Navy SEAL Rescuer Read Free Page B

way back
across the yard, a hitch to his stride that she hadn’t noticed before. Slight,
but definitely there. Had he been hurt while he hunted the guy who’d attacked
her?
    She wanted to ask, but the words caught in her throat as he
tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans.
    It had been a long time since she’d made small talk.
    She wasn’t sure if she still knew how to do it.
    “Something wrong?” he asked, his eyes such a pure light green,
she wondered if he wore contacts.
    “You hurt your leg,” she said, finally managing to loosen her
tongue and get the words out.
    “Not recently.”
    “You’re limping.”
    “That happens when the lower part of a person’s leg is
amputated.” He responded so casually, she almost missed what he was saying.
    “You’re an amputee?”
    “My leg was blown off by a booby-trapped weapon cache. That’s
why I’m stateside instead of with my buddies in Afghanistan.” Darius offered the
information, knowing it would distract Catherine, ease some of the tension from
her face and shoulders.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “I’m alive. Some of my buddies weren’t so fortunate.”
    “Then, I guess I’m even more sorry,” she responded, surprising
him. Most people who heard the story missed the part where he mentioned the
bigger loss he’d suffered. Not his leg. His comrades. He’d give the other leg
and both his arms to have any of them back.
    “It was rough.”
    “What happ—?”
    “How about we save the question-and-answer session for another
day?” He cut her off. Sharing some information to take her mind off what had
happened was one thing. Talking in depth about his loss, that was something
else.
    “I thought you were heading to the hospital,” Logan called from
the porch, and Catherine stiffened, her tension flooding back.
    “The Buick wouldn’t start.”
    “Not surprising. You need to trade that rust bucket in for
something reliable.”
    “The car is fine, Logan.” She sounded weary, and Darius had the
urge to slide an arm around her waist, let her lean on him. He doubted she ever
leaned on anyone, though, and he kept his distance, watching as she brushed dirt
from her faded jeans and avoided Logan’s eyes.
    “I noticed you had some vandalism on the porch. When did it
happen?”
    “Sometime after I left to bring Eileen to the hospital. The
siding was vandalized, too, but I was able to cover that before...” She didn’t
finish, and Darius imagined her out on the porch, covering paint with paint
while danger stalked her.
    “You didn’t report it,” Logan said, and Catherine shrugged.
    “I reported the broken windows three weeks ago. I reported the
slashed tire before that. I reported crank calls and people driving by the house
at all hours of the night. It didn’t do me any good. I figured calling the
sheriff about this was going to be just as useless.”
    “I’m sorry you felt that way, Catherine. We’ve been working
hard to identify the perpetrators of those crimes. It just takes time,” Logan
responded with more gentleness than Darius had ever seen in him. Did he feel
guilty for his part in Catherine’s conviction and incarceration? No doubt, he’d
been with the sheriff’s department when she’d been accused of murdering eleven
patients at the convalescent center where she’d worked.
    “I know that, and I’m not blaming your office, Logan. It’s
just...I don’t have time. Eileen is really sick, and
I can’t have her stressed out and upset every other week. I figured I’d just
clean things up before she got home and pretend nothing had happened.”
    “Pretending won’t make trouble go away.”
    “I know.” She touched the bruise on her jaw. “Look, I know you
have a bunch of questions, and I’ll answer them. But I really have to get to the
hospital. I don’t want Eileen waiting and wondering if something has happened to
me.”
    “Something did happen to you,”
Darius cut in, and she frowned.
    “Nothing permanent. We’ll talk