“Jonas, look at me.”
My heart seized at the sound of my name on his lips. He hadn’t called me Mr. Davenport anymore but he hadn’t used my first name either – not since the day I’d tended his injury in my apartment. I wasn’t even aware I’d dropped my eyes until he gave me the gentle command. I swallowed hard and did as he asked. The look was back…the one where it seemed like he was trying to figure me out.
I waited for him to say whatever it was that he was going to say but his eyes just stayed on mine until I finally felt him release my arm. His free hand came up to stroke over my cheek and I couldn’t hide the tremor that shot through my whole body at the contact. It wasn’t until I saw the chalky white substance on his thumb that I realized he’d only been wiping away some plaster from my face. I stepped back and wasn’t surprised when he instantly released me.
“Hello?”
The voice coming from the gallery broke whatever trance had taken hold of us.
“Yeah,” I called, my eyes still on Mace as I tried to figure out why I was so reluctant to walk away from him. There was no answer to be found in his eyes because while I was having trouble taking mine off of him, he wasn’t suffering from the same condition. “Coming,” I said loudly and then handed the supplies in my hands to Mace before hurrying up front.
I didn’t recognize the man standing in the middle of the gallery. I guessed him to be around 6’3 or so and in his late twenties or early thirties. His black hair was closely cropped and even from where I stood, his stunning blue eyes stood out. But it wasn’t just the unique, almost sapphire shade that had caught my attention – it was that they were shrouded with something so deep and so harsh that I felt an immediate kinship with him. He had the stance of someone in uniform - my guess was military or law enforcement – but he wore civilian clothes, jeans and a white button down shirt.
“Hi, can I help you?” I asked as I closed the distance between myself and him. His eyes shifted past me for a moment and I knew that Mace must have followed me.
“Are you Jonas Davenport?”
The stranger’s eyes weren’t on me when he asked, but I knew he was talking to me. I glanced over my shoulder and noticed that Mace was only a few feet behind me, his jaw drawn tight, his lips pulled into a frown and his eyes narrowed.
“I am,” I said as I turned my attention back on the stranger. I automatically extended my hand.
He shook it as he said, “I’m Cole Bridgerton.”
The name didn’t mean anything to me but I felt his hand tighten on mine just before he added, “I’m Carrie’s brother.”
Chapter Five
Cole
The instant I said Carrie’s name, all the blood from the young man’s face drained and his mouth opened in surprise. He let out a small whoosh of air that had the man behind him taking a few steps forward and I wondered at their relationship. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it because Jonas’s free hand came up to cover his mouth. He had yet to release my hand.
“I…I…”
The combination of Jonas’s starts and stops as well as the pain that flooded his eyes had me second guessing my decision to come here, but his discomfort was a casualty of me needing answers more than needing to spare him any painful memories my presence would stir up.
“I was hoping we could talk. In private,” I added as my eyes shifted to the man behind Jonas. There was something about his hard eyes that had me instantly on alert. Jonas’s throat was working overtime as he tried to swallow and another rush of guilt went through me.
“Of course,” he said. I didn’t miss the tremor in his hand as he finally let go of mine and then turned to the man shadowing him. “Um, I’ll be back in a little bit, okay?”
The man gave him a barely-there nod but his eyes stayed on me. I didn’t miss the warning look in his gaze as his eyes raked over me. A strange sensation passed through me at the perusal but I didn’t have time to dwell on it because Jonas said, “There’s a coffee shop down the street if that’s okay.”
I nodded and followed him towards the door. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I felt the gaze burning into me from behind. It was the kind of feeling that would have had me reaching for my rifle if we’d been anywhere else.
Jonas led me down the block towards the coffee shop but didn’t speak. I remained silent as I tried to adjust to the noise and chaos of the city. I’d only been discharged a little over a week earlier and I’d been warned on more than one occasion that returning to civilian life would be a challenge. The Navy shrink I’d been forced to meet with before I walked out of Naval Base Coronado in San Diego had gone over all the signs and symptoms of PTSD with me, and encouraged me to seek help if I felt I needed it. Who would have guessed that I would have happily chosen the debilitating disorder over the devastation I would have to face a mere seven days later?