slammed the door behind him.
Dylan walked closer, until he stood right behind her. What he didn’t do was speak. When the silence became uncomfortable, Collena whirled around to face him. Best to go ahead and get this latest argument out of the way.
But she didn’t see an argument in his eyes.
She was too close to him.
Something passed between them. A shiver of energy. Something warm.
No, it was hot.
Much to her disgust, Dylan could make her feel things she shouldn’t feel, and he could accomplish that by merely being close to her.
Collena shook her head to clear it. She refused to let her thoughts and feelings go in this direction. Dylan was merely her son’s adopted father. That was it. There could never be anything between them.
Well, nothing except that stir of heat that wouldn’t go away.
“The P.I. already sent me a preliminary report on you,” Dylan said.
That drew her back to her senses.
Dylan showed her the top sheet of the papers he’d taken from the fax machine. It was indeed a report that included the basics: her name, address, age, height and weight. All bits of info taken from her driver’s license, no doubt.
The next page was a copy of a newspaper article where she’d gotten an award for outstanding service for uncovering the criminal activity at the Brighton Birthing Center. There was no picture because Collena hadn’t attended the ceremony. Nor had she picked up the award. She’d ripped it to bits after her lieutenant had delivered it to her apartment.
“That award should have been for my stupidity,” Collena mumbled.
Dylan didn’t respond to that. He simply flipped over to the next page.
There was a picture this time.
It’d been taken as part of the police report after she’d clawed her way out of those woods near Brighton and made it to the local sheriff’s office. The photo showed the torn, dirty hospital gown that was practically hanging off her body. Her battered face. Her hair matted with her own blood. A busted bottom lip. And the bruises and scrapes on her hands and knees. She looked a half-step away from death, which wasn’t too far from the truth.
She’d come too close to dying in the woods.
The police report indicated how close to death she’d been. It also indicated that she’d recently given birth, and that would hopefully convince Dylan that she wasn’t lying about being Adam’s mother.
Dylan stared at her. “I don’t want to feel sorry for you.”
That improved her posture. Collena snapped her shoulders back. “Good. Because I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, either. I was a cop. I knew the risk before I ever stepped foot in Brighton.”
“You couldn’t have anticipated that kind of risk. And you didn’t deserve that.” He shook his head, and his nostrils flared. “What did Rodney Harmon use to put those bruises on you?”
It took her a moment to answer. No more stiff shoulders. She automatically slumped. “His fists and the gun he took from me when I went into labor. I was trying to fight him off because the doctor had just left the room with Adam.”
His jaw muscles moved. “So, Adam wasn’t there when you were getting the hell beat out of you?”
“No. Thank God. And the fight didn’t last that long. Harmon gave me some kind of heavy narcotic, and after I escaped, I don’t remember anything until I woke up in the woods.” She paused a moment to gather her composure. “My advice? Shred that picture. Forget that you ever saw it. I don’t want it to play a part in your decision as to what we’re going to do about Adam.”
“My decision,” he said. He tossed the papers onto his desk and groaned. “You come here to my home and deliver a bombshell, along with a would-be killer on your trail. And as an added bonus, I’ve had to deal with Adam’s biological grandfather, a man who can challenge us both for custody.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” he warned. He stepped farther away from her. “I want to hate you.
Dylan walked closer, until he stood right behind her. What he didn’t do was speak. When the silence became uncomfortable, Collena whirled around to face him. Best to go ahead and get this latest argument out of the way.
But she didn’t see an argument in his eyes.
She was too close to him.
Something passed between them. A shiver of energy. Something warm.
No, it was hot.
Much to her disgust, Dylan could make her feel things she shouldn’t feel, and he could accomplish that by merely being close to her.
Collena shook her head to clear it. She refused to let her thoughts and feelings go in this direction. Dylan was merely her son’s adopted father. That was it. There could never be anything between them.
Well, nothing except that stir of heat that wouldn’t go away.
“The P.I. already sent me a preliminary report on you,” Dylan said.
That drew her back to her senses.
Dylan showed her the top sheet of the papers he’d taken from the fax machine. It was indeed a report that included the basics: her name, address, age, height and weight. All bits of info taken from her driver’s license, no doubt.
The next page was a copy of a newspaper article where she’d gotten an award for outstanding service for uncovering the criminal activity at the Brighton Birthing Center. There was no picture because Collena hadn’t attended the ceremony. Nor had she picked up the award. She’d ripped it to bits after her lieutenant had delivered it to her apartment.
“That award should have been for my stupidity,” Collena mumbled.
Dylan didn’t respond to that. He simply flipped over to the next page.
There was a picture this time.
It’d been taken as part of the police report after she’d clawed her way out of those woods near Brighton and made it to the local sheriff’s office. The photo showed the torn, dirty hospital gown that was practically hanging off her body. Her battered face. Her hair matted with her own blood. A busted bottom lip. And the bruises and scrapes on her hands and knees. She looked a half-step away from death, which wasn’t too far from the truth.
She’d come too close to dying in the woods.
The police report indicated how close to death she’d been. It also indicated that she’d recently given birth, and that would hopefully convince Dylan that she wasn’t lying about being Adam’s mother.
Dylan stared at her. “I don’t want to feel sorry for you.”
That improved her posture. Collena snapped her shoulders back. “Good. Because I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, either. I was a cop. I knew the risk before I ever stepped foot in Brighton.”
“You couldn’t have anticipated that kind of risk. And you didn’t deserve that.” He shook his head, and his nostrils flared. “What did Rodney Harmon use to put those bruises on you?”
It took her a moment to answer. No more stiff shoulders. She automatically slumped. “His fists and the gun he took from me when I went into labor. I was trying to fight him off because the doctor had just left the room with Adam.”
His jaw muscles moved. “So, Adam wasn’t there when you were getting the hell beat out of you?”
“No. Thank God. And the fight didn’t last that long. Harmon gave me some kind of heavy narcotic, and after I escaped, I don’t remember anything until I woke up in the woods.” She paused a moment to gather her composure. “My advice? Shred that picture. Forget that you ever saw it. I don’t want it to play a part in your decision as to what we’re going to do about Adam.”
“My decision,” he said. He tossed the papers onto his desk and groaned. “You come here to my home and deliver a bombshell, along with a would-be killer on your trail. And as an added bonus, I’ve had to deal with Adam’s biological grandfather, a man who can challenge us both for custody.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” he warned. He stepped farther away from her. “I want to hate you.
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