Nowhere to Hide(20)

“Yeah, as a kid I’d always wanted to be one. They were kind of my comic book heroes.”

Not that his childhood was a fairy tale. It was an ongoing nightmare, but he definitely wasn’t going there.

“I loved comic books,” she said in a new, delighted voice. “I devoured them as a child.”

“Who was your favorite?” Cav leapt on that like a bee discovering a flower. Lia, he was learning, was not only mysterious—she was hiding from the world.

“I love the X-Men. Especially Wolverine,” and she smiled a little. “He was so scarred and been so badly wounded by brutal men.”

Another puzzle piece. Clearly, some man or men had hurt her. Was that what the scar on her face and throat were all about? Cav ached to ask the question, but it was way too soon. He desperately needed to establish a platform of trust with this skittish woman with the beautiful diamond gray eyes.

“Do you have a soft heart toward wounded animals,” Cav kept his voice light, with a little teasing, hoping to draw her out a bit more.

Lia turned, studying him for a long moment. “Are all operators like you?”

“Like what?”

“Always asking sensitive, insightful questions?”

Shrugging, Cav gave her a lopsided grin. “I don’t know. Is that what I do?”

“Yes. You’re very good at it.” Almost too good. She swore she could feel Cav probing her, and the caring that burned in his hazel eyes told her he was sincerely interested in her.

But why? Was he coming on to her? It didn’t feel like it. She’d had enough relationships and God knew, had been hit on enough in the military, to know when a man wanted one thing from her.

But Cav’s inspection of her, that gentle prying, didn’t feel at all like that. This was a watershed moment for her, because ninety-nine percent of the men who had hit on her weren’t coming from the direction Cav clearly was. She had so little experience with a man like him, she felt inept and vulnerable.

“When I was in Afghanistan, because I spoke Pashto, one of the main languages for that country, I was often called in on interrogations at Bagram. From a lot of early experience, I learned you got more with honey than vinegar.”

Cav was definitely honey, Lia decided. “I was at Bagram,” she blurted out, then snapped her mouth shut. Damn! Her attack had happened there. Her fists curled on her thighs and she stared straight ahead, trying to will Cav into not pursuing her statement.

“Really?” Cav saw her face drain of color after she’d said it. The vibe coming off her right now was stark terror. Okay, then, step around it. He opened his hands on the wheel and said, “It was a big base. At its peak, there were twenty-two thousand people there.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her draw in a deep breath, close her eyes for a moment and then reopen them. He was headed the right direction now.

“Let’s talk about Wolverine? You up for that?” he teased. Even more relief showed in her face after that last comment.

“I loved Wolverine as a teen,” she admitted. “As badly scarred and hurt as he was, he never took it out on others. All he did was protect the innocent and save others’ lives.”

Cav absorbed her words, her voice suddenly filled with emotion. And he felt his own body react powerfully as she revealed herself at that one moment. Her eyes had gone from dull to shining. Her pale cheeks had flooded with pink. She was animated and engaged with him, a heady experience.

His question had drawn her out of that hole she’d dug for herself. What was she hiding from? Cav wanted to ask her, but instead asked, “Did you have pets when you were growing up?”

She smiled softly. “I had a horse, Goldy. He was a palomino. My dog, Champ, was a beautiful German Shepherd. And my cat, which was black as night, was called Inky.”

“Sounds like you had a lot of furry, four-footed friends,” Cav said, watching the incredible change in her face. If he’d thought Lia was attractive before, she was positively glowing now, her eyes, a radiant silver, and her pursed mouth, soft and so kissable. Her skin glowed, and she was alive again, her hands open, gesturing.

“I loved them so much. We rescued Champ from the dog pound. Inky was starving and I found him in a back-alley, so weak he couldn’t move. Goldy was going to be sold to a dog food factory. They were going to kill him and grind him up. Ugh, it was awful,” and she placed her hands against her lips in memory of that time.

“Sounds like they got a good home with you, though,” Cav said, wanting to accent the positive of her animal rescues. “How old were you when you got Goldy?”

“I was eleven. My Dad is a farmer. He grows sugar beets in Oregon. I went with him one day because he wanted to buy some chicks from the feed and seed store. I saw Goldy and seven other poor horses being off-loaded at the dog food factory. I hated that place because I knew they killed horses there and I loved horses. Goldy escaped and ran out of the corral. I got my Dad involved and a couple of the other guys who worked there. They were able to keep Goldy in a blind alley. I watched my Dad, who is so good with animals walk up to him, talking to him a real quiet voice, and Goldy stood stock-still. Dad was able to put the halter and lead rope on him.”