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“It’s just that you’re afraid of it,” she finished for him.
A wry smile touched his lips. “Not afraid, just wary. The more people in my life that I care about, the more targets I give my enemies.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.” Nor did it mean he cared about her. Damn it, she wasn’t even sure if he was physically attracted. His touch tonight might have been nothing more than concern for a workmate. And she couldn’t take his sister’s words as gospel, either. After all, most families weren’t above a bit of matchmaking if they felt the mix was right.
Not that she had firsthand experience of families and their habits, having never had a family herself. But she’d seen it often enough in her years as a cop, observing from the sidelines.
Gabriel rose to his feet in one smooth, almost elegant, gesture and held out his hand. “I think we’d better get out of this storm.”
Which was a neat way of avoiding her question and not committing himself one way or another.
“We’re drowned rats anyway, so it doesn’t much matter whether we stay here or not.” But she grasped his warm fingers and let him help her up.
Pain slithered up her legs as she rose. She glanced down and saw the rents in her pants and the scrapes on her knees. She must have hit the concrete harder than she’d thought. “Oh great. This is going to make such a wonderful first impression on Wetherton.”
“As far as first impressions go, you can’t get much better than saving the man’s ass last night. Even if you weren’t supposed to be there.”
“If I hadn’t been, all of Stephan’s carefully laid plans would have been blown to hell.” She plucked material from the wound on her left knee. Though the worse of the two, the wound wasn’t deep, just nasty looking. “And besides, Wetherton was out cold when his ass was hauled from that car, so I doubt he’s even aware of my involvement. Especially since Briggs handled all the follow-up interviews.” Mainly because she’d been getting raked over the coals by Stephan for shooting their suspect.
“What time were you supposed to be at Wetherton’s?” he asked.
She grimaced and glanced at her watch. “I start at six thirty, but I’d like to get there just after six and look around.”
“Which leaves just enough time to buy a change of clothes.”
“Sounds good. Wetherton doesn’t seem the type to be impressed by drowned rats.”
He grinned as he took her arm and began guiding her down the street. “Wetherton is the type to be impressed with anything that has breasts and a figure. Even drowned, I think you’d qualify.”
She rais
ed an eyebrow and looked up at him. “Have you had a personality transplant or something?”
His grin faded into a grimace. “No, but I saw that lightning hit you, and I guess I’m just relieved to see you’re unharmed.”
“I bet it hurt admitting that.”
“I’m not an ogre, despite what my behavior may have made you believe.”
“So you’re saying the ogre actually does have feelings?”
“Very occasionally.” He gave her a half-smile, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that suggested his words were more a warning. “It doesn’t mean that you—or anyone else—will see the other side all that often. I will never get more than casually involved with someone again.”
“Sounds like you’re setting yourself up for a very lonely old age, Assistant Director.”
“If I make it to old age, I’ll worry about it then.” He paused. “What can you tell me about this Joe?”
Meaning the subjects of his emotions and his life were officially closed—for now, at least. She shrugged. “He’s been around for a while. He mostly used to talk to me in dreams, but lately we’ve been in contact through direct telepathic thought. He seems to know a lot about my past.”
“And have you questioned him about his identity?”
“Of course. He’s more than a little cagey.” She hesitated. “There is a connection between us, a bond that goes beyond telepathy. I just don’t know what that is as yet.”
“Could he be another of Hopeworth’s rejects?”
She glanced at him. “We’re not actually sure that I’m a reject yet.”
“No.” He paused. “Is he military?”
