Her Darkest Nightmare

by Brenda Novak

  “We didn’t eat it all. We skipped some of the cold cereal and the soup.”

  “But we must’ve consumed three thousand calories each. Actually, I think you consumed twice that much.”

  He lifted his big shoulders in a shrug. “Saved me from cooking dinner.”

  She laughed, feared it sounded more like a giggle, and forced herself to stop. When was the last time she’d giggled? Maybe never. Unless it was before Jasper Moore revealed his true self. She tended to measure her life that way. Before the attack and after.

  “Besides, Makita helped.” He whistled to his dog. “Didn’t you, boy?”

  Amarok’s Alaskan malamute, who was dozing by the fire, lifted his head to acknowledge his master, causing the tag on his collar to jingle.

  “He’ll probably be sick tonight,” she mused.

  “Nah. He’ll take a big dump and be fine.”

  She shifted on the couch. When they first got home Amarok had provided her with some sweats, but the heat of the fire had caused her to peel them off. Now she was dressed in an Alaska State Trooper T-shirt and a pair of boxers, with a fuzzy throw blanket to cover her bare legs. “Still, we should’ve opted for a salad. I can already feel the fat clogging my arteries.”

  He held up his glass and gazed at the liquid inside. “How often do you let yourself eat as many Twinkies as you want?”

  “Never.”

  “So don’t worry about it, Doc. You can go back to eating salad and measuring the dressing tomorrow.”

  She’d essentially come to the same conclusion. It was almost as if she’d left her Hanover House persona in the spare bedroom where she’d hung her suit. For the past couple of hours she’d been talking and laughing and feeling like a regular woman. She’d also been ignoring the fact that she and Amarok had a little history together—and, to her relief, Amarok was doing the same. The escape alone was enough to make her feel drunk. “I don’t measure my dressing!”

  “You’re the measuring type.”

  She leaned up on her elbow to take another sip of wine. “Meaning what? I’m … OCD? Too politically correct? A pain in the ass?” She had colleagues who would agree with him no matter which answer he picked, but he made up his own response.

  “Uptight. Smart. Out to set the world on fire.”

  Diplomatic though his answer was, she didn’t get the impression being “out to set the world on fire” made him any less angry with her. She guessed it was just the opposite—part of what frustrated and disappointed him. “And you don’t like it.”

  “You’ve created a human dump in my backyard. I don’t like that, and I’ve never made a secret of it.

  “So you’re holding a grudge?” she asked, and she hoped he understood she wasn’t just talking about their difference of opinion on Hanover House.

  “Still trying to decide,” he said.

  “Well, I think it’s time you forgive me.”

  “How do you know I haven’t?”

  “You’re kidding, right? With the way you scowl at me if you ever happen to see me?”

  “Scowl?”

  “Yes. You could definitely be a little friendlier.”

  He brought one leg into his body and rested the hand with the wine on his knee. “And I think you could be a little friendlier. The only reason I scowl is because every time I look at you, really look at you, your eyes dart away.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  He drained his glass and leaned forward to pour. “They just did.”

  That had much more to do with how he affected her on a sexual level, which was why she’d broken things off. She couldn’t handle the feelings he evoked, what those feelings made her want. “Stop. You don’t like me anymore. That’s the problem.”

  “I don’t like what you’ve done. To my town or to me. It’s not the same.”

  “To you? I tried to be honest!”

  “You gave me some bullshit about friendship and then you avoided me. You have some sort of idiotic hang-up with my age.”

  It wasn’t idiotic. She was thirty-six and he was only twenty-nine. She was too old for him! She’d mentioned that, too, when she’d told him she didn’t want to see him anymore, but that had only been part of it. “Seven years is a lot.”

  “That’s an excuse and you know it.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “So you’re going to treat me like I’m not welcome in Hilltop? Say things like you said at Quigley’s?”

  He didn’t apologize. “You don’t belong here.”

  Alaskans even had a name for people like her, who weren’t from Alaska and didn’t know how to live there. She’d heard it before: cheechak.

  “This is my life’s work!”

  “You don’t need to be studying psychopaths. What you suffered when you were sixteen, and then this last summer, has you so frightened of men you can’t trust ’em anymore. Why make it worse?”

  “I can trust the right people,” she said.

  “You couldn’t trust me. That was the problem. I’m a cop, but I’m still a man and, as far as you’re concerned, that makes me one of the bad guys.”

  “So you don’t even want to speak when we see each other?”

  “You know what I want.”

  “I can’t handle a romantic relationship.”

  “I think you can. It’s time to get past what happened to you.”

  She wished he had the right of it. Part of her still craved the connection she’d felt with Amarok. She hadn’t bailed out because she wasn’t interested in him. She’d always wished she’d had some warning where Jasper was concerned and felt it only right to be honest about her own psyche. “Three days of rape and torture leaves a mark that doesn’t fade much, not even with time. And last summer, when I was abducted again, that just … brought it all back, returned me to the very beginning of the climb.” She ran her finger over the raised flesh of the scar on her neck.

  “You don’t ever regret breaking it off with me?”

