Worth the Wait (McKinney_Walker #1)(38)

Still so beautiful, she thought, but there were slight differences she hadn’t noticed before. A little older, tougher. The angles of his handsome face a little sharper. She tried not to notice the dark polo shirt stretched across his chest, remembering the way her cheek had rested so perfectly there. Tried not to look at the sleeves hugging his arms. He’d always been broad shouldered and strong, but he seemed bigger now, harder, sexier, or maybe she’d just forgotten.

No. She hadn’t forgotten anything. Her heart raced, remembering the feel of him under her hands. Her gaze fell lower, to the wide stance of his hips. He carried a gun, which was hot, not that he needed any help in that area. He’d always been a little out of her league in that regard. Like he was the tall, dark, and male half of Mr. and Mrs. Smith with his badge and his holstered handgun, while she was closer to chess club champion. But they’d fit. They’d fit like they’d come from the same mold.

He took a step closer until her body was sandwiched between his and her car. Not even touching her, but so close she could feel him. Too close. His powerful, confident stance was as much a part of him as his dark, intelligent eyes staring deeply into hers. He had her pinned with both now.

His dark gaze swept the length of her, making her shiver. Slowly, he tucked another blowing tendril behind her ear, and a hot tingling sensation shot straight through her. She bit her lip and looked at the cracked asphalt beneath her feet. She didn’t want to feel this way. It was ridiculous; it made her angry.

With a finger under her chin, he brought her eyes up to his. “I haven’t seen you in ten years. Can’t you even look at me?”

Her stomach clenched at the softness in his voice and his melted-chocolate eyes. It was easier when he was angry with her. She gripped her keys tighter until the metal dug into her palm. She didn’t want him to see what was in her heart, and if he looked too long, he would. But then, because he’d asked, she did, and she didn’t want to look away. She’d missed his eyes. Dreamed of them.

Her hand came up to rest of its own accord on his chest, and their gazes held. If seeing him again made her face hot and her pulse pound, being this close to him made her dizzy. Touching him broke her heart. Ten years was surely long enough to get over someone, plenty long enough.

But if their end had all been about Hannah, then why not come back to her after Hannah had recovered? Unless he really blamed her. Or unless there had been something else that made him stop loving her. Because that’s what he’d done. And in order to survive, she’d forced herself to do the same. He hadn’t just broken her heart, he’d shattered her.

She dropped her hand. “Why are you doing this?” Her voice was so soft, her words almost caught up by the wind.

“It’s still the same,” he whispered.

“No. No, it’s not.” She felt the tears in her eyes, knew he would hear them in her voice, and hated it. She opened her car door and got in, and, just before she closed it, gave him one last look. “Nothing’s the same.”





* * *





Twelve years ago…





MIA SAT IN THE police station interview room, an untouched can of soda on the metal table in front of her. She wasn’t a suspect in a crime, knew they’d only snagged this room out of convenience, but she felt guilty. So much she was sick with it.

There was nothing left in her stomach to throw up, and she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Was it just yesterday that Hannah had disappeared? It seemed like years, every second ticking by like a deadly countdown.

She was the one meant to pick up Hannah. She was the one who’d driven to the campus and come back empty-handed.

Where was she? Where was she? Please, God, someone answer that question.

She wanted to scream it, cry it. She sucked air through her nose, realizing she’d been holding her breath.

Nick stood with his back to her, talking to someone just outside the door. She knew he hadn’t slept, either. She had no idea what time it was but was pretty sure it was night. Night two.

A uniformed cop and two detectives also sat in the room. Nick’s partner at the bureau, Carl, stood leaning against the wall. They’d put in a call to Luke. Dallas was on his way. Zach and every fireman not on shift were out looking.

Nick turned and moved toward her at the table. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to comfort and be comforted, but he didn’t come close enough, didn’t touch her. His eyes hadn’t met hers in hours.

Another man joined them, and they went over it all again.

“What time did you get there?”

“Four.” She stared at the man’s hand scribbling on a yellow steno pad. Was that regulation? Was that thorough and professional? She didn’t know anything about police work. It shouldn’t matter what they wrote her answers on. It didn’t.