He uses the other door to slide into the seat next to me, brushing the hair out of my eyes to check me over, his expression becoming increasingly worried when I can’t focus on him.
His question is direct, “What happened?”
“I had a run-in with an…” I squint at him. Frown. I’m not saying “assassin” aloud. I’ll sound ridiculous.
“With who, Grace?”
My voice slurs. Without the touch of his hand on my head, the world sways as the vehicle backs out of the parking space.
I won’t remain conscious for long and there’s nothing I can do to stop the oncoming darkness. “Big guy … knife … old lady … stopped him … need to … sleep…”
I slide toward Cain and my head lolls onto his shoulder and settles there.
He doesn’t seem to mind.
He strokes my falling hair out of my closing eyes and murmurs under his breath. “What have you got yourself into?”
That’s all I hear before I pass out.
* * *
It feels like two seconds later that I revive inside the vehicle. Leaning on Cain’s shoulder is like resting against a supercharged battery. My energy is back at a thousand percent and so is my sense of self-preservation.
I jolt away from him and slide across the leather seat until I’m pressed up against the far window. He remains where he is, giving me as much space as the back seat allows, keeping his tone moderated: “How are you feeling?”
As he speaks, his observant gaze takes in my eyes and posture. My alertness has the opposite effect that I thought it would: he relaxes instead of tensing up.
He says, “You look much better now. I was worried about you for a second there.”
“I feel fine, thanks. I just needed a little nap.” I know how odd that sounds, but I can’t elaborate, because I have no explanation. Dad never helped me discover why I check out after a fight. He never took me to a doctor for answers. The only explanation I can come up with is a drastic adrenaline drop.
I consider our surroundings. “My place is in the opposite direction.”
“I wasn’t sure where we should go, so we’ve been driving around for the last minute in case you woke up. I was just about to take you to my doctor.” Cain leans forward to the driver. “Can you turn the car around please? Grace will tell you where to go.”
The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror, waiting for my instructions. I feel better that they are taking my wishes seriously.
I say, “Down this street for starters. Then take the second left.”
I cringe a little. My apartment isn’t exactly in a nice part of town. Still, I don’t relax until it looks like he’s doing exactly what I asked.
I attempt to exhale the tension from my body. It’s warm in the car, and worse, under Cain’s unwavering gaze I’m heating up with every passing moment.
I slip out of my jacket and pull off my scarf. At some point, I’ll put my seatbelt on, but only once I’m sure I don’t need to make a quick getaway…
“Grace!”
My eyes fly wide at the alarm in Cain’s voice. “What?”
“There’s a cut on your jaw.”
I grimace. My opponent must have nicked it when he took a swipe at my face. Another weird thing about me: I don’t feel pain so much. I’m aware of the injury, but it’s more of a clinical awareness. I heal quickly, so it’s never been much of a problem. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Cain clearly disagrees. He leans toward me to examine it, lightly resting his thumb and forefinger beneath my chin to angle my face and study the wound. “It needs stitching.”
My lips part at the unexpected tingles running from his fingertips down my neck and right into my heart. I try to find my voice. It’s in there. Somewhere.
I manage, “I’m okay. Really.”
He clears his throat. “I have a friend who says the same thing when she’s hurt. It usually means she’s not okay.”
He doesn’t elaborate, but his friend sounds like someone I’d get along with.
He purses his lips, deep in thought. A quick shake of his head indicates he isn’t giving up. “With your permission, I’d like to have my doctor examine you. She’s back at my house. I have an apartment in town, but the house is twenty minutes outside the city. She’ll be able to look at the wound right away and stitch it if necessary.”
“You have a personal doctor? She lives with you?” Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Lifestyles of the rich and famous are foreign to me. I guess being a millionaire means he can keep a doctor on his payroll.
He lowers his hand, taking a little too long to answer. “I … uh … play a lot of sports.” He shrugs. “Injuries are a regular part of my life. I have my own doctor so that I’m assured of privacy.”
His sports excuse is bogus—I can tell by the way his tone changes as he speaks—but his need for privacy is real. I’m not sure how important his reasons should be to me. He could have a personal doctor for any reason. Parker could be sick. Cain could be dying. I halt my imagination before it gets out of control.
I hesitate to accept his help. It scares the stuffing out of me, not least because it means willingly heading into a foreign environment. But at the same time … nobody has ever offered to help me before. It’s … nice … in a way that I wasn’t expecting.
Also, stitching my own face is awkward.
I say, “You don’t even know me.”
He draws back. “You’re right. We haven’t been introduced.” He holds out his hand to me across the space between us. “I’m Cain Carter, millionaire. I have a younger sister, Parker, who I only found out about a year ago.” His expression becomes regretful. “And … I’m leaving Boston tonight.”
Oh. For some reason, the leaving part is like a jab in my heart. But that’s for the best. His doctor will take a look at me and then I’ll never see him again. After all, I plan to leave today, too.
I swallow. It’s my turn to introduce myself. “I’m … Grace Kennedy. Twenty years old. Not a penny to my name. Both parents dead and no siblings.”
His expression softens at the whole orphan thing. It’s not something I usually share, because I like to avoid the obvious question: How did they die?