  There were times she did, but, given her limitations, there were other times she felt relief. She almost expressed how torn she was but knew that wouldn’t make things any easier. For his sake, she had to remain decisive. “No, I did the right thing.”

  He nodded. “Okay, I’ll leave it at that.”

  “Thank you.” She’d warned off other men over the years, too, had destroyed every chance she’d ever had to be with anyone who excited her. She justified it by telling herself she was protecting those who might be hurt or disappointed by her limitations. But she knew she was ultimately protecting herself.

  Amarok had actually gotten closer to her than any of the others. For a short window, she’d felt like she could overcome the past, with his help. But then Jasper resurfaced and … As much as she sometimes craved a sexual relationship, especially with Amarok, she just couldn’t cope with all that held her back.

  She lifted her glass for more wine. If they weren’t going to obtain any sexual gratification, she figured they might as well enjoy what they could and keep drinking.

  “Why’d he do it?” he asked. “What could a guy possibly get out of torturing you—or anyone else?”

  Her mind went back to the first attack. She’d worked so diligently to distance herself from those three days when she was sixteen, but ever since last summer it was harder to put that incident in perspective. Her emotions and her memories were just too close to the surface. “He was a sadist. And a sadist derives sexual pleasure from hurting others.”

  “That’d be the clinical definition.”

  “You’re looking for more?”

  “You knew this guy.”

  She downed the rest of her wine. They’d talked about this before, but the question remained and would remain until her research or someone else’s could provide the answer. Why? That was what everyone wanted to know—her most of all. “I can’t explain on that level, even after all my studies. Not really. That’s part of the problem.”

  “You loved him. You told me that.”

 
“I did. Even worse, I thought he loved me. But he was incapable of true emotion.”

  He poured for her. “If he wanted to kill you, why didn’t he do it in the beginning? Why bother pretending?”

  “Until that point, he’d probably only fantasized about killing. He hadn’t actually crossed the line. Besides, it was foreplay. It’s the building of excitement that makes the climax so enjoyable.”

  She hadn’t meant to create a double entendre. In her office, she might’ve said the same thing to almost anyone. But in this setting, it came off totally different.

  Luckily, his dog distracted them both by coming over to lick her hand. It was almost as if Makita understood her pain and was offering his sympathy, which made her smile as she scratched under his collar.

  Amarok broke the silence. “Last summer, I wanted to ask but didn’t…”

  Assuming it would be another difficult question, she swallowed hard. “What?”

  “Had you slept with Jasper before it happened?”

  “Yes. He didn’t rape me because he couldn’t get it any other way.” Another reason Jasper’s behavior had been such a terrible betrayal. She hadn’t withheld anything from him, not her virginity and certainly not her heart.

  “That’s what I hate most,” he said with a grimace.

  Feeling cold again, she adjusted the throw blanket. “I don’t follow.”

  “He took all the things that were meant to be good and twisted them into something painful.” He turned toward her, and this time she didn’t glance away. She let him study her, risked having him see whatever it was he was hoping to see—as well as what she was afraid he’d figure out: that nothing had really changed, despite their last conversation. She may have pulled away, but he still had the power to arouse her in spite of her fears and scars.

  “The only sexual experience you have occurred with someone who purposely destroyed your trust by torturing and raping you for three days,” he added in disgust.

  Jasper with an electric cord. Jasper wielding a knife. Jasper holding the pillow he’d used to deny her oxygen. The memories flooded Evelyn’s mind before she could stop them.

  Amarok cursed when he noticed her flinch. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I can’t help thinking—never mind.” He shook his head.

  “What?” she prompted.

  He hesitated.

  “What?” she said again.

  “I should’ve thrown up a roadblock, mounted some resistance to having Hanover House in the area instead of letting the mayor and everyone else who wanted jobs for the community talk me out of fighting your pet project.”

  “Then we never would’ve met.”

  “Exactly.”

  She winced. “You regret knowing me?”

  A change came over him, as if he was suddenly taking note of every nuance of her expression and body language. “Not knowing you would make my life easier. I’d be lying if I said the thought of you, of us, didn’t cross my mind just about every day.” He tipped his glass her way. “More than once. So yeah, I guess I wish we’d never met. Then I wouldn’t know what I was missing.”

  She hated that he felt that way, had never wanted to negatively impact his life. “Well, maybe you’ll get rid of me sooner than you think. Tonight, when my car wouldn’t start I was tempted to make my plane reservations back to Boston.”

  “Your parents would like that.”

  So would her sister; they all wanted her to come home. But she wouldn’t, not until Hanover House was thriving and she had someone else who was equally committed to what she’d created ready to take over. After what Jasper had done, she was in it for the long haul.

  Amarok poured himself another drink. “And when you leave, we’ll be stuck with what you created: Hundreds of psychopaths living within a few miles of all we hold dear.”

  “Those psychopaths have to be held somewhere.”

  “They didn’t have to be held here.”

  “Some claim psychopathy is on the rise, Amarok. According to the statistics, four percent of the population could be classified with the disorder—that’s one in twenty-five! With numbers like those, chances are most of us will run into at least one in our lifetime.”

