Page 95 of Deadly Revenge

Jenna ordered her heart to slow down, but it refused to listen. She gave him a wry smile. “It’s, ah ...” She would’ve had a quick comeback a second ago. “Uh, cook or starve—Granna won’t feedme every day.” She reined in her heart. “I make a mean omelet, though.”

“I’m game. What can I do to help?”

Get out of the kitchen unless he wanted her to burn their meal. “Write up a plan for tomorrow.”

“I can do that, but I can cook as well.”

Jenna eyed him. “You live two houses from your mother—you expect me to believe that?”

His smoking brown eyes held a challenge. “Tell you what, you take care of the bacon andI’llmake the omelet.”

She stared at him. The way her insides were shaking, that might not be a bad idea. “You have yourself a deal.”

First she poured another cup of coffee—hoping it would clear her head, especially of thoughts about Max. It still took everything in her to keep her fingers from shaking when she placed the bacon on the microwave pan. What was wrong with her? This was Max.

Jenna hadn’t figured on them cooking side by side, but since her microwave was over the stove and that’s where he was making the omelet, there was little choice. The faint woodsy scent she’d noticed in the truck earlier made noodles of her legs when he reached across her for the spatula.

“You might want to check the bacon,” he said, nudging her.

She yanked open the door.

“Ow!” Max said, rubbing his head.

“I’m so sorry—” A tiny trickle of blood ran down his temple ... suddenly she was in the alley behind James A. Henry School.No! Not now ...But there was no stopping the flashback.

Sebastian held the boy in one hand, a gun in the other. Gunshots rang in her ears ... the odor of gunpowder.

Jenna’s stomach churned, and she couldn’t breathe. Mouth too dry to swallow ... icy tendrils tingled her face.

The next thing Jenna knew she was in Max’s arms. He carried her to a chair and settled her in it.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, her face flaming. It’d been a year since the sight of blood affected her this way.

“Hold on a sec, and I’ll get you a wet cloth.” Max disappeared down the hall and returned with a damp washcloth. “Put this on your face.”

She did what he said, and gradually her stomach settled.

“What happened?”

Jenna avoided looking at his head. “B-blood. Sometimes...”

“It makes you faint.”

“It only started after the night I was shot, and it doesn’t happen every time I see blood—certainly hasn’t happened since I returned home. The psychologist the department required me to see after the shooting said it was part of PTSD.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. I thought I was over it.” Jenna drew in a breath and blew it out before handing him the cloth. “You might want to use this on your head, and I have a Band-Aid if you need it.”

“I think it’ll be fine.” He pressed the cloth to his head. “It’s not bleeding any longer.”

Then she gasped. “Did I burn the bacon?”

He shook his head. “It’s golden brown. And I didn’t burn the omelets. Think you can eat while everything is still warm?”

She’d do almost anything to get his attention off what just happened, and that included choking down food. “Sure—these episodes never last long, but they’re terribly embarrassing.”

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