I’m grateful when he doesn’t ask. Instead, he leans toward me again and the energy I sense from him is so strong it’s almost unbearable.
“Now we know each other. Please accept my help, Grace.” There’s a question in his voice and eyes. And then a determined statement. “Your face is too perfect to let it scar. Not when I can do something about it.”
I clear my throat, not sure how to take what I think is intended to be a cautious compliment. “Your doctor will need to have skills if you don’t want that to happen.”
He seems to take that as permission to angle toward the driver and take charge of the situation. “Sorry, Spencer, we need to turn around again. Can you take us back to the house?”
The driver gives him a nod in the rearview mirror. He takes all the changes of direction in stride.
Returning his attention to me, Cain says, “My doctor is a plastic surgeon, so there won’t be any issues.”
In the next breath he says, as if he knows it will ease my mind, “Parker is at the house. She’s staying out of sight after this morning. She’ll be happy to see you. It’s not often she meets someone who carries books around like she does.” His voice lowers, filling with regret again. “Which I didn’t know until this morning.”
He shakes himself. Glances at me as if he didn’t mean to say that aloud.
I want to ask him about his relationship with his sister. He said he found out about her a year ago, but it’s clear he only got to know her recently. I don’t want to pry. Especially because I don’t want him to think this was all some ploy to get information out of him. Sickos stalk famous people all the time. It occurs to me that he has as many reasons to be nervous about me as I do about him.
I decide I’m better off not talking. At some point he’s goi
ng to want details about how I got the cut on my chin. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked already.
I need to get my story straight in my head. I flush as I remember murmuring something about a big guy, a knife, and an old lady. An attempted mugging is my best explanation. As for passing out on his shoulder, I’ll have to swallow my pride and pretend I fainted after the stress of the encounter.
Woe is me, I’m just a poor helpless female.
Ugh.
I fold my coat in my lap, winding it around my book and the knife that rests inside it, resting them both on top of my bag. The coat is too large to shove inside the small bag. Carrying a knife to someone’s home isn’t a great look, but there isn’t much I can do about it now.
While we travel, Cain returns to his phone. The first call is to Parker. He says, “It’s all sorted. I’m coming back.” There’s a pause. “Can you do me a favor? When the car arrives, come out the front. I’m bringing Grace with me and I think she’ll feel better if you’re there. Yes, Grace from the café.” His eyes crinkle at the corners at whatever she said, his lips rising in a half smile. “Okay, Parker. You too.”
Then he calls someone I’m assuming is the doctor even though he calls her by her first name—Sarah—before describing my wound to her. His tone is matter-of-fact as he tells her that I passed out as well.
The final call he makes is the shortest and most cryptic. What fascinates me the most is the way his whole demeanor changes. For a moment, I glimpse a different Cain, someone commanding and powerful in a way that sends shivers down my spine.
He growls a command to whoever picked up the line, “Report.” There’s a pause. “Right.” Then: “Is everything ready? Good.”
That’s it. Conversation over. I focus on the view as silence descends around us.
Twenty minutes later, we’ve left the city behind and entered Weston, a place where the houses are mansions and the lawns are picture-perfect. A shudder runs down my spine. I came out this way once with Dad. He suspected his right-hand man was trying to undermine him—he was right. The guy had a house out this way and things got ugly fast. It was my first knife fight and not something I want to remember. It’s lucky I don’t scar easily or I’d have several nasty ones crisscrossing my back.
The car pauses at a tall security gate. An elegant wrought-iron fence runs the entire width of the property. It has an Old World look, but the modern security cameras aren’t to be trifled with. No doubt the house has a hefty alarm system. I can’t see behind the massive white mansion planted in the middle of the expansive lawn, but I assume the security behind the building is as complete as it is out the front.
Parker and another woman wait at the front of the house as the car pulls up. I quickly assess the property’s exits. Now that the security gate is closed, I’ll have to scale the fence if I want to get out of here…
I glance back at Cain to find myself under scrutiny. The slightly wary look in his eyes tells me he recognizes my behavior as quickly as I recognized his—he knows I’m assessing my surroundings for threats and escape routes.
I quickly hide my thoughts, clutching my bag and tucking my rolled-up coat under my arm as I get out of the vehicle. It’s cold outside but I’m wary of unraveling my coat for the short walk to the door in case the knife drops out of it. I need to keep it out of sight at all costs.
Parker greets me with a shy smile. “Grace. Hi.” She immediately checks out the cut on my chin. “Wow, that must hurt.”
I bite my lip, not wanting to lie, opting for a noncommittal response. “It looks worse than it feels.”
The woman dressed in a no-nonsense gray suit holds out her hand to me. “I’m Dr. Sarah Mathers. I’d like to take a look at you, if you don’t mind?”
I guess it’s straight to business, then.
Sarah leads me inside and Parker gives me a half smile. I try to place her age. Younger than me, maybe nineteen.
She says, “I’ll see you when my overprotective brother deems you fit and healthy enough for a cup of hot chocolate.”
Cain shrugs but Parker snags his arm as he passes, her smile disappearing. “I’m sorry about this morning. I thought it would be okay.”
