Allison Brennan - Love me to death

She rose shakily from the chair, hands on the table to steady herself. She would not faint. She would not have a panic attack. She would not cry.

She needed to get out of there.

“I’m going to Patrick’s,” she said without looking at anyone. She didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes, pity that she hadn’t known, that she’d been treated like an unpredictable child. She understood deep down that her family had only wanted to protect her, but ignorance was not protection.

“I’ll drive you,” Kate said.

“No. I’m walking.” She went to her coat and put it on.

“It’s snowing.”

“I need the air.” She turned and asked Agent Armstrong, “Why was Morton in Washington?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Armstrong said. “Ms. Kincaid, I understand you need a few moments, but we do need to talk.”

She nodded stiffly. “Tomorrow.”

“We’ll come by in the morning-”

“No. I’ll come to your office.”

Kate began, “Lucy, I don’t-”

Lucy whipped her head toward her sister-in-law. “I don’t care what you think, Kate. Not now.” She sounded so cruel, her voice sharp and unfamiliar. But it was the only way she could maintain her composure. She turned back to Agent Armstrong. “D.C. Regional?”

“Yes.” He handed her his card. Lucy pocketed it while eyeing the FBI agent.

He showed no pity. His entire body was hard and rigid, but that told her he was military. He stood like her brother Jack, with that ready-to-act stance that was deceptively casual. Everything about him was no-nonsense, which made his baby-blue eyes stand out even more.

“Tomorrow morning,” she repeated, then turned and left the room.

Patrick’s townhouse, which coupled as the newly opened Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid East office and his residence, was just six blocks from Lucy’s place, on a narrow tree-lined street off M Street. It was sandwiched between an embassy for a country smaller than the state of Rhode Island and a private residence. It wasn’t far, but between the snow and the icy wind, the walk seemed longer than her daily mile trek to the Metro.

She rang the bell and waited, so cold and wet on the outside that the heat of betrayal had cooled, replaced by sorrow and uncertainty. Eventually, she’d have to sit down with Kate and Dillon to discuss their keeping her in the dark about Morton, as well as his murder. But not tonight, not when the pain of the secrets they’d harbored was so raw she could scarcely keep her past firmly locked down.

Morton had been here , in D.C. Her home. Even with the District’s violence and crime rate, she had felt safe here because she’d unfailingly taken proactive steps. She had family and friends. She had a job and a future. But he’d been here . What if she’d seen him? What if he’d come to Washington because of her? Because he wanted to hurt her again? What if he intended to harm Dillon or Kate or the rest of her family?

Her stomach twisted and her skin flushed. She swayed on her feet and put her hand on the doorjamb to steady herself. Her hands were red from the cold. She’d left her gloves back on the dining-room table. That oversight made her pause as she stared at her shaking hands.

The door opened and she righted herself, not wanting Patrick to see her in such a sorry state.

It wasn’t Patrick who opened the door.

“Sean.”

Sean Rogan smiled with half his mouth, revealing his dimples. Lucy had wondered, from the time she’d first met Patrick’s business partner, if he’d perfected the impish, boyish charm in front of a mirror. “You sound disappointed. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“No, I just-yeah. Sorry. Is Patrick here?” Her voice sounded panicked. Damn, she had to get her emotions together. She didn’t want to fall apart in front of Sean. She barely knew him.

She didn’t want to fall apart at all.

In a blink, Sean’s entire demeanor changed from casual flirt to serious business.

“I thought you knew he left for California this morning.”

How could she have forgotten? There was no one else, no one she trusted who knew her whole story. Where would she go now? The only option was back home.

“Lucy, you’re shaking.” Sean took her arm and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her.

She tried to apologize for disturbing him, but no words came out. Her cheeks burned in the warmth of the house, reminding her how cold she was.

“You’re frozen.”

She tried to unbutton her coat, but her fingers were stiff and numb. Sean reached over and quickly undid the buttons and slid the wet wool coat off her arms, tossing it on the coat rack by the door.

He frowned when he saw her red hands, and took them both into his. He was dressed in just jeans and a white polo shirt, but his body was a virtual furnace. The heat from his hands felt both wonderful and painful as her skin thawed. He brought her hands to his mouth and blew hot air on them, his black hair-longer on top-falling across one eye. He said, “I’m so sorry, Luce, I must not have heard the bell the first time.”

“I only rang once. I walked here.”

“Walked?”

“It wasn’t far.”

“From Kate and Dillon’s place? That’s half a mile and you’re not properly dressed.” His bright blue eyes assessed her as his hands rubbed her arms. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m-” Her mouth quivered. No no no no no! She didn’t want to cry in front of Sean Rogan, not him, not her brother’s partner. Not in front of anyone. She should have gone to her room. Why had she come here anyway?

You forgot Patrick was gone .

“I have to go,” she said.

Sean ignored that statement and led her down the wide hall to the back of the house, where a fire raged in a brick fireplace that took up half of one wall. He seated her on the large hearth. “This should warm you up.”

Unable to speak, she nodded, averting her eyes. The fire was too hot, but she sat and stared at the flames, willing herself not to cry.

Please, God, don’t let me break down now .

Sean moved away, and Lucy breathed easier. She’d get her emotions together, find a way to lock the past back where it belonged, and phone for a taxi.

She had so desperately wanted to talk to Patrick. Maybe that was the answer-fly to California.

Right. Leave her job, her volunteer work, miss the WCF fund-raiser on Saturday. Fran would be disappointed. Lucy didn’t run away from anything. She hadn’t run six years ago even when she longed to disappear, and she wasn’t about to do it now. And what for? She wasn’t in danger, only hollowed out from the lies told by her family. She had no energy tonight, but tomorrow she would regain her strength.

She glanced into the kitchen, where Sean had his back to her, thankful he’d given her some space. She didn’t want to make small talk with him, no matter how nice he was to look at, nor did she want to explain why she’d walked through what might turn into a blizzard to visit the brother who she’d forgotten was working three thousand miles away.

Lucy rubbed her hands together in front of the fireplace and tried not to think about what Sean must think of her lunacy. The last hour, from the minute she walked into her house and saw those two FBI agents talking to Kate, had drained her and she couldn’t stop shaking.

Sean brought two mugs to the fireplace and handed one to her. “This will warm up the inside.”

“What is it?” She looked inside. Teeny marshmallows were floating on top. “Hot chocolate?”

“When Patrick took us to dinner last month, I remembered how much you loved the chocolate mousse for dessert. This isn’t as rich or tasty, but I hope it’ll do in a pinch.”