“My damn socks. She was sneaking in and taking all my left socks.” William’s eyes grew round, all the whites visible around his irises.
Connor shifted. He knew that look. Seen it time after time as a cop—the look of someone whose mind and emotions operated on another plane, someone who experienced their own reality.
Charlize walked to her father and knelt. “Daddy, why would anyone do that? I don’t think socks have a right and a left.”
“Of course they do. She was trying to get to me, trying to make me think I’m crazy. She’d move my spectacles around the house, drink half my tea when I wasn’t looking—she even changed the programming on the damn TV so I’d never get to see my shows.”
Charlize patted his knee. “That wouldn’t be possible. Shows change, things change. We can’t control a television station’s programming. You need her, we need her.”
“I do not need her. I have a daughter. You should be here, Charlize. You should be here buying the damn tea and milk.” William slapped the arm of the chair, his face brightening.
Charlize uncurled from her crouch. “You know I work. I come as much as I can. I visit four times a week but I can’t be your maid. Not when we pay a fortune for you to stay in the most exclusive assisted-living apartment in Seattle.”
“You don’t need to damn work. I never asked you to take over.” William stood, pointed his finger at Charlize.
She backed up a step, blinking against the sheen glistening across her eyes.
“Didn’t I provide adequately for you?” he spat.
Connor rose silently behind William. Something was happening to Charlize. Her strength looked as if it was slipping, resignation sliding into its place. He’d never hated anything so much as seeing his she-cat get knocked down.
“It’s not about that,” she said, her hand curled at her belly. A fat tear slid down her cheek.
Connor stepped closer, wanting to reach out and hold her but knowing better. William’s gaze flicked to him.
The older man inched back into his chair. “Stop crying, Cherry. If you really want a shot at running what I left you, you’re going to have to harden up, stop being so damn soft.”
Charlize brushed the tear away with one finger and swallowed. Connor could almost see her shields slamming back into place.
“You don’t have to worry about that. I only seem to cry when I visit you.”
The intensity fell from William’s expression but it was too late. Charlize walked back to the table where she’d placed her keys.
“I’m going to call management in the morning and see if Lynette will come back. If not, you’re going to have to learn to live without fresh milk or learn to order online.” She gave her father a long stare before turning to the door.
Connor nodded to William. “Mr. Halifax,” he said and strode after Charlize.
He caught up with her at the elevator and drew her against him. “He doesn’t—”
“I really don’t need a pep-talk right now.”
The elevator chimed and Charlize brushed his hand aside and stepped into the empty car. He ran his gaze over her before he joined her. She still wore her hands-off regalia but now stray wisps of hair escaped her bun, softening her. It didn’t matter anymore, what she wore or how she looked, he knew his ice-queen had a sweet, molten core.
And he had only begun to taste it.
* * * * *
Sound burst through her bedroom, shaking her out of inky-black nightmares filled with groping hands and the taste of someone else’s blood. Charlize jerked upright. Another bang shook the room and she rolled out of bed, knocking her side table. A glass lamp fell and shattered on the floor. She froze. Her heart pummeled the inside of her chest, fast and painful.
The door slammed inward and crashed against the wall. A large figure filled the doorway, streaking terror into her limbs. She screamed and covered her face. Her chest clenched—she couldn’t catch her breath. The room pitched.
“Charlize, are you okay?”
The words barely penetrated her ringing ears. She couldn’t breathe, her chest squeezed tighter.
“Shit. There’s glass everywhere.”
Silence then a sound, and hands were on her just in time to stop her from hitting the ground. She clutched her hands to her chest but couldn’t speak—couldn’t draw breath. A rumble rippled over the room, this time softer. She had no choice but to let herself sink into cradling arms.
“It’s just a tiny earthquake, baby. We’re okay, you’re okay. It’s over, just try to breathe.” His words whispered against her ear.
He scooped her up, glass crunched but he didn’t make a sound, just laid her on her mattress and sank down beside her. He touched her, smoothed long, loose hair out of her face, ran fingers down her spine, drew her out of her own head and back up to reality.