He had no doubt there would be a relationship. He was absolutely certain, more certain than he had ever been before. The shock he had felt a moment before had gone all the way through him, deep into his bones. And he was, suddenly, uneasy in a way he had never been before, because having a woman had never before felt this important, this necessary .
He didn't know how they would work out the details, with her in Ohio and him in Louisiana, but they could settle all that later. The most important thing right now was to stake his claim, and to do that he had
to win her trust.
Beginning now, he thought, flicking a glance from her hands to her composed expression, then to the television screen. Despite her immediate identification of her father, Dr. Pargannas was painstakingly showing her the "Semper fi" tattoo and other identifying marks, perhaps wanting to make certain she hadn't spoken hastily, perhaps because Marc had been lost in his thoughts and hadn't moved to end the session. He swore silently to himself; he should have stopped this the second she spoke.
"Thanks, Doc," he said now, putting one hand on the back of her chair and bracing the other on the table in front of her, effectively embracing her without touching her. He saw her stiffen a little, an instinctive reaction to the subtle possessiveness of his position, but she was too upset to be consciously aware of what he had just done. Those somber dark eyes glanced at him, then quickly averted when they made eye contact, but not before he saw the relief in them.
She hid it well, managing to shift so she could slide out of the chair away from him, standing and saying briskly, "What do I have to do now?"
"Sign some papers so we can release the body," Dr. Pargannas replied, then blinked at the narrow look Marc gave him. "Ah… that is, your father's remains." The doctor seemed bewildered; if she had been more visibly upset, he could have understood such tact, but he plainly considered it a waste of time with such a businesslike woman.
Marc had stood when she did. Noting the tension in her shoulders, he quietly said, "I'll call a funeral home for you, then take you to a couple of small cemeteries so you can pick out a plot—if that's what you want?"
"Yes, thank you," she said quickly.
"Okay, we'll get the paperwork wrapped up here. Doctor?" Damn, those dark eyes of hers were really getting to him, twisting his guts into knots. He wanted to cradle her, hold her close so she would know she wasn't alone in this, but it was too soon; such a blatant move would panic her. He had to keep it low-key until she relaxed enough with him.
Instead, he put his hand on the small of her back, feeling her warmth through her dress, knowing the heat of his hand on such a sensitive area would comfort her. On a normal day, she would probably jump away and give him a frosty look, but this wasn't a normal day. She was tired, heat-stressed, and was going through an emotional wringer. She was too tense even to notice the touch, except perhaps to feel relief that he was there and that he was helping her.
Dr. Pargannas was staring bemusedly at him. "Hmm? Oh—of course. Take Miss Whitlaw to my office, and I'll be there in a minute. Would either of you like a cup of coffee?" Marc felt Karen's small shudder at the thought. "I'll get us something cold from the drink machine," he said as he ushered her out of the conference room and into the cramped, cluttered office across the hall. Thirty minutes later, he was walking her back to the car. The second soft drink had steadied her once again, but the effects of the sugar would wear off soon; she needed food. He thought for a second. A leisurely sit-down meal in a cool restaurant would be best, but likely she would balk at the idea. Not only would she consider it an intolerable delay when they had so much to do, but the surroundings would make her feel as if they were on a date. Less beneficial but more likely to be accepted would be if he picked up something in a drive-through and they ate as he drove.
"Would you mind if we got something to eat?" he asked in an easy tone. "I didn't get a chance to eat lunch." That was a lie, but so what, if it accomplished his purpose. In retrospect, he was angry with himself for missing the signs when she first walked into his office. She was brittle with stress, on the verge of shattering, and only her self-discipline held her together. He wanted to kick his own ass; he usually read people better than that.
"Eat?" Her tone was vague, as if she had only the faintest idea what the word meant. Then she visibly shook herself and said, "Of course, I don't mind."
"We'll pick up something from a drive-through. Do you like Mexican, hamburgers, fried chicken, red beans and rice, pizza—"
"Mexican is fine," she said, because it was the first thing he had listed. A cop knew every restaurant in town, and he drove to a tiny, ramshackle place that had once been a barbecue hut. There were no tables inside, just the drive-up window through which the owner dispensed tasty burritos and enchiladas. Soon they were on their way again, and he watched the color seep into her face as she slowly chewed on a burrito.
"How long is the drive?" she asked.
"About half an hour, in traffic." A half-smile quirked the corners of his mouth. "I could put the blue light on the dash, but I try not to use it unless I'm hungry, or really need a bathroom." A startled little laugh spurted out of her. She covered her mouth with her hand, blinking as if she couldn't believe he'd actually joked with her, and she had laughed in any case. Those big dark eyes were owlish with surprise.
Because of those eyes, he decided to push it a little further. "You'll notice that I cleaned up my language in deference to you, instead of saying something about really needing to take a piss." She laughed again and looked just as startled as she had the first time. "Ah… yes, I noticed," she managed to say. "Thank you."