Cain glanced at her, then looked away again. “Did someone…you know, say you were crazy?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have people in my life. I have no relationships or friendships. You know how it is. Everyone acts like Killion dipped us in gold, and they all want to break off a piece of us for a sick souvenir. I don’t let people in my life. So if you want names, I don’t have any.” No one understood that the sum total of her existence could add up to more than that one terrible day. Everyone acted as if that one day was her entire life.
Except for Cain. He would understand. He was in the same position.
“And I’ve never told anyone about my ability. I could see if I had, they might wonder. It is a little strange, but I’ve never mentioned it to anyone except you. So I have no idea—absolutely none—how I ended up in there.” For just a moment after she finished talking, things were okay. Then the impact of what she’d said hit her. Damn. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned her ability. It didn’t exactly jibe with her I-swear-I’m-sane argument. It was his danged fault she’d said it. He was so quiet she just kept talking and talking, filling the silence with things she shouldn’t be saying.
“Your ability?” His attention locked on her so tight she almost couldn’t move. Great. Now he chose to look at her. Probably assessing her danger level.
That piece of her was out there now. She couldn’t suck it back in and pretend she hadn’t said it. That would only make things worse. “I’m not mental. This is real. After Killion… You know… Well… Um…” She almost couldn’t figure out how to put it into words. “It’s like I have an internal warning system. I’m sensitive to bad energy or bad vibes. I can tell when someone has bad intentions.
“I don’t know why or how it happens, but it’s like memories come into my mind, but they’re not memories. They’re what the person intends to do in the future. It’s not perfect. Especially if a person is behaving spontaneously. So I can’t rely on it.” She’d gone this far, so she might as well finish it off. “It’s a one-way kind of thing—I only see bad. Never the good.”
As she watched, a shield of wariness fell over him, dimming the light in his eyes. A tiny part of her wanted to be angry at him for not believing her, but she didn’t have the strength for anger right now, and logically she couldn’t blame the guy. If she were in his shoes, would she really buy what she was trying to sell? Hell no. She’d go running from the store. “I know it sounds weird. It’s not exactly normal, but it is real.”
He nodded, a curt movement of his head, one that she interpreted to mean that he’d heard her words, understood their meaning, and didn’t want to talk about her craziness any longer. All right; give him what he wanted. “So what’s next for me? You pretty much kidnapped”—he winced slightly at that word—“me, so I’m assuming everyone is searching for me. I’m going to need a lawyer to keep me out of the Center. You’re going to need one to deal with any charges they file. And I should notify the police that I’m all right. I don’t want them wasting their resources.”
“No one is looking for you.” The sentence came out calm and flat.
“But—”
“I just talked with Mac. He said there’s been no mention of you being missing. My translation of the situation: Dr. Payne doesn’t want anyone to know you’re missing.”
Cain stared at her for a long moment. At least he was looking at her more directly now. Then he turned away and went to work at the small counter across the room.
What did that mean? Understanding? Should she say something else? Figure out how to keep him engaged in conversation to prove she wasn’t Insane Jane? “Um… Thank you for getting me out of there. You probably saved my life.”
He came toward her with a glass of water in one hand and a bowl in the other. “You’ve been drinking pretty regular, but I haven’t been able to get you to eat anything.”
Her stomach gave a growl worthy of a hyena defending its kill. “Yeah, I think I’m starving.”
“The cabin is primitive. No electric. No running water. No refrigeration. So food here isn’t anything fancy.” He handed her a bowl of Spaghetti-Os.
“You gave me Spaghetti-Os. Did you know they used to be my favorite?” Her voice wavered and she stared down at the orange sauce, the round mushy O’s. Tears pricked her eyes. She didn’t normally let herself think about the past—the good or the bad or the mundane. They all hurt for different reasons. “Mom liked to make everything homemade, but sometimes she let me have these as a treat.”
Cain settled his palm on her shoulder. His solid strength soothed her, anchoring her in the present. She closed her eyes, turned her head to his wrist, and rubbed her cheek against the bristly hairs on his arm. He gave her a gentle squeeze but didn’t move his hand. His understanding was unlike anyone else’s. He got it. Really got it in a way that no one else did. He understood how Killion destroyed lives. Because his had been destroyed too. He had been a victim too.
His beautiful light-and-dark eyes locked on her. Something happened in her psyche—a subtle shift as if this man was the key to her lock, and he’d just opened her up, exposing all her vulnerabilities. And yet she trusted him to not harm the most fragile parts of her. Why? Because she knew his vulnerability too. Knew his past pain.
Their shared pain had always pulled her toward him, but she’d denied the sensation for so long that it had become normal. Not anymore. If soul mates really existed, his father had created him to be hers. What an intriguing thought. She’d spent so much of her life avoiding connections with people, fearing they’d get hurt, but what if—what if—Cain really was meant to be hers?
“I think we’re meant to be this way,” she said simply.
He gave one dip of his chin. God—that gesture was sweet and silent and a bit infuriating. She didn’t quite know how to interpret it.
A thud of a car door from outside pulled his attention to the window beside the bed.