In His Keeping (Slow Burn #2)(40)

How could she simply “let it go”? How could she just stand idly by, hiding, while someone else—a stranger—headed the search for her parents? And why weren’t they calling in the police? There were too many questions unanswered. Questions she hadn’t asked Beau. Hadn’t had time to ask, she acknowledged.

Everything had happened so quickly. Her visit to his office and then everything had gone to hell. Literally. They hadn’t had a single moment to sit down and focus on the matter of her missing parents. Beau hadn’t had the opportunity to question her or even ascertain simple facts like her parents’ names, their address, any of their background and history.

What seemed an eternity to Ari was in fact only a few short hours, and furthermore less than twenty-four hours had elapsed since her parents simply disappeared.

God, had it only been yesterday? She automatically glanced at her wrist where her watch—a gift from her mother—had always been, but it was gone now, and Ari didn’t even know when, where or how it had been wrenched from her wrist.

“What time is it?” Ari asked faintly, staring at Beau in question.

His brow furrowed, his expression blatantly questioning, as though he thought it the last question she’d ask. And maybe it did seem ridiculous when so much else was far more important. But for Ari, a lifetime had passed and suddenly it was all-important to know just how long it had been since she’d last seen her parents.

“It’s almost three,” Beau said in a gentle voice, as if speaking to a half-wit or someone who was poised to jump off a bridge and any wrong word would send her plummeting right over the edge.

God, her brains were scrambled. To have such idiotic, ridiculous thoughts when her situation—her parents’ situation—was so dire was . . . insane. Maybe she was crazy. Perhaps she’d simply snapped when she’d unleashed her powers after them lying dormant for nearly a lifetime.

Maybe it had caused her brain to short-circuit and the nerve endings were simply fried.

She heard an odd noise, and to her further humiliation, she realized it had been her. Laughing. A shaky hysterical-sounding shrill giggle, for God’s sake.

Beau gave up any attempt not to look concerned. He turned to Doctor Carey, a grim expression on his face, and said, “Step on it. She needs care now.”

“I’m okay,” she said faintly. “I was just realizing that though it seems like a lifetime has passed, it’s not even been twenty-four hours yet since I last saw my parents.”

“You are not okay,” he said in a tone that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

Did people actually growl? Oh God, there she went again. Ridiculous, random thoughts spiking through her mind, almost as if her brain was trying to protect her, wrap her in a protective bubble of mundane, senseless thoughts so she didn’t have to dwell on the awful reality of her situation.

Her hand automatically went to her nose just to see if she was bleeding again. Beau, damn the man, never missed anything, and his gaze was sharp as he too looked to see if there was any sign of blood.

To her relief, her hand came away with only remnants of already dried blood from earlier and nothing fresh. Too bad the pain hadn’t ebbed like the blood had. She put her palm to her forehead, pressing inward as if to someway ease the overwhelming pressure. The top of her head literally felt like someone was trying to pop it like a pimple and that at any moment it would simply give way and explode from the top.

“Tell me about your mother,” Beau said softly. “Is she as beautiful as you are?”

She stared back at Beau in bewilderment for a moment before she realized what he was doing. He was distracting her from the chaos swirling in her mind and trying to center her thoughts on something good. And then his choice of words sank in, and something in her chest softened, warmth spreading soothingly through her veins.

Her smile was automatic, as it always was when she thought of her mom. For a brief second, an image of her mother, smiling and beautiful, flashed in her mind, temporarily giving her a respite from the pain and darkness that had seemed to permanently settle in the deepest recesses of her soul.

“She’s the most beautiful woman in the world,” Ari whispered. “Warm. Loving. Always smiling and happy. And the way my father looks at her. Like she lights up his entire world. And the way she smiles at him when he looks at her that way. Theirs is a love I thought only existed in romance novels, but I’ve lived with the reality of two people who love each other with all their heart and soul, who both love me. Unconditionally.”

“Who do you get your eyes from? They’re such an unusual color. Or rather colors plural,” he amended. “I’ve never seen anyone with eyes like yours.”

She stared at him, momentarily without words. Then she frowned, drawing on the image of her mother and her father. She sent Beau a puzzled look because she’d never considered where her eyes had come from or who she’d inherited the unusual kaleidoscope of colors from.

“Neither,” she said honestly. “I assume perhaps one of my grandparents, but I don’t know. They died—both sets—before my parents were even married. And they were both only children. No family. Kindred spirits, my father always said. Two halves of a whole, alone in the world until finally finding one another.”

She ducked her head self-consciously because spoken aloud by her and not said in the reverent tone with which her father spoke of his wife, it seemed contrived. Something she’d made up or some lame attempt at poetry.