by Kaylea Cross
In her quiet way she was strong, in some ways stronger than anyone else he knew. He didn’t question whether or not she’d recover from her ordeal. Christa was a survivor. From what she’d confided to him so far, she’d gone through an emotionally traumatic childhood and a devastating breakup, and despite everything had triumphed. She would overcome this as well. It would be tough as hell but they’d take it day by day, and he’d be right there with her.
When he was sure she wouldn’t wake up, he eased her back onto the bed and covered her carefully with the blankets, wondering if his words had comforted her at all. He’d tried to reassure her without giving her unrealistic promises. He could only hope they would catch her attacker before he got to her again. Because sure as hell, he was going to try. Stalkers always did.
****
He’d made the news. Seated on the sofa in his immaculate living room pressing an ice pack to his face, Seth watched transfixed as the pretty newscaster gave vague details of the attack while his name and picture filled the screen. She described him as a dangerous sexual predator. The slow-witted cops were finally on to him. The rush hit him like a heroin fix.
No wonder people became infatuated with their own fame, obsessed with replicating their crimes, striving for unattainable perfection. But fame was addictive, a drug that would lead to his capture if he let it. He debated the risk of upping the stakes and drawing more attention to himself.
Maybe he wouldn’t need to. They must have finally found a smidgen of a fingerprint and run it through their fossil of a computer system. Carelessness on his part, but it had taken them long enough. How much more did they know? Did they have DNA evidence on him, despite all his precautions? She’d clawed him across the cheek, so maybe they’d found a sample under her fingernails. And when her elbow had smashed into his face his nose had bled enough to leave a good sample, so maybe they’d already made a match. Were they finally putting the pieces together?
No matter. He loved taunting them. They’d come closer than they knew to catching him two years ago, and here he was, still a free man. Fucking idiots, all of them.
He needed to lie low now—that was the smart thing to do. But his fantasy had been interrupted. He didn’t take the failure lightly.
Christa was still out there. Did she savor each sweet breath she took, knowing how precious life was? Did the sky look bluer and the air feel fresher now that she’d had a glimpse of her fate? It wasn’t over. He couldn’t abide leaving loose threads. They had a way of tripping a man up.
****
“This is all yours?” Christa glanced around Rayne’s penthouse suite.
“Yep.” He took her jacket and laid it over a chair in the black granite and stainless steel kitchen. She peeked into the family room and found the requisite big-screen TV in the corner, surrounded by black leather couches and a matching recliner. A glass-topped coffee table with stainless steel legs stood in the middle of the carpet. See? her brain chimed in. Yet another reason why we’re completely incompatible.
“You hungry?”
More than anything she wanted to go back to sleep, but Nate was coming over to take her statement. With nerves jumping in her stomach, she doubted anything would settle well. “No, thanks.”
“Let’s get you comfy then, and we’ll watch a ballgame until Nate gets here.”
“Okay.” She followed him down the cream Berber-carpeted hallway to what must have been the spare room. He placed her bag next to the queen-sized bed covered in an emerald duvet, watching her in the mirrored closet on the far wall.
“This all right?”
“Great.”
“Bathroom’s across the hall, and I’m right next door.”
Yeah, like she needed to be reminded of that. Despite everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, she still would have loved to snuggle up in bed beside him, if only for the physical reassurance of being protected. Not that she could get much safer than she was now, in a secure condominium with a cop to protect her.
“You seem like you’ve got something on your mind.”
She opened her mouth, closed it. “I was just...” Thinking about things she ought not to be thinking about. “I’m still a little dazed, I guess. Sorry.”
He waved her words away. “Don’t apologize.” He came over and settled an arm around her, his forearm warming her shoulders, making her long to burrow into his shirt.
No clinging, Christa. Clinging is the surest way to make a man run in the opposite direction.
She didn’t resist when he stepped back and took her hand to lead her out of the room. “Come on. Let’s watch the game for a while.” He settled her on the couch. “I think all I’ve got in the fridge is water and beer.”
“Water would be great.”
He came back with a chilled bottle and flipped on the TV, scanning to the Mariners’ game. Three innings later Rayne’s phone rang.
“Hey Nate. Come on up.”
Her stomach clenched. After Rayne let him in Nate strode over to her.
“This guy been taking care of you okay?”
“He’s spoiling me, for sure.”
“Good.” He glanced at Rayne, poised in the entryway, then back at her. “Tell me how you want to do this, honey.” His deep brown eyes were kind. “You want Rayne to stay, or would you be most comfortable with just me in the room?”
She weighed the pros and cons. She really didn’t want Rayne to hear it all yet, but if she asked him to go, would it make him feel she didn’t trust him? She cast him a questioning glance.
“Don’t worry about me,” he told her, as if reading her mind. “I’ll stay if you want me to, but I totally understand if you’d rather I didn’t.”
She felt shaken. Part of her was terrified at facing this without him, and the other part of her was too ashamed to let him hear her statement. “I think I’ll talk to Nate by myself, if you don’t mind.” Her voice came out uneven.
