Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(113)

She blinked rapidly, trying to process it. “But that’s ridiculous,” she said sharply. “All I have to do is tell them the truth.”

He shrugged. “Your trustworthiness as a witness will be in question if they think you were sequestered and brainwashed.”

Something rose up inside her, close to hysteria. “So they’ll call me crazy? They’ll lock you up? They won’t believe what I say about you?”

“We can’t afford to worry about this right now,” he said. “Let’s just pretend that it never—”

“No! I’m not going to pretend! I’m on to you, Miles. You don’t expect to live through this, so it’s not really your problem, right? You’re just blowing it off!”

He grabbed her hand, squeezed it. “Lara,” he said. “Please.”

His eyes were anguished. She cut off her rant, and pressed the paper napkin against her eyes.

When she was back under control, she blew her nose into the napkin and stared down at Miles’ battered, scabbed brown hand, enveloping hers. His other hand held the canvas bag, and when she met his eyes, he shoved it across the table at her. “Put this in your bag. There’s about thirteen grand. The debit card has twenty-five more.”

She stared at it, recoiling. “I can’t take that.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “Fucked if you won’t! Don’t tell me you’re going to get uptight about the stupid stuff? Now?”

“Thirty-eight thousand bucks? You call that stupid? You’ll need that money yourself. That’s a huge amount of money!”

He squeezed her hand again. “Lara,” he said. “I have lots of money. I’ve socked it away all over the place, more than I know how to spend. If I can’t spend it on the people I love, what the f*ck good is it?”

She shook her head. So damned uncomfortable with it.

“If we get through whatever’s going to happen, and it runs out, I’ll just make more,” he said. “Read my lips. Not. An. Issue. Got it?”

She stared down, miserably, at the canvas bag he’d shoved beneath her hand. All that it represented, and all that it threatened.

She didn’t want his money. She wanted him. Always and forever, and this was a poor, poor trade. “I already owe you so much,” she said.

He reached up, touched her face. “I just wish it were more. And I owe you just as much, you know. You saved my ass, too.”

She snorted. “That is bullshit.”

“It’s true,” he said, stubbornly. He lifted his hand to touch her face, stroking her cheek slowly and hypnotically with the side of his index finger. “But we are light years past this conversation, you and I.”

She was lulled by his silken voice, the faint, rhythmic caress on her face. The unique mix of caustic irony and gentleness that was Miles. She turned her face, pressing it against his hand, like a cat.

He cupped her cheek in his palm, leaning closer. “You do know that everything I have is yours, right?” he asked, and this time, there was no irony in his voice at all. “Till the end of time. Did you get that memo, in all the excitement? Or do we need to play catch-up?”

She squeezed her wet eyes shut and shook her head.

“I’m not just talking about money. I’m talking all of it. Heart, soul, body. All my hopes for the future. The places I want to see with you, the stories we’ll tell, our adventures together. The meals we’ll cook, the walks, the drives. All the nights together, all the mornings. Coffee and toast, conversations and jokes. All the winters and the springs and the summers and the falls. For as long as we get. All yours, Lara.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth. It burned, inside her. A sweet and awful twisting pain, that vision which could never exist.

He reached up with ritual slowness, and brushed her tears away.

“Oh, for God’s sake, stop it,” she forced out through trembling lips. “Don’t make me cry. You’re killing me.”

He pulled her hand up. Pressed her knuckles to his lips, and then to his forehead. Bowing his head and hiding his own face.

She lost it for a while, but fought until she could drag in a breath without hitching and gurgling. She blew her nose into her napkin. Miles wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and gave the bag another push. “Put it in your bag,” he said. “Don’t leave it lying around.”

She took it, still hesitating. “Did you take enough to rent a car?”

“I have plenty,” he assured her gently.

The waitress arrived with their food, so they pulled themselves together. She got down more than half of the chili and cornbread, but even Miles seemed to have trouble getting around his sandwich today.

“Will you give me your phone number?” she asked.

He shook his head. “You don’t need the phone to contact me,” he said. “And if you can’t reach me that way, then the phone will be useless in any case. Come on, your bus is leaving soon.”

The station was a small one, just a few blocks away, next to a railroad track. Miles stayed way back, careful not to watch or listen as she bought her ticket and tucked it inside her jacket.

He walked her over, and held her, breathlessly tight, arms shaking, outside the gaping door of the bus. The driver finally leaned out, frowning. “All aboard,” he bawled.