Captive Curves by Christa Wick Read Free Book Online Page A

to eat, bound my hair in a knot and took a shower hoping the heat would ease some of the tension running through me.  
    Half an hour after sunset, I sat at my small dining table and stared at my front door for at least another thirty minutes until a light knock sounded at last.  
    “It’s open.” I forced my hands into my lap, willing them to fold calmly around each other instead of the constant wringing they’d suffered since I got home.  
    The door opened and Dean stepped through it with a scowl on his face. Shutting it quickly, he turned the deadbolt and threaded the security chain. Seeing the patio door open, his scowl deepened. He cut through the small living/dining room and secured the patio door before drawing its curtains.  
    A few more steps brought him to the table where he stood glaring down at me. “Don’t do that again.”  
    Stunned by his reaction, I brushed nervously at a wisp of hair before I met his gaze. “I didn’t think there was anyone alive to come after me. Was I wrong?”  
    His face relaxing, Dean pulled one of the chairs away from the table, pointed it in my direction and sat down hard. He brought one leg up, his ankle resting atop the opposite knee as his hand squeezed his shin. “Not exactly. Every man in that house but me is dead. I told them I killed you because you fucked up on the delivery.”  
    I shifted in my seat, my gaze dancing around the room, meeting his for a second, moving away for a few more seconds before returning. I’d been too shocked seeing him at the library to notice any changes other than his hair being shorter. Now each glance revealed something new. A small line had been gouged into his right cheekbone. Half an inch below the right corner of his mouth, another new scar ran a thin line to disappear under his chin. A certain gauntness hid just below the surface of his muscles and the hollow of his cheeks.  
    He was still drop dead sexy, maybe even more so, but it was clear that not all of the last six months had been kind to him. I wanted to ask him if he was well, but I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know I cared enough to ask. I chose another question instead. “How is that ‘not exactly,’ then?”  
    “They might have thought I was lying, that the press reports were faked. They could have had their own contacts in WITSEC or the DEA. They certainly knew I was lying at the end.”  
    The end… I drew a deep breath in. “How did they die?”  
    “Painfully.” His gaze shut down and I knew that was all the information he would give me on the topic.  
    “You could have told Hollman--”  
    “No, and you won’t tell her, either, not until I’m sure you’re safe and don’t need WITSEC.” He ran his hand along his shin, his fingernails dragging along the denim of his jeans so hard they would have dug burrows if it had been his skin. “And I wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”  
    “She could have told you how I was doing.” I was glad he hadn’t asked anyone in WITSEC, but I was desperate to know if his visit was more than some kind of health and welfare check. I pressed my hand against my stomach, as if that could stop the knots twisting through it.  
    Dean’s hand balled into a fist and he shook his head. “She could tell me you’d found work, that you had an apartment in a safe neighborhood…she couldn’t tell me whether you’re adjusting, if you’re thinking about going back to school…if…”  
    He finished with a shrug and a fresh scowl.  
    Something was gnawing at him, but he seemed reluctant to let it out. That meant it was gnawing at both of us. I gave him a little prompt. “If what?”  
    His gaze skipped around the room. There was little to see. I’d furnished it with mismatched pieces from Goodwill and other second hand shops. There were no pictures, certainly no photographs. A few books from the library rested on a bookshelf next to a few I’d picked up from a used bookstore. The apartment looked like