Page 45 of Edge of Danger

Chapter Seventeen

It was so quiet at night. Blessedly quiet. Better than an alley. Or the back seat of a car.

Tessa propped her head up on one bent arm, staring up at the ceiling. How much time had passed since she’d gone to bed? Hours, probably.

Hours of worrying. Wondering.

What was Brax hiding from her?

Something was going on. He had that tense, cagey energy about him, the way he’d acted while tracking that bail jumper. Like something was very wrong. Whatever it was, he wasn’t sharing it with her.

And that left her feeling slightly insulted. Wasn’t he the one who’d made her promise there would be no more secrets? Yet there he was a few days later acting secretive, putting up an invisible wall between them.

Why?

Naturally, her mind went first to the most likely answer: he blamed her for what had happened with Robert. Given time to think things over, he’d decided she was untrustworthy and too stupid or gullible to care about.

Why else would he have been so distracted when he’d gotten home from work last night? Distant. Like he was only half with her, half someplace else.

Weston had called to tell her Brax had had car trouble and would be late getting home. While she’d appreciated the call, why couldn’t Brax call for himself? Was he that dismissive of her?

He’d acted like it after finally showing up. She might as well have not been there at all. So much for looking forward to him getting home.

Not that he’d been mean or rude. That might’ve been easier to deal with. She was used to rude men. Being ignored, especially by Brax, wasn’t as easy to swallow.

He’d gone to bed not long after getting home. He hadn’t eaten, but that didn’t seem to matter half as much as getting away from her had. His movements had been stiff, like there was something physically wrong.

He hadn’t told her what it was. He’d hardly said a word.

She’d hoped to ask him about it in the morning, but he’d been gone by the time she’d woken up. That was early even for him.

He’d worked late again, not getting home until nearly ten o’clock. So yeah, seemed like he was avoiding her. If he hadn’t been so different before then—friendly, warm, curious about her and about how her day had gone—this sudden change wouldn’t have come as such a shock.

It looked like the more time he had to think about what she’d told him, the more distant he’d become.

Even now, lying in a darkened bedroom, just the thought of Brax losing respect for her and thinking she couldn’t be trusted was enough to make her chest ache. Tears stung behind her eyes. All they did was frustrate her.

Her stomach started growling. She hadn’t eaten dinner. She’d waited for Brax until it was clear he wouldn’t be home, and then decided to sleep instead. The stew was in the fridge now, though that wasn’t exactly what she wanted to eat at this time of night.

Or the morning. She’d finally checked the time—usually, she avoided looking at the clock since it only made her more anxious while she was lying awake—and found she’d been staring at the ceiling for three hours. It was almost half past two.

The thought of Walker waking up before the sun wasn’t pleasant, but now that her stomach was growling, she knew sleep wouldn’t be coming. Only eating would settle her down. She tiptoed downstairs in the dark house toward the faint glow of the kitchen. She was careful to be quiet, not wanting to take a chance on waking up Walker or Brax.

She stopped short when she saw Brax in the kitchen, bent over in front of the fridge like he’d had the same idea about food. He hadn’t eaten dinner either.

The impulse to run swept over her. Why did her mind go there right away? Why would she run from him? He was the last person she should want to avoid. Two days ago, she would’ve laughed at the idea. But that was before he’d started ignoring her.

He didn’t know she was there. She could get away and sneak back upstairs and avoid any awkwardness. She would have if it hadn’t been for something rooting her to the floor.

Him wearing low-slung sweatpants that looked like they were a moment away from sliding off his hips. No shirt. She could make out the lines of his slim waist, broad shoulders and muscular arms in the light from the refrigerator.

She could hardly breathe. Her mouth went dry. Good thing, since she might’ve started drooling otherwise.

He looked back at her over his shoulder. “Oh. Hi.”

She struggled to respond. “Hi,” she murmured.

Brax turned toward her and the sight of his left side made her gasp. A mass of bruises covered his shoulder and arm, then bloomed again on his chest and ribs. There were lacerations along his biceps and elbow. It was ugly and had to be painful.

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