Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,49
a pillow. Covering them with another comforter, he took her into his arms. “Now, the resting portion of the evening.”
She yawned. Resting sounded wonderful. She glanced around the dimly lit tent, noticing he’d positioned himself where he could see the door. He’d put her behind him, shielding her with his body. An unsettling reminder of their situation and his determination to protect her. “It’s dangerous for us to nap.”
“I’m not going to sleep. You are. I’ve trained myself to rest yet remain alert. The broken ornaments will warn me if anyone ventures upstairs.”
She nestled against his lean, warm strength and worried her lower lip between her teeth. “About that apology. I insist.”
He sighed. “Only because you insist.”
“I owe you. I reacted badly to the fight, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You were suffering battle shock.”
“It’s not okay. You saved my life, and I made you think your touch repulsed me. That’s inexcusable.”
He stroked his thumb across her lower lip, and the air hitched in her lungs. He chuckled. “I’d never think that.”
“It’s just…” It was tough to think with his glowing brown eyes so close, his intense gaze ensnaring hers. His muscled body, so solid, so warm, nestled against her. “Let me explain.”
“Explain at will, darlin’.”
“I’ve always believed that deep down, there’s a shred of good in every person. Causing pain to anyone, or anything…hurts me. I imagine their suffering so vividly. Almost like their distress is my own. Inflicting hurt makes my heart ache.”
“My sweet girl.” He trailed a gentle fingertip down her cheek. “I can’t fault you for having a tender heart.”
“But I felt differently after we found Syrone, after I saw what they’d done to him. After he asked us to tell his wife and kids how much he loved them if he didn’t make it…” Her voice wobbled. “I was sick at the thought they’d shot him in cold blood. I was furious. I wanted to hurt them back. Then that made me sick. I’ve never had vengeful feelings before. It was so confusing.”
“I understand. I felt the same way. It’s tough to stay objective when the pain is personal.”
“I want to contribute something worthy to this difficult world we live in—make a difference.”
“Getting mad at injustice doesn’t make you a bad person, sweetheart. It makes you human. Don’t be afraid of your feelings.” The lantern’s aura coaxed molten gold flecks from his dark eyes. “Now, acting on them is a different story.”
“That’s the worst part. How do you know when your motives are good and when they’re not? I want to do the right thing.”
“Since you’re uncomfortable discussing my job, I’ve never shared the reason I became a cop. It’s time I did.”
“I didn’t realize you avoided discussing your job.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’d really like to hear why you became a cop.”
“The story involves Letty, our irrepressible neighbor. When I was twelve, she was mugged. The attack happened in our neighborhood, in daylight. She was walking home from the drugstore around the corner. The guy knocked her down and stole her purse. She cracked two ribs and was in the hospital for a few days.”
“Oh, no! How awful!”
“The physical injury wasn’t the worst. After she got home, she was afraid to leave the house. She couldn’t go shopping, stopped taking walks and wouldn’t even work in her garden.”
“She’s so independent, I can imagine how traumatized she must have been for it to affect her that way.”
“Pop’s personal mission was to catch the creep. He worked the streets and pushed hard. He knew time was against him, and went without sleep for three days. Put in as many off-the-clock overtime hours as if the case had been a homicide.”
A troubled expression creased her brows. “So your heroic tendencies are inherited—a second-generation warrior.”
“Fourth. My grandpa and great-grandpa were cops.”
She uttered another sad little sigh that made his chest ache. “I might have known. Did your dad catch the mugger?”
“Yeah.” He snarled. “A junkie. Pop put him away for a string of smash-and-grabs on senior citizens.”
“Did your father find Letty’s purse?”
“Yep. He replaced her cash himself and told her he’d recovered it with the purse. He also started a neighborhood watch and a senior self-defense class.” He grinned. “During the classes, Letty connected with her inner spunky woman. If any hapless mugger tried to victimize her now, she’d probably wallop him upside the head and give him a concussion.”
She laughed again. “I don’t doubt it. Your father was a good man. You inherited more than your profession