Nothing to Fear (23 page)

He had just enough time to buy her a preloaded cell phone from a corner convenience store before meeting her for breakfast. Ethan slid his laptop into its bag. He’d stow it in the trunk of his car, along with the gun he’d been keeping in the back of his waistband. That way if she decided to run her hands all over him, she’d be touching him and not the weapon he still wasn’t ready to explain.

Chapter Twelve

Chicago, Tuesday, August 3, 6:00 A.M.

Ethan was waiting for her on the sidewalk this time. The sight of him there surprised her, left her unguarded. He was still wearing his clothes from the night before.

So was she.

He straightened when she approached, studying her face as she got closer. He must have seen what she’d tried so hard to hide. That she was scared and mad and guilty. He opened his arms and she walked straight into them, felt them close around her. Slid her arms under the jacket of his suit, splaying her hands flat against the taut muscles of his back. Felt the first measure of peace since . . . since the last time she’d been in his arms.

“What happened?” he murmured. Laid his cheek on top of her head. Cocooned her.

“She kept having contractions all night.”

Ethan pressed his lips to her temple and made her sigh. “How early would she be?”

“Six weeks.”

“Not optimal, but manageable.” His voice rumbled, the vibrations tickling her cheek.

“You said you weren’t a doctor,” she said and felt his silent laugh.

“Richard went through this once.” He cleared his throat. “With his middle daughter.”

Richard who had died when he had not. She held on a little tighter. “Was she all right?”

“Not at first. Brenda’s blood pressure went crazy and they had to take the baby seven weeks early. The baby was in NICU for a few weeks, then they let them all go home. But she’s fine now. Healthy and . . . Well, healthy.”

His voice had roughened at the end, pulling at her already bruised heart. She leaned back, looked up into his face. “How many kids did Richard have?”

“Three. All girls.” He changed the subject abruptly. “You haven’t slept, have you?”

“A little. On the sofa in the waiting room. I’ll catch a few hours when I get back to—home.” Dana stopped, caught herself. Nearly bit her tongue. She’d almost said Hanover House. She must be more tired than she’d thought. “I haven’t had a bite since those hot dogs last night. Why don’t we go in?” She tried to tug free, but his arms held firm.

“In a minute.” One big hand threaded through her hair to cradle the back of her head while the other brought her even closer, her thighs brushing against his. She could feel him against her abdomen, hard and pulsing. Fully aroused. He wanted her. It was a heady thought. “Just another minute.” His voice had softened, pitched lower. Caressed. Her heart took a quick tumble and her knees wobbled and her hands came up to frame his face. His impossibly handsome face. “I thought about you,” he murmured. “All night.”

Everything inside her went liquid. “I thought about you, too. It was a long night.”

He brushed her lips with his and she wanted to whimper. To beg. “I thought about kissing you up against your car yesterday,” he said and a shudder raced down her back. “How you felt against me. How I wanted to feel you against me again.”

He was seducing her with words and whispers. Making her want so much more. She slid her arms around his neck and lifted on her toes. She could feel him now, thick and hard. No longer pulsing against her abdomen, but against her core where it did so much more good. Determined to hold her own, she caught his gaze and held it. Challenging him. “So do.”

His eyes flashed and his fingers tightened against the small of her back. He sucked in a breath. “Not here. I can’t do what I want here.”

Oh, God. The very words brought a host of images to her mind, each one more erotic than the last. “What do you want?” It was a whisper, a husky, throaty whisper.

He stared, hard. Seemed to consider his answer for a long moment. Then he dropped his head so that his lips just brushed her ear. “I want to make you forget your own name.”

She did whimper then, her hips arching, bringing her even more solidly against him. Every nerve ending she possessed was on fire. Her heart was beating harder than if she’d actually had sex. And he’d used nothing more than words. He straightened, let his eyes drop to where her breasts rapidly rose and fell in the little black dress. Then raised them to meet her eyes. And cocked one blond brow. It was her turn.

So this is foreplay, she thought. She’d never experienced it before. Not in a bedroom and certainly not on the street. But she could be taught. She leaned up, licked the corner of his mouth. Made him groan, a deep, wonderful, throaty sound that made her tingle down to her toes. “It’s a short name.” She licked the other side of his mouth and his hand left her hair and closed over her butt, kneading convulsively. She could feel him trembling. Trembling. “Only four letters. You’ll have to work hard to make me forget.”

