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Laying that picture aside she went to the next one.
“The one I killed at the safe house,” Natches said as she stared down at the handsome face.
“Oh!” she said, startled. “He was at the lake with Bliss’s friend Bran!” She tapped a finger against the pretty boy who had kept ensuring his thick dark hair was lying just right.
“The next one is the one you shot,” Natches said softly as she laid that one aside.
“I haven’t seen him around her.” But she’d seen him somewhere. It was odd for her to see a picture and not immediately place the face. Her memory was too damned good for that. “I’ve seen him before, though,” she said, frowning. “He must have looked different somehow, different hair color or something.”
Brown hair, brown eyes. He didn’t look quite thirty, but he looked hard and mean. His eyes were cold and unemotional.
Where had she seen him?
She laid the picture aside.
“That’s the one I took out in the woods,” Natches pointed out needlessly.
An older man, black hair with a touch of gray at the temples.
“The two I can place,” she told him. “But this one.” She tapped the picture of the man that seemed so familiar. “He must have been trying to disguise his looks. I’ll remember where I saw him. Who he is. It will just take a minute.”
She rubbed at her temple, weariness dragging at her again as she fought to remember where she’d seen the younger man.
“Come on, you need to rest a little more.” Rising to his feet Duke just lifted her in his arms rather than helping her to her feet. “She’s still tired, Natches.” His voice hardened, that “don’t fuck with me” tone she always hated whenever he turned it on her. “Anything else she remembers, I’ll let you know. She’s going back to bed.”
“You’re so bossy,” she accused him, but spoiled it when she yawned.
“I knew it was too early to let you up,” he growled, laying her back on the bed.
“Don’t fuss, Duke.” She sighed. “God, I hate being so weak.”
Fists clenching as she rolled to her side, she fought the feeling of exhaustion. “I want to kill that bastard that shoved that knife in my leg all over again.”
Once wasn’t enough. He deserved to die over and over again for whatever he’d dipped that blade in before using it on her.
“Don’t fuss, she says,” he grunted, pulling the wingback chair closer and sitting down heavily. “You scared the life out of me, Angel, do you know that? And you’ve spent two days practically unconscious, waking up to go to the bathroom only. I have gray hair.”
She glanced at his thick black hair and couldn’t help but grin. “It will look very good on you, I promise. Very distinguished.”
He frowned back at her and she couldn’t help but giggle.
“You’re a freak.” He shook his head at her. “You’re always laughing at me.”
No, she always loved him.
She had. She’d fought it, she’d denied it, she’d tried to tell herself it wasn’t love, but she’d always known better. And realizing that wasn’t easy for her.
“I’m really tired, Duke,” she whispered.
How many more emotions was she going to dredge up to deal with? What was next, anyway? Realizing she loved spinach when she really hated the stuff?
“Like hell. You stubborn little minx.” Before she realized his intent he moved her over in the bed and slid in beside her, pulling her into his arms. “Getting scared, are you, baby?”
Fists pressed against his chest, the thin material of her T-shirt and cotton pants doing very little to protect her from the warmth of his body, she tried to tell herself he didn’t know near as much as he thought he did.
“I don’t get scared, remember?” She scowled up at him. “I’m tougher than that.”
She was a wuss. A bona fide, card-carrying, bring-out-the-bitch wuss. And she didn’t care a bit to admit it.
