So she’d found him. The guy she loved more than anything, she’d found him bleeding. Jared was no stranger to witnessing something horrific happen to a loved one, but there was damn sure no immunity to be gained from it. He’d just found her bloody and desperate at his front door and thought the worst. He hadn’t exactly stopped shaking yet himself.
He pushed his fingers through her tousled hair and held her closer, taking most of her weight as she relaxed into him. Ignoring how right it felt. “That’s crazy talk, darlin’. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known this would happen.”
“He tried to tell me, you know, at first when he told me not to get involved with Max. I didn’t listen. I got mad at him. I told him it was none of his fucking business. And he almost died tonight. I guess it was his fucking business, wasn’t it?”
“But he didn’t die. You found him, and you acted fast, and you saved him. You did. He’s strong, and he’ll pull through, all right? He’s made it this far.”
“That’s what Candace tried to tell me. She thanked me for saving him. She doesn’t know, though. She has no idea. You should have seen her. I had to leave. I couldn’t take it. She’s broken.”
“Did they catch Max?”
“No. I told them everything I knew, though. Everything. They want him for questioning.”
“When did you leave the hospital?”
“As soon as Brian was out of surgery. I don’t know. A few hours ago.”
“Jesus, where have you been since then?”
“I went back to Dermamania for a while. I thought about staying there, but I couldn’t. The cops held us there questioning us for the longest fucking time. They made me wait in Brian’s office where a fucking picture of him and Candace is on the desk, looking so happy. I couldn’t take it staring at me, so I had to turn it facedown.” She looked ready to keep stammering on about that, but he interrupted her.
“After you left there, did you come straight here?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He didn’t like the thought of her driving aimlessly around. He didn’t like the thought of her at Dermamania either, or even at the home she didn’t want to go to.
He only liked the thought of her here.
She gave a sad little chuckle and pulled away from him, staring at herself in the broad mirror over his double sink with deep lines of exhaustion set around her mouth. “Really? I’m sure you love for blood-soaked girls to show up at your doorstep before six a.m. I’m sorry to drag you into this.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna let you get cleaned up, okay? Towels are in that cabinet over there. I’ll find you something to put on.”
“Thanks,” she said glumly, holding his gaze in the mirror as he backed toward the door.
“Holler if you need anything.”
“I will.”
He closed the door, hating to leave her alone. But even though he’d seen her naked, staying with her now felt like an intrusion he wasn’t willing to make.
First things first…the situation demanded an entire pot of coffee. He set one to brewing before doing anything else, then threw on a T-shirt. For Starla, he came up with a pair of Shelly’s sweatpants that were shoved in the back of the closet and the smallest of his shirts he could find—which would still be too big for her. He doubted Starla was much concerned with how she looked right now. He also figured food was the absolute last thing on her mind, but he started on bacon and eggs anyway. No doubt whatever he whipped up wouldn’t be nearly as good as something she made, but he wanted to put forth the effort for her.
All the while, he thought of a dozen questions that needed to be addressed: all the things he could hardly think of while she was standing in front of him looking so lost. The shock that had numbed his senses was beginning to wear off, and a slow rage crept in to replace it.
What a sick bastard, to strike out at her this way. If they didn’t catch him soon, where would he strike next? At someone else she cared about? At her?
Son of a bitch. Jared stopped to gaze outside. For all he knew, a shadowy figure might stand beyond the tree line of his property right now, staring at him through the kitchen window, setting him in crosshairs.
“Oh, no, you don’t, motherfucker,” he said under his breath, turning off the stove and moving the scrambled eggs to a cool burner. Reentering his bedroom, he heard the shower still running beyond the closed bathroom door. Starla would probably be in there a long time. Good. Only a few steps away from his side of the bed stood his black heavy-duty fireproof gun safe, well protected from his inquisitive daughters by an electronic combination keypad set near the top. He made quick work of it, cranked the five-spoke handle, and swung the door open.