Padding out behind him after locking up, Meg leaned against the passenger door, watching him as he came back around, her arms crossed under her breasts. “You know, Cody, you don’t have to look so satisfied; I wasn’t going to knock on your door tonight. I did that earlier, and it didn’t go so well, remember?”
He opened the door for her. “I’m sorry.” It came out just a gruff whisper.
“Sorry I erased the evidence?” She plopped down on the seat and pulled her sweater an inch above her belly button, enough to let him see her cleaned navel, enough to make his eyes bulge and leave him salivating with the door in his hand and aching to look at more.
“I’m sorry, shit happens.”
And he was. Guilt assailed him as he climbed in behind the wheel. It’s always your fault, moron. You get everyone around you killed. You’re jinxed. Cursed. And if he were smart about it, he should go deposit Megan somewhere where she would be safe.
Megan noticed the gun bag in the backseat. “I thought you were on vacation.”
“I’m never on vacation, I only pretend to be on vacation.” He geared up the car and pulled into the traffic, heading to his partner’s home. The only place he knew she’d be safe tonight.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
She sounded serene, but somehow, hopeful. In fact, she sounded like a young bride asking the groom whether he’d booked the Ritz Carlton or the Four Seasons. And of course he was the shithead who got to tell her he’d booked neither. “I’m taking you to Zach’s, you can stay the night with them.”
The shine in her eyes died an abrupt death. “Oh.” She stared out the window and he wished he could see her expression. When she spoke, her voice was devoid of all emotion. “So you called your partner, because…?”
“Because Zach can protect you while Paige entertains you with baby talk.”
She shot him a withering glance. “Why doesn’t Zach handle this, then? You stay with me and you can entertain me with caveman talk. You’re supposed to be on vacation anyway.”
“Zach’s home wasn’t broken into. His girl—” He broke off, shook his head. “He’s homicide—and this bastard’s not dead yet. Not until I’m through with him. I’m the one who needs to find him.”
“You did not just call me your girl,” she said, incredulous.
“No, I did not,” he snapped. “But you’re my responsibility, especially now, since the bastard escaped from prison.”
“He did? When?” Her eyes widened to saucers.
“Couple of hours ago—tops. I know I don’t need to tell you he’s my responsibility, and I want you out of this, as far away as possible. Understand?”
He’d already touched her today, frightened her, and the memory made Cody feel like a loaded grenade, about to explode.
He clenched his hands on the wheel, fury and jealousy blurring his vision so hard he had to slow down in order to avoid a collision.
Probably sensing that, Meg softened her voice. “Ivan wouldn’t hurt me, Cody, not really. He always liked me,” she said.
“I’ll bet that’s what my mother said.” The memory of her sweet face always defending him to their dad made him angrier. “Ivan doesn’t like anyone.”
He couldn’t have, not anymore, not really. Hell could not get scarier than his brother. Sick. Perverted. Hurt. Lonely.
“He can’t know the meaning of the words like or love,” Cody snarled. “People like him have people like you for lunch, Meg.”
“Well, Paige won’t have me staying over, I know she won’t. She’ll … she’ll feel I’m much safer with you.” Megan smiled, but Cody didn’t.
He surveyed her with a bit of puzzlement, and she looked away with an attractive blush, staring straight ahead with an odd expression, one of determination and conspiracy. He didn’t know what she was plotting in her head, or what she and Paige had ever said about him, all he knew was that she was wrong.
You’re not safe with me anymore. You never have been.
When he’d left Phoenix, he’d thought the violence, the blood, evidence of a sick and twisted gene pool, would have wiped the stars out of Megan’s eyes, but the truth was, he still lived for a glimpse of the looks she gave him.
Maybe Ivan had been born a monster, but it was Cody who’d kept him from being caged. It was all his fault. Long before the murder, Cody should have told his parents that Ivan beheaded squirrels in the backyard. He should have put in more of an effort to stop him.
But no, he had been too consumed with his crush to see straight. Too consumed fantasizing about the blond, curly-haired fourteen-year-old neighbor. His judgment would not be clouded again.
But dammit, what was he supposed to do with her?