She didn't move. "I don't know what picture you're talking about."
"You're standing in a field, looked like damn daisies, and you're smiling from ear to ear." His lips twisted. "I wanted that picture to be after. I needed it to be." His gaze fell. "I see too much pain in this job. I needed to know there was more happiness out there. That there could be more."
He'd kept the picture. For some reason, the pain in her heart eased a bit. "What has Tucker told you about me?"
"Not much. I learned what I could, like you said, from reading the Iceman's case files." But his attention shifted to her once again. "And I saw the picture in his office one day. I learned a lot from that..."
"Like what?" What could you possibly learn just from a photograph?
"Like...the way you were looking at the man who'd taken the picture. I know that look. Haven't seen it very much, certainly not directed my way," he murmured with a wry smile, "but it's a look a woman gets if she's in love."
Wasn't Bowen the chatty one? "That was a long time ago." Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears.
"Was it?"
"Yes."
He studied her in silence. She hated silence. In silence, it was as if you were always waiting for something to happen. Something bad.
"He lied to keep you safe. He failed before, and I don't think he intends to fail again."
There was something Bowen needed to understand. Something that Tucker needed to see, too. "I'm not a victim this time. I won't be." She intended to fight back, not hide.
"People don't ever wake up wanting to be victims." Sadness was there, rumbling in his words. "They don't ask for bad things to happen to them. They don't ask for pain. For sorrow. Things happen. Attacks happen. It doesn't matter how strong you are, anyone can be hurt."
I'm ready to fight now. I will never be the woman who begs while a knife goes into my body.
"There's nothing wrong with being a victim," he continued carefully. "But I've never met anyone stronger than a survivor." His stare held her. "When I look at you, I don't see a victim. I don't think Tucker does, either. We both see a survivor, and Tucker? Well, the reason he's being such a controlling ass with you is because that man would do anything to make sure that you stay that way."
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS NICE in the motel room. The bed was soft. The water in the shower was hot, and he could watch as much TV as he wanted.
Red liked the little room. He liked the way the sheets smelled. He liked the way he smelled when he got out of the shower.
The room had been thirty-nine, ninety-nine, plus tax. So he had money left. Money to buy breakfast. Lunch. Maybe dinner, too. He could have saved all of the money for food, but...
He'd wanted the room.
He'd wanted to be somewhere else for that night.
He'd tried to sleep but...he couldn't. His gaze kept darting around the room and he kept the TV playing because he didn't want to miss any shows. He'd already missed so much. There was a phone on the nightstand and he thought about picking it up. He still remembered his daughter's number. He could call her. Just check in. Maybe...
Maybe even go home. If she'd let him come back.
His hands were shaking. They did that. His hands shook and sometimes his thoughts got all cloudy. He'd had blackouts before, been told that he'd have them again.
There were pills he was supposed to take, but the pills turned him into a damn ghost. He couldn't feel anything. Nothing but a thick fog that surrounded him. He didn't like that fog.
But he...he did miss his daughter. He reached for the phone.
Just as someone knocked at his door.
His heart jerked in his chest at that knock. It was so late... Who was coming to see him? No one ever came to see him. Most people barely looked at him when he was walking down the street. He'd gotten used to that.
I'm always a ghost.
"TV's too loud," a voice called through the thin wood of the door. "Management. Open up, now."
Shit, shit. He was in trouble. He didn't want to get kicked out. Red scrambled toward the door, unlocking it. "Can't kick me out, I paid good money-"
Something shoved into his chest. At first, it felt hot, sharp, then...
Ice-cold.
He opened his mouth to scream but he could only manage a choked gurgle. His legs were giving way beneath him and the guy in front of him...he was twisting the knife he'd shoved into Red's chest.
"You won't talk to anyone." The guy smiled at him.
I know that face. He put the girl in the box. He came into my home.
"You won't talk, not ever again..." And he shoved the knife toward Red's throat. Red fell back.
The pain had been so intense, so consuming, but...but it was already fading. A heavy fog was sweeping around him. Just like the fog that came with his pills.