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He drew a deep breath, opened his door and climbed out. He had just taken a step toward the building when he spotted a woman hurrying down the walk, dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her.
Had he not seen the photographs, he might not have recognized her. She looked very different from the woman who had haunted his dreams for so long. He was well aware that he had changed, too, though his own changes were mostly internal.
He frowned at the sight of her suitcase. It was obvious that she was running again. But why? Had she somehow been tipped off that he’d located her? And if so, why the hell was she so determined to avoid him?
What in God’s name had he done to her?
He stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “Hello, Page.”
Her face had already been ashen. At the sight of him, it bleached to a deathly pallor. He grimly identified her expression as horror-stricken.
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She seemed literally unable to speak.
His automatic response to her obvious distress was concern. The protective instincts he’d almost forgotten kicked in, and he was about to say something to reassure her. Then he remembered the hell she’d put him through, and a wave of hurt and fury crashed though him.
“Don’t look at me like that, damn it,” he snapped. “I have a right to some answers.”
“Please,” she managed to say, her voice thin, breathless. “You have to leave. You have to go now.”
He scowled. “I’ll leave when I’m ready. First, you’re going to answer my questions.”
She shook her head, edging to one side of the walkway as though prepared to bolt around him. He saw her gaze shift quickly from him to the parking lot, obviously gauging the distance to her car.
“Please, Gabe,” she whispered. “Go home.”
“Home?” he repeated bitterly, thinking of that torturous afternoon two and a half years ago when he’d returned home so eagerly only to have his dreams smashed. “You really think I’m going to leave that easily now that I’ve found you?”
“You have to,” she insisted, an edge of hysteria in her voice. “Leave me alone. I don’t want you near me.”
He was rather surprised to discover that she could still hurt him. He’d thought she’d done all the damage she could do the day she’d walked out on him. It seemed he’d been wrong.
“Why, Page?” he demanded roughly. “What did I do to you?”
She shook her head. “I have to go.”
She moved to step around him.
Gabe reached out instinctively to stop her, his hand closing around her upper arm, which felt thinner than he remembered. His touch wasn’t gentle, but he didn’t harm her. Even as hurt and angry as he was, he would never use his size against her.
And yet, the moment he touched her, Page began to scream.
“What the—”Gabe began.
“Hey!” The two young men who’d been pampering the Mustang dropped their chamois cloths and sprinted toward them.
“Let go of her, mister!” one of them shouted.
Gabe automatically released his grip, and held his hands nonthreateningly away from her. “I’m not hurting her,” he said. “She’s—”
Page was already running, the suitcase bumping along behind her.
“Please,” she gasped to her would-be rescuers as she passed them. “Hold him here for a few minutes. Just long enough for me to get away.”
Gabe’s instinctive movement after her was cut off when one of the guys took him down in a graceful tackle that must have been perfected through years of football training. Gabe’s breath left him in a hard whoosh when he hit the concrete, the muscular young man on top of him.
He struggled to get up. “Let go of me, damn it She’s my wife!” he said furiously.
Desperation added strength to his movements. If he lost her now, who knew how long it would be until he located her again? If ever.
