Something flashed across her face then her expression shut down. “Sorry.”
My dead wife’s face popped into my head—saying the same motherfucking thing to me. It pissed me off then and Nic was pissing me off now. “You apologize to me one more time, you can walk the fuck outta my shop,” I threatened.
She nodded once.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Fine.”
I took three breaths to calm down and push the shit in my head back deep where it belonged. “What happened to your hand?”
“He wouldn’t let me go.” Her leg wavered and she grabbed the edge of my desk with her uninjured hand for support. “I punched him.”
Fucker deserved it. “You need to sit?”
Her jaw clenched. “No.”
“You lyin’?” I saw the pain all over her face.
“No.”
Fuck, she was determined. I took the gun from my waistband, locked it in my desk and picked up my car keys. “Let’s go.” I headed for the door.
“Talon?”
Up until that very second, I didn’t realize I’d never heard my name cross her lips. Except she didn’t say it, she pleaded. Breathless, wounded, she said my name with gut-wrenching desperation and it was impossible to ignore.
“Goddamn siren,” I muttered, wishing like hell she hadn’t just earned the nickname. I turned. “What?”
Her big blue eyes looked at me with alarm. “I can’t go to the hospital.”
“Why?” Christ, she was pretty.
“I don’t have insurance.”
“Fine. I know a walk-in clinic.”
“I don’t have the money. Can you just wrap my wrist?”
I should’ve stayed in the Marines. At least I would’ve been getting paid to play doctor. “I can’t set that wrist if it’s broken,” I lied. “I’ll cover the cost of the clinic.” Her arm would heal, I wasn’t worried about that. I wanted her face and whatever she was hiding under her jeans looked at.
Her shoulders relaxed but she protested anyway. “I’ve got no way to pay you back.”
For some reason, I was feeling charitable. “You tell me everythin’ that happened and we’ll call it even.”
Resignation filtered into her expression and I knew I was losing ground.
I played hardball. “Your choice. Door’s that way.” I inclined my head.
She dropped her gaze. “You hate him.”
“You’re right. Still doesn’t change shit between you and me. You want my help, start talkin’.”
“You’re going to judge me for being with him. Everybody does.”
“I’m not judgin’ shit. I’m lookin’ at a woman beaten by a man and I’m plottin’. Big difference.”
She snapped her gaze to mine and fear flashed across her features before she quickly hid it. “You’re wasting your effort.”
Un-fucking-believable. She was going to defend that asshole? “How so?” This ought to be good.
“You just are.”
Maybe, maybe not. “I’m tight with lost causes.”
Her back stiffened. “I’m not a cause.”
I studied her a moment, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. Something wasn’t adding up. She came to me for help then defended the asshole and said she didn’t need help? Why the hell was she here? “Start talkin’,” I repeated.
She studied me a moment as if she were deciding how much to tell. “It was an accident. It wasn’t his fault. After his last deployment, things…changed.”
“Meanin’?”
“He wasn’t the same.”
“No one is.” Life, war, they changed people.
“I realize that.”
I couldn’t decipher a single emotion in her response. “So what happened?”
“I tried to walk,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Tried?” I asked, but I knew I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“He had a knife. He said he was going to kill himself. I tried to leave but he caught me.” She absently flexed the hand with bloodied knuckles. “I broke free but when I ran, I tripped on the rug and hit the doorframe. I must’ve blacked out. When I woke up, he’d…” She inhaled and the tight rein she kept on her emotions started to crack. She shook her head then rushed through her next sentence. “He’d already cut himself.” Her hand stilled but her voice wavered. “I left and came here but you weren’t working.”
My gut constricted at the thought of her beaten and alone all night. “Where’d you sleep last night?”
“On the beach,” she quietly admitted.