Free Give It All by Cara McKenna

feet. With delicate veins, and well-groomed toenails, surely. Too . . . human.
    She gave him a pointed up-and-down, smiling, and he met her eyes. “Yes?”
    “You look weird, just in a T-shirt and socks. Like you’re naked.”
    “You look strange, out from behind that bar.”
    “You’ve seen me away from there before. When we went after Tremblay.”
    “Indeed. I saw you on the back of Jeremiah Church’s motorcycle that day.”
    She paused. “How’d that make you feel?”
    “You sound like my therapist.” But he seemed to consider it. “I can’t recall how I felt. I got distracted when your charming town’s head of law enforcement struck me in the teeth with his gun.”
    “Fair enough.”
    He held her stare. “I do remember you kneeling beside me, wiping the blood off my face with the hem of your shirt.”
    She smiled. “That’s why I wear black.”
    He sipped his tea.
    “You shouldn’t stay at the Nugget anymore. You should crash with one of us, if you’re sticking around Fortuity.”
    “If? As though I have a choice. The feds wouldn’t be impressed if I skipped town just now. Though trust me—there’s no place I’d rather be farther from.”
    “Good.”
    “But I don’t need protecting, as adorable as your concern is.”
    “How come you came into the bar, so worked up?” she asked, changing tacks. “Doesn’t seem like you, inviting an audience to your mental breakdown or whatever.”
    He didn’t reply, his brow furrowing as though he shared her surprise. He could’ve grabbed a bottle of vodka from one of the two liquor stores up the street, suffered his identity crisis in the privacy of his room. Why Benji’s? On a busy Friday night? She didn’t dare presume it had anything to do with her, with whatever twisted little bond they had. Maybe he’d simply known, deep down, that he’d wind up taking things too far, between the pills and the alcohol, and wanted witnesses. Seemed likely. Self-preservation was this man’s style, more than cry-for-help. She supposed that meant she was giving him what he needed, just now . . . though a silly part of her was disappointed to think it wasn’t personal, his coming to her when he was freaked-out.
    “Maybe,” she said, baiting, “it was because of what happened when Tremblay pistol-whipped you. Maybe that’s why you came to the bar tonight, instead of holing up in your room. Because you knew I’d mop you up.”
    “You read far more humanity into my motives than I dare give myself credit for.”
    Liar.
He was achingly human, she knew that now, beyond a doubt. But she let the
why
of it slide. Duncan had been put to enough screws for the time being. “Can I ask you something?”
    “You may.”
    “You really only took a couple of your pills, right? That wasn’t like a . . . you know. An
attempt
or anything?”
    Those eyes were all at once wide and awake. “What, a suicide attempt? Dear God, no. How insufferably melodramatic.”
    “Okay, good. I know some people’s identities are tied up in their jobs, is all. And, no offense, you seem like one of them.”
    “People aren’t everything they appear,” Duncan said mildly,his attention moving to the screen, to some laugh-tracked sitcom.
    She considered that, knowing he was right. About himself, surely. She’d never have imagined he was a man capable of a panic attack, before tonight. He’d seemed so . . . contained. She thought of Vince, too, and how he advertised as something far harder and more self-serving than he really was. Did his brother have hidden depths? she wondered. Doubtful. For a man whose erstwhile job demanded pure guile, Casey Grossier was a hopelessly open book. Abilene had some shadows to her, though.
    As for Raina herself, she liked to think that what you saw was what you got. Same as Miah. There were simple people, and tricky people. And Duncan was growing trickier by the minute.
    “Have you ever been married?” she asked.
    He met her eyes. “No. Not even