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“You’re not going insane,” he said, his voice calming.
“No?” She raised an eyebrow.
“No.”
“Tell that to my frayed nerves and my messed-up memory.” She finished her coffee and carried her empty cup to the sink. Ignoring the need of another drink, she walked to the window and wrapped her arms around her middle. Outside, the river rushed past the seawall on the edge of town. Dark and foreboding, it seemed to mirror her thoughts.
So many unanswered questions, so many regrets.
What was it Dr. Zhou had said? Something about needing to acknowledge fear before facing it? Not so easy to do. She was scared of the past; scared to death, afraid of what she might ultimately find out.
However, she couldn’t live this way a second longer.
* * *
Mia’s heart was soaring.
She’d brought Jonas back to her apartment, a one-bedroom unit in Gresham that wasn’t too far from the freeway and only twenty-six minutes to downtown Portland. Mia had timed it. She felt a little giddy and a lot nervous as Jonas surveyed the tight space, though to him, she thought, considering that he’d been in a tiny prison cell for half his life, her crammed living room, tight kitchen, single bath and standard apartment bedroom might seem spacious, even airy despite her cluttered counters and bistro table covered in piles of papers, all of which were dedicated to him and his release.
Except he might view her small unit from the eyes of the super-rich as he’d grown up with his family having two mansions, each of which could swallow this tiny unit whole.
“So this is what you’ve been doing,” he said, eyeing the papers and newspaper articles before picking up her iPad and scrolling down the Facebook page she’d dedicated to him, where tons of fans had made posts and comments.
“This is only part of it. We’ve got loads of platforms, not just Facebook. We’re on Twitter and YouTube and WhatsApp and Instagram and . . . well, you know. All the sites. Anyplace we can get the word out.” She smiled and hoped he didn’t hear the baby crying in the next unit. The kid screamed all the time, his colic or whatever so loud through these paper-thin walls that sometimes Mia had to turn her TV or music up to the max, just to hear herself think. She motioned to the screen. “It’s all about you,” she said, pride tinging her voice. “About the injustice you’ve suffered.”
“Good.” He was still scrolling through the comments, studying the posts, his eyebrows pulled together over his oh-so-sexy dark eyes. Some people thought he looked a lot like Jesus Christ—well, the American Christian version of what people thought Jesus had looked like, but in Mia’s mind, Jesus looked a lot like Jonas. Only Jonas was rougher looking and a lot hotter, which was a good thing, because Mia couldn’t think about sex with Jesus. No way. But with Jonas? Yes, please.
She thought he would jump her the second they closed the door behind them and slipped the lock through its chain. She imagined him twisting her around and forcing his lips down on hers, and then they would be scrambling, tearing off clothing before he hoisted her off her feet and carried her to the bedroom. And then . . . oh, and then.
But he hadn’t.
In fact, he’d barely talked on the way to the apartment, had even drummed his fingers on the ledge of the passenger seat window as if he were passing time—waiting for something. He hadn’t seemed to realize that the window glass of her Honda didn’t quite meet the car’s roof, that cold wind whistled inside the Accord as she’d driven. Worse yet, she’d worn high boots and a short skirt and she’d thought he might reach over and touch her bare leg on the drive to Gresham, but he hadn’t even noticed. She’d been practically freezing to show off a bit of bare skin and it was almost as if he’d been somewhere else, barely speaking to her, his thoughts far away.
Shit!
She’d hoped he was planning his seductive next move and was a little shy about being physical with her, but—Oh, come on, Mia. Who are you kidding? Jonas McIntyre isnotshy. The man has balls of steel.
Right?
“You want something to drink?” she offered, hoping to break the ice, end the awkwardness.
“Sure.” He didn’t look up. In fact, he didn’t react to her at all. It was almost like she wasn’t even in the room.
Fuck!
She was about to be angry, but he followed her into the kitchen and as she opened the refrigerator door and leaned inside, she made sure her ass was right in his line of vision. How could it not be? You could barely turn around in the small space. He was forced into the corner between the stove and sink.
She grabbed two beers from the fridge, cracked them open and handed a bottle to Jonas, who was still wearing his damned jacket. Maybe she’d have to be bolder. And the baby next door was cranking up the volume again. The kid wasn’t abused, she knew that much, had checked, but the colicky eighteen-month-old picked the worst moments to be upset. The worst. Like now!
“Thanks.” Absently he took a pull on the longneck, then eased through the doorway back to the dining area with her flea-market table. He looped one leg over one of the tall café chairs and was once again peering intently at her iPad.
Damn it all.
She was getting desperate.
“I want to show you something,” she said in a soft, sexy voice.
“Okay.” Again, still focused on the screen. He’d stopped scrolling at a post from last week and was staring at a comment, then clicked onto the name of the person and Mia died a little inside as Lacey Higgins Swift’s profile appeared. Lacey’s picture included a tall man with thinning hair, an English sheepdog and two blond boys who appeared to be about two. Twins, dressed identically, in red and green striped PJs.