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She groaned and closed her own eyes against the concerned blue eyes that seemed to peer into her soul.
    “Damn it, Teresa. Goddammit.” He expelled his breath and she felt it on her throat. “For chrissakes, just stop. You can’t just run away with Tucker.”
    “You’re going to be so sorry.” She didn’t open her eyes, but there was steel in her unsteady voice.
    “I’m going to stick to you like glue until you give him up. Where is he? Tell me, and I’ll let you go.”
    Callie was unable to answer him. She realized she was losing her fear of him. He wanted Tucker. Keeping her eyes squeezed shut, she thought of a dozen responses that continually boiled down to the one that finally passed her lips, “Screw you.”
    He hauled her back up as if she were weightless. Then he half-carried her toward the end of the alley. She toyed with the idea of making another break for it, but she was seized by a wave of dizziness.
    “You okay?” he asked tautly, the words dragged out of him as he set her on her feet.
    “No.” She was hanging on to him as if her life depended on it, her fingers clenched into the fabric of his shirt.
    “It’s reaction,” he said when she couldn’t continue.
    Bastard.
    They stood there a moment. Callie could hear her stuttered breathing and feel his anger and indecision.
    “Just stand here a minute and don’t talk,” he said. “You’ll be all right.”
    She snorted in disbelief. Who was he kidding? She didn’t think she’d ever be all right again.
    Her head slowly cleared and she abruptly let go of his support. When she did, his arms dropped away from her with undisguised relief, though he kept a hard eye on her. Callie felt a prickle of annoyance. She hadn’t asked for this; he’d forced it on her. And if he found touching her so offensive he shouldn’t have accosted her in the first place.
    He was warily watching her, probably wondering if she would run, fall, attack him, or God knew what.
    Reaction was indeed setting in—only it wasn’t reaction from the fall, it was reaction to the whole situation—to him, to everything. Callie leaned a trembling palm against the wall of her apartment building. “Leave me alone,” she rasped out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about . . . and you hurt me.”
    For the first time she witnessed some uncertainty in his expression. “You kicked me and—”
    “You hurt me,” she repeated on a hiccup. For good measure she leaned her cheek against the hot wall and closed her eyes. She could feel her body tremble and she added a little stuttering intake of breath, hoping he felt terrible.
    “Aww hell,” he muttered. Then, “Don’t try to run away again.”
    “I’ll be lucky to walk with the aid of a cane,” she said, working up to tears. If she could just squeeze out a few maybe he’d realize what he’d done to her, how much he’d scared her.
    There was definitely a hesitation. Good. She wanted him to think she was worse than she was. And he had scared her. And her jaw and head hurt and her knee was scraped, and that was his fault too. Her eyes burned and tears reached her lashes.
    “I know your games,” he said. “Stephen told me. Victoria said something too.”
    “I thought you were looking for Stephen.”
    “Not the boy.” He sounded like he was holding on to his patience with an effort. “Stephen. Your husband.”
    She cracked open an eye and saw that he was watching a tear slide down her cheek. “My husband?”
    He met her gaze. “Man, your act is getting old.”
    “Just leave me alone.”
    “Show me Tucker and I’ll be glad to.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know you.”
    “Fine. I’ll play. I’m West.” When she continued to regard him blankly, he shook his head and said, “You’re a lot better than I expected.”
    “I’m not this Teresa, and I’ve never heard of you in my life, Mr. West.”
    “Laughlin,” he corrected. “First name’s West.”
    “Whatever.”
    She