Unbreak My Heart (20 page)

"That you're right?"

He nodded.

"Stephen, we talked about this. You don't enjoy it, but sometimes even you have to admit that you might be wrong."

"I'm not wrong about this," he insisted.

"I don't think I like you like this," she complained.

"The whole idea was to make you like me before you saw this side of me," he claimed. "And I'm giving you good advice, Allie."

"Maybe," she conceded, growing more uneasy by the minute. "But why are you so insistent about this? You don't even want me to
talk
about the shelter with anyone yet?"

"I think it would be better if you didn't."

"Why? What do you think's going to happen?"

"I'm nervous about the letter you got," he admitted. "I think it would be best if you kept quiet about everything for a while."

"That's it?"

He looked decidedly uneasy. She felt like the whole situation was about to take a bizarre turn, one she wouldn't like.

"What's going on here?" she asked softly.

"I don't know. That's why I want you to be careful."

"Why do I think you do know, Stephen? Why do I think there's so much more to this than you're telling me?"

She thought about it, how he just wouldn't let go of this, how he kept pushing when it came to the shelter. Everything came back to her sister. It always had. Why Megan left, why she stayed away. Stephen didn't want Allie telling people about the shelter, didn't want people talking about it. What did he think she'd hear? What did he know?

"Have you told me everything you know about Megan's disappearance?"

One look into his eyes, and she knew. Dammit, she knew.

"God," she said. "I don't believe you."

She shoved past him and headed down the hall. He followed her, stopping her at the front door, his arm extended, palm flat against the door, effectively trapping her between his body and the door.

"Just listen to me, Allie."

"I have listened to you, and what have you told me? You told me about all these things you just don't know—"

"I don't."

She felt so stupid, so very stupid. "And now you want me to listen while you spin some more lies for me?"

"I haven't lied to you." He slipped an arm around her from behind, drawing her gently against him and wrapping his arms around her waist, the back of her body flush against the front of his. He was a tall man, broad through the shoulder, his arms strong and powerful, his touch ever so gentle.

"You drove my sister out of town the day she disappeared, and you didn't tell me. People suspected you'd done away with her, and you didn't tell me that, either."

"I didn't tell you everything I knew, but I didn't lie to you. I won't."

"And you think there's a difference?" She shoved back against him, to dislodge him, so she could open the door, but he held her fast.

"Listen to me," he whispered, his lips against her ear. "I can help you. I can figure this thing out, if you'll just give me a little time. I want the answers, too, Allie."

"You?"

"Yes, me. I cared about your sister." He turned her to face him. "Not like
that.
I never saw her as anything but a girl who'd always lived next door to me. That's it. And I've felt guilty about her death for years. So if there's anything to find out, I want to do it."

"And what am I supposed to do?" she said. "Wait for you to take care of everything?"

"I'd feel better if you did."

"It so happens I don't give a damn how you feel."

"You'd be safer that way, Allie."

"And your big concern here is my safety?"

"Yes."

"No. You just want me to be quiet and not ask any questions that make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not the one you have to worry about," he insisted.

"Then who? If I'm in such danger, tell me who I'm supposed to be so afraid of?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Of course." Allie laughed. "How did I know you were going to say that? You know I'm in danger, so much so that I shouldn't even ask any questions about anything to do with my sister, but you don't know who's out to get me."

"I don't. If I did, I could deal with it. But right now, I don't know, and I'm worried about you. Could we leave it at that, please?"

"No,
we
couldn't," she shot back.

"Allie—"

"Tell me," she said.

"I won't."

"What?"

"I won't. I can't."

Allie gaped at him, fury rushing through her. The next second her palm connected solidly with the side of his face, the sound echoing through the corridor. The blow turned his head to the left. Her handprint came up red on his cheek, and for another long minute, they just stared at each other.

She couldn't believe what she'd done. She didn't think she'd ever struck another human being in her entire life, and yet she was still furious enough to want to do it again. She'd believed him! About everything!

"Tell me," she said. "Dammit, just tell me!"

Her hand came up again, and he caught her by the wrist to keep her from landing another blow. She struggled against him for a minute, frustrated beyond belief and started yelling.

"Stop it! Allie, stop it!"

He was much stronger than she was. There was no way to fight him and win, though she kept struggling against him, pointless as it was. To her horror, it wasn't long before she felt hot, angry tears running down her cheeks. When she was too weak to fight him any longer, he pulled her into his arms.

"Oh, God," she said, trembling, her knees going weak. "I can't believe I did that."

"It's all right. I deserved it."

Stephen's lips found the side of her face, stringing soft kisses along her cheekbone and her brow. Despite all her resolve, Allie sagged against him, exhausted and spent.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Was he? Too stunned at the moment, she couldn't begin to judge. She'd never lost control like that, never been quite that mad. Because she'd trusted him. She'd told him things she'd never told anyone else, believed in him, and now she felt like she didn't even know him. He didn't understand her at all. Not if he could do this.

"You just don't know..." she said.

"What? What don't I know?"

"How awful it is for me to be here. To remember all these things. I've been running from the truth my whole life, Stephen. You're right. I'm scared of it, too. And being here is tearing me apart."

"Okay," he soothed. "I'm sorry."

Allie lifted her head from his shoulder, and a moment later his mouth was on hers. She couldn't have been more surprised, couldn't deny him anything, it seemed. She opened herself up to him so easily, gave herself over to the smooth, slow-building heat between them. He kissed her as if they had all the time in the world, as if he knew just what he was doing, just where he wanted to take her. Maybe he did, she thought. Maybe this was all part of his plan to keep from telling her anything just yet. Maybe he knew how easily he could distract her with his touch.

