The Getaway Bride

“What are you afraid of?” he asked her.

“Nothing,” she replied steadily. “Except boredom. Which is what I’m feeling now, by the way. When will this cross-examination end?”

“As far as I’m concerned, it hasn’t even begun,” he answered. “I’m after the truth. All you’ve given me so far is a bunch of lies.”

He saw her swallow, but she kept her tone impassive. “That’s me. A compulsive liar. Might as well write me off as a mistake and let me leave. It’s not going to get any better.”

“I told you when you could leave. As soon as I’m satisfied with your answers.”

For the first time, he saw anger flash through her dark brown eyes. Eyes that he remembered being a clear, honest blue.

“You have no right to hold me here against my will,” she snapped.

His own simmering temper boiled. “And I suppose you had a right to have me arrested in Des Moines? To try to burn my eyes out in Wichita? Or how about before that? What right did you have to run out on me and leave me to go out of my mind looking for you? Do you have any idea of what you’ve put me through the past two and a half years?”

“I’m sorry about that. But—”

“‘Sorry.”’ He shoved himself to his feet with a humorless laugh. “You’re sorry. Well, that makes it all better, doesn’t it, Page?”

She stood, as well. “Haven’t you gotten the picture yet? It’s over, Gabe. Let me go and get on with your life.”

It was obvious that she’d risen too fast The little color that had returned to her face drained out again.

Gabe caught her arm, steadying her when she swayed. He was standing close enough to catch a faint scent that almost made him groan aloud as old memories assailed him.

Page had changed a great deal since she’d left him, but she still favored strawberry-scented shampoo.

She seemed frozen by his touch, her eyes locked with his, her face strained with more than the aftereffects of Blake’s injection.

“One more question,” Gabe said without releasing her, his voice hoarse. “Did you ever love me?”

For the first time she looked away before she replied. “No,” she whispered. “It was a mistake from the very beginning. I’m sorry.”

Her answer—and the pain that shot through him hearing it—infuriated him. He placed both hands on her shoulders, his grip biting into her skin.

“Stop lying to me, damn it!” he almost shouted in her face. “Can’t you give me even one honest answer?”

“Yes,” she snapped, clutching the front of his shirt in white-knuckled hands. “It’s over, Gabe. That’s an honest answer. Now let me go.”

“I can’t, Page,” he said, hardly recognizing his own voice. “I just can’t. Not yet.”

He felt her hands tremble as they gripped his shirt. “You can’t keep me here,” she whispered.

He was puzzled by her expression. She was most definitely afraid, he decided, studying her closely. Her eyes were dilated, her face bleached of color, her breathing rapid and unsteady. “You don’t really think I’ll hurt you, do you?” he asked.

“You had me kidnapped!”

“You had me arrested,” he retorted. “And then you sprayed liquid fire directly in my eyes. I thought you’d blinded me for life.”

“I knew the spray wouldn’t cause you permanent harm.” She sounded defensive.

“I’m supposed to thank you for your consideration now?”

She sighed and suddenly sagged against him. “This is getting us nowhere,” she murmured. “I’m really tired, Gabe. My head hurts and I’m as weak as a kitten. If I could just lie down for a while longer.”

He loosened his hands on her shoulders. “Well, I suppose you—”

He’d hardly gotten the words out of his mouth before she sprang into action. Her foot shot out, catching him sharply in the shin at the same moment she shoved hard against his chest. He stumbled. She bolted.