Hold on to Me by Linda Winfree Page A

five-minute relaxation technique was the only thing he’d gotten out of a three-date relationship with the yoga instructor at the local Y.
    It wasn’t working.
    He still wanted a cigarette and couldn’t clear his mind of budget figures, crime scene photos or Miss Lauree’s sobs. Worse, the light rain on the CD made him think of Caitlin. Rain always brought her to mind, but the thoughts weren’t pleasant this time. Memories of her pushing him away mingled with fear of what had caused the changes he saw in her.
    She looks like she can’t stand to be in her own skin.
    With Tori’s words echoing in his head, any relaxation he’d achieved evaporated. He rubbed at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Tori had nailed what he’d been seeing and been afraid to name. In his experience, the look Caitlin wore, the tension she carried, arose from some horrific event. What trauma caused the icy shadows in her eyes?
    He had too much familiarity with every awful act that could be inflicted on a woman, and his mind insisted on conjuring terrible scenarios in realistic detail—screams, bruises, terror. His stomach turned, a slow, sick roll.
    Not Caitlin. Not that.
    With a curse, he rested his elbows on the desk and buried his head in his hands. Whatever had happened, she was dealing with it alone. Pride and stubbornness he understood, and she wouldn’t want anyone to see her healing process as weakness.
    Didn’t she get that he wasn’t just anyone?
    Protectiveness stirred in him. He wanted to be there, to be the one person she could trust. He wanted to be her stability, a sanctuary she could hold on to when the memories and the horror became too much. A deep shudder traveled through him.
    A rap at the door broke the quiet. He didn’t raise his head. “It’s open.”
    The hinges squeaked, and the cacophony of voices and a ringing phone flooded the room. Footsteps clicked on his office floor. He didn’t need to look up to know who closed the door, shutting out the noise again. Lord, he could feel her. He rubbed slow circles over his aching temples.
    “Tick?” Caitlin’s husky voice sent soft shivers along his spine. “Are you all right?”
    Sanctuary. He wanted to hold on to her as much as he wanted to stand strong for her. The real note of concern made him want to lie in the dark somewhere with her and spill all his worries and insecurities, her arms and that voice wrapped around him. Man, he was in bad shape.
    Leather creaked, and the sound of rain swelled around them, thunder rumbling. “Not really, but I’ll survive.”
    In the dimness, he could make out the outline of her form across from him, but not the expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”
    He laughed and leaned back to scrub his hands down his face. “It would be easier to tell you what’s not. Four dead girls, no leads. You think it might be a cop. The county commission wants us to cut our budget further, and it’s already so tight that…” He let the words trail away, irritated by his own self-pity. “Hell. I shouldn’t have left the bureau.”
    She leaned forward and his ears picked up the whisper of silk against skin. “Why did you?”
    “Because…” How to articulate that? How to put his stupid idealism into words she would understand? “Because it’s home, and the people here deserve real service and protection. Because I owed it to Daddy to make sure that once the men who killed him were out of power, a decent department took their place.”
    “Are you doing that?”
    “I’m trying.”
    “Then you did the right thing.” Although he couldn’t see her genuine smile, he knew it was there nonetheless, and the surge of warmth she sent through him with her approval had a frightening intensity.
    Be careful, Lamar Eugene. Not like she hasn’t kicked you in the balls before.
    He pushed up from the chair and skirted the desk to hit the lights. A cold fluorescent glare flooded the room, and the air of intimacy disappeared. Caitlin