The woman in front of him was about as likely to open up to him as she had been five years ago. She’d changed, but not that much.
He had to touch her, though. Just had to. Unable to resist, he reached out and cupped her face. Rubbed his thumb over the scar.
She scowled. “Would you stop touching it? I know it’s uglier than hell, but you’re a big boy—you should be used to seeing ugly shit by now. You should be able to manage not to stare.”
Caleb narrowed his eyes. “Ugly.” Then he laughed, but there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot of humor in the sound. There was no humor about this situation at all, unless it was the irony of fate.
“Destin, there’s nothing ugly about you…and you know it.”
For a long, tense moment, she stared at him and then Destin turned her head, hiding the scar from him.
She knew no such thing. Once upon a time, there hadn’t been anything ugly about her—physically. Something she’d taken far too much pride in.
Her beauty and her gift. It was a screwed-up ability and one she’d loathed almost as much as she prided herself about. It was painful and she died a little inside every time she had to use it but when she did use it, she was able to do miraculous things. Granted, the miracle came from a place of pain and suffering and she suffered through it each time, but so what?
That had always been her line of thinking. She suffered, and the victims she connected with suffered, but through their suffering, she was able to save them. It sucked that the connection never came sooner, but that was life.
Right?
Up until the time she’d messed up so very badly.
Destin didn’t trust herself anymore, she didn’t trust her gift, and that scar served as a reminder of her failure.
An ugly reminder. She made herself look at it every day when she got out of bed.
“We’ve got a job to do, Caleb,” she said quietly, making herself look at him.
There was something in his eyes—something that made her want to squirm with nervousness. A curiosity. A wondering.
She pulled away from him and opened the door.
This time, she was the one who didn’t want to break the heavy silence, and even though he tried to start a conversation a few times, she tuned him out.
Caleb was usually pretty happy to be a filter. When working in close contact with a psychic or empath, he was able to help them filter most of the extraneous data so they could lock on the important details easier. It sounded complicated but it was pretty simple and although there were unpleasant aspects, it was a necessary skill. It helped. It wasn’t as flashy as the telepathy or as impressive as the ghost whisperers, and he’d never be one of the bloodhounds who drove the unit, but he did his part and he knew it.
Right then, though, he would have given quite a lot to have a more direct psychic skill. At least enough to penetrate Destin’s thick skull and figure out what was going on inside that head of hers. Figure out what made those eyes so dark and sad.
I know it’s uglier than hell, but you’re a big boy—you should be used to seeing ugly shit by now.
Ugly—shit, it was just a scar. Wasn’t even that much of a scar, narrow and neat—almost surgically neat. He had scars worse than that one and it didn’t detract from her beauty, but then again, considering the fact that he’d been shit-faced in love with her almost from the beginning, maybe it colored how he saw things.
Nearly an hour later, with that heavy silence still hanging between them, he pulled the car into the hotel where Oz had set them up. It was a Residence Inn, probably the best option since they didn’t know how long this would take, but if it took more than a few days, Oz would be wise to look for something other than a hotel.
Just then, though, it could have been a camping site somewhere up in the mountains and he wouldn’t have cared. As long as he had some time to himself. After those tense hours in the car, wrapped in terse silence, he needed a few minutes.
They could go to their respective rooms, take a few minutes so he could settle and then figure out their game plan.
Except Oz had only gotten them one room.
The desk attendant slid the room keys across the counter and said, “Your room is on the eighth floor—”
“Uh, excuse me…room?” Destin interrupted. “As in one?”
The desk attendant’s polite smile faded a little. “Yes, Ms. Monroe.”
Monroe—the false ID that Destin was using for the job.
Without blinking, without losing his smile, he reached for his wallet. “Ms. Monroe can use that room. Can you put me in another one?”
“I’m sorry, but we’re all booked up. There’s a conference in town, I’m afraid. We’ll have availability coming up once the weekend is over, but for now, this is the only room.” Her smile took on a decidedly strained cast and she offered, “The room is a suite—two separate bedrooms. But it’s the only one available until Monday.”
Two bedrooms. He blew out a controlled, slow breath and then made himself smile. “That will work fine, then.” Liar. He tucked his wallet back into his pocket and took the room keys. “Are you ready, Destin?”
She glared at him.
He stared back.
She finally looked away. There was rage in every line of her body.
Chapter Four
Her hands were sweating.
Destin swiped them across the thin cotton of her pajama pants and told herself to get a grip. Easier said than done. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, her gaze straying to the scar time and again. Maybe she should let her hair grow back out. Chin length, maybe. Or shoulder length. Just long enough that she could use the hair to hide behind a little…
“No.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to hide it, not behind hair, not behind makeup. If she wanted to hide it, she should have taken up the Bureau’s offer to have it surgically repaired. She hadn’t.
She’d gotten used to it. She didn’t even flinch when she saw it now.
It was just harder today…harder to think about it without cringing. All because of Caleb. Dear God, the look on his face when he’d seen it…the disgust wasn’t anything she’d ever forget. He’d tried to hide it well enough. He’d even managed a pretty good job of it. She just knew him too well. He couldn’t completely hide the reaction from her.
She turned away from the mirror. She needed to get out there. They needed to figure out some sort of game plan. Go over the files again, see if she could pick up much of anything. Not the sort of thing she really wanted to do right before bed, but sometimes it took the strength out of her and if she waited until morning, they could spend half the day waiting for her to get her energy back. So it had to be done tonight.
Destin took one more minute to look down at her pajamas. Black cotton pants with a thin pinstripe. Sleeveless black shirt—and it was too damn thin. Shit. Horrified, she stared down at her chest.
She’d never had to worry about this when she worked with him before…because…well. Hell, the man had seen her naked. But now…? She couldn’t go out there like this. Her nipples were pressing into the thin fabric, clearly outlined. Blood rushed to her cheeks and she spun away from the door, all but diving for the suitcase of clothes she’d yet to unpack.
But as she was digging through it for a bra, rational thought intruded and she made herself stop.
She was decently covered. Hell, it wasn’t like she and Caleb were strangers. Or even just business associates. They’d been together for three years. He probably knew her body better than she did.
Slowly, she dropped the clothes and straightened up. She squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep breath. She was going to have to go through that file and as stressed as she already was, it was probably going to hit her harder than normal.