by Cindi Myers
She pried her body from the chair and collected her bag.
On my way.
She opened her office door and froze.
The dimmed space around her was charged with an uncomfortable energy. Her instincts rose to attention, reaching out, trying to place the source of the alarm.
Then she heard it. A continuous, muffled sound that scattered goose bumps across her skin and rooted her feet into place. She dialed Lucas.
“Hey,” he answered. “Sorry I was running late. There was an accident on—”
“Shh,” she whispered, feeling the panic twist and grind inside her. “Something’s wrong. I think someone’s here.”
Lucas didn’t respond for a long beat. “What’s the security code for the building?” he asked.
She recited the numbers quickly, then stepped back into her office.
Images of sliding down the wall into a sobbing heap on the floor crossed her mind. Shoving her desk against the locked door. Even jumping from her window. Anything to stop her former attacker from getting his hands on her again. She’d die first.
No, she thought, suddenly, forcing the desperation from her head. No. She’d worked hard to vanquish those kinds of thoughts. To recover. To heal. Her lips trembled as she recalled the sleepless nights spent in a ball on her closet floor. Hiding. Crying. Praying he’d never find her. And how she’d finally vowed to stop letting him control her.
Gwen grabbed the large pewter Employee of the Year award from her credenza and gripped it like a baseball bat.
She was done running.
Done giving this psycho all the little pieces of herself one by one.
She marched toward the sounds. Down the narrow hall separating offices from conference rooms, the mail room and employee lounge. She stopped outside the only closed door in the office and steeled her waning resolve. Whatever was going on, it was happening in the mail room.
“Gwen!” Lucas called. His voice arriving with the ding of the elevator. “Gwen!”
“Here!” she called back.
He halted at her side a moment later, drawing his weapon and tucking her behind him as he opened the mail room door.
Inside, the massive corporate copy machine chugged and spewed its paper contents. Sheet by sheet across the floor.
A thousand photos of Gwen.
All recent and surveillance-style.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thirty minutes later, Lucas paced through Gwen’s office while she relayed the details of her situation to a local detective and a pair of officers processed the copier.
“And that’s everything,” Gwen said, having held her composure through a retelling of her past that made Lucas want to scream.
Special Victims Detective Heidi Anderson perched primly in a chair across from Gwen’s desk. Her sleek blond hair hung neatly around her face, tucked behind her ears and barely reaching her shoulders. “And you believe the person who printed the photos tonight is the same man who attacked you six years ago?” she asked, sharp brown eyes narrowing behind dark-rimmed glasses.
“It’s just a guess,” Gwen answered. “Whoever it is, he knows where I work and jog, and that I went to Bellemont College. I suppose it’s possible that someone else is doing this. Maybe someone on the periphery of my current life has become obsessed. I’d actually prefer that,” she said with a sad smile. “Because I know what my attacker is capable of.”
The detective dipped her chin in understanding. “I’m very sorry.”
Gwen nodded back acceptance, then released a shuddered breath and pressed on. “Unfortunately, I can’t link anything to my assailant. Aside from the location of the attack, all he left behind was an ugly aftermath.”
Detective Anderson nodded. “I understand. And you reached out to Detective Winchester after you found the flyer on your windshield?” she clarified. “Because the attack was in his town and the college on the flyer is also in his jurisdiction?”
Gwen looked to Lucas before answering.
Detective Anderson arched a brow. “Was it something more?”
“Yes,” Gwen said, and Lucas stilled. “We were engaged at the time of my attack.”
The detective looked from Gwen to Lucas, then back. “I see. But you aren’t together now.”
“No.”
“But you’ve remained close,” she guessed.
Gwen shifted on her chair. “No.” She folded her hands on the desk before her and stared at them. “I contacted Lucas when I found the flyer because he knows what happened to me, and until right now, I’ve never told anyone other than family, law enforcement and medical personnel. Anyone who read about it in the paper back then has surely forgotten about it, along with the first responders and medical staff who cared for me. I don’t keep in touch with the friends I had then. So, aside from my parents, Lucas is the only one who would understand why I thought a simple homecoming invitation might be a threat.”
