Internal Affairs by Jessica Andersen Read Free Book Online

remember those times. The present is far more important than the past, under the circumstances.
    But before she could demand an explanation of where he’d been for the past several months, he said, “I’m sorry.”
    It wasn’t clear whether he was apologizing a secondtime for grabbing her, for disappearing and faking his own death, for kissing her or for potentially having messed up her stitches. Since she wasn’t actually sure which she would’ve preferred, she let it go, asking instead, “What happened to you?”
    “I…I’m not sure.” He sat up slowly and started climbing to his feet, dragging one of the blankets with him in the absence of clothing. He was clearly feeling his injuries now that his body was draining of the adrenaline spike that must’ve powered him to this point.
    Sara rose and gripped his good arm when he swayed, even though her own legs were far from steady. Forcing herself to focus on the practical stuff when nothing else seemed to make any sense, she said, “Come on. As long as you’re on your feet, let’s get you to the bedroom.” She had a feeling he’d be headed for a collapse once the last of the adrenaline had burned off, and would rather he didn’t wind up on the floor again.
    He leaned on her heavily as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. She told herself to ignore the fact that he was mostly naked, that her hands gripped the warm, lithe flesh that had brought her such pleasure in the past. She watched his face as they crossed the spot where they’d made love so long ago. When his expression didn’t change, she cursed him for being an insensitive ass, and cursed herself for caring when they’d been broken up for more than a year, and he’d been dead—in theory, anyway—for nearly half that time.
    He hesitated at her office door, and she urged him past it to her bedroom, where he lay facedown on the bed with a grateful, pained sigh. He stayed obedientlystill while she checked his wounds, which were inflamed and angry, but showed little sign of additional damage.
    “You got lucky,” she said, pulling the blanket up over him. “The stitches held.” Then, feeling unaccountably jittery, she sat on the edge of the bed they used to share, spinning to face him and perch there, cross-legged. He looked at her, expression unreadable, as she inhaled a deep breath and let it out again in a slow, measured exhale that did little to settle her sudden nerves. “Okay,” she said. “Here’s the deal. I didn’t call an ambulance or the cops, and I didn’t tell anyone you were here because of your note, and because we have enough of a history for me to give you the benefit of the doubt. But also considering our history, I think you’ll agree that I don’t owe you much more than that. So if you want me to keep helping you out, you’re going to have to give me a reason and some explanations, starting now.”
    Although he was lying in her bed, injured and lacking the strength to stand on his own, his expression was intense as he reached out to her with his good hand and gripped her fingers in his. “Thank you for not turning me in.”
    Something shivered down her spine at his choice of words. “Tell me you’re going to call Fax and Seth now, or whoever you’ve been working for within the PD.”
    He grimaced. “I’d like to say yes, but…” He trailed off, his expression clouding. After a moment, he said, “Okay, I’m going to tell you the truth because whatever the details, I apparently trust you more than I do anyone else in the area.”
    She frowned, confused. “I…I don’t know what that means.”
    He tightened his fingers on hers. “It means that I don’t know your name. I don’t know my own name. I don’t know what we were to each other, or why our relationship—judging from what you just said, anyway—ended. And I damn sure don’t know who shot me, or why.”
    Sara felt the blood drain from her face, and imagined she’d just gone very pale. Which