Indestructible. Cassie Miles
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like you were furious with Pamela.”
He shrugged, trying to dispel his tension. “What was it you said? Spilt milk? There’s no point in looking backward.”
“You can learn a whole lot from past mistakes.”
“I found out that Pamela was pregnant. She wasn’t honest like you, didn’t step up and tell me. But I found out. And when I heard, I was happy. I saw a chance for a normal life. Married with children. It was too much to hope for.”
Gosh, he was cynical. Why shouldn’t he expect a normal life? Instead of understanding him better, she was even more confused.
He continued, “I bought a diamond ring in a pawn shop and went down on one knee to propose. That’s when she told me she’d been dating other men, her company was sending her to Paris and she’d already made an appointment for an abortion. I never saw her again.”
“You haven’t had much luck with commitments.” She was beginning to understand why he’d gone into shock when she told him about the baby.
“As long as I’m being honest,” he said, “I was going to tell you tonight that I’m leaving Sioux Falls. It’s necessary for me to be out of touch for a while.”
“What does that mean? Out of touch?”
“I won’t be able to communicate with you.”
“Wait a minute.” Before she came upstairs to his apartment, she’d been adjusting to the idea that Drew wouldn’t be in her life. But this was too abrupt. “Wherever you go, there are going to be phones.”
“As soon as possible, I’ll contact you. Until then, is there anything you need? Is your insurance in order? Do you need money for a doctor?”
“I don’t believe this.” A raging fury exploded behind her eyes. “You’re trying to buy me off.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You expect to write me a check, pat me on the butt and send me on my way.” She dodged around him and made a beeline for the door. “No, thanks. I don’t need or want your money.”
She stormed into the hall, raced down the stairs to her apartment and slammed the door. The nerve of him! Sure, he’d had a rough life and bad luck with relationships, but that didn’t excuse the way he’d treated her.
She paced furiously. To the bedroom. Back to the front room. Into the kitchen. Her apartment was too small to contain her anger. How dare he offer me money! She stamped her running shoe on the hardwood floor. Who in the blazes did he think he was?
When she heard the knock on her door, she figured it was Drew again. “Go away. I don’t want to see your face.”
Another knock. More insistent.
She flung open the door. Before she could speak or react, a bright flash of light blinded her. Then everything went dark.
She crumpled to the floor.
Standing over the sink, Drew jabbed a spoon into the center of the apple pie and dug out a bite, hoping that the sugar rush would help him feel less like an ass.
The pie tasted great. Sweet, tart apples perfectly complemented by a flaky crust that crumbled on his tongue. Homemade, of course. Probably a recipe passed down from her dear old granny. Melinda’s family tree went back for generations. No way should she be involved with a rootless loner like him.
He shoveled in another bite of pie.
From downstairs, he heard a crash. Apparently, Melinda hadn’t gone for a run even though she’d been dressed for jogging in her smooth black pants with a white stripe and matching sweatshirt. There was another loud thud. It sounded like she was tearing apart her apartment, throwing things, breaking furniture. Terrific. He’d managed to drive a completely rational woman to the brink of madness.
He saw two options: he could close his ears, pretend nothing was wrong, leave in the morning and never look back. Or he could stand and fight for her. Damn it, he wanted Melinda in his life. He needed to make her understand that he had enemies and there was a very real threat. Unfortunately, that meant he’d have to tell her the whole truth.
Not yet. More pie.
He licked the back of the spoon and listened. The sudden quiet from downstairs felt ominous, like a vacuum had sucked the air from her apartment. Was she sitting in the dark, cursing him under her breath? Did she own a gun?
He wiped his mouth with a paper towel and headed for the door. Moving fast so he wouldn’t change his mind, he went down the staircase.
When he knocked on her door, it pushed open. She’d left it slightly ajar. “Melinda?”
He stepped inside. An end table lay on its side. Books scattered across the floor. Her sofa had been shoved out of place. Her apartment had been trashed.
This can’t be. He didn’t want to believe the evidence that lay before him. Someone had been here. His enemies had gone after her.
Cold night air blasted through the window that opened onto the fire escape. He rushed toward the long, beige curtains that were flapping in the breeze and peered down at the asphalt parking lot behind the building. A vehicle pulled away from a spot beside the Dumpster. A dark sedan.
Had they taken her?
Desperately, he called out, “Melinda, where are you?”
The sound of a whimper drew him toward the arched hallway. She was in the bathroom, sprawled beside the claw-foot tub. A thick smear of red blood marked the black-and-white tiled floor.
As she propped herself up on her arms, she winced in pain. Her zippered sweatshirt had been torn off. From the waist up, she wore only a gray sports bra. There were welts on her arms. She was still bleeding from a puncture on the inside of her elbow.
He knelt beside her, gathered her into his arms. He had to get her away from here before they came back.
She looked up at him. Her pupils were dilated. “Drew?”
“I’m here,” he whispered. “Do you think you can stand up?”
“How did I get into the bathroom? What happened?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“I opened the door.” She licked her lips. “And there was a flash. A blinding light.”
He’d seen that flash. Hundreds of times when he was growing up. There was a burst of light, and he’d black out. Sometimes, he’d be awake within an hour. Other times, it was days. “I have to get you to safety.”
Gamely, she struggled to stand up. Her legs were unable to support her weight. She collapsed against him. “What’s wrong with me?”
He checked the darkening bruise on the inside of her arm at the vein and made an educated guess. “I’d say you’ve lost some blood.”
“I need a doctor.”
“Come with me.” He needed to get her away from here before they came back.
Leaning heavily against him, she stumbled into her living room. “What happened in here? Was I robbed?”
Explanations were going to take a while—time they didn’t have. He lifted her off her feet and carried her toward the door, where he came face-to-face with a uniformed policeman holding a gun.
“Freeze,” the officer ordered.
Standing behind him was Melinda’s neighbor from across the hall—a gray-haired woman who taught anthropology at Augustana. “It’s all right,” she said to the policeman. “He lives in the building.”