A slight stirring in those haunted eyes encouraged him. She seemed to finally remember who he was. With that awareness came a pain so malignant that he himself flinched from it.
Gently, slowly, he held out his hand, palm upward. He kept his eye contact steady and breathed slowly, hoping she would follow suit.
He’d never had a victory so sweet as when her delicate hand touched his. Palm to palm, he dug deep for his own calm. For hope he'd nearly abandoned. "Just breathe, sweetheart." Sweetheart. He could have her. She could be his.
Except he was no bargain, and she deserved so much better.
He couldn't think of that now. She was all that mattered. "Pull each breath in slowly. Remember the light."
She shook her head, tears flowing freely. "I can’t. There’s no light in me." She jumped up from the chair, swiping her tears with one hand, clutching his shirt with the other. She moved toward the counter, adopting a cheery tone. "Want some tea, Quinn?"
Tea was the last thing he wanted, but he understood the need for normalcy. "Sure. Thanks." He rose, reminding himself that this would be a long, slow process. He chose to draw encouragement from the brief touch and let her take things at her own pace. He placed the hands which so itched to hold her in his back pockets and turned toward the window where he could see a slice of the trees in the park.
In a tone lighter than he felt, he remarked, "Looks like it will be sunny today." So inane, but maybe she needed a nice, safe topic. Nothing much safer than the weather.
His reward came in the quiet yes he heard behind him. He listened to her moving around the kitchen, putting water in the teakettle and setting it on to boil, then opening the pantry to pull out boxes of tea. He turned around to see that she did all of it still clutching his shirt.
Maybe he was comforting her, after all. Just not the way he’d like to be.
"Has Josh ever told you about my place in Texas?" He thought he heard a small sound of encouragement, so he pressed on. "It’s on the rim of the Caprock in West Texas. This time of year, the air is crisp and cool. There’s a big flat rock, called a table rock, right at the edge of the cliff, not far from my cabin. I sit there sometimes and just listen to the wind. It's so quiet there that a single bird call is remarkable, and you can hear coyotes from miles away."
Her movements had stopped; he wanted to turn to see if she was really interested but decided it didn’t matter. Listening would give her time to regain her bearings for what she must face next.
"Tía Consuela, our grandmother's sister, lives nearby." He smiled, thinking of the indomitable Consuela. "I think you’d like her. She’s a tiny woman, but she has the heart of a giant. She’s a healer, one called a curandera. People come from miles and miles for her help."
He hadn’t consciously started talking to discuss Tía, but the thought took shape quickly that she might be able to help. He’d never been sure how much he believed in her abilities, but there was no question in his mind that she could soothe Lorie’s spirit as she’d always soothed his.
The sound of Lorie’s voice startled him. "You love her very much, don’t you?"
"I do. She’s obstinate as a mule and always thinks she knows what’s best for us, but there’s something really special about her. I always feel somehow recharged after being with her."
"A healer?" Her curiosity encouraged him.
Quinn nodded. "It’s an old Mexican tradition handed down from the Aztecs. She combines herbal medicine with counseling and, I suspect, more than a little intuition, but whatever it is, the people believe in her. They come to her instead of a doctor. Even the local doctors consult with her at times." He grinned. "I guess they’ve learned, too, that it’s easier not to buck Tía."
"She sounds very special." Lorie’s tone was wistful. He felt her stop beside him.
He turned and smiled. "She’d like you. I wish you could meet her."
Lorie dropped her gaze. Her head bowed, and she whispered, "Not like this."
He reached out slowly and placed only the tip of one finger under her chin. He turned her face gently toward him to make contact with her eyes. The hopelessness he saw there nearly undid him.
"She’s seen me much worse than this, Lorie. She’s helped me come back to myself." He intensified his gaze. "She would see the strength and the goodness in you and help you see it in yourself."
Lorie’s eyes filled. She tried to look away, but he held on, gently but firmly.
