“Sonofabitch,” Caine growled, holding the woman by the shoulders as he tried to step out of the winding cord.
“Wait, wait,” she said in a shaky voice. “Let me just unhook—”
“Be still,” Caine said, frustrated as all hell that the man had gotten away.
“But—”
Finally, he got free of the leash, free of the heat of the woman against him, free of the dog scratching at the legs of his jeans. Bending down, the woman picked up the little puff ball and dropped the leash, allowing her to step out of the tangle, too.
She pressed her face to the thing’s fur, her breath hitching. “Are you okay, baby?” The dog answered by licking her face, and then she ran her hands over its furry body. “Did he hurt you?”
Restless and agitated, Caine shifted feet. His gaze scanned the street, swung over all the shadowed places around them, took in the way the woman’s wavy, sunny-blond hair spilled down over her long dark-blue coat. He folded and pocketed the knife. “You’re the one you should be worried about.”
Her gaze cut to him, allowing him to really see her for the first time. Bright eyes the shade of the summer sky. Delicate features, almost stunningly pretty. A little gap between her two front teeth that added an endearing quality to all that pretty.
If Caine had been the type to find something endearing, which he wasn’t.
She unleashed a shaky breath. “I…I can barely believe that just happened. Or that you helped me. Thank you.”
He shook his head, not wanting the gratitude. Not when the man who’d jumped her had gotten away. “Why are you out alone at this hour anyway?”
Irritation replaced the gratitude in her gaze. “First of all, should that matter? Second, because dogs have to be walked—”
Her annoyance was easier for him to deal with. “At eleven at night?” he asked, suddenly angry that she’d seemed more concerned for her dog than her own safety.
“Wow. Okay.” She rubbed a hand against her forehead as if he’d pained her. Turning away, she put the puff ball down and crouched to retrieve her scattered belongings from the cracked sidewalk. Pens, lipsticks, a package of mints. She reached for something farther away and a little moan spilled from her throat as she suddenly curled in on herself.
“What?” he asked, warily coming up beside her. “What’s the matter?”
Hand against her forehead, she gave a little shake. “Nothing. I have a migraine. Was on my way back from the convenience store when he…he…” Another little shake, and she braced her free hand against the sidewalk. Whimpering, the puff ball tried to climb into her lap. “That’s why I was out.”
Fuck. Aren’t I the asshole?
Always.
She unleashed a little laugh, but the sound was full of despair.
Caine gave the street another one-eighty scan, then crouched.
Those bright blues cut up to him. “Except now that guy has the medicine I just bought…along with my wallet and keys.” She pressed her fingers into her forehead again. “Oh, God, what a mess.”
Unsure what to say or do, Caine just watched her expressive face. Pain and unnamed emotion flickered across it, making him wish for just one moment that he was the kind of person who knew how to make things better.
On a sigh, she stuffed her loose belongings into her coat pocket. “Oh! I still have my phone.” Her expression brightened as she pulled the device from her coat and stared at it like she’d won a prize. “I should call the police.”
“They won’t be able to help,” he said.
She frowned and her shoulders fell. “You don’t know that. And shouldn’t I at least report it?”
Caine mentally kicked himself for dousing the little bit of happiness she’d latched onto in finding her phone, but he’d never been one for hiding from the truth. That only resulted in the truth finding you first. “Did you get a look at his face?”
Her gaze narrowed on him. “No, he wore a mask. You saw him, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “And did anything else about his appearance strike you as noteworthy? Something the cops could use to identify him?”
“Oh.” Her frown deepened, and then her eyes went wide. “You cut his arm.”
“Not deep enough that he’ll seek treatment,” he said. At least, that’s what Caine would’ve put his money on. Still, he had to give her credit for thinking of that detail.
“So then…I’m just out of luck.” She stroked her hand over the brown, gray, and white little dog which now lay in a ball at her hip. “At least I still have you,” she whispered as the puff ball raised its silly head. She looked so small sitting there, curled in on herself, head in her hand, but still able to find joy in the animal…
Out of nowhere, a memory surfaced. Of Grace, a few nights before the fire… Already at ten, Caine hadn’t slept soundly, his body having of necessity developed a state of constant alertness he still possessed. So he’d often gotten up to check on his friends. Henry, who he shared a room with; Shawn, who was in the other boys’ room; and little Grace, who’d taken to following Caine around from almost the first day she’d arrived, no matter how often he’d told her not to.