“Not at all, darlin’.” He must have seen how close she was to losing it, because he crouched in front of her and set his warm hands over hers as she rubbed her damp palms on her jeans. “I’m right down the hall if you change your mind,” he told her, those hazel eyes boring directly into hers, lending her strength.
“Thanks,” she whispered. He squeezed her hands and left her with Nate, who chose the recliner.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees.
“As well as can be expected, I guess.” She was holding it together so far, wasn’t she?
He pulled a digital recorder and a pad of paper out of his briefcase. “It’s standard to record the victim’s statement for future reference,” he told her, starting the machine. First he announced the date, her name and file number.
She answered all his questions with as much detail as she could, outlining Jake’s barking in the yard, the moment she’d realized it was Seth advancing from the shadows, the struggle to get away before he forced her into the car and drove to her house. She told him about the alarm, that Seth had known the code, and the instant of freedom in the kitchen before he’d caught her again.
“I think I might have broken his nose, because it made a real crunching noise when I hit him, and he was bleeding. It didn’t slow him down much, though, because he grabbed me by my hair and wrestled me down.” She had to swallow twice before continuing. “Then he dragged me up to my room and...and tied me to the bed.”
“Face up or face down?”
His matter-of-fact tone jarred her, and she had to remind herself he wasn’t being callous, only doing his job as an investigator. “Face down.”
Nate nodded, made some notes on his pad, peered across at her. “And when did he produce the knife?”
Her throat clamped shut at the memory of him holding the glinting blade above her, making her think she was about to be stabbed. “First he put a picture of Rayne and me on the nightstand...” She explained that Seth thought Rayne was her boyfriend, described how
infuriated he’d become when she’d denied it, had tried to choke her. “Then he used the knife to cut off my clothes.” The tears threatened then, she blinked hard to hold them back.
“Take your time,” Nate murmured, watching her with sympathetic eyes.
She shook her head, closed her lids. “I’m okay.” She would not fall apart. If she allowed herself to let go, she might never be able to put herself back together.
“And after he cut your clothes? What happened then?”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “He tried to rape me, but he couldn’t, um...” Humiliation burned like acid.
“Couldn’t maintain an erection?” Nate supplied.
“Yes.” Which was why she’d been so upset with the doctor about the need for an internal so soon after the ordeal. He hadn’t been able to penetrate her, thankfully.
“And when he couldn’t perform sexually, what then?”
Her jaw trembled along with the rest of her body. Her teeth chattered. “H-he bit me, on m-my shoulder.” She was cold, so cold, the wound throbbing. She heard again her own scream, relived the bright haze of pain that sliced through her, and the warm stickiness of her own blood trickling over her skin. The nauseating tang of it.
“Did anything else happen before you heard your neighbor Patrick Flannery calling you?”
“No. That was about it.” Thank God for Patrick. He’d saved her life, she was sure of it.
Nate finished his last questions swiftly, then shut off the recorder and sat next to her on the couch. “All over now,” he soothed. “Want me to call Hutch back in?”
She shook her head. She didn’t want him to see her until she was back in control.
“Okay, I’ll give you a few minutes.” He settled a blanket over her, and she flinched when his hand touched her back. “You did real well, honey. Your statement will be a big help to finally put this guy away forever, so he won’t be able to hurt another woman.”
She hoped so. God, she hoped so. No one should have to go through this.
After a few minutes the trembling eased and she was able to breathe normally again. A heavy, almost drugged feeling of fatigue dragged at her, making her lean into the cushions.
Nate studied her a moment longer, then stood. “Okay, Hutch,” he called, “we’re through here.”
Rayne appeared, his gaze locking with hers. “You all right?”
“Just glad it’s over,” she answered. “No offense, Nate.”
His lips quirked. “None taken, honey. I’ll keep you informed of any developments, and feel free to call me anytime day or night, as a cop or a friend. In the meantime I’ll have Victims’ Services contact you.”
“She’ll be gone for a few days, Nate,” Rayne told him.
“Gone? Gone where?”
“I’m taking her to the beach house for a while.”
Nate stared at him. “Oh.”
An undercurrent simmered between the two men, though she didn’t know quite what it was.
Rayne’s expression was inscrutable. “You okay here for a minute while I see Nate out?”
A-ha. They wanted a private conversation. She waved him away. “Sure, go ahead.” The door closed behind them, leaving her to wonder what was so terrible it couldn’t be said in front of her.
****
Nate eyed him levelly. “What the hell are you doing? You know I don’t mind you using the beach house, but have you considered the implications? I mean, there’s always protective custody—”
“You want to scare her even more? She’s already been through enough. Besides, she’ll be in protective custody. Mine.”
Nate spread his hands. “I hear ya. I’ve known you almost your entire life. You’re like a son to me. I know I can trust you to take care of her.”
“So what’s the problem?” Rayne leaned back with his arms folded across his chest.
“I know, I know,” Nate placated him, “you don’t want to hear it. But I’m going to say it anyway. First of all, whatever’s going on between you and Christa is—”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“—is none of my business,” he finished. “But it’s obvious you care about her a lot.”
“That’s right.”
