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I wanted to ask her why she was so different when we were together with Claude but I thought it would either turn out to be jealousy – she was in great shape but the years still take their toll and I was maybe a dozen years younger than her – or maybe she didn't like having me there any more than I liked being there.
I didn't want to risk pissing her off.
I went back to thinking why I was still there and the answer came back each time with more than one part.
Because I wanted time to talk to St. Martin and see if he could ever be Cole again in my mind. If he would come down from the violent high of anger he was on or if what had happened with Vincent and Kie had triggered who he really was.
Or who he really was now.
I wanted time before I had to go back to Seattle and deal with the train wreck of a life I'd left there. Say goodbye to Mark before he did something stupid again. I needed to make it permanent. And I needed to tell my father that his riding to the rescue was probably something a good father should do but he was out of line and don't do it again.
Tell PD goodbye. I didn't think that would come as a surprise to them.
St. Martin had offered to fund my schooling until I could get my degree in criminal justice. If I took the partial retirement and the savings I had from PD and didn't have to pay for school, I could get my own place and attend classes without working. Or while working very part time maybe. Or something.
Or I could stay with St. Martin. If he'd revert to Cole.
It was the first time I had ever thought that and it was a rattling thought. Had just knowing about his sister made that much of a difference?
Did I actually have feelings for him?
I didn't like the questions. I doubted I'd like the answers. And there was always the question of was Chloe lying? For fun? To see if I'd ask him? Or maybe she was telling the truth for the same reasons, poking the bear, waking St. Martin to his memories and pains to see how ineptly I'd wade in.
That moment, running again under the desert sun as the day heated up, I realized I still didn't really have any female friends. I liked Chloe. I liked times like this when we'd been laughing or drinking coffee in her backyard. I liked having someone to run with.
But I didn't trust her. That seemed only right and proper and sensible and sane. I didn't trust her. She was married to a man I thought might be some shade of crazy. A man I was actively waiting to decide he could hurt me or have me or both.
If I stayed with St. Martin that loneliness wasn't going to change.
If I left him, there were no guarantees, but I'd be taking a positive step for myself.
Or would I just be running again when the going got hard?
"Slow down!" Chloe begged. She was falling behind.
I slowed instantly. Not because she'd asked but because I realized I was running flat out and my heartrate was going crazy. I was sweating and when I stopped there were black spots in front of my eyes.
"What the hell happened?" she demanded when she caught up to me. Her hands braced on her elbows. She hung her head and just panted.
"Um," I said. "Thinking about the future."
Chloe looked up at me, still bent double. "And you decided to run to it? Get yourself up to 88 miles an hour like a DeLorean?"
I grinned.
She shook her head. "Well, here's a taste of the future. I was going to wait and spring it on you but guess who's coming to dinner?"
Okay, there were a limited number of people we knew in common. There were other kinky billionaire types, and if she said that, I'd test how crazy Claude was by packing up and telling him I was leaving before any of them arrived.
And there was St. Martin.
"The president," I said.
She tsk'd. "Claude would take you over his knee for that."
"He hasn't for anything so far." I had my hands on my hips and was surveying the valley.
"I know."