"It’s all still there, sweetheart. I know it’s there, and you will, too." He promised her with his eyes what his lips feared to say—that he’d be there for her, as long as she needed him.
She leaned toward him, still hugging his shirt to her. Carefully he wrapped her in safety, whispering silent thanks for another chance to hold her. He closed his eyes and concentrated on imparting his strength and calm to soothe her deeply troubled soul.
When she began to cry, he shed his own tears with her.
Chapter Nine
* * *
LORIE WALKED AROUND her kitchen, sightlessly grazing a finger over the tile counter, brushing the tip of an ivy leaf, skimming the tabletop. No tears left in her, she was certain. Insides turned dry, dry as the dust in an abandoned hovel.
She'd heard the sounds of the police packing up equipment, preparing to leave. Going on to the next place, facts gathered, impressions recorded, evidence packed neatly away. Not having to live in the shambles of a life left in the aftermath.
A sudden vision of her crumpled, stained unitard balled up in the fist of a man wearing latex gloves…a flash of another pair of latex gloves brandishing a blade—
A camera. You flaunt yourself like a whore. You're no different than the others.
You belong to me .
My only love .
She had to stop this. Had to compose herself. Grant would need her—
Grant.
A sudden hot, sour sickness rose in her throat at the thought of infecting her child with the evil that tainted her now. She whirled and ran for the toilet.
Her stomach emptied, but the evil lingered. Folded in upon herself, forehead pressed against the cold porcelain, she wanted to let go…to drift away from everything…to never come back.
How would she ever hide it from Grant?
He was too attuned to her not to notice that something was wrong, but he was so very young. Even if he were older, how could she ever describe the degradation, the wish to scrub her skin completely away, to rid herself of the foul air that she’d breathed? To reach into her mind and her heart, to rip and to claw until she’d rooted it all out?
She felt Quinn behind her, but she couldn’t say a word. They’d all dried up inside her. No words could express how mutilated…how contaminated…
She couldn’t even let her mind come close to the thoughts, the fantasies of Quinn she’d cherished—was it only hours ago? No—don't think about them. You’ll taint him, too.
Keep him away from you. He’s too good. Too strong, too pure of soul .
If once she’d hoped…he deserved better now.
"Lorie?" The tenderness in his voice wounded her. She couldn’t bear to feel.
"Everyone’s gone." His voice brisk and efficient, he moved around the bathroom, turning on the faucet, then kneeling beside her. "I have a cool cloth here. I’m just going to help you clean up, all right?"
She wanted to laugh. All the cloths, all the water in the world wouldn’t cleanse her now.
Lorie soaked up the comfort as he gently lifted her hair back from her face with his warm, strong fingers, stroking the cool, damp cloth over her skin. She lifted her head a fraction and he touched her chin gently, turning her toward him. She kept her eyes closed as he smoothed the cloth over her with gentle strokes… slowly, carefully washing away some of the horror.
"Let me fix you a bath. You can soak in it and relax for a while."
So kind…so calming. The tender touch of his hand on her bruised skin imparted a measure of peace. If only—
S
he shied away from the ache of her regret. Her eyes snapped open to catch a glimpse of agony in his. He quickly shuttered his expression, but not before she understood that he’d been hurt by this, too.
Her fault. You flaunt yourself.
She pulled away and tried to stand. His hand on her arm steadied her. She yanked it away.
Knowing she hurt him.
Unable to stop.
She turned and crossed through the bedroom, halting abruptly by the door leading out to the hall.
She closed her eyes, hating her weakness.
She didn’t want to go back in there. Where he’d done that. Where he’d—
She clapped her hand to her mouth, fighting the nausea, fighting the fear. Drawing herself up, she stepped into the hallway.
And stopped, leaning against the wall.
How could she live here? How could she bring Grant home to this? She turned her body, forehead pressing into the unyielding surface, almost welcoming the discomfort as a distraction from her thoughts.
