He might have whimpered. “I’ll change your mind. Just see if I don’t.” Beck gave her a jaunty salute before stalking from the room.
Well. While the bread was cooling, she had better check on Jase. He was probably dying of thirst. And she couldn’t let that happen, now, could she? She filled a glass with water and carried it outside, the sun hotter and brighter than it had been a few hours ago. She scanned the backyard. The shed Jase had refurbished so expertly looked brand-new. The redbuds and magnolias were in full bloom, the towering oaks throwing umbrellas of shade in every direction. Lovely, but there was no sign of Jase.
“Jase?”
The squawk of black birds was the only response.
She trudged around the side of the house—and that’s where she found him. His back was to her, and he was as still as a statue.
“Jase,” she repeated and walked around him.
He was staring at his hand. His bloody hand. Crimson pooled in his palm and dripped onto the ground...a discarded hoe.
She gasped, horrified, and dropped the water. “Jase, are you okay?”
He gave no indication that he’d heard her, just continued to stare down at his injury. His expression disturbed her. It was totally and completely blank. As if he wasn’t all there, his thoughts far away.
Not wanting to startle him, but knowing he needed help, she gently tapped his shoulder. “Jase.”
The contact jolted him out of the trance, and before she could blink, his arm shot out. He shoved her with enough force to send her tripping backward, falling to her bottom. She landed in the cold water she’d spilled, the glass rolling away from her. His face contorted into the darkest, meanest scowl she’d ever seen, scaring the crap out of her. His hands fisted, the blood now pouring from the wound.
He took a menacing step toward her, and she would have sworn she saw her death shining in his eyes. He looked at her as he’d never looked before: as if she were a stranger to him. A faceless threat to be eliminated.
She crab-walked backward, uttering a trembling, “Jase? Please. Listen to me. It’s me, Brook Lynn.” There was no way she could defend herself against him if he attacked, the strength she’d once lauded enough to kill her.
Fear moved through her like an avalanche, growing stronger, bigger. Consuming her.
He just kept coming. Closer and closer...
“Jase.” She lumbered to her feet and held out an arm. A puny move, but what else could she do? “You’re scaring me, and I need you to stop. Jase!”
He blinked, skidded to a halt. “Brook Lynn?” Frowning, he shook his head, as if to clear cobwebs. “Are you okay?”
Relief gradually melted the avalanche. “I—I’m fine.”
“You have blood on your shirt. A palm print.” He frowned, peered down at his hand, then peered at her shirt. When his gaze finally met hers, she saw a flash of horror and guilt—even anguish—before it went blank.
He started to close the distance between them. She flinched, and he planted his heels in the ground, remaining in place. “Did I hurt you?”
He didn’t know? Couldn’t remember?
What the heck had just happened?
If he was a cop, maybe...maybe the sight of the blood had taken him back to a violent memory?
“No,” she said, her trembling growing worse for some reason. She wrapped her arms around her middle.
“You...should go home,” he said. “Please go.”
Maybe I should. Or maybe we’re finally making progress. She’d just seen a side of him she’d never seen before. One that didn’t just hint at vulnerability but screamed it. And though it had scared her—there was no way around that fact—it was kinda like catnip to her. She wanted to curl into his lap and purr against his throat, tell him everything was going to be okay, that they would get through this...whatever this was...together.
“I’m going to bandage your wound,” she said.
“No.”
“Yes,” she insisted. “Don’t argue. You’ll lose. I’ll meet you in your bathroom.”