Page 10 of Nightfire

Until his first foster home, he hadn’t even known a man could beat up a woman or a child. His father had been a strong man who loved his wife and kids. Looking back, it seemed like his entire childhood had been played out within a force field keeping evil away. Then his family had been wiped out in an instant and the force field shattered.

From then on, he knew what cruelty existed in the world and he fought it every chance he could.

They were going to take care of this lovely woman. Keep her safe, take her away from danger.

And then, well—forget about beating the guy up. Mike was going to find the fuckhead who’d hurt her and kill him.

THREE

Chloe drank her tea, the cup making a light tinkling sound as she put it back on its saucer. Her hands were trembling slightly. Did the two men notice? Probably. Both of them were watching her very carefully.

Odd. In her experience, men didn’t have great powers of observation. Most men were so wrapped up in themselves they barely noticed the outside world unless it impacted them in some way.

These two men seemed observant, however. Which is what she wanted, of course. She wanted to be listened to, to be heard. By Harry Bolt, though, not Michael Keillor.

The only thing was that, right now, Michael Keillor seemed to be the most responsive. Harry Bolt just stared at her.

Both men were completely opaque to her, which was unusual. She could usually get a pretty good handle on people within the first few minutes. There were so many tells—body language, their eyes, the way they were dressed, their tone of voice, the language they used. Even the way they breathed. At times, she thought she could read people’s auras, though she didn’t have any training in that. Just a lifetime of observation, on the outside looking in.

It was impossible to read these two. Their clothes were nondescript. Good quality, comfortable, not particularly fashionable. Expensive work clothes for busy men who dealt with the world and didn’t sit behind desks.

They were giving her a lot of space and time. She was using way too much of it.

Her hands fell to her lap, started worrying the edges of the big manila envelope that held her past. And perhaps her future.

“Mr. Bolt,” she began.

“Harry.” His voice was very deep, almost as deep as his partner’s. “Please call me Harry. And this is Mike.” He nodded to the powerfully-built man next to him.

Something deep inside her quivered at the sound of Harry’s voice.

“Mr.—ahm. Harry. I lied. I lied to your receptionist. I told her I only needed fifteen minutes of your time. But I’m afraid it will take longer than that. I’m really sorry I didn’t make an appointment. “Her hands clutched the edges of the envelope as she made an offer she hoped he’d refuse. “I can make an appointment now and come back later, if this inconveniences you.”

“No problem.” He sat back in his big office chair, eyes never leaving hers. He reached out and pressed a button. “Yeah, Marisa. Cancel my appointments for the next…hour?”

His partner, Mike, leaned forward, too. “Marisa, cancel my appointments, too.”

“An hour for Mr. Keillor as well,” Harry said decisively and lifted his finger from the button. “So, Ms. Mason, we’re both free and you can take as much time as you want.”

Okay. Okay. Chloe stopped herself from rocking back and forth in anxiety. Where to begin?

At the beginning, of course.

“I had an accident,” she began slowly. “A very bad one, when I was small. I don’t remember anything about it. But as a consequence, most of my childhood and my early teens was spent in and out of hospitals. By the time I was fifteen, I’d had fourteen surgeries.”

Both men winced. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Mason,” Harry Bolt said.

“Chloe, please.” She tried on a smile but could tell by the feel of her facial muscles that it was weak. “I, ahm, I didn’t tell you this to gain your sympathy.” She didn’t like talking about it at all, and never told anyone except medical personnel. It had been bad enough living through it. People she met could wonder why sometimes she moved stiffly, but she didn’t feel obliged to tell anyone anything. “The reason I told you is that my—my health problems ate up my childhood and teen years. My injuries were so severe that several times the doctors gave up on me. Apparently, I am alive by a miracle. The side effect is that whole chunks of me—of my history—are gone. I can remember very little, in fact, other than long stays in the hospital and rehabilitation in a succession of clinics. I didn’t even attend school until I was fifteen. There would have been too many interruptions. My, um, my parents arranged for private tutors to come to me in the hospital. I was fifteen by the time I could stand and walk and even think of leading a normal life.”

She studied Harry Bolt’s eyes, then switched her gaze to Mike Keillor. It was a tossup as to who was paying her more attention. She’d rarely been on the receiving end of such intense male scrutiny. It seemed to her that they were listening carefully to her every word and, perhaps, even to the words she wasn’t saying.

She took a deep breath because the minefield began now.

“I never thought to ask my parents what happened. My parents were very…distant. That’s the only word that really works.” Until the man she knew as her father got all-too-close. “My, um, my father inherited a great deal of money and then he and my mother founded a highly successful real estate business. My mother used to come to visit me a couple of times a month in the hospital, but later, she got caught up in the company and didn’t have much time. In the end, she came about once a month to visit. I needed such intense rehabilitation between surgeries, they found it easier to leave me in long-stay hospitals, instead of ferrying me back and forth. They could afford it.”

And just like that she was pinged back to long, pain-wracked years in luxury clinics, completely alone. The nurses her only human contacts as they rotated in and out of ICU.

She’d longed desperately for the love of her parents and it was never there. It was just this blank hole into which she uselessly poured her love until she learned to stop it.