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“Yes,” she said, thankful he’d not witnessed her distress over the flowers her father had supposedly sent. She suspected he would hound her until he had answers.
They stepped through the automatic doors into the sunlight almost in tandem, her blood slinging through her veins. She scanned the parking lot, alert to any sign of danger.
Tristan’s hand settled on her elbow. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“You have been on edge since the moment I first spotted you at the hospital.” Tristan managed to sound both conversational and dangerous at the same time, which increased her anxiety.
“Of course, I’m tense. Who wouldn’t be? My friend is ill.”
“There’s that.”
They had reached his car and the door handles popped out. She flinched as if to prove his point. Why couldn’t she get used to the way his techno vehicle worked? She ignored looking at him and the suspicious expression on his face and slid into the passenger seat.
He donned a pair of aviator sunglasses and put the car in gear. It glided from the lot. “You have a stalker?”
“A…what? No…of course not.”
“You act as if you think someone is going to grab you when you’re not looking.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? Who or what are you afraid of, Zoey?”
Lillian tightened her fingers against the edge of the seat and cleared her throat. “I’m not afraid, but even if I were, it’s not your concern.”
“You made it my concern when you asked for my help.”
Fear settled in her chest, a hard mass pressing against her lungs so she could barely breathe. She couldn’t tell Tristan the truth—couldn’t knowingly drag him into a dangerous situation that could take his life. She had to convince him there was nothing to worry about. But how? She focused on the flashing scenery outside her window to give herself time to think.
He sighed. “Zoey, if you’re in some kind of trouble, I need you to tell me. I want to help.”
She risked a glance. He stared at the road and not at her, but she could sense his stubbornness in the way his hands gripped the wheel and the hard lines of his profile. Tristan would not give up until she told him the truth, which meant she needed to lie, and it needed to be convincing.
She kept her gaze trained on his and forced a lightness to her tone. “I can’t imagine what you are going on about. I’m fine. I’m just worried about Hannah.” She threw in a sigh for good measure. “It’s been a long couple of days.”
Tristan pulled into the parking lot of a delicatessen and put the car in park. He took off his dark sunglasses.
She didn’t waste any time unfastening her seatbelt and finding the button on the top of the door handle, but before she could open the door, Tristan touched her knee. “Zoey, wait.”
She turned toward him. “Wh… What?”
Sunlight caught his perceptive blue eyes, making them sparkle. A flop of dark curly hair lay across his forehead, taunting her with an insane desire to brush it away. Why hadn’t her mom told her the impact being near a burner would have on her libido? She sniffed the cool, minty scent of his cologne, which filled the space between them, hitting her senses like a powerful punch to the gut. Goosebumps chased up and down her leg as her body absorbed his potent energy.
“You’re afraid, and it’s not just for Hannah. Is someone threatening you?”
Adrenaline surged through her veins, urging her to flee, but she’d learned a thing or two about keeping cool in tense situations over the past couple of years. She clasped her purse in her lap and stole a breath. She kept her voice even, as if she had everything under control, as if she hadn’t spent the last two years terrified of every movement and shadow, as if she never double-locked the doors or assumed a separate identity or kept a loaded pistol in her purse.
She laughed and hoped it sounded light-hearted. “I think you’ve spent too much time inventing video game scenarios, Tristan. I’m fine. Really.”
She didn’t wait for him to argue but pressed the button on the door and scrambled from the vehicle.
ChapterTen
Tristan clenched his jaw and watched Zoey flee his car. What had her so afraid? Maybe a disgruntled ex-boyfriend or husband? The thought of Zoey with an abusive man caused a strange ache in his belly. How was it he felt so protective of her after they’d only known each other a day?
He got out of the car and followed Zoey into the restaurant, a Jewish deli he ate lunch at regularly whenever his mom visited the clinic. The woman at the counter—Cassie—favored him with a bright-pink-lipstick smile, smacking her gum. He pushed the sunglasses up on his head and nodded hello.
