Jazz woke up slowly. Her body was tired. Sore. And her shoulder felt like it was on fire.
She rolled over, trying to hold back a cry at the sharp pain.
“Easy.” Morgan said gently against her ear. “It’s morning, but our running around last night would have played havoc with your system.” He shifted and the bed rippled. “I’m getting your pills.”
She opened her eyes to see daylight streaming across the bedroom. But the pain… she shuddered. It’s as if her healing had gone backwards. So not what she wanted.
Within minutes Morgan was standing by her side, her pills and a glass of water in his hand. He helped her sit up and take them. “Now lie back and sleep some more,” he instructed gently.
“Not tired,” she muttered, but it was a faint retort because although she might not be tired, she had no energy or inclination to do anything else. If yesterday had looked bright and cheerful, today was like looking through storm clouds.
“Any word from the police?”
“Not yet.”
Figured. She tucked the sheet up to her chin and closed her eyes, hearing Morgan quietly leave the room. Her mind revolved with the hellish events she’d gone through these last days, and maybe it was because she was so tired, but she did wonder about taking a holiday. Take a drive down the California coast, or fly over to the Maritimes. There had to be something she could do to get away and enjoy life instead of this looking over her shoulder every minute of the day.
Better would be if this asshole was caught. Then she wouldn’t feel like she had to run away.
The smell of coffee hit her nostrils, and she moaned at the rich welcoming smell.
“Hey, I was hoping you were asleep.”
She opened her eyes to see him standing beside her again with a cup of coffee and a muffin for her. It smelled wonderful. He put them down before turning to help her sit up.
The pills had started to kick in, making the process easier. With a smile, she accepted the cup of coffee from him and leaned back to relax.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I’ll go grab mine.” And he disappeared back downstairs.
She didn’t hear him for a few minutes, aware that she was listening for all sounds to make sure he was okay. Then she heard footsteps on the stairs. She tensed. Only realized how foolish it was. Morgan had been here just a minute ago. It would be him again.
It was just the state of her mind.
And that sucked.
Morgan came through the bedroom door a few seconds later. She flashed him a bright smile. He glanced at her then walked to his side of the bed and placed his large cup down.
“No muffin?”
“Ate it before I brought yours up,” he said with a smirk. “Was a little hungry.”
She laughed. “I hear you there. I heard you come up the stairs, but even then my heart jumped, wondering if it was you.”
His smile dropped away. “I’m sorry. I should have called up.”
With a shrug, she said, “It’s fine. It’s going to take a while to get used to this.”
“We don’t want to get used to this, but neither do we want to lose that edge that says we need to be careful right now.”
“The cops should be able to find the bike and rider. It can’t be that hard,” she said quietly. “I keep expecting the phone to ring and to hear that they’ve picked him up.”
“Him? Or was that just a general pronoun?”
She thought about it. “It was general. I feel like it’s a man, but I think that is mostly because I don’t see a woman doing something like this. I don’t want to this to be a woman,” she admitted. “That’s not logical, I know.”
“We need to keep an open mind. If you think about everything that’s happened, it’s been very hands off so far. Guns from a distance. Not hard for a woman to do at all. Now if I’d had the shit kicked out of me, chances would be we’re talking about a man.”
“True.” She thought about what he said and realized he was right. There’d been nothing done yet a woman couldn’t have done.
“We haven’t spoken much about that second picture on the pizza box.”
She shook her head. “No, we haven’t. I did take a close enough look to identify it as the same tattoo artist.”
“But it wasn’t yours?”
“No.” She sipped her coffee, her mind on the image she’d seen last night. “Even if it was mine, why send me the image?”
“To show you something. Maybe that this person was in their life now. So, it’s a ‘see he’s mine too’ type of thing.”
“Meaning it had been a lover? So are we back to it being a woman?”
“It doesn’t have to be. There are many possibilities. Including a gay relationship.”
“Or maybe not a sexual relationship at all.”
“True again. There can be bonds of all sorts.” He picked up his coffee. “Or he thinks it’s your lover and wants you to know he branded him.”
“So they are talking to my lovers?”
“Not necessarily. It’s just we have to consider all options.”
She nodded but slid lower on the bed.
“We need to know who you inked with this design.”
She scrunched lower. She hated to think of it. Then another consideration crossed her mind. “That means you are in danger.”
He snorted. “No. I’m not. Don’t try to change the subject. You also said the designs are different – how?”
“Look, they are just unique. They were never a brand. They were a gift. It’s my art. These people were a major part of my life. I never regretted doing any of them.”
“So they don’t have a number or anything like that,” he probed.
“That’s gross. No. It’s like the pattern on the scales might be different. The look in the eyes. Things like that. I think in one case, I have the letter of his name worked into the design.”
“The first one?”
She nodded. “How did you know?”
“It’s something you’d do,” he said a smile on his face.
She glanced over at him, curious.
“You’d start with something then decide it needed tweaking and carry on. I guess the male in me would like to know how many have gone before me,” he said carefully. “But at the same time, if it has been 12 or more, I’m not sure I want to know. I’d like to think what we had was special and therefore unique.”
She stared at him in shock. “And yet you walked away.”
*
He winced. Shit. He hadn’t meant the conversation to go in this direction. That it needed to was a given, but surely not right now.
She snorted. “Right.” She threw back the covers and struggled off the bed. “I need to have a shower.” The bathroom door closed behind her.
Closing a door between them.
Something else he hadn’t wanted. He had no way to move forward with this. He had to explain, but there was no good explanation to give. He felt like a fool. A misguided, stupid idiot for walking away. And for not finding a way back to her in all this time. There was no excuse. So there was no reason for her to forgive him.
Yet he needed to explain and she needed to listen. Hopefully find a way to forgive him. If not, then she’d have to learn to trust him all over again.
Given that… he stared at the closed bathroom door, hearing the sound of water running in the background. He would start here. If she wouldn’t let him back into her heart, she’d at least let him back into her bed. He had no plans of losing that advantage. She couldn’t resist him, and he’d damn well take advantage of what little inroads he’d made.
To that end, he got up and headed to the shower.