He’d bitten his lip, thinking of the ten dollars she’d handed him on Sunday for school lunch that week.

She’d continued to rant, sucking on her cigarette and bitching about his father, never addressing his desire to attend a football game. The evening had ended with him picking tiny fragments of broken glass out of the sink. She’d hurled her wineglass at his head when he’d suggested she put away the leftovers. He’d ducked, and the glass had shattered when it hit the window over the sink, spreading sticky red wine drops that he still discovered in odd places three months later.

He learned not to ask for help.

He listened intently for her footsteps as he stared at the boiling water. Hurry!

No woman should make me feel like this. If Dad were here, he’d set her straight.

Steps sounded, and he snatched up a noodle to taste. Not ready. There was no way he could serve it like this. His shoulders tensed as she strode into the kitchen. She sat down in her chair, took a sip of her wine, and closed her eyes, savoring the flavor. Then she looked at him, her eyes ice blue. “Dinner’s not ready?”

“The pasta needs another minute or two.”

She raised an eyebrow, stood, and then strolled over to look into the pot. She sniffed at the steam and her wineglass clinked as she set it on the counter. “You know dinner is to be on the table when I get home.”

“Yes, I know.” He didn’t offer any excuses. He’d learned she didn’t listen to them and didn’t care.

He remembered the last time she’d made spaghetti and he and his father had watched from their places at the table as she’d drained the pasta. His father had been livid that it was overcooked.

Now he felt the same anger flooding off of her.

She grabbed the handles of the big pot and flung the contents at his face. “Why isn’t it ready?” she screamed at him.

He turned away and the boiling water hit the left side of his neck and scalp. Through his pain he couldn’t hear her shrieking at him.

If only Dad were here . . .

29

Ava had lost count of how many times she’d awakened. All night she’d woken, looked at her clock, and fallen back into a hazy sleep. One that never satisfied; she felt as if she were floating with her eyes shut. No rest, no brain break. Each time Jayne tried to enter her thoughts, she immediately shut them down. She’d mastered the light switch to her brain where Jayne was concerned. But then her brain would coast in the off position, unable to focus, unable to follow any other train of thought.

She’d pretended sleep when Mason kissed her cheek and got into the shower. Lying in the dark, listening to the water from the bathroom, she’d struggled to find a mental focus. Her body was physically drained and nothing tempted her to put her feet on the floor.

What am I going to do?

Do in five minutes? Do in five hours? She didn’t know the answers.

The shower stopped and a few minutes later she could hear Mason on his cell phone. The job never ends.

Work could be the lifesaver for her. Something to keep her distracted and still moving. Her vacation was finished in a few days.

Until then . . .

She had nothing.

Light flashed across her eyes as Mason opened the door connected to the master bathroom. She squeezed them shut and gave up pretending to sleep, shifting her legs so he knew she was awake. He sat on her side of the bed, the bright bathroom light behind him making his eyes and facial expression impossible to see.

“Hey,” he said, bending to kiss her forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

“Shitty.”

He ran his hand down her cheek, pausing to cup her chin, and she felt him study her. She kept her expression as blank as possible; the rawness in her heart was too fresh, and she was still empty from her tears of the night before. His face was a dark silhouette. “I just had a call from Ben Duncan,” he said.

Alarm sent sparks through her nerves. My boss called Mason at the crack of dawn?

“I’d left him a message last night. He got you an appointment this morning to talk with someone.”

“Someone. You mean a psychiatrist?”

“Yes. Don’t forget about it this time.”

She hated being handled and fought a bitchy compulsion to refuse to go. But the thought of picking up the phone and making her own appointment was currently beyond her energy level. A very small logical part of her brain could see it was in her best interest.

“Do you need someone to take you?” he asked cautiously. “I’m going in to the command center.”

Pride forced her reply. “No. I can drive. I’m not helpless.”

“I know you’re not helpless, and if we weren’t so close to an answer on this case, I’d stay home and take—go with you.”

His correction made her smile. Mason was well aware that she hated people to do things for her. Her request for Zander to pick her up last night had raised red flags for both men about the precariousness of her emotional state.

“I checked with the hospital about Jayne already,” Mason added slowly. “She went through the night fine, has surgery scheduled for this morning, and they have a psych evaluation lined up for later today. They seem to believe they’ll have a place for her for a few days while she heals. She’s heavily sedated. You wouldn’t be able to talk to her if you went there.”

“Her injuries are okay?” Ava whispered. It took all her strength to stay emotionally removed from the conversation and not let her brain speed down a Jayne tangent. Focus on yourself.