The frank and emotionless assessment hit Lucas like a cold fist to his gut, and he reeled at the response. He’d known the words were true, but hearing her say them gave him an unexpected pause. Gwen had come to him last night because she had no one else to go to. Not because she trusted him to protect her and to get her through this. Not because she wanted to see him again. Or because they’d always made a phenomenal team. But because she’d been avoiding this very situation. She hadn’t wanted to talk about what she’d been through, and with Lucas, she didn’t have to.
Detective Anderson uncrossed, then recrossed her legs. “Any chance this has anything to do with you?” she asked, moving her gaze to Lucas. “SVU detective’s fiancée goes through something like you described, and I’ve got to ask, could her attack have been motivated by an angry criminal you collared?”
“I was a student at the time,” Lucas said, clearing his throat when the words came thick and gravelly. “I joined the academy after her attack, when the local PD came up empty-handed.”
She cocked her head and frowned. “So, after going through something like that, you decided to make a career out of it?”
“No,” Lucas said sharply. “Not like that.”
“Well, it wasn’t for the glory or the money,” she said, a remorseful lilt to her tone.
“I wanted to find the man who did this,” he said. “I wanted revenge and justice and some assurance that he’d never hurt anyone else or Gwen ever again.”
Gwen covered her mouth, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“He’s still out there, but I’ve helped put plenty of others like him away,” Lucas said. “And I’m not finished with this guy yet.”
“Hmm.” Detective Anderson looked from Lucas to Gwen. “I think I have everything I need.” She closed the notebook she’d been making notes in. “I’ll be in touch once the fingerprints from the mail room and copier are run and we’ve scanned the security feed from the parking lot cameras.”
“The parking lot,” Gwen whispered. She spun to face Lucas, eyes wide. “Someone was outside my window before lunch. Throwing pebbles and acorns, then a rock. I convinced myself I’d imagined it after looking and finding no one out there, but maybe someone was here.”
Lucas nodded.
“Detective Anderson?” A man’s voice turned everyone toward the door. One of the officers from the mail room stepped inside. “We found a thumb drive in the copier’s USB port.” He held a small evidence bag between his thumb and first finger.
“Excellent,” she said, rising to her feet. “Then maybe we’ll get some answers.” She extended a hand to Gwen, then Lucas. “Ms. Kind, Detective,” she said. “I’ll be in touch. Please keep me posted if anything else comes up.”
“Of course.” Lucas shook her offered hand. “Thank you.”
* * *
GWEN WATCHED AS Lucas crossed the space from her kitchen to her living room, delivering a steaming mug of tea
to her hands. She’d curled on her couch, tucked her feet beneath her and pulled a pillow onto her lap, unable to do more than stare. “Thanks,” she whispered. Her feeble attempts to process the evening had failed repeatedly. Nothing made any sense anymore. Least of all the fact that her carefully and tightly constructed world was suddenly unraveling.
Lucas took a seat on the cushion beside her and watched as she sipped her tea. “I think you should consider taking the rest of the week off work,” he said. “Your boss knows what went on tonight. Detective Anderson spoke with her earlier. I think you could use the time to focus on what’s happening.”
“I know,” Gwen said, instantly recalling the humiliation she’d felt listening to the detective’s call. She’d been discreet in her words, but had made it clear, nonetheless, that the intended victim was Gwen. And there were no secrets in her office.
She had plenty of unused vacation time, and she wasn’t in any hurry to face Marina or Debbie. They’d seen Lucas’s truck this morning when he’d dropped her off, and likely noted the police shield sticker on the back window. They’d make the connection between her trouble and her protector. And there would be questions. “I’ll call the office tomorrow,” she agreed. “I’m sure they’ll understand.”
