~ Leave No Trace ~

by

Lynn Romaine

McGuinn waited until early evening before he knocked once softly on her door and stood waiting without speaking. Minutes passed before he heard the lock turn and the door open. She stood there, the same and yet different, her blank face pale with exhaustion, tousled with sleep, dark circles under her eyes. She had thrown on her clothes before opening the door, jeans unbuttoned, braless under her wrinkled T-shirt. She gave him a quick look, stepped back and attempted to close the door in his face. He was too fast. He caught it easily, leaned into the door, almost casually, and sent her sprawling backwards on the bed. He turned automatically and locked the door behind him.

"What do you think you’re doing?" Her voice was hoarse from sleep but she knew the question was absurd. It was obvious what he was doing was taking her back. She pulled herself up off the bed and edged towards her bag on the chair. Before she could reach it, he leapt forward and grabbed the bag, dumping the contents out on a bed and she watched in horror as her Snubby fell out of the bottom and with a thump, landed on top of her wallet. He was unshaven, disheveled and angry, his narrowed eyes piercing her with unspoken accusation. Keeping himself between her and the door, he reached down, picked up the handgun, emptied the shells into his palm and shoved everything into his jeans pocket. When he spoke, his voice was cool and belied his grim face. "I might ask the same of you." He reached up to casually unbutton and removed his raincoat, throwing it across a chair with one jerky move. "Do you know this goddamned crazy flight of yours has caused me countless man hours and money? What made you think you’d get away and just what were you trying to achieve, aside from the once in a lifetime experience of being a fugitive?"

"Well, for one thing, I got away from you! And from whomever is trying to kill me! You damned well weren’t going to put me in jail for my own protection! And it was obvious you weren’t in any hurry to find my aunt!"

"Nick" he sighed and the hard planes of his face softened. "I know it looked that way the morning we found the gun, but I did have someone watching you--and once I got things under control and had time to think, it seemed it was clear to me you weren’t a murderer." The room was growing darker and he moved a step nearer to see her face.

Her eyebrows went up briefly, weighing what he said before her face closed down again. "I don’t believe you and I’m not going back. The guard you had on me was to keep me there, not to protect me. Once you got hold of my pistol, I was guilty. You never even asked me for an explanation, even after spending the night in my bed!" She swallowed quickly and turned from him, afraid where her last words would lead her. "I don’t care now if you believe what happened or not! I’m not going back!"

"I’m not going to arrest you--I just want to make sure you’re safe. I want you to come back and answer some questions. I can’t let you go, Nick." His face lost more of its fierceness and he said almost gently "You’re in danger. You need to have protection. That’s my biggest concern at this point."

"Why the big change?" she said, her voice unfamiliar in its sarcasm. "You were ready to put me in jail when I left!"

"Nick, oh Hell!" He rubbed the back of his neck slowly. "Finding your gun caught me by surprise. Then when it matched up as the murder weapon..." He stopped and changed tactics. "And I was in denial. It had nothing to do with Dexter’s murder and everything to do with us." He said it cautiously, his movements surprising her and she couldn’t evade him as he reached out and caught her by the arms.

"What do you mean ‘us’? There is no ‘us’." She tried to pull away but he only tightened his grip.

"Whatever the hell is going on, one thing I do know is that there is an ‘us.’" He looked down at the wound above her eyebrow, angry red but starting to heal over. There were black and blue marks on her arms, still noticeable five days after the explosion and he frowned at them as he spoke. "You’re right that I wouldn’t listen to you, Nick. I was trying my damnedest to keep you at a distance instead of doing my job. I..." He paused, trying to find the words. "I’m sorry. I don’t blame you for telling me to get the hell away from you. I screwed up! I should have listened to you." He looked uncomfortable, even slightly distraught at his confession and she knew it was unfamiliar territory for him. "I did believe you, finally. When things settled down and I had time to think with my head instead of with my feelings." Still holding on, he moved his hands up her arms to hold her shoulders.

She jerked away, "Who the hell cares about your feelings? My life was at stake, my freedom! Who cares if you were caught up in some weird intimacy phobia?" She knew she was talking about herself and it pissed her off even more. "What in the hell makes you think I was trying to trap you in something? I’m not exactly big on intimacy myself, you know." The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He seemed dumbfounded by her last remark, staring into her face as though the words would explain themselves there. "Nick, look, I promise you’re not under arrest. But I do need you to come back with me, to answer questions. I want you safe."

She turned away, unable to face either the lie or the truth of it. "I can’t, John. I can’t, not until I find my aunt, and not until I find out who framed me for Dexter’s murder."