you’d killed them.” He looked back because he wanted to see Reese’s reaction.
And he saw it. Would have been impossible to miss the other man’s flinch.
But Reese snapped, “I didn’t.”
No, but maybe her real brother did. Chloe wasn’t waiting, so he followed her outside. He pulled on sunglasses as he saw her going straight for the motorcycle. She climbed onto the bike. Didn’t put on the helmet. She gripped it tightly in her hands.
With silent steps, he closed in on her. “I’m an asshole.”
“No, I don’t think that you are.”
“You should think that I am.” His fingers slid carefully under her chin so that he could tilt her face up toward him. “At Judith’s place…staying in that room with me must have been hell for you.”
“It certainly was not an experience that is going on my highlight reel.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Because if I’d gone out of the room, I was afraid you’d follow. Then that woman would have died. You did an amazing job of saving her. I wish that I’d had your skills…back then.”
He knew she meant when her parents had been attacked. Voice gruff, he said, “You were a damn kid, baby.”
Tears gleamed in her eyes. “I was the only one there. They only had me. No matter how hard I tired, I couldn’t put them back together again.”
“I am so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t kill them. You didn’t leave me in that house with them.”
He wanted to pull her into his arms and never let go. “I’m sorry that I didn’t understand you better from the beginning.” He could see the truth now.
Her gaze focused on him. Sharpened. Not click, click. Not some robotic study. Never that. He’d read her all wrong. When she stared so hard, she was seeing past the surface. Trying to understand him—as he should have been doing with her.
“You’re not cold,” he told her, voice still gruff. The sight of those tears in her eyes was wrecking him. “You’re not detached.”
“Is that what you thought I was?”
“Hunting killers isn’t some sort of game for you.”
“P-please stop touching me.”
That tremble in her voice…He removed his hand. “I’m sorry, Chloe.”
“You thought I was playing a game? That I’m cold?”
“At the beginning, yes.”
She flinched.
God, I don’t want to hurt her. “I’m telling you everything. That’s our new deal, isn’t it? Full truth? I’m telling you what I thought. And how completely wrong I’ve been about you.” I will never be wrong again.
Her gaze cut from his. “I want to protect you.”
“And I damn well want to do the same for you.” Protecting her was his priority. Making sure that she never, ever got hurt again. Not by any of the perps out there. Not by my own careless words. “You hit my life like a hurricane. Spinning and storming and I didn’t know what to do or think. I just got bits and pieces of you and I tried to force all of them to make sense.”
She wasn’t looking at him.
“I’m sorry,” Joel said again, and he meant those words. He sure as hell hoped that Ruben—the ever helpful medical examiner—had been right and they could truly be magic words. “I hurt you. When I was questioning your brother, he had it wrong. I didn’t think you killed your parents. I wanted to know more about you. If I know more, then I can make sure that I don’t hurt you again. Hurting you is the last thing I want to do.”
A jerky nod. “I don’t particularly want to be hurt. Sometimes, it is unavoidable.”
He didn’t speak. He waited. Waited…
Her gaze reluctantly slid back to him.
“I will avoid it,” Joel promised. “I can do that. You’re changing me. I feel like I’ve been sleeping. Or, hell, maybe I just haven’t been living. Ever since that bastard put me in the ground, I haven’t been the same. Nothing mattered. I dug myself out of the grave, but I felt like I was still buried. The days just passed and passed…”
“We should go—”
“Then I met you. You matter, Chloe. You matter.” She’d changed everything for him.
She was searching his eyes. Searching—
“Joel?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Please touch me again.”
Please. A fucking magic word. He slid his hand under her chin.
“Lean toward me.”
He leaned close.
Her lips pressed to his. A soft, tender kiss. “You matter, too.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
They found her at the third park.
Portia Strong had been a runner. In the yearbook—during Portia’s junior year—she’d been on the cross-country team. Smiling from ear to ear as she stood with her