chapter twenty-two
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CHARLIE
“Charlie?”
I open my eyes to see a masculine furrowed brow and rows of shelves and boxes. I’m lying on the couch in Cain’s office.
“Are you okay?” Cain is seated on the couch, his body hovering over me protectively. I feel the warmth of his hand as it cradles my neck, and the intimacy of his thumb as it gently rubs back and forth, catching the corner of my mouth—and my breath—with each pass.
What happened? Oh, right.
Cain is friends with a DEA agent.
Cain is a law-abiding citizen who hates anything to do with drugs and he’s friends with a DEA agent.
And I am trafficking heroin.
“Charlie?”
“I’m fine,” I croak out.
Ginger runs in with a glass of water and I immediately move to sit up. With a hand sliding beneath me to my shoulder blades, Cain helps me, his other hand smoothing the skirt of my short dress down to a respectable level. I shudder in response.
“You dropped like a bag of bricks. What happened?” Ginger frowns.
I shrug, trying to play it off. “Not sure. Just got dizzy for a minute. I’m fine now.” I’m so not fine. My heart is racing.
I’m supposed to be gone. I should be on a bus, close to Louisiana or Alabama—wherever my coin toss lands me. I would have been, if the bank had released my money. They told me it would take twenty-four hours to withdraw such a large sum from my accounts. When I protested that it wasn’t that large a sum, I learned that Sam had deposited 25,000 dollars instead of the ten he mentioned. I’m wondering if that’s his way of apologizing. That’s typically how Sam operates, after all.
It’s funny . . . the second the teller informed me that I couldn’t pull all that money out—that I couldn’t leave today after all—a sudden lightness washed over me.
Relief.
Relief that I had a valid excuse to stay for one more night.
It was like fate intervening, pointing me once again toward Penny’s.
I can have tonight with Cain. I’ll take one night with him, with whatever he’s willing to give me, to earn myself memories that I can hold on to.
Cain’s concern hasn’t disappeared. “Was it too hot? Too loud? What did you eat today?” There’s a frantic tone to his voice that tells me the I-don’t-know-what-happened brush-off isn’t going to work and he’s truly worried about me.
“Oh, crap.” I roll my eyes rather dramatically so he doesn’t miss it. “I haven’t eaten since lunch. I completely forgot.” That’s partly true. I didn’t eat, but I was well aware of it. I just didn’t feel like it, my stomach twisting and churning into anxious knots.
Cain heaves a sigh. “Can you walk?” He stands and holds a hand out. I take it, and an electric current instantly dances along my limbs and through my core.
“Good.” His eyes drift to my mouth. “I can’t have you passing out behind my bar. You need to eat.”