Protecting His Witness

The woman on the sofa was awake and on her feet before he realized that the sound had come from him.

She had long, curly light brown hair and blue eyes that flashed as she came closer.

“What are you doing?” she demanded sharply, crossing to him.

He would have thought that would have been obvious. “Trying to get up.”

“Wait,” she cautioned, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. She squatted down beside him. “Put your arm around my shoulders.”

Why did that sentence sound so familiar to him? As if he’d just heard it moments ago. But that was impossible. He had a feeling he’d been out at least several hours.

Shaking off any extraneous thoughts, he tried to do the same with the woman. “I can get up by myself,” he told her.

“No, you can’t.” She said it with such authority, he almost believed her. “If you strain yourself, you’ll wind up breaking open your stitches.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Now, lean on me and let me help.”

No matter what she sounded like, the woman looked like a delicate little thing. Just proved that looks could be deceiving. The strength he felt in her hands as she wrapped one around his waist surprised him.

Though he hated to admit it, even to himself, getting up was a lot easier with her help.

She got him up and onto the sofa. But he didn’t want to sit, he wanted to leave. Had to leave. Still, he was grateful for the momentary respite. Just getting to his feet had taken a lot out of him. He wasn’t used to playing the invalid.

Breathing hard, he mumbled, “Thanks.” After a beat, his breathing more regulated, he asked her, “How did I get here?”

She watched his face as she answered, looking for some telltale sign that this was a ruse. So far, he seemed genuinely confused. “I found you on my doorstep and dragged you inside.”

Zack frowned. “Why didn’t you call the police?” That would have been what most people would have done—if they would have done anything at all. If this had happened in one of the more metropolitan areas, the good citizens of that city would have probably walked right by him, pretending not to notice that he needed help.

She saw no reason to embellish on the truth. “You were bleeding and had a bullet wound. I didn’t know if calling the police would have gotten you into more trouble.”

“More?” he echoed.

“You were wounded,” she pointed out. “That seemed like enough trouble for one person for the time being.” She saw him glancing down at his side. Raising his bloodstained shirt, he exposed the large gauze bandage that wrapped around his rib cage. “I took the bullet out,” she explained matter-of-factly, second-guessing his next question.

He let the shirt drop back into place. “You a doctor?”

Kasey congratulated herself on not batting an eyelash. Instead, she nonchalantly shook her head. “No. I work in a secondhand bookstore.”

He raised a perplexed eyebrow at her answer. “I don’t follow.”

“I do a lot of reading in my spare time,” she elaborated, adding, “I particularly like reading medical books.”

He supposed that made sense, in an odd sort of way. He couldn’t argue with the fact that she’d taken out the bullet. He spotted it in the center of a coaster on the coffee table.

“Lucky for me you retained what you read,” he commented, amused.

She merely nodded. Getting up off the sofa, Kasey glanced toward the window. The sun was up. Time for her to get ready for work even though she’d had approximately an hour’s worth of sleep. The television set was still on, softly droning in the background. Someone was extolling the virtues of a newly developed body cream that did everything up to and including finding Prince Charming.

Turning off the set with her remote control, Kasey turned toward the man she’d helped.

Logically, she should be ushering him on his way. She’d taken out his bullet, sewed him up and let him sleep on her floor. It was time for him to go.

And yet, caring for him had awakened the person she’d once been. The person she liked. It prompted her to take another step into the world of kindness. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt, she silently argued. “Would you like something to eat?”

The moment she asked, Zack became aware of the gnawing pain in his belly. It wasn’t giving him discomfort because he’d been shot. He was hungry. He tried to remember the last time he’d eaten. Was it yesterday morning? The night before that? Zack couldn’t recall. His line of work didn’t encourage sticking to any sort of a reliable schedule.

He nodded in response to her question. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

She moved toward the kitchen. “If I’d minded,” she informed him, “then I wouldn’t have offered.”

The lady sounded tough as nails—or was that only the impression she wanted to give? His job had taught him to look beneath the surface and read between the lines. Something had struck him as off right from the moment he opened his eyes.

“Aren’t you going to ask me any questions?” he asked, rising to his feet. He was less steady than he would have liked and it hurt like hell to walk, but he figured each step would get easier.

Kasey stood before the pantry. “Do you want eggs or cereal?”

“Eggs.” That wasn’t the question he had in mind. “No, I mean about why I got shot.”

She spared him a quick glance just before she opened the refrigerator. She might have questions, but she wasn’t about to ask them.

“No,” she told him, taking out the egg carton. “The less I know, the less anyone else can ask me.”

Chapter 3

Gingerly, bracing his hands on the small kitchen table, Zack lowered himself into the chair closest to him.

Maybe it was his police background, but he sensed she’d had experience with interrogation. She certainly piqued his curiosity, even if he did feel as if he’d been run over several times by a semi. Who was she? And was it chance, or fate, that had brought him literally to her doorstep?

“A woman with no curiosity,” he marveled in awe. “I didn’t think such a thing existed.”

She set the carton of eggs on the counter. “I’m glad I could contribute to furthering your education.”

No curiosity and a flippant response. An interesting combination. So was her long, curly light hair and her golden complexion. He watched the woman move gracefully around the small kitchen. No unnecessary movements. Everything seemed within reach. In moments, she had everything out and ready to prepare the breakfast she’d mentioned.

As he drew in the welcoming scent of coffee, she turned suddenly toward him. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Cooked.”

His mouth quirked in a quick grin. It transformed a scruffy-looking possible criminal into an adolescent boy who knew his way around charming the opposite sex.

Wasted on me, hotshot, she thought. I don’t charm anymore. But if she did, she added silently, that grin would have been an excellent start.

She waited for him to be more specific about his choice. When he wasn’t, she pressed, “Any other requirements?”

Zack shook his head. “Nope, I’m easy. I’ll have them whatever way you’re having them. Fried, poached, scrambled…” His voice trailed off, leaving the rest up to her to fill in.

“Scrambled it is,” she answered, turning back toward the counter and stove. Breaking four eggs, she dropped them directly into the frying pan rather than into a bowl. To her, it was just an unnecessary step, generating more dishes to wash. She took the spatula and broke apart the pattern the eggs began to form. The yolks and whites flowed into each other until they began to solidify in fluffy tufts. “Toast?”

Something he quite possibly would have been had she not been his Good Samaritan, Zack thought. He started to nod in response to her question, then realized that she wasn’t looking at him. “If you don’t mind.”