CHAPTER SEVEN
“HE RAPED YOU.” JAY’S words cracked the silence that had fallen between them. He couldn’t look away from Ellen—almost as though he could prevent anything bad from happening to her with the force of his gaze. As though he could somehow turn back the clock and prevent the horror she’d lived through.
“Yes.” She wasn’t looking at him.
He asked the first question that occurred to him. “Josh?”
“Is Aaron’s son. He was born almost two years later.”
Right. She’d told him her son was five.
The anger roiling through him wasn’t going to help. It wasn’t normal for him, either. His work put him in contact with abused women on a regular basis. And with victims of crimes when he researched cold cases. He knew how to distance himself. He knew how not to let it get personal.
But Ellen… She reminded him of feelings he’d long since put away. For some inexplicable reason, this woman he barely knew was personal. And what had happened to her…
He recognized the way he was feeling. The helpless, debilitating rage was something he’d dealt with several years ago. When he’d finally found his mother’s killer. A random home invasion, rape and murder. The man had committed a slew of similar crimes across the South west.
His mother had been the same age Ellen had been when she’d been—
He had to help Ellen.
That’s what this was all about. Why he was getting tangled up in emotion. Because he was meant to help Ellen. There was simply no other reason Jay would be feeling so much of…anything. He wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy.
“DID THEY CATCH THE GUY?”
Ellen had expected the question. And she wanted this done. No more questions. No more need to answer. Done. She’d moved on.
She didn’t like the conversation, but she didn’t have a problem with answering him. She was capable of talking about what had happened to her.
So she stared straight ahead at the door that no longer appeared in her nightmares and said, “Yeah, they caught him. I testified at his trial. He was convicted of felony kidnapping and several charges relating to the rape and is serving fifteen years to life.”
“Was he from around here?” His quiet, steady tone unnerved her a little bit. What generally came across as morbid curiosity in others was more like a genuine need to know coming from him.
“No.” This was the hardest part—the anger that still surfaced sometimes at the senselessness of it all.
David hadn’t given up. He was certain that someday her heart would find peace. On this one count, Ellen wasn’t so sure.
“He was chief operating officer of a large corporation in Phoenix, making half a million dollars a year. He had a wife and three kids—all of whom were in college—” She swallowed.
“And in his spare time he raped innocent young women?”
“No, in his spare time he hired prostitutes to role-play with him so that he could act out the dark fantasies that didn’t fit into his prestigious world.”
“But…”
Ellen looked him straight in the eye. “He mistook me for the woman he’d hired. She was supposed to meet him around the same area and surprise him with her pickup line. She was there, too. But neither of us saw her and she didn’t see us. He saw me hitchhiking and thought I was the one. Wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I’m surprised, with his money, he didn’t find a way to use that to his advantage during the trial.”
“He did. But I was crying and telling him no. Even if he’d paid for sex, it became rape the second I said no. Same with the kidnapping. I got into the car of my own free will, but he forced me into the room. The fact that I’d asked him to make turns in the car that he’d failed to make didn’t help his cause any. Frankly, I don’t think he cared whether I was his girl or not. He was ready and there was no turning back.”
“He was ready?”
“He’d taken something that guaranteed it.”
And David thought she’d find peace?
“I want to ask a personal question.”
What did he consider all the questions he’d already asked?
“I might not answer it.” She should be starting the car. Taking Black Leather back to town. And painting trains on the wall of her son’s room.
“You got pregnant with Josh after the rape. Were you able to have normal relations with Josh’s father?”
If it was possible to have no intimacy when discussing sex with a sexy man, then Ellen supposed there was no intimacy in the question.
He was speaking as matter-of-factly as a doctor would have done.
Had done.
As Shawna had done.
She told herself that was why she answered him. “I did okay. I didn’t respond as I had before, but I didn’t fall apart, either.”
“Did your husband’s touch scare you?”
“No. But I didn’t find…pleasure…in it.”
“And now?”
“I haven’t seen Aaron in a couple of years.”
“I meant now, as in, with other men.”
She’d run from his touch. “I think you know the answer to that.”
“Is that why Shawna referred you to me? So that I could help you find pleasure in touch?”
She was hot all of a sudden. Too hot. But she didn’t want to be so obvious as to roll down the window. To be anything other than cool and composed and fine.
She already had one episode of crazy to eradicate.
“She said you’ve helped victims of domestic violence.”
“I knew what I was dealing with.”
“She thought the noninvasive touch might help.”
“It probably will if we’re working together honestly.”
Ellen was filled with conflicting emotions. But still sitting here. Still not putting the car in gear and driving away. “I told Shawna the only way I’d agree to meet with you was if she didn’t tell you why.”
His nod was slow. Easy. “I know. She told me.” Those warm brown eyes of his…they captivated her. There was no judgment there. No pity, either.