His eyes glittered. Dangerously, she thought. But she wasn’t the least bit afraid. “Oh, I think I’m up to the task,” he said silkily.

Her lips curved. “Oh, I think you are, too.”

Then he smiled and completely took her breath away. “Good morning, Dana.”

“Good morning, Ethan. How are you?”

“Better now that I’m with you.” He kissed her then, deep and rich and full and when he lifted his head, she sighed. He kissed the tip of her nose. “And you?”

“You make me feel better, too,” she said. “I don’t know how you do it, but you do.”

“I’m glad. Are you ready for breakfast?”

“I am. And I’m really hungry. Those hot dogs were a long time ago.”

That they were, Ethan thought as he opened the door for her. His heart was finally coming back to a normal pace. He’d thought it would bang right out of his chest when she asked him what he wanted. He’d kept it light, because he’d thought what he really wanted might scare her to death, but now he wasn’t so sure. When he found Alec, returned him to Randi safe and sound, he sure as hell planned to find out.

Betty eyed them curiously as they slid into their booth. “You two go out on the town?”

Dana smiled and once again sent his heart hammering in his chest. “Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid. Ethan has to run soon, so can you make his breakfast fast?” She waited until Betty was gone, then leaned forward. “Let’s not mention Caroline being in the hospital. It would just make Betty worry and Caro has enough people worrying from Max and his family right now.”

“That I understand. Clay—you know, my partner—he’s the same way with me.”

She lifted a brow, studying him. “You seem pretty healthy to me.”

His eyes flickered. “I am now. I wasn’t always though.”

After a beat of hesitation, she asked, “What did you hurt in Afghanistan, Ethan?”

“Richard and I were thrown from our vehicle when it hit that land mine. I hit my head.” He shrugged. “Blacked out. Woke up in the hospital with brain swelling. It was a long time before I could string three words together coherently. The words were there, just out of my reach. That was . . . frustrating.”

He was such an intelligent, articulate man. “I imagine so,” she said, holding his gaze.

“I still get headaches sometimes. Migraines with visual aura, the doctors called them.”

“You can’t see for a little while. I had a client with those. Not optimal, but manageable.”

It hadn’t been so hard telling her about his headaches at all. She seemed to take it in stride. He could respect that. He leaned back and just looked at her for the pleasure of doing so. She was rumpled and had long ago worn away all traces of makeup, yet he still found her beautiful and fascinating. More so now that he knew who she truly was. He wondered why she’d kept it secret. “Was it a client in your photography business?”

She blinked. One long blink. “That client? No.”

He waited, but she said no more. Betty came with coffee and when she was gone Dana sighed. “You asked about me last night. I said I would tell you and I will. Maybe not all at one time, because it’s hard for me to talk about some of it. You’ll just have to be patient.”

“I’ve been known to exhibit that quality occasionally,” Ethan returned dryly. “Go.”

She drew a deep breath as if fortifying herself. “I was born here in Chicago. I’ve never been out of Illinois.”

Ethan’s eyes widened. “You mean you’ve never seen the ocean?”

“Not even once.” She sipped at her coffee thoughtfully. “I never really missed . . . what I’d missed. Not until recently. I’m not sure why I seem to lately.” She brooded a moment, then abruptly charged forward. “My father was an alcoholic and my mother worked as a hotel maid to keep food on the table.” She raised a brow. “Does that make you think badly of me?”

She wanted to appear as if she didn’t give a damn if he did or not, but Ethan could see his answer was important. “No.”

“All right. My dad died when I was ten. My mother married again when I was twelve. He was worse than my father.”

Ethan got a sick feeling in his stomach that must have shown on his face because she waved her hand and shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like that. He didn’t molest us. He just beat the shit out of us. And her. My mother. I hated him and he hated me. I got rebellious and when I was fourteen I quit school and ran away.”

“Us?”

“I have a sister.” From the set of her mouth it was clear that was the end of that topic.

“But you didn’t leave Chicago.”

