Chapter Two
It had only been a few weeks since Olin had laid eyes on Kat, yet it felt as if years had passed. She sat in one of the extra chairs in the small exam room, frozen as she stared at him, a shoe in her hand.
Right, she probably wasn’t all that happy to see him.
At least, he figured that given she’d refused to answer his calls.
“Detective Ramiz,” she said, her voice breathy and unsure.
“I told you before—call me Olin.”
She swallowed hard, and when she spoke again, her voice was impossibly softer. “Olin. What are you doing here?”
“You’ve been ignoring my calls.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Olin crossed his arms and leaned his back against the door, just staring at her to call her a liar. She wasn’t busy—she was hiding. There was a hell of a difference.
She shook her head, as if she didn’t want to have the fight. “Was my statement not enough? If you have more questions, ask them.”
A sharpness in her tone made him want to smile, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t go over too well. Instead, he kept his expression blank. “I wanted to give you an update. We’re still looking, but for now, the suspect seems to have gone to ground.”
“That isn’t an update—it’s a lack of an update. You didn’t come all this way for that.”
No, he hadn’t. He’d come all this way because he’d wanted to see her, because something inside of him had kept him up late at night wondering if she was okay. He recalled how he’d helped her walk from the motel to the ambulance, how she’d stumbled, almost numb to the world, and he’d wanted to know she was doing better.
But is she?
That numbness still rested in her eyes. From what he’d heard, she’d pulled away from everyone in her life, had closed herself off in place as if she could pretend nothing had happened.
“I also wanted to give you this.” He pulled a card from his pocket. “Victim advocacy group. They help with medical and mental health bills for victims of violent crimes and, when we catch the man—and we will catch him—they help you with that process as well.”
Kat didn’t reach for the card. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Kat…”
“I have great insurance, so medical bills aren’t an issue, and I don’t need a therapist. If you catch him, then that’s all on you. I don’t need an advocate.”
He sighed but set the card on the exam table beside her. Arguing wouldn’t do either of them any good, and he found himself reluctant to go down that route when he wouldn’t have long with her. No doubt Kat was already looking for an escape.
She leaned forward to slide on her boot, but a sharp inhalation stopped her.
Olin reached for the door, ready to call the doctor back in, but Kat gave him a withering glare that rooted him in place.
“You’re hurting,” Olin argued.
“I’m fine. I just forgot my body doesn’t really like that whole bending thing yet.”
Because that asshole had taken a knife to her. Olin hadn’t seen the damage, since they’d wrapped a sheet around her before he’d gotten into the room, but he’d never forget the red that had seeped into the white fabric.
It had been like a horror movie, except all too real.
“Then let me help,” he answered. At her hard look, he went on. “I’ll help you get your shoes on or I’ll call Fox back in. Your choice.”
Color blanched from her lips, but finally, she held the boots out.
They were the type girls often wore, with some sort of soft fur on the inside. Olin dropped to his knees in front of her, groaning slightly as he did so because his body didn’t much like doing that anymore. He tapped the top of his thigh, and Kat followed the request, setting her foot there.