by Jaycee Clark
Christian jerked out of his hold. He inwardly cursed.
“Leave me alone.” She shoved hard against his chest, and he backed up. “Leave me alone! You know nothing. Nothing about any of it,” she said furiously.
He stepped out of her way as she flew past him. The slam of a door echoed in his heart.
Damn it. Maybe he pushed her too hard. No maybe about it.
Sighing, he reached over and picked up his wine, downing it in one long gulp. Hell. The stem broke in his fist and he hurled the remnants of the glass away, the quiet night shattering as it connected with the wall.
Brayden rubbed both hands over his face.
He’d wanted answers. He still didn’t have any. No, he did, just not the one he wanted. He strode through the door and up the stairs to their suites. Stopping, he glanced at her door. Should he go talk to her?
No.
Give her a bit to cool off.
His gaze landed on his laptop. Well, there was something he could do. Sitting so that he could see whether she came out of her room, he booted up and dropped Aiden an email.
Scan the old picture and see if someone with the name of Richard/Richmond/Rick? crosses her path. All I got was “Rich” before she stopped and came up with some lame cover-up. She still won’t tell me a damn thing, though the harder I press, the less she forgets to deny.
I agree with Morris, I think she knows this guy. He’s just got her so terrified, she believes she’s protecting us all by keeping silent. Bastard was smart, told her the first to die would be me and Tori. I don’t like to be used, especially by this son of a bitch. I don’t know how much harder I can press her. I think I went too far today. Let me know if you find anything.
Bray
He reread what he wrote then hit send. Either they would find something or they wouldn’t. Hopefully, they would.
Richard? That was his best guess. He didn’t know of any other name that started with “Rich.”
Something thumped from inside her room and he looked to her shut door, but no one emerged. Had he made a mistake? His gut told him no, or maybe that was the part of him that wanted this guy.
She’d finally smiled again this morning. Would it be square one again for them? He hoped not.
That morning, out on the balcony, the wind had teased her short tendrils of hair, the sunlight played off her delicate profile. He’d been so close to pulling her to him and kissing her. But he knew it was too soon. He missed her.
God, he missed her even before she’d moved out and into her condo. And he hadn’t lied to her today when he’d told her he knew he’d been seven kinds of a fool. Christian haunted him, the feel of her, the taste of her, the way it had been and could have been between them. The way he wanted it again.
There was no way of knowing if he could get that back for them, but he was damn well going to try.
So how did he now make tonight up to her?
Music drifted through the open balcony doors, from someone’s open window, reminding him where they were. Venice, Italy. And there was more to do in Italy than either one of them could imagine.
It was time to get her out of the palazzo.
• • •
Christian worried her lip as she paced her room. For the last few days she and Brayden had hardly spoken. She didn’t realize how much she had come to rely on him. The sound of his voice, the quiet smile he’d send her, just sitting on the balcony watching the sunset. Him simply there was something she’d come to count on.
The words he’d lashed at her had made her angry. He didn’t understand. She was right about that, but then the guy could hardly understand when he didn’t have a clue what was going on. His words had haunted her for days while he’d dragged her around various sites in the city.
“At me, at you, at this nameless, faceless monster who has you believing you’re protecting Tori and me. Hell, you think you’re protecting the whole damn family with your silence!”
“You’re helping no one but him, Christian. No one but him by keeping quiet.”
Like annoying song lyrics they echoed in her thoughts, kept her up at night, and mocked her during the day. At first she’d been angry, simply angry. But then reason peeked through and part of her wondered if he wasn’t right.
Terror messed with your mind. She knew that. She’d been in victim groups before where some were so scared they completely shut down. Hell, she’d been one of them. Lack of control, lack of hope, lack of help—they were all sharp points on the mace of fear. And the hand wielding that weapon was power.
Terror was about power.
Abuse was about power.
Rape was about power.
Richard had the power.
She stopped, the truth slamming her in the chest.
Richard had the power and she was as good as handing it to him on a platter.
He’d expected it.
God.
She covered her face with her hands and took several deep breaths.
At least she wasn’t completely stupid. She had started to gather her resources before the attack. After the arrival of the first batch of photos, she’d begun researching DNA, and had sent letters to two people: one to a doctor in a small clinic in Arizona and the other to a forgotten man in San Francisco. She needed evidence. Now more than ever. Who knew if the two could help her.
She stood by the bed, tired and wanting to sit. Just as she connected to the mattress, she all but leapt up.
The revelations were one thing to deal with.
Resolutions were another.
Something small, yet meaningful. Something to let her, herself, know that she wanted the power back. Wanted. No, demanded.
But first, small steps.
She stared at the bed with its neatly folded blankets and fluffed pillows. There was nothing wrong with it. She could sit on the bed. She should force herself to. Or try to sleep on it. The thought coated her stomach with a greasy film.
