Page 51 of Hostile Witness
Tia laughed lightheartedly, turned out the light and crawled across the bed. “I can hardly wait to see what I won.”
“It’s better if I show you.” He fluttered the rosebud sheet over her and slid underneath.
30
Ethan swung a towel low on his hips and headed for the guest room, where he’d stowed clean clothes from his duffel. Stepping over Flynn at the entrance to the hall bath, he locked eyes with Tia in the bathroom mirror. Even now she was breathtaking, with her hair wet from the shower... wearing a fuzzy pink bathrobe. Her pretty blues glistened back at him like pools of rain as she dabbed ointment on her chest with a finger. An open jar sat on the counter.
The scar. He’d felt it during their heated moments when she’d abandoned her inhibitions and let go. It was like a road map down her front, with little detours left and right all the way past her navel. It’d been hard for his fingers to avoid grazing it due to its sheer size. He’d been so relieved when she’d stopped pulling away from his touch and allowed herself to enjoy the sensations and pleasure.
Ethan pushed the door open a few more inches and stepped inside. He picked up the jar of ointment and dipped a finger in. “May I?”
Her face flashed with alarm and then a quiet determination as her shoulders squared. She answered with a barely perceptible nod.
Standing behind her, he slid the bathrobe farther down her shoulders, exposing her chest. “Look at me, T.” She lifted her eyes to his in the still-steamy mirror. With an index finger, he stroked the scar with salve and kissed the side of her face, then her neck. She couldn’t warn him away anymore with her bravado and toughness. Somehow she’d gotten to him, had touched the lonely depths of his soul. Her friendship had given him the confidence to love again.
He swiped at the jar of cream and stroked the scar just below her collarbone. “This scar is the part of you that tells a story of love and loss but, most importantly, survival.”
She leaned back against his bare chest, closing her eyes.
His finger zigzagged slowly down her body as he nibbled her ear. “It’s a banner to be proud of because you healed and started over. But most of all—and I mean this with my whole heart—this scar is the road that brought you back to me.”
Tears streamed down Tia’s face, and her voice trembled. “That’s sweet. But I know I can’t hide it forever and I don’t want people to gawk. It’s obvious enough to call attention to itself.”
He kept his eyes glued to hers in the mirror. “You can only be who you are. You’re not responsible for people’s reactions. You’re amazingly strong, someone who endured an extensive recovery.”
She drew in a shuddering breath. “A piece of the sunroof lodged into the length of my chest. I was flown to Shock Trauma with it sticking out of me. Almost every muscle in my torso had stitches, and I had no strength in my arms. Today, I can do one hundred push-ups and finally, finally crank out twenty-five pull-ups, and I can bench-press almost eighty percent of my weight.”
She sniffled and reached for a tissue. “I’ve decided to get a tattoo that camouflages the longest scar. Something colorful and pretty, like the flowers I use in my garden.”
He smiled at her. “You’re right. Something delicate and lovely like you is good.”
“I’m not lovely, Ethan. I used to be, before everything happened.”
“I beg to differ. You’re more gorgeous now. There’s nothing more attractive than the beauty of a triumphant survivor.”
31
Ethan smacked a breakfast sandwich onto the table next to an engrossed Earl and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Whatever you’re reading must be good.”
Earl reached for the sandwich, took a bite, and started talking with his mouth full. “It’s the report from NYPD about Sergeant Guy Evans.” He glanced at Ethan and stood up. “Holy crap. I can’t believe it. You couldn’t leave it alone and tangled with Tia, didn’t you?”
Ethan joined him at the table, sipping his coffee. “Why would you think that?”
Earl peered at the shiner surrounding Ethan’s eye. “She destroyed one of the recruits the same way. Her nickname at the training gym is the Terminator.”
Ethan barked a laugh and opened his sandwich with his unbandaged hand. “Why is now the first time I’m hearing about this, Earl?”
The older man’s eyes widened. “Not my story to tell, Son.”
Ah, yes, that again. “You know, Earl, the next time you hear a tidbit of information about Tia O’Rourke, would you mind givingthe other detective on the case a heads-up? That would be me, in case you’re wondering.”
Earl threw an arm into the air. “I tried to warn you off. Told you to go sniff somewhere else, but you got offended and didn’t listen to me.”
Ethan picked at his egg sandwich, taking very small bites because chewing made his eye hurt. Not only that, but his achy balls throbbed in unison with the bruise on his chest when he swallowed. It was weird how injuries hurt twice as bad the next day. But he’d go through it all again to have another night with Tia.
However, the worst had been running into Chief Carson this morning in the hallway. The usually placid and dignified Carson had broken into a wide grin, shaken his head, and walked away.
His pity party over, Ethan turned his attention to Earl and whatever he was reading. “Good news?”