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In friendship. Not in love.
Glancing at her, he got nothing. Not a glance back. And not a clue as to what she was thinking. The meeting had gone as well or better than she could have expected. She had exactly what she wanted. An “in.”
If that “in” produced no more than what they’d ended up with every other time she’d been on this quest, at every other daycare they’d visited, then nothing was lost.
For now, she believed, and she’d managed to convince others to give her the benefit of the doubt.
He wanted to call her out on not telling him everything regarding her quest. Because not knowing made it harder for him to help her. He couldn’t watch her back if he didn’t know what was behind her.
He wanted to talk about the list she had to compile. He had some ideas, some suggestions, for an approach that would be concise, and also for ways to bring back the memories she’d need to make the most complete list.
He did neither. He drove.
And when they reached their suite, when she gave her little half wave, alerting him to the fact that she was leaving him until morning, he almost let her go.
“Hey,” he called instead, standing in the middle of their shared living room. The night before they’d had wine together there. Sat together.
They’d seemed far closer than they did right now.
At her door she turned. “I’m sorry, Johnny,” she said, her face creased with concern. “I didn’t ask what time you want to head out in the morning. Let me know and I’ll be ready...”
He didn’t care about the damned time.
“You okay?”
“Of course. Just a bit overwhelmed...but it went well.”
Hands in the pockets of his jeans, he stood there, feeling like an idiot. Needing to go into that room with her. Into her life.
He wanted to take a shower with her. To hold her.
To kiss her until she forgot the pain of her son’s disappearance—even if only to give her a few minutes of relief.
“Can you be ready by seven thirty?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said again.
Her smile almost felt like an insult. Which was ludicrous. Angry with himself now, he nodded and turned away.
“Johnny?” He grew hard as she called his name. Did she need him, too? In spite of all the reasons they shouldn’t be lovers? Still facing his bedroom door, he glanced back at her.
“Thank you,” she said, and when her voice faltered, she quickly went inside her room, shutting the door.
Her voice wavering—that was what he’d been needing. A reminder of the real Tabitha. The one who lived inside her, so completely alone.
And that was when he knew how seriously he was in trouble.
He didn’t just want to be in Tabitha’s pants, he wanted to share her hell.
* * *
Tabitha’s mind raced as she sat beside Johnny in his SUV on the way home Thursday morning. Since they’d made arrangements to run the food truck in San Diego for the next month and had rented the prep kitchen with approved parking, there was no reason to drive the truck back and forth. No need to tow the car.
There was so much on her mind. First and foremost, hearing back from Detective Bentley, whom she’d called first thing, to tell him about Matt Jamison. Then there was the list she had to make for Mallory and Braden Harris. Johnny had already warned her that if Mark had bought his new identity from a good source, he’d pass the background check.
The key to getting her son back was DNA, the only definitive proof, and to get that they had to have compelling evidence. She kept thinking that the break they needed could very well lie within her own mind. All it would take was for her to remember something pertinent, something that would convince a judge that Mark and Matt were probably the same man...
And, she reminded herself, she was going to be spending the next four nights alone.