No. Too big. Her hands were shaking as images flashed in her mind and tears burned her eyes. Okay, something else. Something else. The room suddenly seemed too small, too confining.
“I want the power,” she whispered. “I want my life. I want the power.”
Sad, it was very sad. God, she was pathetic. What good were revelations if you couldn’t even act on them?
At least she’d started to. In the last two nights she started looking up websites when Brayden was in bed. She’d located the Justice Department in Oregon and a list of statute of limitation bills that had been passed. She’d found that the first night she began looking and the elation she’d felt still thrummed through her blood. Since she’d been under eighteen when the crime was committed, and if she could prove DNA evidence, Richard could still stand trial and be convicted for what he did then. Not to mention what he’d done now.
She’d searched other sites as well, whose mottos and themes are all the same: Report crime. Silence only gives the violence power. Break the cycle of abuse.
Sighing, she shrugged off the thought. She had something she might look up tonight if Brayden’s laptop was still out on the coffee table. She leaned down, grabbed a pillow and blanket, but caught her breath at the pull in her ribs.
Stupid. That was her own fault. She should have been paying attention. Carefully, she picked up what she needed and straightened, carrying her linens with her.
The living room was dark save for the moonlight streaming through the windows. With a place this size, she could have chosen one of many rooms, but Brayden wanted her close, so they shared these rooms and the little breakfast room downstairs for the most part. That was fine with her. Security was a nice thing, even if it was a fleeting thought.
Holding the blankets to her, she stared at his door. Yeah, it was nice knowing he was right there if she needed him.
So why did she keep pushing him away?
A smile caught her completely off guard. Brayden was Brayden. It didn’t matter how much she pushed, or how hard. He was still right t
here.
Right where she needed him.
“I’ve really missed that smile. What are you smiling about?”
The soft words jolted her and she spun around, dropping the bedding.
“Damn it, I wish you wouldn’t do that. You’re too big to be that quiet,” she told Brayden. Her chest squeezed at the panic racing through her. Idiot. “Where the hell are you? You scared me.” She searched the darkness and tried to breathe past the looming attack.
Brayden watched her rub her breastbone. “Sorry, I’m on the couch. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He should’ve turned on a damn lamp.
“I know that,” she answered, annoyance clear in her voice.
He stood and walked to her, bending down to pick up the blanket and pillow.
He’d gotten off the phone with Aiden, who was emailing him a file. He’d sat here in the dark wondering what the hell to do, wondering how to fix things, when she’d stepped out of her room and into the moonlight.
All he could do was watch her.
The moonlight washed her face white and he studied her while she stared at his door. The intense frown on her face as she nibbled the inside of her cheek, as she had a habit of doing when involved and concentrating, was familiar and heartening to him. Then her face had softened and a small smile had lifted one corner of her mouth. The smile had eased something in him.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he ventured, standing back up with the bedding.
“No.”
“How come?” he asked as he walked to the couch and dropped the linens. He flipped the blanket open and settled it over the back of the cushions and tossed the pillow on the armrest.
“Just thinking.”
Answered but vague. She had the concept down to an art.
He sat down and Christian did as well.
“What are you doing up?” she asked. “I thought you’d be asleep.”
He tried to read her eyes, but couldn’t in the low light. Something was different. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“No, I called home earlier. Everyone sends their love. Mom wants to talk to you,” he told her.
Brayden watched her as she eased down on her side, settling the quilt over her. He thought about the email he’d received from Rob Roy. Ian wanted to meet them here in Venice. Some schedule break. He’d send the details later.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked, turning his words on him. He shook the thoughts of his brother off and concentrated back on Christian. Time to gamble.
“Our trip,” he told her.
“What trip?” she asked.
“Oh . . .” He purposefully trailed off. He moved, giving her more room to stretch out. His hip was beside hers, his arm on the back of the couch as he leaned over her.
“Did I forget to mention that?” he asked her as he caught the slight scent of her shampoo and the lotion she used.
She nodded. “I think so, yes. Unless you told me while I was conked on my painkillers.”
He grinned at her, saw the curious look on her face washed in moonlight.
She didn’t seem as tense, and if he wasn’t mistaken some of the fear was gone.
“Trip?” she prodded with a raise of eyebrows.
He smoothed the discolored arches of her brows, ran a hand over her hair, sighing. He hated this stupid color. Shrugging off the thought, he leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. As he rose, he whispered in her face, “Venice is an awesome city. I want to see it with you, experience it with you.”
“We’ve been here before.”
“On business or with the family. Never by ourselves.”
She stared at him and stared some more, her eyes black and dark silver in the moonlight. Then she frowned.
Was he making a mistake? “We’re going on a tour tomorrow if I have to drag you. Then we’re going to eat gelatos. And ride in a gondola. Maybe go to a few shops. You could use another jacket.”
“I do love Venice,” she whispered on a heavy sigh.
