Hawk's Way: Carter & Falcon

“I guessed something of the sort. How long were you married?”

“Two years. Then we divorced.”

“I was married for five years.”

“You were married?” Desiree didn’t know why she was so surprised. But she was. Suddenly she had a thought. Perhaps there was a good reason, after all, for Carter’s strange, distant behavior toward Nicole.

“Do you have children?”

“I have…had a five-year-old daughter. She died along with my wife in a car accident six years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” No wonder he didn’t want to be around Nicole! Her daughter must be an awful reminder of his loss. Desiree knew there really was no comfort she could offer, except to share with him her own grievous loss. “My parents died the same way.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

A tense silence fell between them. Both wanted to ask more questions. But to ask questions was to suggest a willingness to answer them in return. And neither was ready to share with the other the secrets of their past.

It was Carter who finally broke the silence between them, his voice quiet, his tone as gentle as Desiree had ever heard it.

“If I’m going to get anything accomplished tomorrow I ought to get some sleep. But I don’t feel comfortable leaving you down here alone. Is there any chance you could sleep now?”

Quite honestly, Desiree thought she would spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling. But she could see that Carter wasn’t going to go back to bed until she was settled. “I guess I am a little tired.”

“I’ll follow you upstairs,” he said.

Desiree rose and headed for the kitchen door. Before she had taken two steps, Carter blocked her way.

“I don’t know what to do to make you believe that I’d never hurt you,” he said.

“I…I believe you.”

Nevertheless, she flinched as he raised a hand to brush the hair away from her face.

His lips flattened. “Yeah. Sure.”

Desiree cringed at the sarcasm in his voice and fled up the stairs as fast as she could. Behind her she heard the steady barefoot tread of her husband. She hurried into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. She leaned back against the door and covered her face with her hands.

I hate you, Burley. I hate what you did to me. I hate the way you made me feel. And I hate the fact that I can never be a woman to the man I married today.

Hating didn’t help. Desiree had learned that lesson over the six long years since she had divorced Burley and gone on with her life. But she hadn’t been able to let go of the hate—or the fear.

Because she knew that when he got out of prison in two weeks, Burley would be coming back.

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