Free Hiding His Witness by C. J. Miller Page A

when the hot water ran over her scalp. She pressed her lips together and remained quiet, knowing Reilly was trying to sleep on the other side of that door. After all he had done, he deserved some rest and time away from her. She was grateful he’d kept his word and hadn’t pressed to know more about Mark. Carey didn’t have the energy to discuss him.
    She turned in the shower, letting the hot water soothe her body. The shower felt heavenly. The tiles were snow white and the grout clean, the tub without sticky grunge coating the bottom, the water pressure perfect to massage her back muscles.
    Taking a bottle of shampoo from the ledge, she poured some into her palm and worked it into a thick lather. The contact of the soap to her head stung and her rib cage protested the movements of her arms with pulses of pain. But it felt too good to be this clean, so she ignored her body’s aches. Closing her eyes, she thought of Reilly, of the tenderness of his touch, the kindnesses he’d shown her. If she allowed herself and if her life had been different, falling for him would be easy.
    No. She couldn’t go there. Not now. Maybe not ever. Her life didn’t allow her to play for keeps.
    Ignoring the heaviness in her chest, she rinsed her hair and scrubbed her body quickly, lingering an extra few minutes beneath the hot water.
    Carey turned off the water and stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself in the plush towel Reilly had given her. Even the towels here felt nicer than she’d had in her apartment. They were thick and smelled of fabric softener. After wiping her feet on the bath mat, she scampered to her room and closed the door.
    Inside her duffel she had the one luxury she’d allowed herself to save from her old life—her lingerie. Carey rationalized no one except her would see it beneath the shapeless frump of her clothes. She’d tried to outwardly stifle her femininity, figuring a woman was an easier target for a mugging than a man. But she’d needed something to remind her she was a woman.
    Sliding on her bra and panties, she tugged on her oversize jeans, using her belt to hold them around her waist. But when she reached her arms up to pull her navy-
and-red-striped rugby shirt over her head, she muffled the scream that came to her lips. Pain shot down her spine, exploding across her arms.
    She dropped the shirt and moved toward the bed. If she could lie down and stretch her back, she would be fine. She must have a pinched nerve or a torn muscle.
    But she couldn’t bring herself to move. Every muscle twitch was utterly painful. What should she do? Call out for help? She was standing in Reilly’s bedroom in her jeans and bra. How embarrassing was this?
    She heard movement in Reilly’s bedroom. Was he awake?
    “Reilly?” she called, keeping her voice low. If he didn’t respond to her summons, she would assume he was sleeping and try Plan B. Okay, she didn’t have a Plan B, but she would figure something out. Her mantra played through her mind. “Take it one minute at a time.”
    “Carey?” his gruff voice answered back.
    Grimacing, she spoke. “Umm, I got a little problem.”
    The door to her bedroom banged open in seconds. He swore under his breath at the sight of her bruised body and then averted his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt this badly?”
    She was utterly aware she made an appalling sight with her baggy, worn jeans, bruised body and ratty, uncombed red hair. The dark red hair dye had been on sale at the drugstore and after several washings had turned brighter, like the color of Pebbles Flintstone’s hair—not her intention. Yeah. She was a train wreck. Her humiliation spread from the root of her hair to her toes. “You knew about some of it,” she said lamely.
    His eyes glimmered with concern. “What’s wrong?”
    It took her a few moments to process his question. Reilly had stripped out of his dress shirt and tie and had been sleeping in a tight black T-shirt that made it