Her Forgotten Betrayal(43)

“Not likely.” Actually, it would have been impossible. “You haven’t been fiddling with it at all?”

“No. I honestly didn’t care enough to mess with the water heater. I’ve had other things to obsess about. As long as hot water eventually trickles out of the tap, I’m happy. I figured I’d get around to tweaking the plumbing later.”

She’d started rubbing her temple again. Her eyes were clouded, their lids beginning to droop. The sugar in her tea was counteracting the shock of her latest injury, helped along by the pain medication. He sat forward, wishing he could have done more than make her favorite drink to soften the blow he had to deliver.

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “Someone shot you over a month ago, possibly trying to kill you. After today, I think we can safely assume that wasn’t a random occurrence. Which means, because of where the shooting happened, it was most likely about your business.”

She slowly nodded. “Okay.”

“But you’re not at Cassidy Global now. You’re not doing anything that would be causing a problem for anyone in your company. You haven’t been for at least a month. So, tell me, why would someone be doing bizarre things like this to you here, way up in the boondocks?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it, staring at him mutely.

“Shaw. What the hell kind of trouble are you in?”

…

Shaw shook her head.

She’d been doing that a lot and felt childish. Clueless. And hunted. How did she find the words to express the horror of knowing someone was honest-to-God stalking her?

The first investigators who’d interviewed her in the hospital had wanted to know mostly the same things as Cole. Did she have any idea why she was attacked? Why at Cassidy Global, in the middle of the night, and why was there no evidence at the scene? What had made Shaw the target instead of her other corporate officers? She’d had no answers to give them then, just as there was nothing to tell Cole now. Including why someone might have tracked her all the way up here to take another crack at her.

Or at least to go after her water heater.

She wanted to shove the endless search for answers from her mind again, as she had when the authorities in Atlanta had decided not to continue actively investigating her shooting. But now she didn’t dare, not if someone was really trying to spook her or hurt her or whatever he was trying to do to her in the mansion.

If Cole hadn’t been sitting beside her while she was forced to accept the truth that deep down she’d suspected all this time, she was certain she’d have dissolved into a puddle of fear. But there he was, caring for her in ways—like making her tea—that she guessed were as foreign to him as repeatedly having to soothe a hysterical female. She gazed back at her former friend. Her former lover. He felt more like a bodyguard now, standing like an impenetrable wall between her and whatever was going on.

She lifted her tea without responding to his question. Her grip shook so much, his hand came up to steady hers as she drank. Then he took the mug and set it in front of her. She dropped her head into her free hand. He lifted the other one from its ice bath and gently dried it.

“Everything’s spinning,” she mumbled.

She had to call Dawson. She should keep talking to Cole until she recalled something that would help the authorities get to the bottom of what was going on. She needed to fight harder to get her memory back, now more than ever. But her mind was turning to mush. Then the world itself was tilting.

Strong arms were helping her stand. Not bothering to censure herself, she leaned into Cole’s strength, needing the sense of belonging he’d brought into her solitary life.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he said, lips she knew she’d dream about at her temple. “You’re crashing, and I want to get a better look at the house. But I don’t want to take you back to your room. Where were you going to have me stay?”

“Downstairs.” She pointed in the direction of the first-floor guest room. Then she added, chagrined, “There are plenty of rooms upstairs near me, but I didn’t trust myself. You feel too good every time I touch you. Why do you feel so good…?”

She was babbling. She’d regret it later. But she closed her eyes, concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, and let the worry go as they left the kitchen behind.

When he eased her onto a bed, she realized he’d guided her to the guest room and was already stepping away.

“Don’t go,” she said, not for the first time.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” He kissed the scar at her temple, where her head hurt most, and pulled the blanket over her. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll lock the door from the inside as I leave. No one will be able to get in but me. You’ll be safe.”