Page 83 of Damaged Desires

ME: What do you really want?

BRADY: I’m worried about the press.

ME: Me too. I’ll spend some more time today heading them off at the pass.

BRADY: I’m also worried about you.

ME: Fiona isn’t going to find me here.

BRADY: But what about when we come crawling back out of the woodwork?

ME: Give the police some time to find her.

BRADY: I know. It’s hard to be patient.

ME: It’s never been my strength either.

BRADY: Please be safe. Georgie and Mac would never forgive me if something happened to you.

ME: I’ve got the Otter with me. Nothing is going to get past him.

BRADY: It already did.

ME: Which means he’s doubly diligent.

I couldn’t help an impish smile because I was out in the middle of nowhere, jogging by myself, even with Nash on alert. His family and his past were distracting him. Regardless, he’d probably flip a lid when he found out. I lay back, looking up at the blue sky and the trees, listening to the pond softly lapping at the shore. It was so peaceful. I could almost go back to sleep. I closed my eyes, sighing.

I heard a footfall on the gravel path and stilled, thoughts of Fiona having just left my brain. And even though I knew it was impossible, I didn’t want to give my place in the trees away. It was likely someone who worked for the family. We’d seen plenty of people at a distance the day before. The steps halted, and I stayed still.

Then, the bush and trees were crashing apart as Nash’s voice, filled with alarm, hollered out, “Dani!”

He stumbled to his knees next to me, lifting me partially off the ground into his arms and repeating my name with fear and anguish threaded through it.

“Holy shit,” I said, wriggling against him. “Nash, stop. I’m fine.”

My voice seemed to penetrate whatever place he’d gone. More than scared?petrified. The tough military man was shaking, and even as the fact that I was okay started to sink in, his face remained startlingly pale and distressed.

I pushed harder and ended up on my knees, just like him, with our thighs bumping. He took me in, molecule by molecule, as if doubting my own words. I put one hand on his shoulder and one hand on his chin, drawing his face so that his eyes met mine. Panic lingered there.

“Nash, I’m right here. I’m really all right.”

His eyes slowly came back into focus. He exhaled a heavy breath and touched my face with his fingers before crushing me to him in a hug that could break bones. He buried his face in my neck. I returned the hug, wrapping my arms around him and holding on while he fought for control, every muscle in his body held taut, ready to fight if needed.

Eventually, his arms dropped, and I reluctantly let him go. He sank into a seated position with his elbows on his knees, burying his head in his hands. I sat in a similar position but wrapped my arms around my legs so I wouldn’t be tempted to continue touching him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was almost back to normal, the anxiety and fear slowly disappearing behind his concrete wall.

“What the hell was that?” I asked.

He shook his head, swallowing. “Don’t do that again,” he said, and now his words were hard and harsh.

“Do what?”

“Go jogging by yourself. Lie on the ground like you’re…like you’re…” He didn’t finish it, and I suddenly realized he’d thought I was seriously hurt. Dead. Dying. Why on Earth his brain went there first was beyond me, but I felt a stab of guilt for causing him that much fear.

“I’m sorry. I… I honestly didn’t even think about telling you until I was already on my way back,” I told him. It was the truth. I hadn’t thought about how Nash would hate it until I’d been texting with Brady. I wasn’t accustomed to having to tell people my every move. To have people trailing after me. It wasn’t a life I wanted. If they didn’t catch Fiona soon, I was going to be more impatient than the country singer.

Nash stood, sticking out a hand to help me up, and while I didn’t need the help, I let him do it anyway, regret that I’d caused him to go off the deep end filling me. When I was on my feet, he looked me over again, as if he didn’t trust my words or his own eyes. There wasn’t a mark on me except pieces of grass and trails of sweat from the steady run.