Up in Flames (19 page)

She just wanted to go home. To be anyplace but here, where she felt like a lost child waiting to be claimed. She wanted to be with someone she knew, not with strangers who looked at her with pity and open curiosity.

She wanted Zane.

The thought startled her, then made her scoff at the pathetic way she’d allowed him to become entrenched in her mind, as if she really meant something to him. As if he might provide real comfort. She was a lingering obligation to him, nothing more.

But one she was willing to take advantage of if it would get her home sooner.

“Can I get you anything?”

Sophie looked up to see one of the young women from the front desk. She straightened in her chair, meeting the woman’s overly sympathetic stare, the one she probably also gave to foundlings and homeless, abused puppies. “Yes, please. Could I use a telephone?”

Zane parked under the front portico of the Greystone Lodge and strode into the lobby, a scowl already in place as he scanned the various seating areas for Sophie. When he didn’t see her, he turned with irritation to the front desk. If she didn’t have the courtesy to sit and wait for him, she better at least have left a message telling him where she was. And if she found a ride with someone else after asking him to drive out here during the middle of the Rockies game . . .

His mental grumblings lurched to a stop. Sophie emerged from a hallway behind the front desk, walking with a young woman in a suit who appeared to be an employee. The woman looked concerned, speaking earnestly as Sophie’s gaze roamed the lobby, then spotted him. A look of relief passed over her face, and she gave him a weary smile.

He didn’t return it. He stared, wasting five whole seconds taking in the oversize maid’s dress; the red scratches on her arms and the slight limp; and the damp, tangled hair. Then with a soft curse, he darted forward, cutting off the startled employee to take Sophie’s arm. He spoke over the woman’s hesitant protest, ignoring her in his concern for Sophie. “What in the hell happened to you?”

“Gee, thanks, you’re looking good, too.”

He didn’t think his question had been out of line, considering her odd clothes and the angry red scratches, but decided not to elaborate. She seemed to be walking steadily, although he didn’t know how, since it looked like she’d fallen into a briar patch and had had to push her way through it. He assumed the plastic bag dangling from one hand held her clothes. Her shoes were scuffed and muddy, dirt streaked the underside of her arm, and one hand was wrapped in white gauze. Her neck sported a bandage amidst several angry red lines. She hadn’t hinted at any of it on the phone.

He stopped her, standing in her way when she tried to keep moving. “Sophie, what happened?”

“I told you on the phone. I had an accident.”

“You said you hadn’t been hurt.”

“I wasn’t. Not in the accident. Most of this was afterward, and it’s superficial.” She tried to step around him, but he tightened his grip on her arm, unwilling to settle for vague answers. She gave him an impatient look. “Zane, can we just go?”

“Not unless you want to go directly to the hospital, because you look like hell and you’re not telling me everything. I don’t know what injuries you might be hiding.”

She must have heard the anxiety in his voice, because she took another look at him and sighed with resignation. As she leaned closer, he caught a whiff of pine sap from her hair. “Look, can we just get out of here? I’m not seriously injured, and I’ll tell you all about it in the truck, but these people have been hovering, trying to get all the juicy details, and I feel like the main exhibit in a freak show. I just need to get home. Please.”

Her eyes were steady on his, but beneath his hand, her arm trembled. It was that shaking that got to him. Sophie always stood up to danger, chin thrust forward and attitude dialed up. She never ran away, even when she should. If something had her this upset, he was all for getting her out of there.

Before he could take a step, the concierge approached, his gaze darting nervously to Zane as he stepped in front of Sophie. “Was there something you needed, miss? The police told my manager we should keep you comfortable.” The man’s gaze pinned Zane as he said the word
police
.

What the hell? They acted like he was taking her against her will.

She saw it, too, and managed a reassuring smile. “No, thanks. My friend here is going to take me home.”

The man gave him a skeptical look, but stood aside. Zane supposed he should be glad people were looking out for her, but their suspicion reinforced the general attitude of the town toward him, and he was getting tired of it. With a piercing look, he said, “Excuse us.” When the man hesitated, he pushed ahead, forcing him to step hastily aside. He felt the concierge’s gaze on his back all the way to the doors. Holding the large glass door open for Sophie, he kept one hand on her elbow as she stepped outside, making sure he could catch her if her tired feet gave out.

It was a good thing he was prepared. She stumbled as they stepped from the sidewalk to the drive, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, tucking her firmly against his side. “Jesus, Sophie, let me help. Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“It’s not that bad, really. I’m just tired.” She pulled away, as if embarrassed that she needed help.

He held on. “I know, you don’t need anyone’s help. But let me—”

“Thorson! Hold it right there!”

He lifted his head and nearly stumbled himself as alarm shot through him. Twenty feet away, a uniformed cop stood at stiff attention, his body taut and his expression grim. One hand moved to rest on the holstered gun at his hip. “Let her go,” he ordered. “Miss Larkin, it’s okay, just move away from him.”

The first instant of shock was followed by anger pushing up from a place deep inside that never seemed to cool off. It never got the chance, not the way the B-Pass police piled one insulting assumption on top of another. His sense of pride flared red hot with the need to lash back at one more public humiliation—exactly the wrong instinct to entertain when confronted with a nervous, angry cop, he told himself. No matter how much it galled, the smartest thing he could do was to follow instructions.

Biting back his fury, Zane slowly released Sophie’s arm, keeping his hands high and away from his body. “Do as he says,” he said to Sophie, low and steady.

Sophie frowned. “No.”

He prodded her. “Sophie . . .”

“Sir! Don’t touch her.” The cop moved his finger, unsnapping the strap that kept his gun in place.

