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possessive
but that isn’t love, right?
    So instead I instead ended up marrying a guy I knew I could
protect my heart against if I had to. Despite the disappointment of the
trial--Trace never should have gone to prison-- and the awful week consoling
Lynn in Birmingham, I wasn’t able to resist Walker’s charms when I ran into him
a couple of weeks later in Panama City. The attraction was undeniable and I
hadn’t fought it. Truthfully I didn’t even try, and had given him my virginity.
By unspoken mutual agreement we hadn’t spoken about anything personal--I’d been
on my way to becoming an Army MP and I hadn’t even wanted to imagine the kind
of things he was involved with. It was a weekend of straight up, mind blowing,
no strings attached sex. Early Monday morning we went our separate ways and I
tried like hell to put him out of my mind. But no matter what I do, even
getting married to someone else, he haunts my nights. For years I thought my memory
was playing tricks on me and it couldn’t possibly have been that good. In a way
I was right. The memories got damned better with a few years experience.
    Walker is the man I was thinking of when I filed for
divorce. Not because I wanted him or had seen him, but because I knew Walker
would never have treated me the way my ex-husband did, that despite who and
what he is he will be truly devoted to whoever he loves. And years later, last
December when I went home for Christmas, restless and bored with my life, there
he was, trying to overwhelm me, trying to take me over. Part of me wants to go
on that trip and it scares the hell out of me.
    My refusal to go home with him or even discuss the case or
my plans, my inability to trust, caused the argument, but any fight that got
him to leave would have suited me fine. A man just doesn’t fit in my solitary,
compulsively disordered life. As soon as I realized I loved him I decided it
was better to end it quick, like ripping off a band-aid. Painful at first, but
infinitely better than his ripping my heart out later when he realizes what a
disaster we are for each other or my discovering I can’t trust him. After
reading the police files, I am even more convinced that is the best course. So
why do I keep reliving that final scene when he walked away? Jaw clenched and
eyes blazing with fury he’d simply said, “I’ll be waiting when you’re ready”.
    I’m not going to be ready. What the hell does that mean
anyway? But...plans change. It irritates me no end, but until I figure out what
the hell is going on, I might be safer in small-town, east-bum-fuck-Alabama.
With the most dangerous man I know. But first, I have to ditch the client. I
eye him, not trusting him either after reading the police file, and wonder how
much to divulge. Go big or go home, right?
    “I am sorry there haven’t been any updates. I was shot a
couple weeks ago. In Birmingham. Looking into your father’s case.” Well, I
don’t know that for sure since I can’t remember that damned day. “I’ve just
returned to the office.”
    Even watching him carefully, I almost miss the flicker of
awareness that flashes across his face before he plasters a look of shock over
it. He knows I was shot. So why is he in my office pretending ignorance and
outrage?
    “My God! Are you all right? Who was it?”
    I smile, not about to admit I don’t remember, but my voice
is grim. “I didn’t see him. Apparently, it was a simple theft.”
    Beaumont looks dubious. “Are you sure about that? Awfully
suspicious timing. I don’t see how it could be random.”
    I arch an eyebrow at the supposition. Curiouser and curiouser . He wants me to suspect the shooting is
connected to the case? How does that benefit him?
    “What?” he asks, obviously in response to my expression.
“Don’t you people believe there are no accidents? That’s a hell of a
coincidence.”
    Going with my gut, which is screaming something about this
guy is seriously off, ya know, other than being