Poor, little Allie, all alone in the world and scared. Starved for another human being's touch. For a bit of gentle concern. For strong arms around her, so she wouldn't be so afraid. Every bit of that was true, she acknowledged bitterly, pulling away from him. She saw dark, compelling eyes looking down at her, little lines of tension at the corners of his eyes and his mouth, a grim set to his jaw.

"I'm sorry," he said bleakly. "And I truly don't want you to get hurt."

"Stephen, I've lived my whole life with someone who wouldn't tell me anything, all in the name of protecting me."

"Allie." He reached for her again.

"Don't." She held up both hands to ward him off. "Not anymore. Not today."

"If you could just trust me a little bit, I could find the truth for you."

"That would be a first," she said wearily, bitterly. "No one else has ever told me the truth."

He reached for her one last time, but Allie slipped out the door and ran into the street. She got lucky. There was a cab, and she slid into it. It pulled away from the curb just as he came outside, and she couldn't help but watch him, standing there watching her, until the cab turned a corner and he disappeared from her sight.

God, help me,
she prayed. There was still a part of her that wanted to believe every word that came out of his beautiful mouth. Another part just as determined not to let go of any of this. Not her need to find out what happened to her sister, not her determination to make the shelter work.

She just didn't know how she was going to come out of it with a whole heart.

* * *

Stephen stood at the curb, swearing as he watched the cab pull away and disappear from sight. He couldn't believe he'd so thoroughly lost control of the situation.

The woman was giving him fits, nearly as much as the situation. The private investigator digging into her sister's so-called accident, the mysterious letter writer, the fact that she was in that house. It was no telling what she might find there. And she was remembering. He hadn't been able to get his father to say exactly what might be inside Allie's head for her to recall. She would not let go of the idea of turning her house into a runaway shelter, and now there was the mysterious boy who showed up at her house.

Casey Adams didn't exist, as far as Stephen could determine. So who the hell was he? Stephen tried to reassure himself that his father wouldn't have sent a kid to deal with Allie. Still, the whole thing made him uneasy as hell.

And now Allie didn't trust Stephen at all.

He swore yet again. He'd just wanted to stop this shelter idea before it got out. Before his father heard about it. That's all he meant to do today.

And he'd blown it.

He raked a hand through his hair and wondered how one woman could so thoroughly throw him off balance. Could make him feel so guilty and at the same time... he liked her. He genuinely liked her.

He'd told her things he'd never told anyone. About being lonely. About knowing he'd been a grave disappointment to his father his entire life.

Which made it even worse that he couldn't tell her the things that truly mattered here: that his father was under the distinct impression that Stephen was working for him right now, that Allie was a little problem Stephen was
handling.
That Stephen was starting to fear that if someone was responsible for her sister's death, it was someone named Whittaker.

* * *

Allie sat in the cab with tears streaming down her face. Thankfully the driver pretended not to notice. He kept his gaze firmly on the road ahead and inquired politely about where she'd like to be taken. She looked around and realized they were near downtown. Mitch Wilson's restaurant and bar were near downtown.

"Vine Street?" she said. "I'm not sure of the street number, but the restaurant is called Mitch's on Vine."

"Sure thing, miss."

Glancing at her watch, she saw that it wasn't quite seven and doubted they'd be open, unless they catered to the fancy coffee and bagel crowd. Allie decided to try it anyway.

His restaurant was pretty, full of polished wood and all sorts of greenery. It wasn't open, but she caught an employee going inside, and the man let Allie in and offered to find Mitch for her.

Allie was standing by the front window, staring out into the street, when she heard footsteps coming up behind her and a man said, "Can I help you?"

She turned around and said, "Mitch Wilson?"

"Yeah. What can I..." All the color drained from his handsome face. He went stark still and closed his eyes for a moment. With equal parts of disbelief and hope, he looked at her again and said one word. "Megan?"

Allie shook her head back and forth and took a step closer to him, so he could see her more clearly. "I'm her sister. Allie."

He gaped at her, leaning back against the bar, as if he were too weak to stand. He was a tall man, handsome, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and at the moment she guessed, unusually pale.

"You knew her in Georgia, fifteen years ago, didn't you?"

He didn't say a word, just struggled to breathe.

"I need to know what happened to her there," Allie said. "And what happened to her here, too. If you know anything about that."

"You're telling me you don't know?"

"No." Allie shook her head. "We never knew much about the car accident. Or if my parents knew, they didn't tell me, and they're both dead now. And I was so young when she ran away from here."

"She didn't say much about this place," he said. "And I learned to stop asking questions about her a long time ago."

"What do you mean you learned to stop asking questions about her?"

He turned his head to the right and fingered the long, faint scar running down the side of his jaw. "I learned my lesson."

"Someone did that to you?" Allie couldn't believe it.

The man nodded.

"When?"

"A few months after she died."

"Because you were asking questions about Megan?"

He nodded.

"Oh, my God. Who?"

"He didn't give his name, just sent a couple of his friends to deliver his message. Megan was dead and buried. End of story."

"I don't understand."

"Neither did I," he said, his face impassive.

"So, you just let it go? Just like that?"

"Those men put me in the hospital," he said. "They said the next time, they'd put me in the morgue, and I tended to believe them."

"But—"

"Like they said, Megan was dead. I decided to let her go."

"You thought they were going to kill you?" Allie thought that was what he meant, but she had to hear it for herself in order to believe it.

"Yes," he said.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. Despite all the odd things—the mysterious letter, the fact that someone else was looking through the records and the doctor who seemed to be lying—it was hard to believe anyone would threaten to kill someone because he was asking questions about her sister's death.

Allie watched with wide eyes as Mitch came closer. He put his hand to her face. She trembled, but stood her ground.