His hands tightened around the wheel and she thought for a while he would simply keep driving until he whipped into the next turn. At a fast-food parking lot?
He threw the truck in park and turned to face her. "My parents were drug addicts."
Huh? That was a little more than she'd expected. She was thinking more along the lines of... What? She didn't know much of anything about him, and she wouldn't know more if she didn't unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth and participate in this conversation. "I thought you said you had a privileged upbringing."
"I said my family has money."
"Guess I'm just as guilty of making character assumptions as you were with 'Thug.'" She couldn't stop herself from placing a sympathetic hand on his forearm. "I'm sorry—for the assumption and for how difficult your childhood must have been."
His quick nod offered his only acknowledgment of her empathy. With a brief squeeze of comfort she took her hand back, the heat of him tingling through her veins until she clenched her fist to hold on to the sensation. Already she could piece together parts he'd left unsaid, how no one thought to suspect anything, which left Carson and his sister unprotected.
Carson cut a quick glance over. "You can ease up a little on the sympathy. My sister and I went to great schools, and thank God for the nannies or things would have been a helluva lot worse."
"Somehow I think it was plenty bad enough." She shuffled this new image of Carson around in her mind and couldn't help but soften. "Where are your parents now?"
"Dad almost died of an overdose about two years ago." He recited the information in emotionless monotones. "Some thought that would scare him clean, he even tried. They've both been in and out of rehab clinics a dozen times and it never seemed to stick. Bottom line, I don't think either of them wants to change."
The resigned acceptance in his voice stabbed through her.
He kept his face forward even though their parking spot under the golden arches enabled him to look wherever he wished. "So, no. I don't trust easily."
Yet she couldn't miss how he'd trusted her today with a piece of himself and his past she suspected very few—if any—knew about.
"Enough heavy crap for one day." He reached for the door. "I hope burgers are okay."
"What?"
"Burgers. As in lunch, with some salty fries and a couple of apple pies. I assume you haven't eaten yet."
"No. But—"
"We'll get them to go."
"And where are we going with these burgers?"
He smiled. "Trust me." God help her, she did.
Chapter 7
Trust was a tricky thing. Much easier to live up to than to give.
Carson parked his truck in the marina lot, more than a little humbled by how easily Nikki had gone along with his mystery plan. Although given the wariness creeping into her clear gray eyes as she looked across the line of bobbing boats down to Beachcombers Bar and Grill, she seemed ready to revoke her easy compliance.
"My sailboat's docked here now that I invested in something larger," he explained.
"Oh. Right. I thought for a minute you planned to wrangle some memories out of me and honestly, I've found that forcing it doesn't work." She sagged against the seat, staring out toward the bar with a melancholy weariness staining her eyes. "They always sneak up on me best when I'm not expecting anything."
"You're starting to remember what happened with Owens?"
She turned her head on the seat toward him. "Almost right away actually, I've gotten these smattering bits and pieces that may or may not be helpful. I shared everything with Agent Reis, for what it's worth. I even let Mom contact a hypnotist colleague from work, but I never could get past thinking what an ugly watch he was using for a focus point."
"Resistant?"
"Scared to death."
"Thank you for trusting me today." He wanted to say more, but knew better than to let things get any deeper and thereby ruin the afternoon. "Come on. I don't have lazy days much anymore and I intend to enjoy the hell out of this one."
Reaching into the back, he grabbed an extra windbreaker and tossed it to Nikki before snatching up their fast-food bags. Seemed she needed this day out on the water even more than he did. He couldn't help but think how in the past he would have offered a woman a more romantic meal such as croissants, fruit—mimosas.