Embracing Midnight by Devyn Quinn

school and gone out on her own, she’d never known stability or permanence of any sort.
    She’d never belonged to anyone or anybody for more than a few years. In the midst of agony, only one thing remained constant. At the end of the day when the door was shut and the lights turned off, she was alone.
    It would, she felt, always be that way. Men might drift through, use her, abuse her, but they’d never stay. No one wanted damaged goods, no matter how prettily the package was wrapped.
    Norton leaned over the counter separating living room and kitchen. Unspoken but hanging in the air between them was his support. He was letting her know he’d be there.
    “Well,” she said, struggling to say words that didn’t quite come out. She wished she found him attractive. As a friend he was great. As a lover, she had the feeling kissing him would be like kissing a sibling. Unnatural and entirely wrong.
    Norton scrubbed his scruffy beard as if fleas lived in the mass on his cheeks. “The fucking cupboards are bare,” he informed her. In the process of making coffee, he’d set out a couple of mismatched mugs and spoons. A small jar of instant coffee sat nearby. “How the hell do you live here?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t.” The bureau had rented the apartment as part of her undercover identity. She inhabited it as she did any other, simply as a place to lay her head until the time came to move on. Being shuffled through the foster care system had taught her never to get attached to anyone or any place.
    She sighed. Always living in, but never at home.
    Norton’s gaze ranged over her well-worn leather jacket, T-shirt, faded denim jeans, and boots. “Still riding that Goddamn motorcycle without a helmet?”
    Busted.
    Callie ran her fingers through her hair to straighten the damp mess. Cut in a short, easy-to-style shag, blonde locks fell into place to frame her face. A half-assed grin tugged up one corner of her mouth. “Guess so.”
    He frowned. “You got a helmet?”
    She shrugged. “Didn’t have room to pack it.”
    “One of these days you’ll hit asphalt and bust that skull of yours, brains leaking everywhere. Not a pretty ending for a pretty girl like you.”
    Callie rubbed the scar under her chin. She’d already kissed asphalt, not once but twice. Both times an asshole driving a car had caused the wreck. “I can walk away from a crash-and-burn. It’s my specialty, you know.”
    He scowled. “Walking away?” he asked sourly, spooning instant into both mugs. Her brush-off obviously bothered him.
    She shook her head. An emotional knot wedged in her throat. “Crashing and burning.”
    He stirred the coffee in both mugs, watching it dissolve. “I think you should be more careful.”
    Recognizing genuine concern beneath his frustration, Callie sighed. Damn. As an agent, Paul was top notch. As a man in lust, he wore his heart on his sleeve.
    Norton slid a cup her way. “Coffee’s ready.”
    Callie sat down on a stool in front of the counter, the equivalent of a dining room table in such a small space. She added a ton of sugar and a touch of cinnamon vanilla creamer Norton had dug out of the fridge. Aside from the creamer and a quart of skim milk, there was nothing else inside.
    Ignoring his own coffee, Paul lit a cigarette.
    Callie snagged it. Blessed nicotine filled her lungs. She welcomed the burn at the back of her throat. It reminded her she had a bit of life inside her. Her heart might be crushed, but her lungs were alive and well.
    “Thought you were quitting.” Paul lit a second for himself.
    “I was, but I changed my mind.” She took a deep drag; a pacifying rush of smoke filled her lungs. Nicotine was the only drug she indulged in. Already she was a pack-a-day smoker, and that number was increasing. “Just trying to keep myself together since Roger brought me in on this case.”
    Callie hadn’t been one of the original agents assigned to the hunt. After her breakup with Roger, she’d been