He gave her a look of mixed condescension and long-suffering patience that sat oddly on his thirteen-year-old face. “I’ll be fine, Jules. I know what I’m doing. At least, I will when I get that manual.” He tilted his head toward the SUV meaningfully.
“Okay.” She headed for the house to grab her keys and lock up, calling over her shoulder, “But if you get blown up, I’m going to be annoyed!”
Sam followed her inside, and she gave him an inquiring look.
“Th-Theo?” he repeated, frowning.
Examining her brother’s extra-tense face, unsure of what, exactly, he was asking her, she said, “The cop who was just here.”
“How d-d-do you know him?”
She grabbed the keys and her purse from the kitchen table they’d found at the thrift store. It was a little small for all of them, and the five chairs didn’t exactly match—either the table or each other—but the set had cost a total of seventeen dollars. With their supply of cash dwindling painfully fast, affordability beat out aesthetics. “I wouldn’t say I know him. He’s at the diner every morning, that’s all.”
“B-but you c-c-call h-him Theo?”
She was still confused. “Yes?”
“Why?”
“Uh…because that’s his name? What else should I call him?”
His fists clenched at his sides. “How ab-b-bout Of-f-ficer? Or G-Guy Who C-C-Can Ar-rest You for K-Kidnapping?”
“Sam.” Her voice was soft, and she resisted the urge to squeeze his arm. As tense as he was, the last thing he’d want was to be touched. “It’s okay. He doesn’t know.”
“M-mayb-b-be.” He closed his eyes for a second as his jaw muscles worked, and she knew he was trying to get his stutter under control. “N-not yet. B-b-but he c-c-could f-find out.”
She stared at him helplessly, unable to deny what he’d said. Theo could find out what she’d done, who they were, everything. “If he does, we’ll run.” It was weak, she knew, but it was all she could say to reassure him.
Sam didn’t look at all reassured. “D-d-d-do you l-like him?”
“What?” The word came out a bit screechy, and she winced inwardly as Sam’s frown deepened. “Of course not. That’d be crazy.”
“It w-w-would be cr-cr-crazy.” His grim tone made her drop her eyes. Maybe she’d thought about him a few times—and not in a he-could-arrest-me sort of way—but anyone with a pulse would indulge in a few daydreams when confronted by a man that good-looking. “Th-hat’d b-be b-b-bad, J-Ju.”
“I know.”
“Really b-bad.”
“I know.” Her response was barely more than a sigh as a tiny hope she hadn’t even realized she’d been harboring slipped away. It hit her that this was her life now. Until Dee was eighteen and the threat of Courtney was gone, Jules couldn’t date, couldn’t have any close friends, couldn’t get attached to anyone. If people got close, they’d ask questions. Jules had to be ready to take off at a moment’s notice.
Loneliness crept up her throat, making it tight, but she swallowed the self-pity. It was worth it. Getting the kids away from Courtney was worth the sacrifice. She met Sam’s worried gaze and held it steadily.
“I know, Sam.” No matter how hot and protective and gruffly kind he was, Theo was also a cop, and she was a criminal. Jules had to stay away from him…no matter how hard that may be.
Chapter 10
What was wrong with him? Theo huffed out a humorless laugh as he slid out of his solitary booth and tossed down enough cash to cover the lunch he’d barely touched. A better question would be what wasn’t wrong with him.
Megan lifted her eyebrows as he passed her on the way to the door. To his relief, she wasn’t curious enough about his unusual lunchtime appearance to ask him why he was there. If she had asked, he wouldn’t have had an answer—at least not one he wanted to share.
It was the squirrelly waitress’s fault. He’d gotten used to seeing her every day, but their usual breakfast had been canceled when a traffic stop for a broken taillight turned out to be a wanted meth dealer in a car he’d stolen from his ex-girlfriend.
Jules hadn’t even been working, unless she’d been hiding in the kitchen the entire time he was there. That was a definite possibility, since he acted like a complete ass every time he saw her. But not seeing her made him cranky—well, crankier than usual—and that made him even more pissed that he was allowing an almost-stranger to determine his mood.
He shoved the door a little too hard as he left the diner. The perfect September weather mocked his bad mood. The sun was a little too bright and cheery, the air just cool enough to feel good against his face. His frown deepening, he shoved on his sunglasses.