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She had to get to bed. Had to let him get to bed. But Johnny had poured the extra wine. He was sitting there as if he had all night. As if he wanted to be sitting there.
Lord help her, she wanted it, too. Just to be with him for a little while longer. “Tell me what you honestly think about all of this,” she said. She needed thoughts, other than her own—but thoughts she trusted—rambling around in her mind. Or, at least, added to the mix.
Johnny might not think she was crazy, but she was driving herself nuts.
“Define this.” His expression was calm as he laid his head back against the couch and glanced at her.
Sitting back, too, she said, “The stuff I mentioned before. The Bouncing Ball. Involving the Harrises—” and the real question “—and the chances of Jason being Jackson.”
“I believe you’re doing what you have to do, Tabitha. And that it would be absolutely wrong if you weren’t doing it. Tragically wrong to stop now, if that’s what you’re considering.”
“I’m not!” She couldn’t. “I just can’t get out of the mental loop I’m in where Jackson is concerned. I think of him, and his image springs to mind and I’m off listing all the similarities between Jackson and Jason, Mark and Matt. Those similarities are just too close, and there are too many to be coincidental. Then I play devil’s advocate...and then I’m back again, listing all those similarities. It’s...exhausting.” She took a small sip of the wine she knew she wasn’t going to finish and laid her head back, too. It felt good, being so close to him.
Felt...safe. In a completely nonboring way. She almost chuckled at herself again.
Turning her head, she looked him in the eye; she was close enough to see the ring of darker blue around the outside of his iris. Cerulean outlined by an almost midnight blue. Someone should make a painting of eyes like that. “If you were the lawyer the Harrises saw this morning, would you have warned them against helping me?”
?
?Absolutely not.” He was completely serious as he held her gaze.
“Why not? You said before that it might just be coincidence...”
“Because as long as there’s a chance that you’re right, if they refuse to even observe him and his father to whatever extent they can, they could be held liable if anything happened to Jason in Matt’s care. It’s a potential lawsuit.”
That sounded so Johnny. So rational. All head stuff. She depended on that from him. But... “What’s your gut instinct telling you on this one?”
“I don’t get a lot of strong messages in the way of feelings, you know that,” he told her.
“Yeah, but you have them. Everybody does. Anyway, I’m not really talking about feelings. I want to know if you genuinely think Jason is Jackson.”
She was sure of it. And yet, how did that appear from the outside looking in? Was she too involved in her quest? Losing perspective?
But how could you ever quit looking for your child? Or following up on every possible lead? No matter how small?
“I think it’s fifty-fifty,” Johnny finally said, his voice a bit sad. “I see the similarities that might or might not be coincidences.” He stared at the wall across from them. “I also see how difficult it would be for Mark to so quickly and successfully start a new life, one that seems solid. Especially living so close by and so soon after the abduction.”
She saw that, too. “He had a lot of time to plan,” she told him. “Months before Jackson was born. And then a year afterward, too. Other than taking care of his mother, he had nothing to do for the eighteen months he sat alone with her in their home, watching her waste away.”
Johnny’s head turned in her direction again. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Her smile felt a little wobbly. “I’m already hurt, Johnny.”
He nodded slowly, then his gaze lowered, locking on her lips.
“I hurt so much,” she said softly. “All the time.”
She’d had too much to drink. She was saying things she’d never, ever expressed aloud.
“I want to help make the pain go away.”
“You can help,” she said, looking at his lips. Johnny wanted her. Her Johnny, not the insanely rich corporate-lawyer jet pilot.
He was so gorgeous. The kind of hot that women went for in droves. And he wanted her.
Her.
He brushed some hair off her cheek, leaving a trail of tingles with the warmth of his hand.
