Love Inspired Suspense April 2015 #2 Read Free

“Adrenaline.” She set the gauze on the fruit crate that served as a coffee table. “Your arm is bleeding. Sorry to ask, but could you try not to drip on the couch? It’s thirdhand, but it’s the nicest piece of furniture I own.”
    He dutifully wrapped his wound as best he could. She did not offer to help, and that was just fine with Mick. His stomach knotted now that he was here in the same room with her, the woman who had circled the edges of his mind for almost two years. The place smelled of toasted bread. Warm, cozy, worn furniture and a bookshelf crammed with photography magazines and old VHS tapes. On the tiny kitchen table was a stack of multihued paper and three pairs of scissors in varying sizes.
    â€œI remember who you are,” she said softly. “I looked through your wallet. You’re Mick Hudson. Tucker Rivendale’s parole officer.”
    He swallowed. “I was, yes. I don’t do that job anymore.” He felt the pain of a deeper injury throbbing. And what should he say now? “I’m sorry” seemed a little thin. “I made a terrible mistake” came off even weaker.
    â€œYou met with my sister often.”
    Each word cut a fresh wound. “Yes. When she and Tucker began dating again, I got to know her on some of my visits. She...she was a great lady.” Great lady. Was that all he could offer?
    â€œYes.” She stared at him and the moment stretched long and taut, like the anchor line holding tight to a storm-tossed boat.
    A slight smile quirked her lips. “I thought you would be uglier when I first met you at LeeAnn’s that one time.”
    He blinked. “What?”
    â€œLeeAnn only spoke of Mick the parole officer. I pictured you as a gorilla type, with a broken nose and slicked-back hair. And younger. I thought you’d be younger than you turned out to be.”
    He shifted. He’d only seen Keeley a handful of times when he supervised Tucker, and usually it was only for a brief moment. “I suppose the ugly part is relative, but I’m forty.” Forty going on ancient. He searched her face, unable to read below the calm that he imagined was a front. She was thirty-four, he knew, like he also knew where she and her sister had been born. And that they had a mother living in a retirement home in Colorado and a father deceased, thanks to the ravages of lung cancer when the girls were young. A head full of information that lingered along with the memories.
    â€œI...” He cleared his throat. “Did you see which direction Tucker went?” Lame, but at least it filled up the silence.
    â€œNo. I stopped paying attention when I lugged you into the Jeep and brought you here.”
    He started to say something, some rough thank-you or another, but she cut him off. A good thing. Saved him from saying something stupid.
    â€œYou probably have a concussion. Should see to that, and maybe you need stitches.” She pointed. “Your bandage is oozing.”
    He swathed himself in more gauze, mindful of the couch.
    The sounds of sirens drifted through the night. A fist pounded on the door and Keeley jumped, fear crowding her fine cerulean eyes.
    Too soon for cops. He put a finger to his lips and went to the window, moving the curtain slightly. Guy on the porch wasn’t Tucker. A tall, lean man dressed in running gear, sweat-damp hair curling around his ears.
    â€œKeeley? It’s John.” More pounding. “Open the door.”
    Keeley sighed and, against Mick’s better judgment, she unlocked the bolt and let John in, leaving the door ajar.
    John enveloped her in a strong embrace, Keeley’s chin barely reaching his shoulder. “Are you all right? I just got back from my run and turned on the police radio channel. You called in. An attacker?” His eyes shifted suddenly as he caught sight of Mick. He pushed her away and tensed, fists ready. “Who are you?”
    Mick sighed,