backed her up into the kitchen counter. “When will you stop punishing yourself for your father’s death?”
“I don’t punish myself. Not anymore. I’ve put it in the past.”
His eyes darkened. “You’ve run away from it, just like you’re trying to do with me, and I won’t allow it.” He tangled his hands into her hair and tipped back her head. “I’ll give you this morning to visit Hannah on your own, but I’m coming over to get you at noon. Now that I know you can handle a gun, I feel a little better. Is it still in your purse?”
“Yes,” she said in a squeak, her clit pulsing. Her brain was going fuzzy from his display of dominance. “I’m not running. I know it seems that way, but this is who I am. It’s going to take me a while to get used to having people take care of me.”
He nuzzled her neck, making her legs weak. “When this is all over, I’m going to spend all my time teaching you that you deserve to be treasured. Pampered. Worshipped.” He lifted her onto the counter and flicked open the button on her jeans. “But since we have only a few minutes, I’ll give you a sample of what it’s like.”
Chapter Seven
Nine Days to Elections . . .
J AXON BROUGHT HER home and reluctantly allowed her to ride to the hospital without him acting as her bodyguard. She slipped on her leather jacket and gloves and then jumped on her bike for the ten-minute drive.
She understood his concerns, but honestly, who was going to attack her in daylight? Besides, if Nick was right and the person who had attacked Hannah had mistaken her for Kate, he probably didn’t know he’d gotten the wrong girl. At least not yet.
Nick and Jaxon had been relieved that she knew how to use a gun. What she hadn’t disclosed to either one of them was that the mere sight of one made her sick to her stomach. Last night it had taken the help of her meds and every bit of strength she had to place the revolver in her purse. The idea of squeezing the trigger—even in self-defense—generated anxiety. To this day she recalled the metallic scent of her father’s blood and the spasms that racked his body as he took his final breath.
How could she ever take another life when she couldn’t get over the first one?
Driving her bike would give her time to decompress, and it was the perfect morning for it. With her bike vibrating under her thighs and the bitter wind blowing against her, she allowed the peacefulness of the drive to settle in her bones and sloughed off the memories and guilt. She’d have plenty of time for that once she got to the hospital.
After parking in the lot, she stopped by the information desk to ask for Hannah’s room number and then made her way up to the fifth floor. All she knew was that Hannah was recovering after surgery.
She hated hospitals almost as much as police stations. Hated the smells of antiseptic and decay, which accompanied sickness and death. She got off the elevator, and breathing through her mouth, she proceeded down the hall, pausing in front of Hannah’s room.
Was she awake? What would Kate say to her if she was?
Steeling her nerves, she forced her legs to move and went inside.
Hannah’s eyes were closed. She had a tube in her nose, a blood pressure cuff on one arm, and an IV in the other arm. A monitor displayed her vitals and beeped steadily.
She was so still. Ghostly pale with purple circles under her eyes. All Kate could think was that Hannah had always said she would never be caught dead without makeup. Part of her wanted to sit beside her and fix her face before she woke up so she’d never know how horrible she looked.
“Katie,” Tom said, startling her.
How had she not noticed him behind the monitor?
Hunched over with his elbows on his knees, he sat in a chair next to Hannah. His eyes were swollen and red as if he’d been crying.
She moved farther into the room and resisted her urge to give him a hug in comfort. “How is she?”
He rubbed his temples. “She
“I don’t punish myself. Not anymore. I’ve put it in the past.”
His eyes darkened. “You’ve run away from it, just like you’re trying to do with me, and I won’t allow it.” He tangled his hands into her hair and tipped back her head. “I’ll give you this morning to visit Hannah on your own, but I’m coming over to get you at noon. Now that I know you can handle a gun, I feel a little better. Is it still in your purse?”
“Yes,” she said in a squeak, her clit pulsing. Her brain was going fuzzy from his display of dominance. “I’m not running. I know it seems that way, but this is who I am. It’s going to take me a while to get used to having people take care of me.”
He nuzzled her neck, making her legs weak. “When this is all over, I’m going to spend all my time teaching you that you deserve to be treasured. Pampered. Worshipped.” He lifted her onto the counter and flicked open the button on her jeans. “But since we have only a few minutes, I’ll give you a sample of what it’s like.”
Chapter Seven
Nine Days to Elections . . .
J AXON BROUGHT HER home and reluctantly allowed her to ride to the hospital without him acting as her bodyguard. She slipped on her leather jacket and gloves and then jumped on her bike for the ten-minute drive.
She understood his concerns, but honestly, who was going to attack her in daylight? Besides, if Nick was right and the person who had attacked Hannah had mistaken her for Kate, he probably didn’t know he’d gotten the wrong girl. At least not yet.
Nick and Jaxon had been relieved that she knew how to use a gun. What she hadn’t disclosed to either one of them was that the mere sight of one made her sick to her stomach. Last night it had taken the help of her meds and every bit of strength she had to place the revolver in her purse. The idea of squeezing the trigger—even in self-defense—generated anxiety. To this day she recalled the metallic scent of her father’s blood and the spasms that racked his body as he took his final breath.
How could she ever take another life when she couldn’t get over the first one?
Driving her bike would give her time to decompress, and it was the perfect morning for it. With her bike vibrating under her thighs and the bitter wind blowing against her, she allowed the peacefulness of the drive to settle in her bones and sloughed off the memories and guilt. She’d have plenty of time for that once she got to the hospital.
After parking in the lot, she stopped by the information desk to ask for Hannah’s room number and then made her way up to the fifth floor. All she knew was that Hannah was recovering after surgery.
She hated hospitals almost as much as police stations. Hated the smells of antiseptic and decay, which accompanied sickness and death. She got off the elevator, and breathing through her mouth, she proceeded down the hall, pausing in front of Hannah’s room.
Was she awake? What would Kate say to her if she was?
Steeling her nerves, she forced her legs to move and went inside.
Hannah’s eyes were closed. She had a tube in her nose, a blood pressure cuff on one arm, and an IV in the other arm. A monitor displayed her vitals and beeped steadily.
She was so still. Ghostly pale with purple circles under her eyes. All Kate could think was that Hannah had always said she would never be caught dead without makeup. Part of her wanted to sit beside her and fix her face before she woke up so she’d never know how horrible she looked.
“Katie,” Tom said, startling her.
How had she not noticed him behind the monitor?
Hunched over with his elbows on his knees, he sat in a chair next to Hannah. His eyes were swollen and red as if he’d been crying.
She moved farther into the room and resisted her urge to give him a hug in comfort. “How is she?”
He rubbed his temples. “She
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