Caught by You. Kris Rafferty
of it. He told himself there’d been too many guns, too many potential targets to control the situation completely, but there was a niggling of fear that he could have done better by her. Should have. He’d had one mission in that diner, and that was to keep an eye on her. Sure, things went to hell, but Avery had survived that diner disaster without his help. He’d carry that guilt for life.
“Patty.” She was ignoring him, acting as if she weren’t covered in blood. He suspected she was in shock. He’d seen enough of it to recognize the symptoms. The clerk caught Vincent’s gaze, and then widened his eyes, not hiding his unease that his customer was bloody and seemingly oblivious to the fact. Even the clerk knew her behavior was odd. Why didn’t Avery? Definitely in shock.
She took the ticket and stuffed it into her purse. “Thank you, Jeremy.”
From the looks of Jeremy, he was all of seventeen. Vincent flashed Jeremy his credentials so he wouldn’t have to explain. Avery turned and saw them, and he saw her eyes. They weren’t dilated, so she wasn’t in shock, and his FBI credentials didn’t even warrant a twitch of fear. That meant she wasn’t running from him, and either had nerves of steel or was suffering from amnesia. She had to suspect he was here because of her ex-husband, right? Then he remembered the knife pinning Eric’s hand to the shotgun, and Jim, the junkie, bloody on the floor. So…nerves of steel. Good to know. She was trained and unflappable. Dangerous.
“What are you doing?” He made sure to keep his expression puzzled and worried. The moment their interaction became about controlling her, he had a feeling he’d lose even the small amount of goodwill he’d managed to build between them.
Avery walked passed him. “Who’s asking?”
“Huh?” It wasn’t as if he could pretend he was anything but the FBI Special Agent she’d seen in action at the diner, but he could pretend that his status didn’t matter. After all, Feds went on fishing trips, too. “I was worried about you.” He kept pace with her as they walked down the sidewalk.
“How did you find me?” she said.
“I could say when local law enforcement arrived on scene, I explained the prime witness disappeared, so I went in hot pursuit.”
“But that’s not the real reason?” She seemed to be weighing his words.
“Like I said—” He gave her his version of puppy dog eyes. “I was worried about you.”
That seemed to mollify her, but she didn’t slow her gait. “You still didn’t tell me how you found me.”
She was interrogating him. And wasn’t that just a fine how do you do, he thought.
“A blood-covered waitress meandering through town? You’ve started rumors of a zombie apocalypse.” She kept walking, eyes front. “Stop and talk to me, will you?” She was strung so tightly he feared forcing the issue lest she see it as an attack, and she’d been hurt enough. He didn’t want to upset her more. “I’m worried about you, Patty.” Yeah, he needed to keep her under his thumb, but he wanted her injuries checked out by a doctor, too.
Her expression softened, making him think he was making headway with her. “Thank you,” she said. “That’s sweet. I’m sorry I worried you.”
“But?” He could tell she was exerting herself with her pace, because her cheeks were flushed, and the pulse at her neck was visible and racing.
“But—” She threw him an impatient glance. “I’m sore, I’m upset, I want a shower, to…to… Listen, I want to go home.” Vincent couldn’t allow that. Not until Benton texted him the surveillance cameras were up. He needed a delay tactic.
“First you have to be checked out by a doctor. You could have internal injuries or something.” When he caught her glance of distain, he threw his hands up in the air. “What? I’m not a doctor.”
“No, you’re a Fed.”
“So, you don’t like Feds?”
She pursed her lips. “I like Feds that tell me they are Feds before they try to get in my pants.”
“If I’d told you, you never would have given me a second look. Despite what you might think, working for the FBI does not make me a chick magnet. They always think of their unpaid parking tickets when I want them to be thinking of me.” Her cheek kicked up with a smile, but she didn’t slow down. “Now you might be saying to yourself, but the FBI has nothing to do with parking tickets.”
She glanced at him. “Is your punch line that you date only stupid women or women who illegally park?”
He chuckled. “I’m a gentleman. I’d never say such a thing.”
“Listen, it’s been fun, but, I got to go.” She scanned the street and sidewalk, and walked faster, clenching and unclenching her fists, drawing her thumbs across her rings, as if they irritated. Maybe they’d swelled so much, her rings were cutting off circulation. Her right hand had it the worst; split knuckles, red and purple bruising.
“Patty, let’s have the EMTs look at your hand, at least. Okay? It looks really messed up.” He lifted it so he could get a better look. She winced, and pulled her hand from his grasp, then hid both hands in the pockets of her uniform’s apron.
“I’m fine.” No. She was limping, and the growing bruise on her knee looked angry.
“Did you fall?” He pointed to her knee.
She shook her head. “I aimed poorly, and kneed Jim’s belt buckle during the fight. I think I pinched a nerve, but it’s fine.”
“Fine.” He arched his brows, wondering if he should just shut up. Nope. “I think you need to rethink what fine means, because you’re never going to see a picture of a person in your shape listed under a definition of the word fine. But…if you say so.” He shook his head. “Fine or not, the sheriff is waiting for your statement. You shouldn’t have left the crime scene. Don’t you watch Law & Order?”
She glanced at him, and he saw a return of her unease. “I wasn’t thinking.”
She’d run from a crime scene and bought a ticket out of town. Seemed pretty clear-headed, if not premeditated to Vincent. “What about Rizzoli & Isles? Or CSI, or CSI New Orleans, or—”
“Really?” She was out of breath from walking so fast. “Are you going to list all the television shows I haven’t seen?”
“How could you not have seen them?”
“No cable,” she mumbled, not slowing down.
“Not even Netflix?”
“No Internet. No computer. I’m a waitress in a small town. Tips aren’t that great.” If she was telling the truth, did that mean “the files” were in paper form? He found that hard to believe. Not in this data age, but no Internet? He found that hard to believe, too. She had to have them on a flash drive, tucked away in her apartment. “I have my iPhone, of course, but who wants to watch a show on a phone?”
“Well, if you had watched those shows, you’d also know ignorance isn’t a defense. Most of the time, anyway. I think if you come quietly,” he said with a smile, “you know, not give me anymore of a hard time than you already have—”
“What?” She gave him a flirty smile. “You pulling out the thumb screws already?”
He laughed. “Just let the EMTs look at you. Don’t make this a big deal. And yeah, you must give a statement, or the sheriff will come looking for you. Come on.” He tilted his head in the direction of the diner. “They’re all back at the crime scene. Let’s go.”
“I don’t want to.” She shuddered and kept up the fast pace. Her reaction read authentic. The diner upset her, and she was having a hard time processing. Now he felt like a jerk for forcing her to go back there, but he couldn’t risk her seeing the task force wire her street for video. Too much time and energy went