Free Dark Memories (The DARK Files Book 1) by Susan Vaughan

crash?”
    She reeled from the pain of his perception. How did he—
    But of course he meant this morning’s crash. Not the other one. He didn’t know about that one. She hoped.
    She exhaled slowly, aiming for nonchalance. “All my disasters seem to involve vehicles. Maybe in a previous life I was a race driver.”
    “Or a bad mechanic.” He cocked his head at her. “When this is over, you might want some help with PTSD.”
    Post-traumatic stress disorder. She knew much more about PTSD than he imagined.
    “You a psychologist now?” She shouldn’t let him see her irritation at his bull’s-eye. She was handling the stress just fine. Except for the nightmares. And the odd panic attack.She fluttered a hand. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
    A smile flickered and vanished. “You getting water?”
    Tugging the T-shirt down to cover as much as she could, she hustled to the sink. “Would you like some?”
    “Sure, if you’re buying.”
    The warm resonance of his voice flip-flopped her stomach. Her unwanted reaction was a warning. She mustn’t let down her protective barriers. She had to fight the attraction. Trying not to stare at his chest, she handed him a glass and turned to go.
    “Sit down. You’re not going to sleep anyway. We need to talk about your extreme driving … adventure.”
    Cole sprawled, one arm stretched along the back, the other propping the glass on his flat belly. Rumpled and heavy-lidded, he looked sensual and decadent. Replace the jelly glass with a wine goblet and bring on the Roman orgy.
    Grabbing one of the pillows he’d kicked onto the floor, she held it in front of her bare legs. She sat in the chair that had hidden her from his burning gaze.
    “Impressive control up there, babe. Worthy of NASCAR. How’d you learn those moves?”
    She shrugged. “I took a defensive driving course a few years ago.” Her counselor had suggested it might cure her fear of driving after the accident. It helped.
    “Being on the street for months, you must have developed a sixth sense for danger. Wasn’t there a brake fluid warning light on the dashboard? I drove you home once because you ignored the low-gas indicator.”
    A heated flush crept up her cheeks at his reminder of her infamous neglect.But this time was different.
    “I bought the car third or fourth-hand in New Jersey at Trusty Tom’s, a shark’s den where neither buyer nor seller asks many questions. I barely made it to Maine. I’ve been having trouble with the dashboard lights, but repairs cost money I don’t have.”
    He swallowed the rest of his water in one gulp. Her pulse quickened at the sight of the Adam’s apple moving in his strong throat.
    “I can’t get over you living underground like this. How’d you get to Jersey?”
    “I hitched.” His brows shot northward at that. Enjoying his reaction, she went on. The topic was a safe one. “Truckers were very helpful. Sometimes I went Greyhound.”
    “Winter must’ve been tough in Maine.”
    He was fishing now. He had no idea where she’d been before Passabec Lake. Unaccountably, that pleased her. “I spent the winter in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, delivering pizza and hooking plastic covers on dry cleaning.”
    “New skills for the anthropologist.” He saluted her with his empty glass.
    “Survival skills. I learned a lot about people. Most were kind. A pawnshop owner in Trenton helped me change the name on my driver’s license from Rossiter to Murphy.”
    “Most were kind. Not all. Guys hassle you?”
    An involuntary shiver quaked her shoulders as his question triggered a memory. “Some men were pretty crude. I left the dry cleaners because the boss had wandering hands. But there was only one time when I was in real danger. I was on the way to buy the car, all my savings in cash in my purse. Two men came out of an alley and tried to mug me.”
    He leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “You got away?”The blanket slipped to show the black waistband of his briefs.