Free Burn 2 by Dawn Steele Page B

driver as Devon wrenches open the door and rushes into the bakery. The aroma of freshly baked pastries wafts to his nostrils, but the last thing on his mind is food. He scans the patrons at the tables.
    Come on, come on, Abby, be here.
    Then he spots her just as Pat enters through the revolving doors. Abby is seated at a corner table with an older man whom he presumes to be her father. Devon rushes over to them.
    “Abby!” he says.
    He looks at the two of them with anxious eyes, perusing Abby for any signs of maltreatment. Then he casts a wary glance at her father, the man Pat told him is named Gunner Holt. A multimillionaire. A sugar baron. A man he knows nothing about but has speculated on everything from arson to the rape of his own daughter.
    “Devon!” Abby appears to be very thankful that he is here.
    “Abby, are you all right?” Devon has to tear his eyes away from Gunner Holt, who looks inexplicably sad.
    “I’m OK.” Abby grabs his arm. She doesn’t introduce the two of them. “My father and I have reached an amicable solution, haven’t we?”
    Her tone is slightly on edge.
    Her father doesn’t acknowledge this. His eyes flit away.
    “Then there is nothing more for me to say here,” Abby declares, getting up. “This is finished. Come on, Devon, let’s go.”
    Devon is simultaneously relieved and bewildered. Abby seizes his arm and walks him toward the exit. She nods at Pat Chalmers.
    “Good to see you here.”
    “We have to talk,” Pat says.
    “Yes, but not here.”
    The three of them march to the exit, and it isn’t until they are on the sidewalk that Abby visibly relaxes.
    “What happened?” Devon demands.
    She sighs. “It’s a long story, one that I should have told you, among other things.”
    “ I’m sorry I acted the way I did.”
    “No, you had every right to be mad.”
    He looks back at the door of the Corner Bakery. “Is he going to follow us?”
    “No, he will not,” she says determinedly.

 
CONFESSIONS
     
    After Pat has left, they return to their apartment.
    “Will your father come for you again?” Devon asks Abby.
    She lifts her chin. “No, I don’t think so. We have an understanding. He keeps his part of the bargain and I keep mine.”
    Devon unlocks the door and they go in. It is night now, and it has been one long, tiring day.
    Abby’s knees buckle suddenly and she flops onto the couch before her legs can give way. Her face is drained and her body feels hammered from all angles. There isn’t a shred of energy left in her.
    “Abby?” Devon kneels by her anxiously. “Are you OK? Are you hurt?”
    She knows what he is not so secretly afraid of – her father hurting her. Oh yes, he has hurt me, but not in the way you think .
    “I’m just so tired, Devon. ” Her voice comes out tinny and weak.
    “Let me carry you to bed.”
    He scoops her body up in his strong arms. She lets him. She remembers him doing this the first night she came here, when she was physically hurt and debilitated. She remembers his warmth and comfort when she was still a total stranger to him. Maybe she had fallen in love with him that very first night and she hadn’t realized it.
    He carries her into the bedroom and lays her gently down onto the bed.
    “You want to take your clothes off?” His voice is gentle, not seductive. Now he is playing the role of the solicitous boyfriend.
    “OK,” she says in a small voice.
    She lets him take off her shoes, and then her jeans. She sits up as he tugs her shirt off her head. He pauses at her brassiere and panties.
    “Do you want to leave those on?” he asks.
    “For a while.” She is too tired to undo the clasps herself.
    He covers her with the blanket. His gestures are tender and loving. His face wears an expression of worried calm. She knows why he is feeling this way. Their outburst this morning remains unresolved, and the specter of his incrimination weighs heavily in the room.
    He sits by the bed for a moment. Their hands creep to each