Gingerbread Man

seen her out of control—twice now—but only briefly. It was not pretty. He wouldn't see it again. No one would.
    He picked her up, carried her to his Jeep.
    She closed her eyes. "What's happening to me?" she murmured. "Why now?"
    He opened the door, set her on the seat, then hurried around to get in the other side. "I'd like to tell you it's all right, Holly, but I'm damned if I can do that until you tell me what the hell is the matter. Did someone—?"
    "No." She curled her legs beside her, and turned her face into the seat. "No one was out on that road but me. Me and my shadows."
    "Look ..." he said. She felt his eyes on her, sensed his hesitation. Then she felt his hand lower to her hair, very gently. She thought maybe it was shaking just a little. "Look," he said again, more softly this time, "if you tell me about it...then, maybe I can help." He said it as if the words were being pried out of him.
    "No one can help me, but me." She forced her voice level, refused to let it waver. It was broken by the occasional sob, but that couldn't be helped. "I thought I was past all this. Apparently, I have more work to do. And that's really all you need to know."
    Seconds ticked by. She felt him watching her, felt the Jeep moving after a while, took comfort in the darkness. She wished she could curl into it and never emerge. But she couldn't do that. She had beaten the past into submission once. She would simply have to do it again.
    And she would do it on her own.
    "I need to know a hell of a lot more than that," he said as he drove her to her house. "And I'm afraid I can't take no for an answer, Red."

SEVEN
----

    HE DIDN'T KNOW what the hell to make of the woman. He'd hurried to his Jeep, grabbed the envelope off the front seat and tucked it underneath, and then driven out in search of her. He had damn near run her over.
    She'd been sitting there, right in the road, rocking back and forth and sobbing the word "no" over and over, never taking a breath in between. Her hands were pressing so hard to her ears it looked as if she were trying to crush her head between them, and she was crying so hard her back shuddered.
    His first thought was that she'd been attacked. That some son of a bitch had mauled her, or raped her. But, no. That wasn't it
    He carried her into her house, cursing at the fact that the door had been left unlocked as he carried her through. She worked at a police station, for crying out loud. Oh, but wait, he thought, nothing bad ever happens in Dilmun. Yeah, it certainly looked that way.
    He carried her to her bedroom, or what he thought was her bedroom. There were only two in the house, so he figured he had a fifty-fifty shot at being right. They were directly across the hall from each other, both doors open, and he'd glanced quickly left then right. The first bedroom was neat. The other was immaculate. He chose door number two, and took her in there, yanked the covers back and laid her down in the bed.
    She curled onto her side, buried her face in the pillows, said nothing.
    Vince pulled the covers up over her. "You want some warm milk or tea or... anything?"
    She said nothing. Just burrowed in more deeply, hiding her face.
    Sighing, he said, "Fine, have it your way." He backed away from the bed, but he didn't go far. Just pulled up a chair and sat down.
    She didn't turn. But she did speak. She said, "Go."
    "You're a mess right now. I'm not going anywhere."
    "Please."
    He got to his feet, went to the foot of her bed, and yanked the blankets up. Then he bent and pulled off her shoes. "Tell you what, Red. I'll go as far as the next room. I imagine you like a little privacy when you get like this. I know I do. So I'll go out there, and I'll close the door, and I'll give you your space. But I'm not going any farther. Deal?" She was holding it in. Waiting for him to leave and fighting with everything in her to keep it all back until he did. He peeled her socks off, and tucked the blankets back over her little pink feet. Then he left the room, stepped into the hallway, closed the door, and stood for a moment, just outside it.
    He heard the dam break. Heard the sobs, soft and squeaky. He didn't want to ache for this woman. But he ached all the same. And for some reason it was taking every bit of his willpower to stay out of that bedroom. There was this part of him deep down inside that was itching to go back in there, hug the woman close, and tell her he'd make everything all right for her.
    "It doesn't work