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James Poole stood outside his flat, on a pair of rough-cut crutches. He carried his weight hard on one leg, and he had a single red rose in his hand.
For a moment, Mary could feel her anger flash, red and hot, and she wanted to slap him.
"James Poole, do you have any idea how much you scared me!" She settled for balling her fists up at her sides. "Not a letter, not a word to me, for a week!"
She could feel her tears welling up again, and she tried to push them away, but it was a losing effort.
"I thought you were dead, and I didn't—I couldn't—"
She took a step back and pressed her back against the wall. It was as much a crutch to her as the ones under James's arms, and without it she would have fallen right down.
He waited outside the door for her, until she took a deep breath and turned to him. She wanted a response, but none was forthcoming. He smiled before he spoke, and she already wanted to slap him again.
"I'm sorry, Miss, I seem to have misplaced the key to my flat."
He laughed, a deep sound that came from his belly, and she hated and loved him for it. He took a step into the house and winced when his foot touched the doorstep.
"Do you need any help?"
"No," he lied. "I can get around well enough, if I take my time."
He hobbled across the room and fell into the sofa.
"What happened?"
"I don't remember that well. It happened quickly, so I've only been able to piece some of it together after." He took a deep breath and rubbed his knees. "I found your uncle's footlocker, and it was full of letters. I'm guessing it must have been blackmail of some kind. I remember that several of them were from Germans."
Mary sat across from him and motioned for him to continue.
"Oliver is dead. Last I saw, Davis was in critical condition, but he looked bad. The third man, whatever his name was—I shot him when he came at me."
"No," she said softly. "They left, I saw them."
"They saw me when I was heading out of town, and must have doubled back. I think your uncle was working with the Germans, on something. Your father got mixed up in it. They probably offered him a big payoff if he fronted some of the money."
James looked up to see if Mary was listening, and she was.
"Well, I guess he backed out—that would have been when he hired me, I guess—and then they killed him over it."
They were both silent for a long time. Mary knew, really, that neither of them knew what had really happened. It was a lot of guesswork, and if the house had come down then in all likelihood the evidence was gone. Finally, James broke the silence once more.
"I do have one last question, though."
She could see his face, and could see he thought he was being clever a
gain. She couldn't help but smile seeing it. He was a fool, but she loved it about him. She said the words he was obviously waiting to hear.
"What's that?"
"Mary Geis, will you marry me?"
Mary blushed, and then crossed the room to him. He was seated, and looked up at her. For a moment, she was taller than him, and she thought that was the way she wanted it. Then she leaned down, looked him in the eye, and kissed him.
He kissed her again, hard. She could feel the electric want that was running through him.
She almost didn't realize what she was doing until her lips were already on his...
That said, her roaming hands gave him tacit permission—he let one hand drop, cupping her firm round ass cheek in one large, powerful hand and giving it a squeeze...
