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Stretching out his legs, Jonah crossed them at the ankle. “Not exactly the stealthy approach one might expect from a serial killer.”
“It wasn’t stealthy, but it was effective.” She ran a hand through her hair, combing it with her fingers. “He scared the shit out of me.”
“Ah, just the reaction he was looking for.” Picking up the knife, Jonah pressed his thumb to the blade, which wasn’t that sharp. “Is this your defense? What you use to chop tomatoes?”
“For your information, that’s a carving knife. And it’s the best weapon I’ve got, since I don’t own a gun.”
He knew why she was reluctant to own a firearm. Her father had gotten caught in the cross fire during a drug bust. Jonah might’ve urged her to buy one in spite of all that; he had no confidence that she’d be able to fight Butch off with a kitchen knife. But he didn’t want her to fight; he wanted her to run. “You could’ve stayed someplace else, like I told you to.”
She raised a hand. “Don’t start. I can’t hide out and hope this problem will take care of itself. If I do that, Butch will just be waiting for me when I return—if he doesn’t catch up with me sooner.”
“So how do you solve the problem?” He wanted to add without getting killed, but figured she was traumatized enough.
“By bringing him down, of course.”
He turned over the knife in his hands. “That might be better left to others, Fran.”
She blanched. “Don’t call me that.”
“Isn’t that your name?”
“That’s what my friends call me. It’s Francesca to you.”
“Not Ms. Moretti?”
“I’m feeling generous,” she said with a shrug.
Setting the knife aside, he considered his options and decided to tackle the past. It was the only way she might let him help her. “Look. I know I’m not your favorite person. I don’t blame you for hating me. If you want another apology, I’ll—”
“I don’t want anything from you,” she broke in. “I don’t even want to see you.”
Although he’d expected a harsh response, the vehemence behind her words lacerated some part of him he hadn’t realized was still vulnerable. “I get that, too,” he said. “But let’s not allow the mistakes of the past to make what’s going on now that much worse. If we’re both mixed up in this thing, we might as well pull together, get through it the best we can.”
“And how do you suggest we ‘pull together’?” She hugged her legs to her chest. “By pretending you didn’t do what you did?”
“You could forget about it.”
“What?”
He folded his arms. “Unless there’s some reason you can’t.”
He definitely had her attention now. “Like…”
“Like you’ve never gotten over me.” Knowing she’d rise to that bait, he arched his eyebrows in challenge, and she laughed without mirth.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Then why waste your time hating me? Let bygones be bygones so we can deal with the issue at hand.”
“You’re asking me to forgive you.”
“Nothing that generous. I’m merely asking you to pretend we’re work associates with no history.”
Her dark eyes flashed with emotion. “That won’t change who or what you are.”
The regret he’d suffered for his behavior suddenly felt so fresh it seemed as if he’d betrayed her only yesterday. But there was no taking it back, and if he was going to have any chance of protecting Francesca, they had to get beyond previous hurts and old anger. If Butch and April were connected to the Dead Mule Canyon slayings, they’d have a better shot if everyone cooperated.
“I’m not asking you to fall back into bed with me,” he said.
