“I’m sorry.” He lets out a breath. “I’m sorry, Brooke. You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Damn straight.”
“I’m just worried about you.” The fear in his eyes is real. I know him well enough to know it. “I’m worried about you being with Shane. I don’t think it’s safe.”
“Not safe?” I thought he was only worried that Shane was going to break my heart. “What are you talking about?”
“Listen to me, Brooke.” He lowers his voice a notch. “Shane is…”
Before Tim can get out what he wants to say, the door to the kitchen swings open. Shane is standing there, looking even more crazy sexy than he usually does, with his dark hair slightly mussed, and a lopsided smile on his face. “Hey, Brooke,” he says. “You coming back out?”
It’s hard not to notice he doesn’t bother to ask Tim if he’s coming out.
“Yes,” I say. I look over at Tim. “You coming?”
Tim screws up his face. He looked like he had something important to tell me before Shane burst into the kitchen, but he can’t very well do it now. And the truth is, I don’t want to hear it. Tim and Shane have some stupid little rivalry, but it’s not my problem. Tim needs to get the hell over it.
“Fine,” Tim finally says. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 16
PRESENT DAY
Today I’m supposed to remove the stitches from Shane Nelson’s forehead.
I tossed and turned all night thinking about it. I dreamed of being back in that farmhouse. In my dream, the necklace was tightening around my throat and the smell of sandalwood filled my nostrils. Then I heard a crack of thunder, and some other noise in the background I couldn’t make out, and then…
I was awake.
After the third time I woke up in a cold sweat, I gave up on sleep. I got up and made myself a cup of coffee. That was at four in the morning, and now I’m running on empty. Actually, it’s a good thing. If I am exhausted, I’ll be less panicked when Shane shows up.
At around two in the afternoon, Officer Hunt leads Shane down the long hallway to the waiting area outside the examining room. He takes a seat, his wrists and ankles shackled once again, waiting his turn after the two other men in front of him. Of course, after I spot Shane sitting out there, I can’t think straight anymore. I have to keep asking the inmates to repeat what they just said five seconds earlier.
When it’s Shane’s turn to see me, Hunt grabs him by the arm and yanks him out of his seat. Shane needs a little help to stand, given his arms and legs are restrained, but Hunt is a lot rougher than he needs to be. And what’s up with the shackles each time? I thought before it was because he had been in a fight, but now he’s still cuffed.
Do they really think he’s that dangerous? The only other guy I’ve seen in the last few days who was shackled like this had an angry sneer and hate symbols tattooed all over his face.
But what am I saying? Of course Shane is dangerous. I know that better than anyone.
But he doesn’t look dangerous as he shuffles into my examining room and struggles to climb up on the table, a pained expression on his face. When he slips, he apologizes to me. “Sorry I’m so slow. It’s just hard to do anything chained up like this.”
You deserve it. The words are on my lips but I don’t say them. It would be unprofessional. Instead, I mutter, “Let’s get this done.”
He is struggling to find his balance on the exam table, and once again, I have to put out a hand to help him. He flashes me a grateful smile, and it looks so much like the old Shane, my cheeks burn, and I have to look away.