Lucas raised his brows. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He rubbed his palms against his thighs and a small smile formed. “I’d expected a fight.”
“Sorry.” She sighed. “I’m fresh out of fight. At least for tonight.”
His expression turned soft, and he clasped his hands on his lap.
“Don’t,” she warned, shooting him a look over the rim of her mug. She’d seen that look before on a dozen people, and she hated it. “Don’t you dare pity me. I’m just tired, and I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
“I don’t pity you,” he said, his tone gentle enough to break her. “I meant what I said before. You aren’t a victim anymore, Gwen. I saw it the moment I set eyes on you in my precinct. You’re a fighter. And I’m here to fight with you.”
“I’m not a fighter,” she said, wishing he was right, but feeling the defeat of exhaustion slipping over her.
“Really?” He laughed. “Because it wasn’t two hours ago I found you with some kind of silver vase on your shoulder, ready to take out whoever was on the other side of your mail room door.”
Gwen laughed, surprised by his words and at herself in the memory. “That was my Employee of the Year award, not a vase.”
Lucas grinned.
“I just want this to end,” she said. Frustration and fatigue warred in her, but her mind wouldn’t let her sleep, not yet, even if she tried. Her stomach growled, and she knew she’d have to deal with that first. “Are you hungry?” They’d missed dinner thanks to the lunatic trying to scare her.
“A little,” Lucas said. “But there’s something else I want to run by you.” He inched closer and pierced her with a sincere and hopeful gaze. “I think we should stay at my place through the weekend. Get out of town. This guy is getting bolder, and it worries me. I can protect you here, if he manages to get to you, somehow, but if we’re at my place, we might be able to avoid that scenario completely. Focus on figuring out who he is, then go after him instead of the other way around.”
Gwen gripped the bunching muscles in her shoulders and along her neck. She hadn’t spent the night anywhere else in years. Her home was safe and familiar. Her life was composed of closed-circuit routes and routines that were easy to monitor and guard. Or so she’d thought. “Can I take a shower and think about it?” she asked, smiling when he grinned. She’d made a similar request earlier, and thankfully, he’d agreed.
Her need to consider everything thoroughly probably seemed odd to someone whose career required him to make split-second decisions, but for Gwen, thinking things through provided a layer of assurance she needed. She could have and should have gotten a ride home, like her friends had, on the night of her attack, but she’d refused. She was so naively filled with joy and promise that she’d chosen to walk home on a whim. She wanted to enjoy the crisp fall air, distant sounds of parties and laughter, and bask in the fact that her life was utterly perfect, on a beautiful campus, under the stars. And she had for a while. If only she’d taken time to think about the potential consequences...
She pushed onto her feet without waiting for Lucas’s response, then made her way down the hall, her eyes already on fire with the sting of rising tears.
* * *
GWEN STEPPED BACK into the hallway an hour later. Scents of rich, salty cheese and warm, buttery bread rose to meet her. She’d let herself have the breakdown she needed under the stream of hot water, and imagined the heartbreak, the fear and desperation circling the drain at her feet. She gave in to the feelings under her terms, and she let them go on her terms, as well. Down the drain beside her tears. She’d emerged from the shower with renewed resolve, with purpose and with hope.
Now, in her softest jeans and coziest sweater, wild curls swelling around her face as they dried, she padded toward her kitchen on socked feet. Toward the handsome man whistling at her stove. “Twice in one day?” she asked, sliding onto a stool at her island to admire the view.
Lucas cast an odd look over his shoulder. He flicked the knob on her stove, extinguishing the fire, then removed a perfect grilled cheese sandwich from the skillet. “Don’t you normally eat more than once a day?”
“Yeah,” she laughed, “but I make it myself.”
He cut the sandwich into triangles and slid them onto a plate. “I was starting to worry about you in there. You were gone a while. I figured I’d keep myself busy while I waited.”