She reached up and touched his face, a small smile at the corner of her mouth. It was the first time she’d reached out and touched him. The simple contact squeezed his chest, made the muscle bunch in his jaw. He placed his hand on top of hers on his cheek, turned his face slightly and kissed the inside of her wrist.
“I know,” he whispered back.
“I want to tour the bridges.”
“If that’s what you want.” He kept his voice as low as hers.
He loved to see her smile. Taking a chance, he kissed her again on her cheek. “Good night, baby. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He straightened and walked across the living room to his door.
She, without a thought, had reached up and touched him.
He sighed.
“Brayden?” she asked.
He stopped and turned back. “What?”
“Thank you.”
“For?”
A slight chuckle danced in the air. “Not coddling—too much. Good night.”
He stood there staring into the darkened living room, heard her shuffling around on the couch. A smile creased his face as he turned and went to his room, cutting off the light, but keeping the door open.
She might need him during the night.
• • •
For a man who didn’t think he could coddle, Brayden was doing a damn good job.
In the last week, she’d become more relaxed, or maybe it was her revelation and the decision she’d made. Either way, the days here were becoming a warm comforting dream. During the day they toured the city and at night they would either sit and talk about work and the shop, about Tori, or just watch the nightlife from their balcony while sipping wine.
She breathed deeply and leaned her forehead against the cool pane of glass.
They’d been here for weeks, though the first was still a blur to her, either because of the shock or the pain medication or both. The bruises were fading and with them some of the terror, but not the resolve.
Yesterday she talked to Kaitlyn and Tori on the computer. She missed Tori, horribly. And she was ashamed to admit she felt as if she’d somehow failed the little girl. Not that Tori said or acted that way. Conversations with Tori Kinncaid were always the same, like a burst of rainbowed sunshine through a cloudy day.
The thought made her smile.
Sly child that Tori was, she asked if Christian and Daddy were having fun yet. Christian hadn’t answered, but instead asked what Tori wanted for Christmas. Tori informed her that since they were away together maybe they could just get married and come home and be a family. That was what she wanted for Christmas.
Kid didn’t ask for much.
Once upon a time . . .
Christian sighed. Ironic, when she dreamed of him, wanted him and would have done anything for the man, Brayden hadn’t seen her, at least not like he did now.
Now that her life was chaotic, to put a nice neat term on it, Brayden was all she ever dreamed he would be.
The times when he reached for her hand, the way he held her when she was scared and lost . . . The way something in her sighed when he kissed her hair.
She picked up her coffee cup. Time to get ready. She wanted to visit a church today. One with a priest. Now she just had to inform Brayden.
• • •
The church was quiet and dark. Out of the way. Why she’d chosen this one to visit was beyond him. She told him she liked these forgotten chapels on dead-end streets. They’d toured dozens yesterday, but she’d wanted to see them again. So they stopped at this one. Christian even told him he could go take a walk.
Like that was going to happen.
The woman went into a confessional.
Brayden stood at the back of the chapel. What the hell did she have to confess?
He knew something was up as soon as she wanted him to take a walk. She never said anything, but he was aware of the way she was always within hand’s reach of him. The only time they were really apart was at night
when she slept on that stupid little couch and he in the bed. But if it worked for her, he wasn’t about to make an issue of it. He’d noticed the ease in her the last few days, the genuine smile and occasional laughter. All of it loosened the noose strangling his heart.
Brayden sat in one of the back pews. A woman to his left lit a candle and crossed herself.
He realized then he hadn’t been to mass since last Christmas. Grammy would be so disappointed, strong Irish Catholic that she was. He’d known Christian was Catholic, one of the few things he actually knew about her. She’d told him once when he’d asked her.
The woman who had lit the candle was gone, an old man taking her place.
Why did people do that? Did it really help them? Christian had lit one. He’d lit a few in his life, not many, mostly when he’d been much younger and had gone to mass with his mom. Now? He really didn’t think a candle was going to help him. He turned and looked at the front of the chapel, the large crucifix hanging from the ceiling.
The pew creaked as the old man sat beside him. He looked at the stooped man out of the corner of his eye as he heard a chuckle.
That was odd.
“So serious, Brayden,” the man said.
Brayden looked at him, but his face was hidden behind a weathered and tattered fedora.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
The man turned to him then, a wooden cane in his hand, but Brayden didn’t know him. No, wait, something . . . something about the man was familiar. White scraggled hair stuck out under the hat, his weathered face creased with deep wrinkles.
“I don’t have all damn day here. Who knows how long she’ll be confessing whatever sins she thinks she has.” The man nodded to the confessional.
Brayden knew that voice.
“Ian?” he whispered.
His brother shook his head. “I always thought you were the smart twin.”
“Good God,” he muttered. He’d looked directly at the man, watched as he’d lit the candle, sat right, right beside him and had not recognized his own brother.
