“Quite a few people died that night. One of them was a man named Sam Cotter. He’d been holding the place together, but he got bit,” said Sean. “There’s been a lot of internal fighting since then. Seems like he was the only person that could get everyone to agree. Since then, the welcome mat hasn’t exactly been laid out to new comers.”
At the end of Main Street they turned left. The police station was surrounded by flowering bushes. A man with a sawn-off shotgun stood outside the front door on guard duty. Not so normal or pretty.
“Why do they need a guard?” she asked.
Sean shot her a look she couldn’t read. The guard nodded to Sean and held the door open. Inside it looked like a typical country police station. A counter and some chairs, and beyond was an office area. Lots of white walls and filing cabinets, a collection of old wanted signs. Off to the side, she could just make out the bars of a cell. Sean carried her straight through. Behind a desk a handsome blond young man sat cleaning a gun. But more importantly, where was Nick?
“Put me down, please,” she asked.
“Hey, Finn.” Carefully Sean set her down on her feet, holding her elbow steady while she found her feet. Sean was nice. “She wants to see him.”
“Why?” asked the cute, albeit serious, blond. His face was curious but not unfriendly. How refreshing.
Knees wobbling, she circumnavigated the Viking. Nick sat on the wide cot pushed up against one wall, his chin braced on his hands, staring off at nothing. Giddy delight filled her at seeing him.
“Nick?”
He blinked and turned his head. He didn’t smile back at her. “Roslyn. What are you doing here?”
A new big black bruise took up half his temple, sitting out in a swollen lump. He made no move to come to her, just sat on the stupid mattress giving her closed looks.
Like she couldn’t read him by now.
“What the hell happened to your face?” she yelled.
Nick sighed. He rose and strolled toward her, bracing a hand on the bars. “Calm down. It’s not like you haven’t done worse.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Don’t pout.” His fingers stroked over hers, wrapped around a length of cold metal. This was ridiculous. Unacceptable. “How are you feeling?”
“Why are you in here?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
“I wasn’t supposed to come back,” he said. “But, you know, this cell is better than being shot on sight. What are you doing out of bed, hmm? You still look really pale.”
“I’m fine.”
He frowned at her. Why not? People had been frowning at her all day. She’d started to get used to it. Hell, she frowned right back at him. “They threatened to shoot you on sight and you willingly chose to come here?”
He just looked at her.
“Ms Stewart.” The pretty blond man who’d been cleaning the gun stood close by, his mouth a set in an unhappy line. “Nick informed us he kidnapped you and held you against your will.”
“Nick!” She turned back to the idiot in the cell, moving too fast. Her head felt topsy-turvy. “That was personal. How could you tell them that?”
“It’s the truth,” he said calmly, like he was resigned to his dire circumstances. People heading to the chopping block probably had a similar joie de vivre. “What I did was wrong.”
“What you did is between us. I can’t believe you.”
The pretty blond cleared his throat. “Ah, Ms Stewart—”
And honestly, she’d had enough of this shit. More than enough of it. “Open the door. Let him out. He didn’t hurt me. Though I may hurt him.”
She doubted that, but it was beside the point. The idiot was trying to separate them. Now, after everything. “Shut. Up. Nick. The adults are talking.”
Nick gave her another less-than-impressed look. “Ros.”
“I’m serious. You’ve said enough this year.” The world went wonky and she swayed, hip banging into the bars. “Whoa.”
“Get her a chair,” said Nick.
“No,” she said with vehemence. Because for all the supposed intelligent life forms surrounding her just then, not one of the three men were making a shitload of sense. “Open the door. If you won’t let him out then I’m going in.”