The Party Girl by Tamara Morgan

Author:Tamara Morgan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“You’ll be okay?” Noah tried to keep the note of anxiety out of his voice as he helped Lincoln load the last of his things into the car—Kendra’s board games, Lincoln’s clothes, the extra food he’d never eat before it went bad.

“Of course.” Lincoln slammed the trunk closed and refused to meet Noah’s eyes. “You know I only stayed out here for Kendra’s peace of mind. I’m looking forward to getting back into my apartment. The sound of my own breathing is starting to drive me crazy. I don’t know how you do it.”

Noah’s lip firmed. Not a word about his job. Not a word of his plans. Even less about when Noah might expect to see him again.

“Sorry I couldn’t do more to make you comfortable,” Noah said. “You know I’m here if you need anything else.”

This time, Lincoln did manage to look him square in the face. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“To help you? Yes. I would.”

Lincoln shook his head, his hair flopping in his eyes. Two weeks of convalescence had softened him, made him appear younger than his thirty-one years. “You know what your problem is, Noah?”

He had lots of them, but it was clear Lincoln meant to supply one for him.

“You’ve been away from the real world for too long. Out here, your survival is a matter of nothing more than food, water, shelter. Easy stuff. Anyone can do that.”

“It’s harder than you realize.” Because once the food and water and shelter were secured, it was just Noah and time. A man could only spend so long keeping company with his own thoughts before they took on monstrous proportions.

All Lincoln offered in reply was an enigmatic, “Most things are.”

As it was most likely months before he could expect to see his friend again, Noah nodded once and extended his hand. Parting on good terms was the only option. “You make a hell of a good cop, Lincoln, and an even better friend. I don’t think I thanked you properly for getting rid of that guy the other day.”

“Any time.” Lincoln took his hand and shook, genuine concern flashing across his face. “I mean that. I know you still feel guilty about your part in how things unfolded, but you’re not responsible for Danielle’s actions. You were just as much a victim as that guy. More so, if you ask me.”

Noah hadn’t heard her name spoken out loud in years, even though she’d made countless appearances in his litany of regrets. Her name grated. And burned. He strove to think of something to say—that he might not have been responsible in the eyes of the law, but his conscience was another question. That it was clear the world didn’t share Lincoln’s easy assignation of blame.

But as he usually did, Noah kept his mouth shut, took a step back, retreated.

“If that man comes back, I want you to let me know,” Lincoln said. “I mean it. Harassment is a crime—one I can actually do something about.

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