Page 27

“You're in my home, Sweetheart, safe and sound.” My head joggled on my shoulders as the bandage took a small piece of skin with it and I gasped from the sting. “Sorry, I'm trying not to hurt you. You're doing great.”

“So this is your house?”

“Mm hm, that's right.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, my voice was low as I asked, “Why am I here?”

It was a question that soured the air around me, hanging there like a baited hook. I wanted to know, I had to know what the hell was going on.

Pursing her lips, she tore the last strip off, her eyes never leaving mine. “I know you have questions, but I'll be honest, I'm not sure I'm the one who should be giving you answers. I don't even know if I'd be able to answer any of them at all. Porter should be getting up soon, I think it's best if you ask him.”

Frowning, I nodded in agreement. I couldn't blame this woman for not wanting to get involved. I didn't know her and she didn't know me. The curiosity was there though, wondering if she had any clue about last night and how I landed here like this.

Who is she to him?

Maybe she was afraid of him too, maybe she wasn't here by choice but had been forced like I was. Parting my lips, I was about to ask her, until I noticed the similarities between them.

Her chin reminded me of Porter's, the almond shape of her eyes and long boxy nose—identical. Even the way she talked had flares of his tone.

They're related, they have to be family.

The thought made me nauseous, forcing me to question just how kind this woman really was. Was she sweet like she was portraying? Or was this all an act?

“You alright?” she asked, squinting her eyes at me down the bridge of her nose. “You're turning ghost white all of a sudden. Do you feel dizzy?”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I smiled warily. “I'm fine, just exhausted.” My stomach swarmed with a million locusts as I got lost in my head, wondering if I should trust her gracious nature at all. “Are you a doctor?” I asked, quickly changing the subject.

I had to stop thinking about it. There was no way I could handle the idea that she could be a cold blooded killer too. Even if they were family, that didn't mean she followed the same path as Porter.

“I was a nurse, but not anymore.” Her face went distant as past memories flooded her mind. “That's a story for another day.” Smiling, she wiped the wound with a cloth, then pushed away to look at me.

“How's it look?” I asked.

“You're going to need a few stitches, there's no doubt about that.” Twisting, she pulled a small bag onto her lap and fumbled around inside. “Have you ever had stitches before?”

“Once, when I was eleven.” Bending my arm, I pointed out the scar on my forearm. “Got sliced sledding, it was awful.”

“Then you remember it stings like a bitch when they numbed it?”

“Yeah, it wasn't fun.”

“Well, this is going to be like that, only worse. I don't have anything to numb it completely, just some lidocaine. You'll be able to feel it, sort of like a really bad bee sting.”

“How is she?” Porter's voice caused us both to snap our heads in his direction.

“She'll live, I'm going to stitch it up, then she needs to just rest until everything else heals. I don't think there are any broken ribs, they're probably just bruised. She's moving too smoothly for them to really be broken.” Rolling out a long black cloth, she straightened up the metal utensils. “Have you seen your father this morning?”

His father?

Is this. . . his mother?

Porter sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, thank god. And stop calling him that, you know how I feel about it.”

Arching a brow, she shifted her eyes from him to me. “He got the car towed here—or what's left of it, you should thank him for that.” Her thin fingers pinched the cut on my forehead in a few different directions, eyes never leaving her work. “If you remember what it means to thank someone anymore.”

Staying quiet, I just listened. I didn't have a clue what the relationship was like between these two. If it was good or bad, strained and cracking. I wasn't sure if she had any idea about what he was capable of, or if she was blind to who the person standing in the doorway truly was.

People have their social side, the side they want you to see and know, the person you expect them to be every day. Then there is the real person, the man behind the thoughts and actions that they keep hidden and secret.