Page 73 of Ruthless Cross

She jerked awake, giving him a startled, fearful look.

"It's okay," he assured her. "We're in my building. You're safe."

"Oh." She straightened in her seat, blinking the daze out of her eyes. "I guess I fell asleep."

"About ten minutes after we left Palm Springs. How do you feel?"

"Kind of groggy, but not too bad."

"Let's go inside." He got out of the car and went around to her side to help her out. "You can lean on me."

She put her hand in his and took a second to get her bearings. Then she squared her shoulders and let out a breath. "I'm okay."

"Good." Despite her assurance, he didn't let go of her hand until they were in the house.

The garage door took them into the hallway outside the kitchen. He led her through the kitchen to the adjoining family room, urging her to take a seat on the brown leather couch.

As she sat down, her gaze moved toward the dark windows. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine." He walked across the room to pull down the shade. The back of the house was completely secure, but he wanted Callie to feel safe. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want to go to bed? I have a guest room."

"Slow down," she said with a small smile. "I'm still waking up."

"Sorry."

"Why don't you sit?" she suggested.

He opted for the chair adjacent to the couch, rather than sit next to her. She gave him a thoughtful look.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"It's fine."

"So, this is your place." Her gaze moved around the room. "It's homier than I would have thought."

He shrugged, knowing that he wasn't at all responsible for the colorful rug or the buttery-soft leather furniture or the throw pillows with just the right accent of color. Although, he had picked out the recliner and the TV. "I had some help on the décor," he admitted.

"From who? A girlfriend?"

"No. It was from a friend of my mother's. She's an interior designer. When I bought this place, my mom called her and asked her to make sure I wasn't sleeping on the floor and propping my television up on empty crates. My mother doesn't seem to think I've grown up since I was nineteen and living in my first apartment."

"Which, I'm assuming, had you sleeping on the floor and using crates for tables."

"Possibly," he conceded. "But it didn't bother me. I can sleep anywhere."

"Well, I like this place. It's comfortable."

"And it's safe."

"Even better," she murmured. "Flynn…I think I might have said a few things at the hospital that I shouldn't have. Or maybe I was dreaming. It's all a little foggy in my head."

"You didn't say anything worth worrying about."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Your secrets are still intact. Well, except for one. When we got in the car, you did tell me that you backed into a pole at a fast-food restaurant when you were sixteen and told your mother that someone else had hit you. But that was really the only time you lied."

"I can't believe I told you that."

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