Concern darkened his eyes as he delivered the plate to her.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just taking my time.”
He turned back to her stove, stirring the contents of a small pot. “You still like tomato soup,” he said, before pouring the smooth scarlet mixture into a bowl. “You’ve got a shelfful in your pantry.”
“It’s warm food on cold nights,” she said. Plus, it reminded her of home. “My mom still makes and cans her own. Once upon a time a grilled cheese and tomato soup combo was the cure for all that ailed me.” In fact, the soup reminded her so much of her mother, and how badly she missed her, that she had a hard time leaving the grocery without buying a can. And an even harder time making it for the same reason. Tears did nothing to enhance the flavor.
“Do your folks get up this way much?” Lucas asked, slipping a spoon and bowl before her.
“A few times a year.” She smiled at the food. “I visit them for Christmas. How’s your family?”
“Crazy,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Blaze is still pining away for the woman he helped put into witness protection. It would be comical if it wasn’t so sad. Derek’s cocky as ever. Isaac’s trying to heal the world, one patient at a time, and Mom is still trying to marry us all off. So far, we’re sorely disappointing her.” His expression flattened. “Same old.”
Gwen turned her attention to the soup, stroking a spoon through the bowl’s creamy contents. “Thanks for taking care of me today,” she said, the words coming more softly than intended. “Part of me wants to be sorry I dragged you into this, because honestly, I was hoping you’d look at that flyer and tell me I was being completely paranoid. But I’m glad I asked.”
“Because I was already familiar with the case?” His keen blue eyes flicked to hers, something like hurt flashing in them.
“Because you’re the only person I trust to not treat me as if I’m broken,” she said. “Because you know what this monster has done to me and what he’s taken from me. You’ve seen the scars.” She stopped, pressing her lips tight and forcing her hands into her lap. Her fingers ached to reach for the scars on instinct. To be sure they were still there. And that the wounds were healed. Because sometimes she was sure the memories and phantom pains would kill her yet.
She’d needed dozens of stitches where her attacker had dug a blade into her side, and where he’d curled his fingers into her hair then banged her head repeatedly against the ground. Where doctors had painstakingly removed pebbles from her punctured skin and lacerated scalp. “I came to you because you know,” she repeated, her throat clamping down on the final word.
“I do,” he said, looking ashamed and guilty. He set a hand on hers in her lap, and she flinched. “Sorry,” he said, pulling quickly away, expression horrified. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
Shock turned to humiliation in her heart and soul as she realized her mistake and his. It had been so long since anyone had reached for her hand. Since anyone had touched her outside her parents’ hugs. The move had startled her, and she’d flinched. That was on her.
He’d forgotten she was broken. That was on him.
Regardless of what she wanted, her attacker had taken something from her that she’d never get back, and Lucas deserved more than a few pieces of someone who’d never again be whole. Her stomach rolled, and her hunger vanished. “Um.” She slid to her feet, emotions spiking and churning in her core. “I need to lie down. Do you mind if we stay here one more night?” she said, backing away. “We can go to your place tomorrow. I won’t argue.”
“Gwen.” Lucas stood, eyes pleading and hands rising uselessly between them.
“I’ll clean the kitchen tomorrow,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve done too much already.” A small sob burst from her lips, and she pressed a palm to her mouth. “Good night.”
And she turned for her bed at a jog.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Early the next morning, Gwen watched the familiar streets pass by in a town she’d avoided for five long years. She’d foregone her run and eaten toast with her coffee, all in an attempt to leave home before the sun rose. Now, it was just after breakfast time for everyone else, and she was back in her old college town, West Liberty. Flags in the school’s colors hung from streetlamps, and banners proclaiming Bellemont pride clung to shop windows and storefronts. The rolling green hills of campus ebbed and flowed in the distance, beyond quaint, historic neighborhoods and rows of rental homes filled with students
