?"

"You could never be quiet enough to be a librarian."

He was still laughing, but she couldn't take offense at the a.s.sessment because one-it was true; and two, she liked his laugh-a low, rolling sound that reminded her of warm honey.

"Next."

"Since you don't like anything I've come up with, what would you suggest?"

Concentration kept his face neutral as he considered. "Christina Ray. Teacher."

She leaned back, surprised. "Explain the choices."

"The name matches your personality. Bright, intelligent, pretty."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Thank you," she said softly.

"And you could teach journalism."

She would never have chosen to teach. Even though she believed education was important, she'd always considered teaching too traditionally "female" for an occupation. She had helped with a journalism cla.s.s at the high school in Angel Ridge, producing their school newsletter at The Chronicle. She even had allowed some of the students to write a teen page for the paper. She'd also sponsored a scholars.h.i.+p for the top student planning to pursue a career in journalism.

She rested her cheek against her knees. "I wonder how long it will take to get used to having another name. You know, they suggest keeping the same first name or the same initials. Seems dangerous to me to have a name similar to your old one."

"There are a lot of people in the world. You'd still be hard to track."

"Not so far."

Several moments ticked by on a clock somewhere in the room. "You know, I think the thing that most concerns me-oh, never mind." She raked a hand through her hair, pus.h.i.+ng it back away from her face.

"What?"

She chewed on her lower lip, then said, "I worry that in a weak moment, I'll go to my sister. I can't imagine never being in the same room with her, missing her birthday. Christmas was awful." Tears misted her eyes at the memory of spending the holiday with marshals and eating a microwaved frozen turkey dinner. No decorations. No family.

He surprised her by taking her hand and squeezing it. "It's weird at first, but you'll get used to it. The holidays become just another day."

She focused on their linked hands. "I can't imagine it. She was my one concession to being truly independent. I need her. We need each other. I'm not sure I can live without her."

"You'll make new friends. Start a family."

"No."

At that, he looked up at her.

"Don't look so surprised. I could never join my life to another person when I'm living a lie. Not to mention the fact that no matter where I am, the possibility will always remain that the people trying to kill me can find me and finish the job. I wouldn't endanger people I love that way."

"Not if they arrest everyone involved."

"That's not likely. The crime ring is too big and widespread for that. They may take down the main players, but there'll always be those looking for revenge and more than willing to start up where the others left off for the money."

"So you're going to live the rest of your life alone?"

She rested her chin on her knees again. Jenny had never really put words to what her life would become. Even though she'd never planned to marry, talking about living completely on her own made the future seem so dismal and meaningless. Finally, her gaze locked with his and she said, "Isn't that what you did?"

He released her hand. "We're not talking about me."

Ignoring that, she said, "Do you get lonely?" He just stared into the flames of the fire. Maybe it was the warmth at her back or the fact that she'd been so ill, but rather than filter, she said, "It makes me wonder what could possibly happen to a person to make them choose this kind of life."

"Some people want-need to be left alone. That should be enough."

"I guess I'm just not wired that way." Feeling more lethargic, Jenny couldn't help closing her eyes.

"It's late. Why don't you turn in?"

"Okay." And she would, if only she could find the energy to stand and walk all the way to the bedroom. It was just across the room, but it seemed so far away.

Cord stood and offered his hand. She would have taken it, but she couldn't make her eyes stay open. She felt his hands at her elbows and his strength replacing her own as he pulled her up.