She laughed. “Hell, I didn’t even leave the South Side. I met up with a rough crowd and . . .” She paused. Considered. Lifted a shoulder. “And I got pulled in for some petty theft. Did a stretch in juvie. Now do you think badly of me?”

That wasn’t in the information he’d found, then again, being juvie it wouldn’t be. “No.”

“Okay. I got out of juvie and they sent me home. My stepfather whaled the tar out of me for a few weeks, then one day I’d had enough. I’d learned a little on the street. How to do some damage with a blade.”

Ethan’s eyes widened again. “You stabbed him?” Go girl. Good for you.

“Only a little. I should have waited until I’d learned how to do a little more damage with a blade. I got him, but not like I wanted to. He probably should have had stitches.” She smiled as if genuinely amused. “But he was afraid of needles, too. Kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

“You say was. Is he dead?”

Her eyes flickered. “Not yet. I expect it soon. He’s sick and old and dug his hole so deep nobody will pull him out. Especially not me. Does that make you think badly of me?”

He was becoming annoyed at the question. “No. Is your mother still living?”

Now her eyes didn’t just flicker. They flashed with a pain so intense it left him breathless. Then she dropped her eyes and sipped her coffee. “No. My mother died.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her mouth drooped. “Me, too.” She squared her shoulders. “But back to me.”

He held up one finger. “Wait.” Betty was coming out of the kitchen with their food and he suspected Dana wouldn’t appreciate her listening. She waited until Betty was gone again before she picked up the salt shaker and salted her eggs.

“After I stabbed him, I ran away again, because I wasn’t going back to juvie. This time I knew how not to get arrested for picking pockets. I could be taught, you see.”

He said nothing because he had no idea of what to say. His own childhood, although lonely, had been idyllic in comparison to hers.

“I learned a little here, a little there. Things a law-abiding citizen probably shouldn’t know. Ran some scams. Never did drugs, I can say that. Well, maybe a little pot, but I never inhaled and that’s the story I’m sticking to. Luckily I never saw the seedier side of the runaway strip either. But one day I got caught trying to steal a car. I never did get the hang of that hot-wiring thing. I guess I would have made a lousy electrical engineer. Unfortunately I was eighteen by then. Now I’ve got a felony record. Do you think badly of me?”

Ethan shook his head, so incredibly touched that she’d shared this with him and knowing full well he’d never tell that he’d known already. “Not yet. You’ll have to do better than that, Dana.”

“I met a guy waiting for my appointment with my parole officer. Charlie was his name. The guy. Not the PO. Charlie had a Harley.” Now her brown eyes twinkled, again in what seemed like genuine amusement. “I was a biker chick for about a year. Even got me a tattoo,” she added in an affected drawl. “Eat, Ethan.”

He did need to eat quickly. He was chasing a woman with a tattoo, ironically enough. “So where is it?” he asked, then gulped down eggs that wanted to stick in his throat like kindergarten paste. “Your tattoo.”

She waggled her brows. “Maybe someday you’ll find out.” Then she sobered. “That’s why I told you. If you were to check on me like I checked on you, you’d see my record.”

“So? Did you pay your debt to society?”

“I copped a plea. Thirty days served, two years probation. Was barely in long enough to get head lice.”

“You were a kid.”

“I was an eighteen-year-old with more bravado than brains. If it makes a difference I went back later and apologized to the person whose car I tried to steal.” Her lips quirked mirthlessly. “She told me to go to hell, but I tried. To make amends, not to go to hell.”

“I guessed that,” Ethan said dryly. “What happened to Charlie?”

She swallowed a bite of eggs with a shrug. “I married him. It went about as well as you’d think a marriage made in a parole office would. Charlie, as it turned out, had a lot in common with my father and stepfather. When he got drunk, he got violent. One day I ended up in the ER getting poked with needles and thought, This sucks. So I left him.”

There was a great deal she’d left unsaid, but he didn’t press. Not today anyway. “That’s why he’s so ex he’s way past Z.”

She smiled ruefully. “You got it.”

“Well, I still don’t think badly of you and I really want to see your tattoo.”

Her grin was quick. “You are a nice man, Ethan. I’ll try not to hold it against you.”

He pushed their plates out of the way and reached for her hand across the table. “I think you’re a nice woman, Dana. I think you’re a lot harder on yourself than you are on everyone else.”