Page 12 of Tracking Safety

“I don’t need to understand anything.” He didn’t raise his voice as he cut her off. “I have no idea what you’re doing here or what you think you’re going to accomplish by coming back after two years. But I need you to hear something.”

Luke’s gaze held hers. Just for a moment Jenna saw past his composure. She saw exactly how hard things had been without her.

“You lost any rights to our children the day you left,” he continued. “Whatever you came here hoping for, you need to understand that. I won’t put them through that heartache again. I can’t. I refuse.”

“Luke.” Her voice came out quieter than she intended. “Please. Just let me explain.”

He looked at her long enough that she thought he might stay, might give her even five minutes. Then something in his expression closed, and he turned away.

Her gaze scanned the lot while she tried to gather herself. It was an old habit, worn into her, she supposed.

Would she ever stop being on edge? Even now that she was safe?

She wasn’t sure.

Her gaze stopped on the dark sedan idling at the far end of the lot.

She didn’t recognize the make or the plates, but that wasn’t what tightened her stomach.

It was the fact that the driver simply sat there. Watching her.

Or maybe she was seeing things that weren’t really there. She’d been doing that for a long time also.

She forced herself to look away.

Luke had turned and was already striding across the lot, his shoulders set and his keys in his hand. He was done and leaving.

Their conversation hadn’t really started, yet it had already ended.

Panic raced through her.

She couldn’t leave things like this between them.

“Luke!”

He didn’t slow or even look back.

“Luke, please.”

He stopped.

His back remained toward her. Tension rippled across his shoulders, and his spine appeared rigid.

Jenna waited, praying he didn’t walk away. But she knew she after what she’d done to him that she had a lot of nerve wishing for that.

CHAPTER 3

Luke stood with his back to Jenna and waited.

He didn’t know what he was waiting for.

Part of him wanted to keep walking—to get in the truck and drive back to Refuge Cove and do something useful, something he could measure and nail down and make sense of.

That’s what he did when things got to be too much. He worked. He threw himself into projects where he could take a pile of lumber and nails and make something out of it.

But his feet didn’t move.

“I know you’re angry.” Jenna’s words sounded careful and quiet. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m not asking you for anything except to talk. Sometime. When you’re ready. Please.”