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“Any news on your dog?” she asks a moment later.
“Nothing substantial,” I say. “I’ve got a few leads but nothing so far. It’s…”
“What, Fletcher?” she asks when I trail off. Usually, this is the point where I’d shut down. Close off all the emotion so I didn’t have to think about it.
“Eating me up,” I whisper, hardly believing I’m saying this. “Thinking about him out there alone. Wondering where I am, and all the stuff these sick bastards could be doing to him…”
She reaches out and touches my hand. More warmth sizzles through me, but this is just as much emotion as desire. She looks up and meets my eye. She looks so scared. She looks downright terrified, but she holds my hand tighter.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “It’s awful. He doesn’t deserve that.”
CHAPTERNINE
Samantha
As pathetic as it might be, this is probably the scariest thing I’ve ever done. It’s like I can feel the pain radiating through him by holding his hand. He squeezes tighter onto my hand, neither of us commenting on how odd this is, two strangers talking and touching like this.
My heart is beating so freaking hard. It was a soul-shivering shock when he suddenly appeared beside me. I was so lost in the work. It was like he teleported there. One moment, nothing, and thenpoof, there he was.
“What’s his name?” I ask.
Fletcher smiles sadly. His blue eyes have a faraway look. In his shorts and T-shirt, every muscle is taut, as if ready to hurt the people who took his companion. I imagine him filling with the same intensity if anybody ever touched our children.
“Loki,” he tells me. “A Jack Russell rescue. I got him when he was four. He’s eight now. He’s a good dog. A good friend. As pathetic as it might seem, he’s my best friend.”
“That’snotpathetic,” I say. “It’s beautiful.”
He smirks. “Nobody’s ever called me beautiful before.”
A second later, the smirk drops. He withdraws his hand. I feel like I’ve just been punched in the gut, which must be the overreaction of the century. Fletcher is looking over my shoulder. I turn and spot the reason he let my hand go. James’ fancy racer-type car is pulling into the parking lot.
James jumps out, wearing gym gear. When he walks over, Fletcher steps away from me. I understand. He doesn’t want his son to know… know what? That we were holding hands? Is there anything wrong with that? It’s not like anything will ever happen between me and James.
“Thought I’d join you after all,” James says, nodding at his dad, then looking awkwardly at me. I think about the flowers and the fact he somehow discovered my address. “Hey, Samantha.”
“Hello,” I reply politely, wishing he wasn’t here so I could touch his dad again. Does that make me a little nuts?
“What are you two chatting about?” he goes on.
“Loki,” Fletcher says, “and Samantha’s art project. She’s based it around the gym.”
Fletcher suddenly seems like a different person, withdrawn and stoic. His eyes show none of the emotion they did just a few moments ago. It makes me wonder if I’ve read too much into this exchange and blown it out of proportion.
“Poor pup,” James says. “Uh, Dad, can I meet you inside?”
He’s giving Fletcher the side-eye, implying he wants time alone with me, but that’s the last thing I want.
“Actually, I was just about to leave,” I say. “I’ve done enough for this morning. It was nice speaking with you, Fletcher. Bye, James.”
“And you,” Fletcher says, in that cold tone.
I quickly pack away my easel as Fletcher and James head toward the gym. Just before he walks into the building, Fletcher turns and stares at me. He stares into me, through me. It’s like he’s silently telling me this exchange meant something to him, however minor other people would find it. It was real. Or maybe that’s too much hope on my part.
Packing my stuff into the trunk, I get into the driver’s seat. When I start the engine and hear that telltale stuttering noise, I know it’s busted again. Dammit.
CHAPTERTEN
Fletcher
