expression was quizzical.
"Things can be replaced," he pointed out. "You are who you are no matter who or what's around."
"No." She shook her head forcefully. "I don't believe that. We're shaped by the people we love. 'No man is an island...'"
"I've heard that." His voice was hard. "I don't believe it. If it were true, I wouldn't exist at all."
Again she was caught by his bitterness. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing." The chair legs scraped as he abruptly pushed it away from the table. After pitching the beer can into the trash under the sink, he stood looking out the window, his back to them. He rubbed his neck with one hand, as though trying to release tension, but his voice was almost expressionless. "I work undercover a lot. Do you know what would happen if you spent all your time pining for some damn dog? Or your own TV? Sure you forget who you are. That's the only way you can function. You have to be the slimeball you're pretending to be. But then you walk away from it, from who you were, and that person doesn't exist anymore." He turned to face her. "Nothing to it."
Something painfully close to pity stirred in her chest. "I see," she said carefully. Why did she want to touch him, to smooth away the harsh lines on his face?
"So?" he said. "Are you going to be smart enough to drop out of sight?"
"It's not for me."
"Damn it!" He slapped his hand on the counter. "Don't be a fool!"
Megan didn't say anything, just stared stubbornly back.
He looked at Bill. "Can't you convince her?"
Bill had the bewildered expression of a spectator at a football game who'd been asked to take the quarterback's place. "Convince her? To do what? I don't understand."
"She needs to take a vacation away from here for a while. Just until this whole mess is cleared up."
"But if she didn't see anything..."
He swore. "I didn't know it was possible to be so naive!"
"Better naive than paranoid," Megan said sharply.
His laugh was short and humorless. "Let me spend the night at least."
She reacted with instinctive alarm. "What do you mean?"
"Obviously not what you're thinking. I'll sleep on the couch, keep out of your way."
"That might not be a bad idea," Bill said. "Unless... Hey, why don't you come home with me? You can even have my bed. Or sleep in the truck. They'd never find you there."
"They, they, they!" Suddenly angry, she jumped to her feet. This whole thing was ridiculous—no, insane! She refused to be frightened out of her own house! But she couldn't help remembering those headlights that had appeared from nowhere in her rearview mirror, the car hesitating at the head of her driveway. "Enough already! If it'll make you happy, you can sleep on the couch, I don't care! But don't think for a minute that I believe any of this!"
"Hey, calm down," Bill said. "He's just trying to take care of you."
She gave her brother a fierce look. "Drop it! I agreed, didn't I?" When neither man said anything, she stalked out. Using some of her adrenaline, Megan snatched sheets and blankets out of a closet and wrenched the couch in the living room out with a clatter. With quick, angry movements she made it, trying not to think about Mac's long, hard body sprawled carelessly on those pristine sheets.
When she looked up, Mac stood in the doorway watching her with an odd expression. "I'm sorry," he said in that rough-edged voice. "You're having to pay a price for saving my life. That's not fair."
Somehow her anger had slipped away. Megan gave the pillow a last punch and straightened. "We always pay a price for our choices."
"It's the price others have to pay for us that hurts."
She knew that too well. Trying to change the subject, she said at random, "You don't even have a toothbrush."
"I'll survive."
"You could go get your..."
One dark brow quirked. "Things?"
"Yes, things!" she said acerbically. "Surely even you like to brush your teeth and put clean underwear on in the morning?"
At that he grinned, and again Megan was startled by the
"Things can be replaced," he pointed out. "You are who you are no matter who or what's around."
"No." She shook her head forcefully. "I don't believe that. We're shaped by the people we love. 'No man is an island...'"
"I've heard that." His voice was hard. "I don't believe it. If it were true, I wouldn't exist at all."
Again she was caught by his bitterness. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing." The chair legs scraped as he abruptly pushed it away from the table. After pitching the beer can into the trash under the sink, he stood looking out the window, his back to them. He rubbed his neck with one hand, as though trying to release tension, but his voice was almost expressionless. "I work undercover a lot. Do you know what would happen if you spent all your time pining for some damn dog? Or your own TV? Sure you forget who you are. That's the only way you can function. You have to be the slimeball you're pretending to be. But then you walk away from it, from who you were, and that person doesn't exist anymore." He turned to face her. "Nothing to it."
Something painfully close to pity stirred in her chest. "I see," she said carefully. Why did she want to touch him, to smooth away the harsh lines on his face?
"So?" he said. "Are you going to be smart enough to drop out of sight?"
"It's not for me."
"Damn it!" He slapped his hand on the counter. "Don't be a fool!"
Megan didn't say anything, just stared stubbornly back.
He looked at Bill. "Can't you convince her?"
Bill had the bewildered expression of a spectator at a football game who'd been asked to take the quarterback's place. "Convince her? To do what? I don't understand."
"She needs to take a vacation away from here for a while. Just until this whole mess is cleared up."
"But if she didn't see anything..."
He swore. "I didn't know it was possible to be so naive!"
"Better naive than paranoid," Megan said sharply.
His laugh was short and humorless. "Let me spend the night at least."
She reacted with instinctive alarm. "What do you mean?"
"Obviously not what you're thinking. I'll sleep on the couch, keep out of your way."
"That might not be a bad idea," Bill said. "Unless... Hey, why don't you come home with me? You can even have my bed. Or sleep in the truck. They'd never find you there."
"They, they, they!" Suddenly angry, she jumped to her feet. This whole thing was ridiculous—no, insane! She refused to be frightened out of her own house! But she couldn't help remembering those headlights that had appeared from nowhere in her rearview mirror, the car hesitating at the head of her driveway. "Enough already! If it'll make you happy, you can sleep on the couch, I don't care! But don't think for a minute that I believe any of this!"
"Hey, calm down," Bill said. "He's just trying to take care of you."
She gave her brother a fierce look. "Drop it! I agreed, didn't I?" When neither man said anything, she stalked out. Using some of her adrenaline, Megan snatched sheets and blankets out of a closet and wrenched the couch in the living room out with a clatter. With quick, angry movements she made it, trying not to think about Mac's long, hard body sprawled carelessly on those pristine sheets.
When she looked up, Mac stood in the doorway watching her with an odd expression. "I'm sorry," he said in that rough-edged voice. "You're having to pay a price for saving my life. That's not fair."
Somehow her anger had slipped away. Megan gave the pillow a last punch and straightened. "We always pay a price for our choices."
"It's the price others have to pay for us that hurts."
She knew that too well. Trying to change the subject, she said at random, "You don't even have a toothbrush."
"I'll survive."
"You could go get your..."
One dark brow quirked. "Things?"
"Yes, things!" she said acerbically. "Surely even you like to brush your teeth and put clean underwear on in the morning?"
At that he grinned, and again Megan was startled by the
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