"Lorie, you don’t have to be here. We can pack up some things for you and Grant right now and leave from the service stairs to go to Josh’s."
How did he understand so quickly? A sudden vision of him cradling her in the rocking chair almost blinded her with a need to cling once more. He’d given her exactly what she’d needed in her terror. He’d been the soul of kindness, the healing touch of strength when she’d had none.
Desperate to fall into his arms, she forced herself to walk away.
"I have to do this, Quinn." She walked closer to the turn…closer to the nightmare.
One step at a time. One foot in front of the other.
Could Quinn know how he helped her, walking so close behind? Covering her back with the flow of his strength so that she only had to fear what was ahead?
When she turned the corner, she couldn’t help the shudder that ran through her. The feel of Quinn’s strong hand on her shoulder warmed her; she realized how careful he’d been not to touch her without asking.
His touch helped her face what lay ahead.
Choosing to look toward the front door first, she noticed that the groceries no longer lay on the floor. She hadn’t given them a thought since she’d dropped them. Idly, she wondered if the milk was any good now.
She could tell that strangers had been all over the place. Traces of a dust she assumed was for fingerprints still layered myriad surfaces.
The chairs he’d pulled down while racing to get away from Quinn had been set upright. Out of place, however—testament to the new disorder of her life.
The window. She shivered, wondering how she’d ever sit in this room again and not feel naked and exposed.
She scrunched her eyes closed and forced herself to turn toward the dining alcove. Once a place for special occasions, it now loomed as a chamber of horrors. Her muscles ached with her tensing.
Open your eyes. Face the music .
"Lorie." She could almost hear Quinn holding his breath. She leaned back, just a little, to warm herself against him. To soak up his courage. She didn’t quite touch him, but she could feel him, nonetheless.
She opened her eyes. The first thing she noticed was the orderliness. Someone had cleared away the evidence of her degradation.
Quinn . She knew somehow that he had taken it upon himself to restore the room the best he could, having never seen it…before. The only time he’d been here, escorting them home along with Josh, he’d said goodnight and waited for Josh in the hall.
She couldn’t be sure how she felt. Grateful not to have to face the debris, but everything looked so benign now, as though nothing big had happened.
But it had. She only had to look at the destruction inside her to know that. But she wasn’t ready to deal with that yet.
Quinn’s table rock at the edge of the canyon . Closing her eyes, she tried to hear the wind, the bird call he’d described.
Cool wind, sweeping away everything. Purifying her…cleansing…
She swayed with the depth of her longing to be clean once again.
"That’s it. You’re the bravest damn woman I’ve ever seen, but I can’t let you do this to yourself any more." Suddenly, she was swept up in his arms and carried from of the room. Too tired to hold back, she fell limply against him, drained and unutterably weary.
Brave. She didn’t feel brave at all. A wry smile tried to tilt the corners of her mouth, but exhaustion won out.
***
DAMN IT, HE’D rather endure any physical torture than to watch her suffer so. His gunshot wound had been child’s play compared to the rending of his heart. He felt so damn helpless to shield her. So little he could do to take it away.
But, by God, he could get her out of here, and that’s exactly what he’d do. He strode to her bedroom and laid her down gently.
She curled up in a ball. "I can’t let Grant see me like this." Her voice was leaden with despair.
"You need to be with him, and he’ll be all right. I’ll talk to him."
"Don’t let him know—"
"I’m going to tell him how brave and strong his mother was when she had to deal with a bad man who wanted to hurt her. We’ll talk about how tired she is from scaring the bad man away."
She shook her head. "It’s not true, Quinn."
"It is true in the essentials. The details are not something Grant needs to know. But he should know that his mother was brave and strong, even though she was very much afraid. And that she needs time to rest and recover."
The tears slipping down her cheeks matched the tears locked up in his heart. He covered her gently, tucking her in firmly. "I won’t be far. I’m just going to pack for you and gather some things for Grant. I’ll be able to hear if you call out for me."
