Let Me In. Donna Kauffman

She’d wanted to find out where he’d made camp, and perhaps even pick up the trail of who had gotten to him, as he hadn’t been in any condition since their surprise ambush to do so himself. The more information she gathered on her own, saw firsthand with her own eyes, the better she’d feel. It wasn’t a matter of not trusting Derek, but he operated in a world—once her world—where information was power, and often the line between life and death. He’d share what he knew accordingly, even if he thought his choices were governed by his concern for her best interests. She’d been fully in charge of her own best interests for some time now, and she had no intention of giving up any of that power unless absolutely necessary.

      The storm and winds were fierce enough to make any tracking after the fact close to impossible, but she’d also been well aware of her physical limitations, and she knew just getting back to the cabin was going to exhaust what little energy she’d had left at that point. It was with regret that she’d turned around, but with the promise that she’d head back out after the storm to see if there was any salvageable track left to follow.

      She absently massaged her left thigh, even though the steel rod that was in there now wasn’t exactly going to respond to any amount of rubbing she could do. The muscle tissue wrapped around that rod needed constant coaxing and care to stay limber and flexible. Her muscles were strong now, and she was more resilient than she’d ever thought she’d be again. But there were limitations, and some of them would never be surmounted. It was a compromise she’d accepted.

      But she wasn’t the average person, living the average life. No matter how badly she’d like to think she was. Not before, and apparently not ever. The proof of which was currently taking up residence in her bed.

      As if summoned by her thoughts, he called out not a second later. “Done.”

      She dragged her gaze from the picture window and her thoughts inward along with it, gathering her strength, and her wits. She’d need both for what was about to come. “Okay,” she called back, hearing the fatigue in her voice, knowing she was going to have to find some way to mask it. She pushed her chair back. The time had come to find out what was going on. And what it was going to take to re-secure her life here.

      She topped off her herbal tea and poured Derek a cup of coffee. She breathed in the rich scent, sorely tempted to relax her self-imposed limits on her daily intake. The punch of caffeine would be welcome, but during recovery she’d learned that it would also leave her jittery and unable to relax, much less sleep. She’d initially thought to eliminate it all together, but eventually she’d found a balance. It was harder, possibly, to maintain, but as a constant test of discipline, which was vital if she was to maintain her hard-won rejuvenation, it wasn’t such a bad thing, all in all.

      She carried both mugs into the bedroom, then immediately put them on the dresser top so she could intercept his shaking attempts to put his food tray back on the night stand. “If you couldn’t wait for me to take it, you could have just set it on the bed next to you.”

      He didn’t apologize or look remotely repentant. It almost made her wish he was still in a drugged stupor. Derek with all his faculties in order was going to demand much more control on her part. Unfortunately, he needed all his faculties in order for her to get the information she needed.

      “I didn’t want to slosh it on the bedspread,” he said by way of explanation.

      “If you’d eaten all of it, there wouldn’t be anything to slosh.”

      “I got more of it down than I thought I would.”

      She set the tray on the dresser and picked up the mugs. “Is that commentary on my cooking?”

      “No, just commentary on the state of my body.”

      She started to hand him the coffee, but handed him the tea instead. “You might want to stick with this, then, at least for the time being.”

      He looked down in the weak brown contents. “Tea.” He looked up at the mug in her hand. “I smell coffee.”

      She set the mug on the dresser, next to his uneaten soup. “When you can finish your food, then we’ll talk about coffee. Your system needs the former more than the latter.”

      “Nurse Ratched,” he grumbled, but she noted he sipped the tea. She tried not to think about the fact that it was her mug he was putting his lips on, because it was completely ridiculous to even go there, but go there her thoughts did.

      She purposely kept her gaze off his mug of coffee. She needed more than a caffeine jolt at the moment. “Let’s just say I know of where I speak, and leave it at that.”

      His gaze lifted to hers, but he didn’t say anything. She fervently prayed it stayed that way. She had no plans to discuss anything about her life here, her recovery, any of it, with him. “Tell me, from the beginning, what happened that led you to come all the way out here to stalk me.”

      “I wasn’t stalking you. I was observing you.”

      “Why not just contact me directly?”

      “I needed to make certain you weren’t part of…”

      When he didn’t continue, she walked around to his side of the bed. “Part of what?”

      Derek sighed and briefly closed his eyes. For a moment she thought he was succumbing, once again, to either his injuries, the drugging, or both. But just as she moved forward, he opened his eyes. “Things have changed within the agency since you’ve left. Nothing is the same, and I don’t know who to trust.”

      She had no idea what she’d expected him to say, something about CJ contacting him and him being concerned about what connection she might play in that startling discovery that her former partner was still alive. But this…was entirely unexpected. “What do changes in the agency have to do with CJ still being alive? I thought that was what drove you to come out here and drag me back into a world I very specifically left behind.”

      He stared into her eyes for a long moment, then closed his again. “It’s a long story, Tate.”

      She folded her arms. “I find I have the time. And you’re certainly not going anywhere.”

      He let out another long breath, then looked at her again. “Go and get a chair, or something. This might take awhile. And it will be easier on us both if you’re at least comfortable while I tell you and not glowering over me.”

      “I’ve a right to glower. And you will tell me everything, Derek. And when you’re done, you’ll answer all my questions. You came to me, not the other way around, so—”

      “I’ll answer what I can.”

      “You’ll answer what you know. Not what you choose. It’s my life that’s being put in jeopardy here, if the condition you arrived in is any indication, so any trust issues you might have, get over them.” She walked over to the stuffed chair in the corner and dragged it over to the side of the bed. She sat, masking the relief that the comfort of getting off of her feet and sitting on something soft, gave to her. She shouldn’t have had to worry about exposing her weaknesses or vulnerabilities, even to him, maybe especially to him, who’d seen her at her lowest, most vulnerable point, but she’d been too well trained to reveal anything she didn’t need to. “If it eases your mind any, since the day I left the rehabilitation wing of the hospital, I have not been in any kind of contact, in any manner whatsoever, with anyone connected to, or pertaining to, my former life, in any way, shape, or form. And certainly not my heretofore dead partner.” It sounded harsh, saying it like that, but the truth was, she still hadn’t—couldn’t—fully process, in any real way, that CJ was alive.

      She had his full attention now, his gaze tightly focused on her own. It was a visceral thing, his full attention, even when he was injured and laid up in bed. She found herself shifting back in her seat, almost bracing herself.

      “As far as you know, anyway,” he said.

      “What on earth does that mean?” she demanded, sitting forward again. “I’m very well aware of who I’m