  “Having Hanover House in Hilltop might guarantee it for the people here.”

  “Still. It’s a step in the right direction. Knowledge is power. Psychopaths make up only twenty percent of our prison population, yet they perform over half of all violent crime. And they are very difficult to detect. That means it’s not just my problem.”

  “We haven’t had a murder in Hilltop in a decade.”

  “Considering all the security measures at HH, the community is as safe as ever.”

  He frowned but didn’t answer.

  “Anyway, let’s not argue. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Fine. Feel free to change the subject.”

  “I will.”

  “To…”

  “How’s your father?” These days his father lived in Anchorage, where he and his new wife exported seafood for a living.

  “Doing great.”

  “And your mother?”

  He shrugged.

  “She still in Seattle?”

  “I guess.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Haven’t talked to her.”

  His mother left his father when he was only two and took his twin brother to Seattle with her. Although Evelyn could see why he might feel as if she’d played favorites when she left him behind, he’d told her it wasn’t the abandonment that bothered him as much as the fact that he hadn’t known he had a sibling, let alone a twin, until he turned eighteen and received a call from Jason. “When’s the last time you heard from her?”

  “She called a couple of months ago.”

  “From Seattle?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t pick up.”

  “And you didn’t call back?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “You mean you can’t forgive her.”

  “It’s not that. She hated Alaska, was miserable here. I can understand why she might leave. Everyone has the right to find their own happiness and all that. I can even understand why she’d think it was fair to take one son and leave the other. But she’s been gone for twenty-seven years. And we had no contact until Jason reached out. I don’t know her that well, so it makes for an awkward conversation.” He yawned, checked his watch and stood. “It’s late. We’d better get to bed. If the storm lets up, tomorrow will be a hell of a day.”

  The way he’d handled her questions about his mother told Evelyn he didn’t care to talk about her. “Because of the cleanup?”

  “And whatever damage it leaves in its wake.”

  “What if it doesn’t let up?” She almost hoped it wouldn’t. She may have told him she didn’t want a relationship, but the attraction she felt hadn’t gone anywhere. She couldn’t say she’d be disappointed by the prospect of spending another day here, with him.

  “Then we put everything off until it does.”

  She finished the last of her wine. “Thanks for taking me in.”

  He extended a hand to her, and she let him pull her up. “You’re a pretty onerous houseguest, but I’m managing. And you did provide dinner.” A flash of teeth told her he was smiling, but shadow obscured the finer details of his expression.

  He started to let go of her, but she curled her fingers through his, and he hesitated as if her response surprised him. It surprised her, too. She’d indicated she wasn’t a good romantic option.

  Looking down at their entwined hands, he moved his thumb over her palm in a seductive circle. “You realize you’re giving me conflicting signals.”

  “I do,” she said, but couldn’t seem to let go. Despite how she’d discouraged him in the past, she was suddenly burning with the desire to be touched by him.

  He stared into her eyes for several seconds. Then he bent his head and pressed
his lips against hers. She could tell he was taking it one second at a time, didn’t have a lot of hope she’d allow him to kiss her very thoroughly, but she was pretty sure she felt what any normal woman would feel when being kissed by a man she found so attractive. No fear. No desire to flee. Just a heady euphoria, as if his mouth was twice as intoxicating as the wine.

  Was it because she was already drunk? If so, she didn’t care. Not if it made this possible.

  His lips moved so lightly over hers she found herself leaning into him for something deeper, more satisfying, but he seemed to be holding himself on a very tight leash.

  “I like that,” she whispered.

  Emboldened by the compliment, he parted her lips and touched her tongue with his as if he couldn’t quit without a taste. Then he stepped back and let her go. “You’ve had too much to drink. Let’s get you into bed.”

  * * *

  A noise woke Evelyn. At first, she thought it had to be the weather. The storm still raged. Huge gusts of wind whistled through the eaves, bending the trees against the house, making just as much racket as before. Ensconced in Amarok’s spare bedroom, which smelled like her aunt Dot’s attic since it was hardly ever used, she was warm and comfortable enough that she almost rolled over and went back to sleep. But then she heard the whine of a dog and the low murmur of a man and realized that Amarok was up, taking Makita out. She couldn’t imagine how much trouble it would be to perform such a routine task living in Alaska, but thanks to the bears and the wolves Makita couldn’t go out alone—not at night. The sounds in the hallway indicated Amarok was suiting up, as he would have to, for Makita’s five-minute stint in the great outdoors.

  Having a dog here required more sacrifice than other places. She empathized as she pictured the sergeant stepping into the cold. Makita was likely feeling the results of the human food they’d let him eat, she realized. But then her thoughts turned to the evening they’d spent together and how much she’d enjoyed it. She hadn’t experienced such fulfilling companionship since … since she’d been with him last summer, she decided. Amarok was …

  She wasn’t sure how to describe him. His own man. Self-assured. Easy to be around. Calm on a level she could probably never reach. Somehow time with him assuaged the gaping wound in her soul—the one she’d finally accepted as something she’d always have to live with. Essentially, he’d shown her what the cessation of that old pain could feel like.