I hadn’t decided what I was going to do next. I was getting by, minute-by-minute.
Vance loaded me up and we rol ed.
Without asking, he pul ed off at an outlet mal .
I could have kissed him, but I didn’t. If there was anything a high maintenance girl like me needed after being kidnapped and assaulted, it was an outlet mal .
We went into the Levi’s store where he bought me a pair of low-rise jeans that were just this short of being as good as Lucky’s, a great belt that was so dark brown, it was nearly black and a dusty pink henley. It wasn’t D&G but it would do in a pinch. Then we went into a Body Gap and I got new underwear. Then we went to Designer Shoe Warehouse and Vance bought me a pair of Keds so I could change out of Manolo Mary Jane’s.
Vance pul ed off at a hotel and I would have born his first child if he but asked (though I didn’t tel him this) when we checked in and I took a shower, using the hotel’s shampoo and body wash.
I came out of the bathroom squeaky clean but stil feeling dirty. I threw my clothes in the trash bin, never wanting to see them again (al but the Manolos because even being abducted and on the run couldn’t taint Manolo Blahnik shoes).
I looked at Vance who was sitting on the bed.
“Ready to rol ?” he asked, coming up from the bed, al action even though I suspected he’d had about as much sleep as I’d had these past few days.
That was to say, none.
I suspected that Hank or Uncle Tex sicced him on me the minute Hank found me gone.
“I need you to re-wrap my ribs,” I said, holding out the bandages to him.
He came toward me. I lifted my shirt to just under my br**sts, beyond embarrassment at this point. I mean he found me handcuffed to a sink with real y bad hair.
Embarrassment was a now a luxury.
He re-wrapped me, quickly, expertly, no-nonsense, like he’d done it before a hundred times. When he was done, I nodded to him and said, “Ready.” But I didn’t move.
He watched me for a few beats then stood in my space and looked down at me. For the first time I noticed his eyes were shuttered and he was holding back from me.
Then he asked, “You need time? Lee wants you home but if you need time, we’l make time. You can get into bed and let sleep heal.”
Shit.
Here I was again, with another good, f**king guy.
I couldn’t cope.
I swal owed the threatening tears.
“Home is Chicago,” I told him. I decided to focus on that and not tel him that I could likely sleep for a hundred years and not be healed.
He kept looking at me but stayed quiet.
“Wil you take me to Chicago?” I asked.
He stil kept looking at me.
Then he said, “I want to say yes, but I’m gonna say no.” I closed my eyes and felt his hands on my arms.
“Girl,” he said softly. I opened my eyes and looked at him. “If I came home and found what Hank found with my woman bein’ gone and the man I sent lookin’ for her took her further away, there’s no tel in’ what I’d do. I’m sorry, it’s a guy thing. I respect him and I’m not gonna make him show me what he’l do.”
I’d had a good look in the bathroom mirror. The cuts had scabbed over, the blood was gone, but the bruising and swel ing on my cheekbone and around my eye were worse than ever. I had more bruises on my throat, arms, ribs, h*ps and wrists. I was an absolute mess. I was hideous; I felt it like a physical thing, inside and out.
“Look at me, Vance. I can’t go back to Hank,” I whispered and it sounded like a plea, because it was a plea. Hank was goodness and truth. I was secrets and lies.
I had no business with Hank Nightingale.