“I’m sorry.” Her voice was no more than a whisper. “Whatever I said, did—”
“It wasn’t you, it was me.” His throat closed. “You shared a great family moment, yet your memories of Clone Man are so different from mine. I’ve never had anyone look at my collection and immediately pick him out of the crowd. You caught me off guard.”
“There’s no need to explain.” She was giving him an out.
He had no choice. Time folded back, returning him to an event that had shaped his life. Pain gripped tight and his words rose from a dark place inside him. “November sixteenth, twenty-four years ago, I spent my eighth birthday at Clone Man. I’d invited five friends, and my parents and grandfather, Randall, chaperoned our group.
“The party was great and Clone Man did some amazing magic tricks. We were all mesmerized. My parents bought us the latest issue of his comic book in the gift shop as we left. I had something to read on the way home.
“It had snowed all day and ice had accumulated on the roads.” His voice deepened. “Our limousine driver, Carl, had been with the family for forty years. He was cautious on the drive back to the hotel.”
Law’s jaw worked. “I remember the passenger windows were frosty and the heater hummed. I was seated in the back between my mom and dad, and my friends and Randall were in the front two rows. My grandfather had classic nineteen-thirties carriage lighting installed in the limousine, which gave me enough light to see my Clone Man comic. I began to read out loud. I hadn’t finished the first page when headlights hit our windows.” He swallowed hard. “Big, blazing, killer headlights.”
He blinked, the memory blinding. “It all happened so damn fast. I remember both my parents holding on to me for dear life before I blacked out. I later learned that the driver of an eighteen-wheeler had crossed the median and run into the limo head-on. The limousine slammed into the guardrail, which gave way on impact. We rolled down a ravine.”
Law bent forward and drew air deeply into his lungs. “I was knocked unconscious and lost three days of my life. I awoke in the hospital with a broken arm, two fractured ankles, and fifty stitches in my cheek.” His words were as scarred as his face. “My grandfather was standing by my bedside, clutching my Clone Man comic in his hand. He wore a neck brace and his face was so badly bruised I barely recognized him. His jaw and chin still bear the scars.
“My very staid and solemn grandfather cried as he told me what had happened. I’d never seen him so sad. We were the only two survivors. Randall was already sixty-two. His wife had just passed away from breast cancer the year prior, and he was still mourning her loss. We needed each other. He brought me to the hotel and raised me.”
Law exhaled his pain. “In my eight-year-old mind, I wished with all my heart that I’d been a superhero, that I could’ve prevented the crash and saved everyone’s life. A childish notion, perhaps, but one I held on to for many years.”
“Your thoughts were courageous.” Cat’s words were soothing, a balm to his soul.
He ran one hand down his face. “When family and friends die, those ...”
“... left behind question why they survived,” she finished for him.
Cat understood. He watched her watch him, and an invisible bond stretched and strengthened, only to snap back, unable to fully form between them. She had peaceful eyes, he noted. Her hand now rested on his forearm, her gentle squeeze supportive. The softness in her expression would ease his sorrow should he seek her solace.
Indecision scraped hard. Cat’s recognition of Clone Man had gutted him. He should have stuck to business. He’d never done vulnerable or needy. He refused to do weak. An unguarded moment didn’t bind them forever.
In the end, his heart shut down. His feelings went from nice and relaxed to awkward and tense. His insides tightened. He loved sports and sex, and held great respect and fondness for his grandfather. Beyond Randall, he felt nothing for anyone. He had no desire to fix himself. Caring and sharing belonged to men who needed to tap into their feminine side.
Law pushed to his feet and Bouncer stood, too, always his ally. Law needed to get back on solid ground. “I’m a big boy now.” His tone was harsher than he’d intended.
He momentarily wondered if he’d ever been a kid. After the accident, he’d refused to be a burden on his grandfather. He’d grown up fast, maturity and cynicism his closest friends.
“Comics aren’t just a hobby,” he said. “They’re an investment.”
Confusion darkened Catherine’s green gaze. He’d taken her from confidante to someone he distrusted in thirty seconds flat. Yet her eventual acceptance of his retreat came as easily as her offer of compassion. She rolled with his flow and didn’t require an explanation.
“My father saved stamps and collected old coins,” she told him. “Two of my brothers horded baseball cards and my sister bought Beanie Babies. Legs the frog and Squealer the pig were handed down to her daughter.
“I’ve investment clients who showcase vintage guns, steam trains, and amass oil paintings by numerous masters, art never displayed in a museum. Their hobbies remain time insured, just like your comic books.”
Once again, Cat seemed to understand. Law went from being angry that she got him to appreciating her support. His throat dry, he crossed to the bar and poured a Tasmanian Rain over ice. Bouncer tracked him, and Law treated him to an ice cube. Law then offered Cat a choice of bottled waters. “Bling, Veen, Equa, what I’m having?”
She went with, “Tap water, no ice.”
One corner of his mouth tipped. “No melted glacial ice or water from an aquifer banked by rose quartz?”
“I’m fine with the faucet.”
He actually grinned. “You can’t tell the difference between bottled and tap, can you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t need water in a fancy frosted bottle or one with Swarovski crystals to quench my thirst.” She met his gaze as he came to her with a tall glass of tap water. “My yearly bill for drinking water is less than a case of Bling.”
“You’re a conservative woman,” he said.
She cut her glance to the wall of framed comics. “You’re a man of means.”
“There’s a private auction early next week.” He surprised himself by sharing the information with Cat. He’d yet to mention it to his grandfather. “I’ve got my eye on Superman Action Comics Number One, June 1938. There are fewer than one hundred copies in existence.”