I huge truck was stopped in the middle the street and, hovering in the sky, dangling from what looked like a crane, was my car in straps.

Regardless of the fact that I was wearing nothing but a pair of pajamas (strawberry colored bottoms with cute powder blue and turquoise retro stars printed on them and a strawberry camisole with turquoise lace), I threw open the door and ran, barefoot, to the sidewalk.

“Hey!” I shouted at a big, black guy in dirty blue coveral s who was at the truck’s levers. “That’s my car!”

“Taking it in to change the tires,” he said, not stopping from his maneuvering of my car, which was floating precariously in the air over the flatbed truck.

“Can’t you change the tires here?” I yel ed over the noise.

“Tex wants me to do it in the shop, told me to give it a tune up and detail while I got it.”

I was going to kill Uncle Tex.

“It doesn’t need a tune up. I had it serviced before I drove out here.”

He shrugged.

I scowled at him.

He ignored me.

I saw a car approaching and turned to watch as Hank’s 4Runner rol ed up the street.

I forgot about my no-longer earthbound car and stood frozen watching Hank park.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Hank got out, his eyes on my car in mid-air, and walked to me.

He looked good.

He wore jeans, boots and a wine-colored henley. There was a gun and badge attached to his belt. Al that was missing was the white hat.

He stopped next to me, eyes stil on my car. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, not looking at me.

I realized, belatedly, that it was warm as a summer’s day outside. Stil , I was standing on the sidewalk in my pajamas and I hadn’t done anything with my hair.

Shit.

“That’s my car,” I said.

Hank looked down at me and I just caught myself from holding my breath.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Uncle Tex slashed my tires.”

Hank stared at me.

“He didn’t want me to leave,” I explained.

Hank stared at me another beat, then his eyes moved on my face, then to my throat, my arms and my wrists, taking in the bruises. I almost bit my lip but forced myself to stay stil under his scrutiny. Then his eyes moved to mine. “We have to talk,” he said.

Damn tootin’, we had to talk.

He turned and walked to the porch.

I fol owed him.

He stopped at the porch, not attempting to go inside. I found this odd but I stopped with him.

“You want coffee?” I asked.

“I’m not stayin’ that long.”

I blinked at him, confused.

Then it hit me.

His eyes were al wrong. They weren’t sexy-lazy or alert.

They were distant and disinterested.

I felt my breath start to come faster, like I’d run a race before I’d run the race. And, the fact was, I wanted to run, run as fast as I could, as far away as I could get.

“What’s up?” I tried to act like I didn’t feel like I wanted to curl up and die.

“You’ve been dodgin’ Eddie,” he said.

I blinked, confused again, but he went on.

“You can’t protect Flynn, Roxanne. I’ve already filed. He broke into my house and trashed it.”

“Protect?” I said, unable to form a ful sentence.

“Eddie’s comin’ by this morning to take you to the station so you can give your statement, file charges if you want, or not. Your choice. But even if you go home, I’m stil fol owing through. And since we found out Flynn is wanted in Boston, Pensacola and Charleston, once we find him and deal with him here, he’s gonna be a busy guy.”

I couldn’t speak.

I wasn’t surprised that Bil y was wanted in three different cities, four counting Denver, even though it was news to me.

No, the reason I couldn’t speak was because Hank thought I was protecting Bil y.

“Hank –”

He interrupted me.

“I found your scarf at my house, Indy’s got it.” Automatical y (and inanely) I said, “It’s Tod’s.”

“Indy has it,” he repeated, looking away and watched the crane settle back into position, my car in the flat bed. Then he looked at me, eyes blank, like Eddie’s were the first time he saw me.

“Gotta get back to work,” he said. “Take care of yourself.”

At his dismissing words, I moved suddenly. It was involuntary but I jerked back, just at the middle, like he punched me in the stomach.

Immediately, his hand came out to grab my arm and his brows drew together. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I stared at him then nodded my head. “Fine,” I lied.

He watched me a beat, then two. It was my time to say something but I couldn’t think of what to say.

“Talk to Eddie,” he said.

I just stared at him and didn’t say a word.

Then I watched as his eyes grew hard and he let go of my arm.

“Suit yourself.”

Then he walked away.

I watched him go, watched the flatbed truck go and watched the street for a good long while before I turned and walked into the house.

I set my cup on the coffee table and stood in the living room.

Petunia, the ginger and white cat, rubbed my legs.

I sat down on the floor, the better position to pet her.

Then I curled up on the floor, on my side, my knees to my chest. Petunia walked on top of me and sat on my hip. Then she cleaned her foot.

This is how Eddie found me when he opened the door.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

I rol ed to my back and Petunia scampered.

I stayed flat on the floor and looked up at Eddie.

“Hi,” I greeted him.

“You okay?”

No.

No, I was not okay. I was anything but okay. I was so far away from okay that okay was in another dimension.

“Peachy,” I said.

“Why are you lyin’ on the floor?” he asked.

Because the best guy I’d ever met thought I was some stupid, idiot woman who would protect an outlaw even after he’d beaten me and kidnapped me and dragged me through three states. Because that same guy was about goodness and justice and wanted nothing to do with a woman like me. Because that fact broke my heart and pissed me off and I wasn’t sure which one I felt more. I thought.

“I felt like having a rest,” I answered.

Eddie took a second to process this, then he said, “Did you talk to Hank?”

I nodded my head.

“I’m here to take you down to the station to file charges against Flynn.”