O'Halloran's Lady. Fiona Brand

blankness of O’Halloran’s gaze made her chest squeeze tight. For the first time, she saw it for what it was, grasped just how deeply O’Halloran had been affected by the loss of his family. It was etched in his face, in the muscle pulsing along the side of his jaw.

      He had not attended the funeral because he had been flat on his back in hospital at the time.

      While he was injured, she had worried about him to the point that she had tried ringing him and, once, had even gone looking for him. She hadn’t found him. Like a wounded animal, O’Halloran had gone to ground. Months later, he had surfaced but had continued to keep his distance.

      Crouching down, she retrieved the cellophane wrap for the flowers and stuffed it in her purse along with the bottle. “I’m sorry, I should know better than to make assumptions.”

      His gaze touched on hers as she straightened, before shifting to a group of mourners drifting past, sweeping the cemetery, with a mechanical precision, as if he was looking for someone. “You’ve had your own grief to deal with. The military is hard on families.”

      She frowned. “How did you know that I came from a military family?”

      His gaze was suddenly way too percipient, reminding her of just how seductively dangerous O’Halloran could be. The last thing she needed was a reminder that aside from possessing the kind of dark, dangerous good looks that made women go weak at the knees, O’Halloran had another set of traits that had always threatened to melt her on the spot. He liked women. He was solicitous of and ultra-protective of them, and he didn’t seem to have a built-in fear of emotional reactions. Nine years ago, after the near miss with the drunk driver, O’Halloran’s offer of a shoulder had proved to be her breaking point.

      He shrugged. “Your family didn’t tell me, they closed ranks. I checked newspaper records and paid a visit to the military base.”

      “Why?” The question was blunt and just a little rude. She didn’t care. Years ago, O’Halloran’s failure to find out the most basic facts about her life, his easy defection, had hurt. In that moment, she realized how much she had deceived herself about him. In her heart of hearts, she had wanted him to come after her, to insist that what they had was worth the risk.

      “I was worried about you. You were too closed-off, too self-contained. I couldn’t figure out why you should be that way. I needed to make sure you were all right.”

      And suddenly, that night nine years ago was between them; the stifling heat, the edgy emotions, her shattering vulnerability. On the heels of the discovery that, like it or not, she had been carrying some kind of a torch for O’Halloran for nine years, the conversation was abruptly too much.

      Glancing at her watch, she picked up her bag and hitched the strap over one shoulder. “I need to go. I’m late for an appointment.” She aimed a blank smile somewhere in the direction of his shoulder. “It was good to see you.”

      And she wished that she hadn’t. After her moment with the cover yesterday, she wasn’t sure what she felt for O’Halloran. All she knew was that his memory was a lot more manageable than the man himself.

      O’Halloran fell into step beside her, making her tense. “I’ll walk you to your car.” His fingers slid around her wrist, sending a hot, tingling shock down the length of her arm. He turned her palm up, so that the grazing was exposed. “How did that happen?”

      Jerking free, she quickened her pace, wincing again as the movement put just a little too much pressure on her knee. Annoyed, Jenna resisted the temptation to rub the knee. The last thing she needed was to invoke O’Halloran’s protective instincts.

      Although, grimly, she noted that if she had thought O’Halloran hadn’t seen the elastic bandage beneath her leggings, she would be wrong. “Nothing much. As it happens, I had another run-in with a car.”

      O’Halloran threw her a sharp look, as if he was as surprised as she that she’d touched on a topic that was so closely connected to the hour they’d spent in his apartment making love. But that didn’t stop him from firing a string of questions at her as they walked, his voice relaxed and low-key, almost casual, although by the time they reached her car he had mined every salient detail.

      “Ticked anyone off lately?”

      She found her key and depressed the lock. “Yeah, a fan.”

      O’Halloran opened the driver’s side door, his arm brushing hers as he did so, sending another one of those small electrifying shocks through her. “Are you telling me,” he said quietly, “that you think the driver aimed for you?”

      Jenna tensed as a replay of the shiny black car heading straight for her at high speed flashed through her mind. “Not exactly, there was no room. If he had swerved he would have hit another car and damaged his own. That’s what saved me. I dived between two cars. What bothers me is that he had a long time to see me and he never slowed down.”

      “It could have been some kid—”

      “Playing chicken. I thought of that.” Her fingers tightened on the strap of her handbag. “The only problem was it didn’t feel like a game.”

      She took a deep breath. Here was the point where O’Halloran called the men in white coats with the interesting drugs and the padded cell. “Whoever it was, I got the impression he wanted to hit me. Even if he had braked seconds before, he still would have hit me, and he didn’t brake.”

      Instead of dismissing her statement as emotional overreaction, O’Halloran crossed his arms over his chest and seemed content to listen. “And the disgruntled fan? Where does she come in?”

      “He,” she corrected. “When I got home I found a threatening email.”

      His expression altered very slightly. Jenna couldn’t even say what it was, exactly, that had changed, just that the temperature seemed to drop by several degrees.

      Briefly, she outlined the content of the email, omitting her own suspicion that the poisonous fan, aside from being someone from her past, could be somehow linked with Natalie. So far, that part was just a theory, and she didn’t want to cause any unnecessary upset. She couldn’t forget that O’Halloran had never believed the house fire that had killed Natalie and Jared had been a random arson. According to her aunt, he’d believed that his family had been targeted because he was a cop, and despite leaving the police force, it was an investigation he had never given up.

      O’Halloran’s gaze settled on her mouth for a pulse-pounding moment. “I’d like to see a copy of the email.”

      Digging into his pocket, he found his wallet and handed her a card. “You can scan it or fax, or alternatively, drop it by my office.”

      Battling the sudden warmth in her cheeks and a humming, deepening awareness that was definitely scrambling her brain, she took the card and slipped it into her handbag. The last thing she had expected was that O’Halloran would want any contact with her at all, and the fact that he seemed to want to help her increased the unsettling awareness. “I’ve deleted the email, but I did keep a print copy. I’ll send it to you.”

      “Did you report the accident?”

      “Not to the police. I talked to one of the mall security guys. He was going to check out the parking lot tapes and get back to me.”

      “What was his name?”

      “Mathews.”

      Another string of questions about the security set-up at the mall and she found herself haemorrhaging more information, including her phone number and email address and eventually handing over Mathews’s business card.

      She drew a deep breath, feeling suddenly too aware and a whole lot confused. Giving her details to O’Halloran shouldn’t have felt like part and parcel of a dating ritual, but suddenly it did. “You don’t have to check up on it.”

      He tucked the card in the pocket of his jeans. “I drive past there on my way to work. It won’t hurt to see if Mathews