“I’d like to help.”
She wasn’t surprised. And she was scared to death to let him. Scared beyond the possible negative reactions his professional touch might raise in her. Her emotions were more intense around this man. All of them. As though she was a little less in control.
Which seemed dangerous.
“Give me one more try,” he said. “I have an idea and if it doesn’t work, we shake hands and part ways.”
“What’s your idea?”
“You seemed interested in my bike.”
“It’s hard to ignore.”
“I’d like to take you for a ride.”
That sounded personal. Like a date or something. No way. Uh-uh.
Yet…his motorcycle. It intrigued her.
“How would that help?”
“It’s not a new idea,” he said. “The practice was suggested by a therapist I worked with in Florida and I have had some success with it. When you’re on my bike you have to be close to me, touch me, but you don’t have to face me. My hands are occupied at all times. And my safety would also be at risk if I did anything untoward.”
“You could take me anywhere you wanted to go. Stop the bike and turn around and—”
“Not if we call Sheriff Richards and have him ride along with us.”
She couldn’t believe she was listening to this. That she was still sitting here. But she wanted to be normal, right? Prided herself on being as capable as any other woman her age.
And what woman with blood in her veins wouldn’t jump at the chance to go for a ride on the back of Black Leather’s bike? Ellen might be a bit uptight, but she wasn’t dead. Or blind.
“Your natural inclination is to resist other people touching you,” he said. “So we put you in control. And hopefully, after a bit, you begin to trust me enough to move on to more traditional therapy.”
She didn’t hate
the idea. Except…
“I don’t— Everyone in town…they think I’m… They don’t know I’m still struggling. I don’t want them to know. Because mostly I’m fine. And if they knew…”
The way they had treated her following the rape… They made her feel as much a victim as the bastard who had raped her—although in a completely different way. The coddling made her feel weak. Incapable.
“So what are you saying?”
“If…we…do…this…I don’t want you to call Sheriff Richards.”
She was considering the idea. Excitement and fear collided inside her, making her wish she hadn’t eaten breakfast.
There was something about this man. Something different. And dangerous.
And yet…she felt safe with him. As long as…
Shawna had done background checks. He had a great reputation. This is what he did for a living. And he was really successful at it.
“You call the shots, Ellen. If you don’t want me to call the sheriff, we won’t. You tell me where to drive, that’s where I drive. You want to stop, come back, we come back. You want to carry pepper spray, you carry pepper spray…”
Ellen stared at him. Not at the ugly door in front of them. At him. This rogue of a man with his long hair and black leather. He knew she felt safe as long as she was in control.
And he was handing over control.
“When?” The word, struggling past the dryness in her throat, made her cough. “Tomorrow morning?”
Because he didn’t want to give her time to chicken out? To rethink?
He didn’t know her very well. When Ellen said she would do something, she did it.
But she hadn’t said she was going to do this.
“I have church.”
“Tomorrow afternoon then?”
With Josh gone, she had the whole day spread before her. And if she didn’t have anything to do, her mother and David would expect her to spend the day with them. They would want her to.
“I’ll meet you in the Walmart parking lot.” The parking lot where her car had sat, out of gas, all those years ago. “And we head away from town.”
She would have her cell phone. The man had credentials. He’d been referred to her by a medical professional. If she was going to be normal, she had to trust.
“You got it.”
Yeah, she probably did have it. She only wished she knew what it was.
And, more importantly, she wished she knew if there was a cure.
AFTER HIS TWO-O’CLOCK appointment, Jay returned to Shelter Valley and spent the afternoon at Montford University Library, going through microfiche and computer files of yearbooks, newspaper and magazine articles, newsletters—church, school and community—anything he could find where a former occupant of Shelter Valley might have been mentioned.
He skimmed. Read. And made copies, too.
“Anything I can help you with?” The middle-aged librarian stood over his shoulder. If Jay wasn’t mistaken, the man had read everything on the screen he was perusing.
“No, I’ve got what I need, thanks.”
“You interested in knives?” A Damascus and Pearl D/A filled the screen. With its jagged and multifaceted blade, the thing looked lethal just sitting on the page. It also looked like something a dangerous biker dude might own. Jay had never seen one in real life. And had no need to, either.
“I’m interested in the knife show,” Jay said, clicking the back button to show the previous page of the article. Then he clicked forward to the page following the picture. It showed a shot of the crowd attending.
Jay was currently focused on articles about functions of interest to guys. The knife show had been in Tucson the year before he was born. Maybe his mother had attended with his father. Maybe there had been mention of a name, a caption on a photo, anything that would resonate when he happened upon it.
“Well, if there’s anything I can help you with, let me know,” the man said. He stepped back, but he stayed in the vicinity, and Jay figured he’d be reporting to the local sheriff’s office.