“I can see it.” He cleared his throat. “And I can’t help feeling you might be getting in over your head here.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I won’t change my mind.”
Nate’s fingers drummed against his briefcase. “I’m concerned about her too. Hell, she’s a sweet girl and didn’t deserve any of this. But even when we catch the bastard, she may still be...well, she might...you know as well as I do that she has a long, tough recovery ahead of her. She’s totally vulnerable and not up to dealing with any more emotional trauma right now.”
What the hell? Rayne stood straighter, leaning forward on the balls of his feet. “So, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you’d better tread real carefully here.”
His hands squeezed into fists. “You mean I can’t just fuck her and leave her like every other woman I’ve been with, right? Like I have no control over my sexual urges or something.”
“You know exactly what I mean, and come on, your lifestyle isn’t exactly a big secret.”
Rayne’s teeth clenched. Jesus Christ, did everyone think he was a dick? He had always treated the women he’d dated well.
“All I’m saying is that you’d better think long and hard before you start anything with Christa.”
“So you do mean sex.” His brow hiked closer to his hairline.
“Partly. Take it easy, for her sake. She’s not ready. She may never be ready again.”
Rayne had heard enough. It was one thing to be offered fatherly advice, but quite another to have your lifelong idol insult your morals. Who the hell did Nate think he was to talk, anyway? The man’s reputation had been even worse than his, for God’s sake. “Just so there’s no confusion about it,” he said, struggling to keep his temper at bay and his voice even, “I’m taking Christa with me to Lincoln City. And if something happens between us, rest assured I won’t fuck her.” So okay, he’d snarled the last few words, but at least Nate got the point.
Nate gave an ear-to-ear smile and burst out laughing. As Rayne turned away he heard him mutter under his breath. “Well I’ll be damned.”
****
Christa picked at the pizza Rayne had placed on a tray for her. She wasn’t hungry but she needed to eat, so she forced herself to eat a few bites of ham and pineapple, usually her favorite.
She knew the interview with Nate had been necessary, though she’d hated having to relive everything, all the awful details. Partly because she could hardly bear to think about them herself, let alone expose them to a virtual stranger. That would come later on as well, in the inevitable counseling appointments she was already dreading.
And that’s when it happened. The full impact of what had happened crashed down on her in a sudden, suffocating weight. Her heart raced, sweat popped out on her forehead, her skin tingling as if covered with a million skittering bugs.
She was unclean, violated. She could still smell the faint scent of him that lingered on her skin.
She shoved the tray off her lap and leapt up. Her body was contaminated, and she needed to wash the filth off, now.
“I need a shower,” she blurted to Rayne as she headed for the bathroom. The walls closed in on her, her vision blurring as the world tipped onto its side. She stumbled, but Rayne was right behind her, helping her to her feet.
“Chris, whoa. You’re scaring me.”
“I just need a shower,” she gasped, desperate to get under the spray of water. She slammed the bathroom door shut and ripped off her clothes, throwing them into a heap before yanking at the faucet.
“Chris?”
She closed the glass door behind her and stood under the blistering hot spray, the urgent, panicked sensation remaining. She scrubbed her body, violently decontaminating everywhere she coul
d reach, continuing even when her skin shone red and raw.
Then Rayne opened the shower door and yanked the washcloth from her before killing the spray.
Christa blinked up at him. Had he been there in the bathroom with her all along? She covered herself with her arms, trembling, her shoulder stinging. As if she were coming out of a fog, she stared down in surprise at the pink rivulets dripping from her fingertips. Blood stained the water. Her blood.
“Just stay still.” Rayne’s eyes were glued to her bleeding shoulder. He grabbed a towel from the cupboard and wrapped her in it, applying firm pressure to stop the bleeding. “You’re okay,” he told her, maintaining eye contact. “You’re okay now.”
Still she watched the diluted blood drip from her fingers, shivering. Then her knees gave out and she slid bonelessly to the floor. “D-don’t,” she mumbled when he reached for her. She was naked, for God’s sake! She didn’t want anyone—least of all him—seeing her right now, lying in a heap with only a towel covering her, her skin raw because she’d morphed into a mad woman.
He hunkered in front of her outside the shower stall, stemming the bleeding while trying to preserve what was left of her dignity. When he reached for her a minute later he ignored her protests and carried her to his bed where he laid her against the pillows.
“It’s okay, Chris. Everything’s fine now. You need to lie still for a bit.” He deftly rolled her onto her side to get a better look at the wound. “When the bleeding stops I’ll apply a pressure dressing.”
She shut her eyes as the room spun around her, a soft buzzing filling her head. She was too tired to care about what Rayne was thinking, so she let herself drift, aware only of his hand gently rubbing her bare upper arm.
“Should I call someone?” he asked eventually. “Teryl?”
“A shrink. No, an exorcist. An evil spirit has taken over my body.”
He let out a dry chuckle, dispelling some of the tension. “Everything hit you at once, huh?”
“I shorted out.” Maybe she had smoke coming out of her ears. “Promise you won’t tell anyone about this,” she demanded.
“Of course not.”
