Double Take. Jenness Walker
Her arms still ached, her eyelids still drooped. But she’d seen the man who had saved her life, and somehow that made things better. Not just because he was, well, really attractive, with his shaggy hair, piercing blue-green eyes and gentle smile. She’d remembered his eyes from before boarding the bus, his voice from when he’d shined a light in her darkness. His quiet strength made her feel safe, but not smothered. He made her feel beautiful, even with chapped lips and hideous wrists and frazzled hair, leaving her with a longing to be loved for who she was.
Except that could never happen—she’d never allow it. Because whenever she truly loved someone, whenever they truly loved her…
They ended up dead.
EIGHT
Cole picked up the bookstore’s last copy of Obsession and found an empty chair. The overstuffed furniture was comfortable—the reading was anything but. Monique hadn’t been rescued as soon as Kenzie had. Her hypothermia had been so severe that her rescuer hadn’t found a heartbeat. The medical crew had had to wait until Monique’s body was rewarmed before they would decide whether or not to pronounce her dead.
Cole’s stomach clenched at the thought that he could have pulled Kenzie’s pasty-blue, lifeless body from the water. His phone vibrated, and he reached for it without looking away from the book.
“Cole, have you eaten?” John said.
“No.” He glanced at the time. Quarter till seven. “What’s up?”
“I’m craving a burger from The Varsity. Been there yet?”
“Nope.” The hunger pangs hit then. A juicy hamburger. Fries doused in ketchup. A cold Coke with lots of ice. An hour of food and carefree conversation to help him forget that he’d escaped death. While a passenger from the same bus lay in a hospital bed, eating hospital food, reliving the same nightmare but a hundred times worse.
“It sounds great, but I think I’ll take a rain check. I’m going to run an errand and grab something on the go.” Book still in hand, Cole headed for the checkout line.
“Be careful, Cole.”
His determined stride faltered slightly at the sober note in his cousin’s voice. “Why?”
“Are you going to check on the pretty lady again?”
“Yes.”
“Then just…be careful.”
The call ended, and Cole stared at the phone for a moment before returning it to its clip. Was John’s warning because of the book, because of his past or because of the good detective who was undoubtedly keeping an eye on him for suspicious behavior?
“Awesome book, let me tell you,” the cashier said, interrupting his thoughts. She rang up the total, then tapped her long, red nails against the countertop while waiting for Cole’s credit card to go through. “By the way!” Her red hair nearly bounced with her enthusiasm as she bagged the novel and shook it in the air. “If you bring this back this coming Thursday, you can have the author autograph it for you!”
Cole followed the ridiculous length of fingernail to where she pointed at a poster for a book signing. Warren Flint. Coming to Atlanta a week after the first scene of his best-selling novel had been played out in real life.
Cole figured his idea of comfort food—steak and eggs with a Texas-size Coke—would differ slightly from a woman’s. Especially one who’d nearly frozen to death the day before. Something hot and something chocolate should do the trick. It wouldn’t wipe away the traces of her ordeal, of course. Nor would it erase his feelings of guilt. But…if nothing else, it had to be better than hospital Jell-O.
He strode down the hospital corridor and stopped at Kenzie’s door. No one stood outside. No voices came from the interior. Fighting down a sudden urgency, Cole forced himself to knock gently.
No answer.
He twisted the knob, and the door glided open on silent hinges. He paused, almost expecting Parker to step into his line of vision and pierce him with a suspicious glare.
No one.
Cole stood in the doorway, watching Kenzie sleep, until he realized his fingers were digging into the bag of food. Her sandwich would have thumb-size gouges in it if he didn’t rein in his feelings.
Why had they left her alone?
He moved to the bed, cautiously setting down the food on her tray table. Though the paper bags crinkled and the chair creaked when he settled into it, Kenzie’s eyes remained closed. For one blood-chilling moment, he thought she was dead. Her pale face, her dark-shadowed eyelids—but the blanket rose and fell with each breath. Her hands appeared warm and freshly slathered with ointment. Her thick eyelashes fluttered slightly, then lifted until her disoriented gaze met his.
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