Jesus. “Walk away from me,” he hissed to Sophie. The last thing he needed now was for her to tap into her core of stubborn indignation.

“I will not.” The words were clipped and decisive, as if her painfully stretched patience had just snapped. Drawing herself straighter, she stepped toward the policeman, anger steadying her steps. “What’s wrong with you people?” she demanded, sounding like a mother reprimanding a child. “He’s not doing anything wrong.”

Shit! Her damn social conscience. It would cause a lot less trouble for both of them if she’d just let everyone hate him as usual.

The cop looked annoyed, but didn’t relax his stance. “Ma’am, I understand you’re biased toward this man, but with all due respect, someone just threatened your life and you can’t identify the man. Mr. Thorson is a person of interest.”

Someone threatened Sophie’s life? The words raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He didn’t dare move, but he stole a glance at her, taking in the rips and scratches, weighing them against this new information. She
had
been hiding something. Had she struggled with someone? Had there even been a car accident, as she’d claimed?

Anxiety over what had happened to her warred with his fear of triggering the cop’s unease. As much as he wanted to take her by the shoulders, reassure himself that she was all right, then shake the truth out of her, he didn’t dare move. Not while the cop’s itchy finger hovered over his gun.

Apparently Sophie didn’t suffer from any such concerns. Stepping in front of him, she muttered a swear word strong enough to make Zane blink with surprise. “I might not know who that man was, but I know who he wasn’t,” she snapped. “It wasn’t the spider kid and it sure as hell wasn’t Zane Thorson!” She’d raised her voice by the end of it, shaking with anger.

His mind spun, trying to keep up. Spider kid—another reference that proved she hadn’t given him a hint of the whole story here. But his first concern was to get her out of the line of fire should things take a bad turn. At the moment, it seemed all too possible.

“Damn it, Sophie,” he growled between clenched teeth. “Just stand aside.” His hands itched to forcibly move her, but the cop would probably take it as an attack. He couldn’t even feel grateful that she had put herself between him and possible danger. If anything, it was one more bit of humiliation to know that
she
had to protect
him
.

He eased sideways to give the anxious cop a clear shot at him if he wanted it, without going through Sophie. The man was obviously unhappy with the situation, but Zane suspected his frown was for Sophie, who was ruining his big capture. “With all due respect, ma’am, you told me the man wore a ski mask, and he never spoke. You can’t know for sure who it was.”

A man in a ski mask?
What in the hell had Sophie Larkin gotten herself into?

“Look,” she said, her eyes blazing. “I’m the only witness you’ve got, and I’m telling you it wasn’t Zane.”

He could tell it had some effect, but not enough. “Then why is he here, trying to get you to leave with him?”

“Because I asked him to!”

The cop’s eyes finally left Zane, staring at her in disbelief. “You called
Thorson
?” As if he should be anyone’s last choice.

“Yes. I called Thorson.” She spit his words back in a tone that dared him to do something about it, making Zane swear under his breath. In his experience, the cops didn’t put up with nasty attitudes. Of course, his experience was limited to his own family, who weren’t known for being levelheaded and law abiding. He hoped the guy was willing to make allowances for Sophie having been pushed past her emotional limits.

“You want to arrest him for being an ass,” she continued, “go right ahead. I can testify to that. Otherwise, he’s driving me home.”

Jesus
, he thought.
Way to negotiate.
Sweat broke out beneath his shirt.

The cop quirked an eyebrow at him, taking his measure. Probably trying to decide if being an ass might somehow be against the law.

Zane gave him the universal male shrug: Women. Who can understand them? Then he waited. In the tense silence, he counted heartbeats. One. Two. Three. Sophie stuck her hands on her hips, ready to launch into a new tirade.

The cop dropped his hand away from his gun.

Zane exhaled. Stepping forward, he laid his hand on her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.” He turned her gently toward the truck, and to his surprise she didn’t resist. Her eyes still sparked with anger, and her arms trembled, the leftovers from her adrenaline-fueled rage. With all that energy still buzzing through her system, he didn’t want to provoke her.

He opened the passenger door, ready to help her in, but she put enough vicious force into climbing in and yanking the shoulder strap in place that he kept his distance. No sense in getting his head bitten off.

Getting behind the wheel, he pulled away as quickly as he could, watching the cop in the rearview mirror. The guy stood with hands on his hips and a dark scowl on his face as he stared at Zane’s taillights. Probably annoyed that he’d had to let a Thorson get away.

He glanced at Sophie. Her lips were pressed together and her arms folded as her unfocused gaze stayed glued to the road ahead. He guessed the anger was still subsiding.

Fine, he’d let her collect herself before he asked for the whole story. But he was going to get it, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like it. Everything she did seemed to piss him off, and from all indications, this wouldn’t be any different. “Bad day, huh?” he asked, testing her mood.

He half-expected a snapped response and a go-to-hell look. Instead she gave the slightest nod, barely moving her head, as if anything more might cause her brimming emotions to overflow and drown them both in . . . what? Anger? Indignation? Frustration? He wasn’t sure what the emotional mood was now that they were leaving the cop and the hotel behind.

He glanced at her again before he pulled onto the highway, the spotlit sign for Greystone Lodge filling the cab of his truck with its welcoming light. Her head was back, and her eyes were closed, but her indrawn breath came out shaky and uneven as she lost her battle for control. He watched in shock as, bright and unmistakable, a tear ran down the side of her cheek. Sophie, who never gave in and always fought back, was crying.

Well, hell, this wasn’t even close to what he’d expected.