Page 25 of Call Back

“Oh, my God. How old was he?”

“Ten. It was an accident, but I’ve never let him live it down. How’d you get yours?”

“I told you. A childhood accident.”

“I know, but how?”

“A cookie cutter.”

“Now I really want to see it.” He shifted to get a better vantage point and then shifted the sheet to expose my right thigh. Looking up at me to gauge my reaction, he asked, “Okay?”

He’d think it odd if I continued to fight him on it. I nodded slightly.

His finger lightly traced the mark. “No stitches?”

“What?” I asked in surprise.

“It looks like it was deep, but I don’t see any stitch marks, and the straight line is a little wider, suggesting it didn’t close properly.”

I grabbed the sheet and pulled it back over my leg. “I thought you were a police officer, not a doctor.”

I expected him to start a tug-of-war over the sheet, but he turned and sat up, cross-legged. “I have enough experience in forensics to know a thing or two,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

“I’m not a dead body, Brady,” I snapped, but it didn’t seem to faze him.

“No,” he said in a husky voice. “You are far from it. Just making observations. I’m sorry if you were uncomfortable.”

I didn’t answer.

“Why didn’t you get stitches?”

“You’ve met my mother.”

“Yeah, and while she came across as harsh, I can’t imagine her letting something like that go unattended. How old were you when it happened?”

I couldn’t let him think my mother had been neglectful. If I’d gotten a cut as deep as this one as a child, my mother would have had me in an ER before I so much as got a drop of blood on the floor. “I was a teenager. I don’t think she realized how bad it was.”

His eyes turned serious. “That’s an odd scar for a cookie cutter, Maggie. How did you really get it?”

“I’m not examining the scar on your leg to make sure it matches the diameter of a nail,” I said in an ugly tone. “Am I a suspect?”

“What?” he asked in disbelief. “No.”

“Then why all the questions?”

“Is it really so hard for you to believe that someone could just care about you? No agenda?”

“Yes.” I hadn’t meant to say it, but it was true.

He inched closer and sadness washed over his face. “Who hurt you so badly that you don’t believe you can be loved?”

I jolted off the bed, tugging the sheet with me. “And now you’re a psychologist. Just a jack-of-all-trades, huh?”

Brady watched me with his eagle eyes. “No, but I know when someone’s been hurt, and your wounds go deep, Magnolia Steele.”

“This is just a fling, Brady. So let’s just keep to the superficial stuff, okay?”

I’d said it to hurt him, and the look in his eyes told me I’d succeeded. A momentary wave of guilt washed over me, but he was too smart for my own good, and he cared too much.

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