He thought she nodded but couldn’t be sure. Stifling the need to lie down and draw her close, he focused on what had to be done to get her out of this place of nightmares. He had to be sure the press wasn’t outside. He’d call Josh and Grant from the other room.
Once more this grim morning, he thanked his lucky stars for his brother. Grant’s adoration for Josh would be the comfort he’d need until Quinn could bring his mother back.
***
"FRANK?"
"Yes, Mr. Marshall?" Frank’s concern was audible even over the phone.
"I’m taking her with me, and I’ll need a cab. Has the press shown up?"
"No, sir, no sign of them yet. Maybe it’ll take them a while longer. I’ll have a cab here by the time you get downstairs."
"Thank you. And Frank—"
"No one will know from me, sir. Mrs. Chandler has always been like a daughter to me." Frank’s voice broke. "How—how is she?"
"She’s going to need her friends."
"Yes, sir. You can count on me."
Quinn hung up the phone and returned to the bedroom to get Lorie. She sat on the edge of the mattress, staring out her window. The broken lines of her usually proud carriage spoke of the cracks inside. For not the first time over this long night, Quinn wished for the power to heal.
"Lorie?" He spoke softly, not wanting to startle her.
She turned, her gaze haunted. "We’re going to Josh’s?"
He nodded. "If you’d like that. I could get you a room somewhere, but—"
"No, I’d rather be close…if you and Josh don’t mind."
"I want you there. We both do."
Her voice barely carried. "I’m…afraid. I don’t know what to say to Grant. I don’t know how to be."
"Grant’s going to be fine. He’s worried, but Josh says he’s doing okay. He just wants to see you."
"Josh—oh, Quinn, how can I face him, face anyone? I’m so—" She scrubbed at her arms.
Quinn dropped to his heels before her, taking her hands in his. "Lorie, look at me."
She kept her gaze down.
"Please…look at me."
She studied him through the fringe of her lashes as though shielding herself from recrimination.
The fury boiled within him again, lending force to his words. "You did not bring this on yourself. I know you feel powerless right now, and I could kill him for that alone, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. Are you listening to me?" He saw a tiny flame of hope spurt…and gutter out. He struggled against the rage at his own inability to fix this. Fix her. "You don’t have to face anyone until you’re ready, but I’m not letting you take any of this on your shoulders."
"Why?" she whispered brokenly.
"Why?" Then he realized that she was asking something different altogether. "He’s sick, Lorie, that’s why. He doesn't think of your feelings. That's the definition of a sociopath. He doesn’t see anything wrong with what he’s doing. He has no remorse, no sense of your right to refuse him. In his mind, you belong to him, and he’ll remove anyone who stands between you."
When terror glazed her eyes, he cursed himself silently for saying too much. "Don’t worry about Grant. I won’t let him out of my sight without protection until this guy is caught. If I’m not with him, I’ll make sure someone is, just as I’m not leaving you unprotected again."
The anguish and guilt he felt must have shown. She reached out a hand and touched his cheek. "Poor Quinn. You don’t deserve to have to deal with this. After Clarissa—"
The old, dark remorse flayed at Quinn’s soul, given new life by anger and impotence at being too late to save Lorie, too. Oh, she was alive, unlike Clarissa. But wounded and broken as she was right now, he felt no sense of victory.
Lorie stroked his hair as sorrow strengthened its chokehold.
Quinn shook himself and rose, knowing from the experience of lost, bitter months that nothing would come of thinking about it now. He’d concentrate on Lorie’s needs. His own reckoning would come later.
They left her apartment and rode downstairs in silence. Lorie had closed in on herself, and Quinn had no more answers to give. When the doors opened, he reached down to pick up the bags and stepped out, only to be met by Frank’s anxious gaze.
"Mr. Marshall—" He gestured back over his shoulder. Quinn spotted strangers clustered outside the doors. A gasp behind him told him Lorie had seen them, as well.
Wounded Heroes Boxed Set Page 87
