She stared back at him steadily. His anger was nothing compared to the anger she'd faced during her marriage. She might have known him only a few days, but it was long enough to understand he would never hit her. He might break her heart, but he would never physically hurt her, as Brian so often had. "Did Hank say anything before he died?"
Something flickered in his eyes before the shutters came back down. It wasn't hard to guess that Hank's departing words had been aimed in her direction.
"Did he say anything else besides sullying my reputation?" Just for an instant, the hint of a smile tugged at his full lips. Then he ran a hand through his disheveled hair and frowned at her. "If he did, it's none of your damn business."
His voice held an edge that cut her to the quick. She bit her lip and glanced at the window. The wind was beginning to pick up outside, rattling the old windows in their frames. Maybe it was something of an omen, a sign that trouble was brewing. But if she was to have any hope of fulfilling her promise to Evan, she had to keep pushing for information. Whether Jon liked it or not, she had every intention of staying until she found Teresa. But maybe it was time to try a change of tactics. "How bad is the leg?" He shrugged, a gesture that could have meant anything. "It's fairly deep and required several stitches. The doc reckons I'll have to stay off it for several days."
She raised her eyebrow and wondered how he'd gotten around the problem of the doctor reporting the wound to the police. Or maybe he hadn't—maybe he'd literally flown the coop before the police arrived to question him. "And will you?"
He smiled, though no amusement touched the coldness in his eyes. "No. Quick healing is a gift of my heritage. I'll be able to move around in the morning." He hesitated and studied her for a long moment. "When are you leaving?" That was the reason for his behavior. He wanted her out of his way—it was evident not only in what he said, but in the way he said it. Even in the way he looked at her. Ignoring the deep thrust of hurt, she shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere."
He quirked an eyebrow. "Up until now, I didn't think you were a fool." She smiled grimly. "Then you really don't know me, do you?"
"No, I don't." Just for a moment his voice was edged with a hint of regret that warmed her heart. "But you can't stay here. Eleanor will come after me, and I don't want you in the firing line."
So Evan was right. Jon was going after Eleanor, not Teresa. "You can't handle Eleanor alone when you're injured."
"I can, and I will. I don't want you here, Maddie. Just face that fact and leave."
Heat crept into her cheeks. "I really don't care what you want. I made a promise to try to find Teresa, and that's exactly what I intend to do."
"Who the hell told you her name was Teresa?"
"Evan did."
"And how will you achieve this miracle?" His voice was knife-edged, thrusting deep into her soul. "I'll find her. I just don't want you blundering around any more, putting everyone's life in jeopardy."
"It was my so-called blundering that found Evan in the first place!" She jumped to her feet and glared at him. "Why are you pushing me away like this?"
"You've done what you came here to do. It's time to leave."
"I made a promise. I can't go back on that."
"Just as you made a promise never to use your gifts again?" He gave her a cold smile. "Some vows are made to be broken, I'm afraid. You could no more find the teenager than you could stop using your abilities. Face those facts and just get the hell out of my life."
She stared at him. While she understood that he was deliberately being nasty in an attempt to get rid of her, his words hurt nevertheless. "You can be such a bastard."
"I have the soul of a hunter, a hawk. I am a killer by nature." He hesitated and gave her an almost savage smile. "And I love my work." Yes, he loved his work—but not the killing. It might be an essential part of his job, but it was one she sensed he abhorred. She could see the self-loathing in the back of his eyes, hear it in the edge in his voice. And because of his work, because of what he was forced to do day in and day out, he was keeping everyone at arm's length. If you didn't care, you didn't get hurt. It was a hell of a way to live. And yet, in many ways, wasn't she doing exactly the same thing? Maybe her reasons were different, but the result was still the same. A life locked in unending, unbearable loneliness. He'd once told her life was made to be lived, that she couldn't hide forever. Maybe it was time they both took his advice.
"But that would make you no better than the monsters you chase," she said softly. "And you're not a monster, Jon. Just a man who needs to open up and let someone in."
"Like you?" His short laugh was derisive. "We're little more than strangers. I've killed. I will keep on killing. I have no desire for anyone I-" He stopped, then shrugged.
But his unfinished sentence sung through her mind. No desire for anyone I care about to get in the way. She shivered. The thought that maybe there was some sort of psychic link between them scared her almost as much as the thought of never seeing him again.
She glanced down at her hands for a minute. If she wanted him to open up, maybe it was only fair that she do the same.
"I've killed too," she whispered, not looking up—not even when his hand wrapped around hers and squeezed gently. She turned her hand and entwined her fingers in his, but resisted the temptation to cling tightly. It was time to be strong, time to be truthful about that night. She'd lied to everyone, including herself, for far too long.
"Brian, my husband, died in a fire—a fire I lit. I burned him, burned our home—burned everything that reminded me of our life together. And I have never regretted it." Even though the nightmares—and the fear that she might so easily kill again—had haunted her ever since.
The soft rattle of the wind buffeting the windows was the only sound to be heard for several long heartbeats. She waited tensely, not sure what sort of reaction she expected—or wanted—from him.
"You didn't mean to kill him. There's a difference." Though his voice was neutral, there was a hint of understanding and warmth in his expression that made her heart race. He understood, even if he didn't say as much. He too had lived the same hell.
She closed her eyes, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. For too long she had stood alone, afraid to tell anyone about that night, afraid that her gifts would forever isolate her. Maybe they still would. The full truth wasn't out yet.
"But I did mean to." She glanced down, watching his thumb gently caress her wrist. His gentle touch somehow soothed the sick churning in her stomach. Over six years had passed, yet the brutality with which Brian had attacked her still made her shake. And all because she had been out shopping rather than home to answer his call.