She bites her lip. Hard.
This morning I would have picked her as ultra-confident, but the girl I see now is vulnerable and genuinely worried.
He responds by instantly wrapping her up in a hug. “Hey, it’s okay. Really. You’re the one I’m trying to protect.” He pulls back. Gives her a grin. “Luckily, greed is a good motivator. And I have dirt on everyone, so it’s all good.”
She relaxes. Then scoffs, “On everyone?”
His response is absolute. “Yes.”
Parker diverts into a comfortable-looking lounge room with a fireplace and plush chairs while Cain follows Sarah and me through the entrance, past the grand spiral staircase, through a corridor, and then another corridor. I almost lose track of how many times we turn a corner. This place is a maze for the unwary.
We finally reach a spacious room containing a surgical bed and a tray of instruments already prepared ... basically the perfect place to dispose of a body if you want to. Cain seems perfectly at home here, making me wonder how many times he’s lain on this exact bed.
Color heats my cheeks. Beds and Cain … not somewhere my mind should be going right now. Also unexpected. I’m done with men. Really I am.
Sarah asks me to put my coat and bag on the counter that extends all the way around three sides of the room, above which are cupboards with opaque glass doors. I reluctantly leave my coat on the counter before I sit on the edge of the surgical bed while she examines my wound.
She gives me a reassuring smile. “It should only take two stitches. You were lucky the attack wasn’t lower or it would have cut your throat.”
Like Cain, she doesn’t ask me for details. I have a feeling those questions are being stored for later, and I’ll do everything I can to avoid them.
I accept the local anesthetic she offers me and force myself to lie still while she works over me. Cain pulls up a chair and sits quietly out of the way.
When the stitches are done, Sarah looks me in the eye. “Cain said you passed out.”
My chin is numb from the anesthetic. I work my mouth a little, hoping the feeling wears off soon. I pretend to be embarrassed. “I think I fainted. It’s not every day I intercept a mugging.”
She tries a little harder. “There are further tests I can do to make sure you’re okay.”
“No.” I try to soften my sharp response. “Thank you. I’ve always had naturally low blood pressure. A shock was all it took to make me pass out.”
“Well, I won’t do anything without your consent, so…” She turns and shrugs at Cain.
At some point he has relocated to the side of the room closest to the door. I frown at the fact that I didn’t notice him do that. Just like I didn’t sense him come up behind me this morning to return my pen. This man moves like a panther.
He says, “Thanks, Sarah. I’d like a minute alone with Grace now, please.”
He folds his arms across his chest as she leaves the room.
I suck in a sharp breath at the change in his posture. Now that Sarah is gone, he isn’t the protective older brother anymore, nor the polite employer, not even the arrogant millionaire, but someone much more dangerous…
In fact, he’s starting to remind me of the guy in the alley … what was his real name? Lutz something?
I slide off the bed, preparing to make an exit as quickly as I can, but before I reach my rolled-up coat on the opposite side of the room, Cain says, “A big guy, a knife, and an old lady.”
For some reason, I don’t want to lie to him. So I opt for half truths. I snatch up my coat, take a deep breath, and spin back to him, my expression deliberately blank. “Like I said to the doctor, I got in the way.”
Cain levels his gaze with me. We’re standing on opposite sides of the room, but his presence is somehow magnified despite the distance.
/> He says, “Here’s what I know: Lutz Logan wasn’t trying to rob Briar. He was trying to kill her. You stopped him and somehow disarmed him. I want to know how you did that.”
My thoughts scatter and my stomach plummets. He knows Briar’s name. He knows Lutz Logan. He knows that Lutz was trying to kill Briar, and now he’s talking as if he knows I have the knife.
How? How? How? And what the hell am I going to do?
Cain lifts himself off the wall, unfolding his arms. “But what I really want to know is who you are.”
An object glints in his fist.
Oh no…
I fight the impulse to freeze, patting my coat very slowly, checking the location of the knife. My stomach sinks with every touch that confirms my fears.
The knife isn’t where I left it.
Cain is holding it.
My brief vacation into a world where people take care of each other is over.
Now I have to fight for my life all over again.
3
Without taking my eyes off Cain, I re-balance my weight, settling into a defensive position, the coat and book held close to one side of my chest. A quick glance tells me that Sarah has unhelpfully cleaned away all the surgical instruments and the cupboards are locked. My only weapon is my book wrapped in my coat.
I don’t know if Cain can fight or if his physique is all for show. I keep my eyes on his hands. The location of the knife is what’s important now. I can fight without a weapon, but I’d prefer to be the one holding it. At the very least, I don’t want to meet the sharp end of it.
His eyes widen.
Good. He recognizes the fighting stance I’m taking. That means he’ll take me seriously.
His tone changes abruptly. “Easy, Grace. I just want answers.”
I keep my breathing even and smooth. “You made a lot of statements. You didn’t ask any questions.”
His gaze flickers, no doubt in reflection. “You’re right, I didn’t.”
He very slowly lifts the knife without making any sudden moves, turning it so that the hilt rests side-on in his large palm, making the etched initials visible to me.
Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 43