Just before five o’clock he had one of those moments that made months of research worth every second. In a newspaper article about a men’s doubles tennis match between Montford and the University of Arizona in Tucson in May of 1978, there was a crowd shot. It captured a woman—the expression on her face was priceless, as though she was entranced. The woman was Tammy Walton.
To the man who had known his mother only through a few pictures, the clipping was priceless—a new link to her.
But to the investigator, the picture mattered for an entirely different reason. There was also a man in the picture. Behind his mother. The man had his arm around her and was leaning into her in a way that made it obvious they were close. Very close.
The man’s face was only partially displayed and he was not named.
But unless Jay had lost the instincts that had seen him through more than ten years of successful cold case investigation, he was looking at Jay Billingsley, Sr. The man who had fathered him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT WAS HOT AS HELL OUTSIDE by noon on Sunday. But Jay changed into a pair of jeans without complaint. The white T-shirt—the kind most men wore under dress shirts—and black leather vest followed. Not usual work attire, but then not much about Jay’s life had ever been normal.
He spotted Ellen’s Ford Escape the second she pulled into the parking lot five minutes before their appointed meeting time. He’d already been waiting fifteen minutes. He wasn’t giving her the chance to claim she’d shown up and he hadn’t been there. Nor did he want to take the chance that she’d get scared and take off if she had to wait on him. He didn’t want her to talk herself out of the advisability of his brand of healing.
He would be fine having her talk herself out of this if she was able to get healing elsewhere. But Shawna had led him to believe that he could be Ellen’s last hope.
Sitting on his bike, he waited for her to park and approach.
She wore jeans and a T-shirt, too.
“I was kind of hoping you weren’t going to show.”
“I had a hunch. This is for you,” he said, staying seated while he handed her the helmet he’d pulled from his trunk.
“You don’t have one.”
“I ride at my own risk. You don’t.”
Taking the helmet, she studied it for a second and then put it on, working the strap latch. With anyone else, he’d have offered to help.
“Ready?” he asked as soon as she’d secured her head gear. He didn’t want to risk saying something that spooked her—or give her any excuses to end the session.
Ellen nodded, but she was frowning.
“You’re going to have to come closer if you intend to ride on the same bike I’m on,” he said. “I’ve got it steady. Put your foot here—” he pointed “—and hop on.”
It took almost a full minute, but she managed to mount without coming into contact with his body.
“Push the button on the side of your helmet,” he told her, turning his head so she could hear him. At the same time, he secured the wireless headset he’d also pulled out of his trunk.
“Can you hear me now?”
“Yes.”
He heard her clearly.
“Anytime you need anything—to stop, turn around, anything—you let me know. There’s a mic in your chin piece. If you start to get upset, say so.”
“Okay.”
He gave her some brief instructions about moving with him, leaning and not leaning, general principals of keeping the bike balanced.
“Where do I put my hands?”
“On me,” he said, staring straight ahead. “That’s the point of this exercise.”
“I know that. Where on you?” It sounded as though she was gritting her teeth.
“Your choice. You’re the boss. For this exercise, my body represents your safety. It is fully at your disposal—like a tornado shelter in a storm or a fort during battle. Trust it.”
“What about
you?”
“What about me?”
“Who keeps you safe? I could do something nuts. Like panic and grab at you and—”
“Ellen. It’s a bike ride. And you’re a normal, rational woman seeking treatment for an ailment. If you start to panic, you’ll let me know and we’ll pull over.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Who keeps you safe?”
If it took ten tries on ten different days, he wasn’t giving up. “You do.”
“You’re that certain I’m going to be okay? You’re willing to risk your life with me back here?”
“Yes.”
“Okay then. Let’s go before someone sees me and we end up with a caravan behind us.”
Her touch wasn’t much, a light resting of her fingers on the top of his shoulders. As soon as he felt it, he started the bike and put it in gear.
They’d been riding about ten minutes at a slow enough speed that she could have maintained balance without holding on. He wasn’t going to keep her out long this first run. And he wasn’t going to challenge her much, either. This exercise had to be a success for her or there wouldn’t be a second chance.
He hadn’t heard a sound from her. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“What do you think of motorcycles now?”
“That I might look into buying one.”
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“Yeah. Just too loud.”
“It’s a Harley. It’s supposed to be loud.”
“Can it go any faster?”
“Of course.”
“Now?”
“You sure you’re ready?”
“I’m slightly nuts in my bad moments, Jay, but I’m not an old grandma who has to be coddled at every turn.”
Her voice came through with a strength, a clarity, that spoke as much as her words.
“I don’t want to push and end up with you running off again.”
“I can hardly do that while we’re moving and I thought the purpose of this exercise was to force me to associate touching your body with safety.”
She was right, of course.
“Hold on.” With a twist of his wrist he upped the throttle a notch. And received a slight increase of pressure on his shoulders.
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