by Joyce Lamb
"Are you okay?" Mitch asked.
Looking at him, she was struck by the concern on his face and fumbled for something to say. "I don't understand why you're doing this."
He took a sip of coffee, seeming to think carefully about his answer. "I made a mistake."
"You make it sound so simple."
His laugh was low, humorless. "It's not. It's complicated as hell. I don't even understand most of it. All I know is that Layton Keller is not the man I thought he was, and you're not the woman I thought you were."
"What changed your mind?"
"I met you."
"I doubt that did it. It was shortly after you met me that you handcuffed me to a bed."
Reaching out, he ran his thumb lightly over her left wrist, where the bruises had faded. "And I've been meaning to tell you how sorry I am about that. And several other things."
She dropped her hand into her lap, startled by the tingling that raced across her skin at his caress, even more unnerved by the breath that lodged in her throat. At a simple touch. She didn't trust herself to respond, and besides, what could she say? It's okay that you manhandled me, let's do it again sometime?
He studied her face, his gaze sober, and she wondered what he was looking for. Resisting the need to shift, she turned her attention to the bowl of soup before her. It was still unappetizing as hell. Life in general had become unappetizing, she thought. Even if she managed to get Jonah back, would she be able to make him understand why she had done the things she'd done? Would he hate her? Would he pull away, distance himself?
Mitch cleared his throat, and she glanced up at him in question.
"Lost you for a sec," he said.
"I'm sorry. What were you saying?"
"I was telling you what changed my mind about you."
"Right. You met me." She sat back, unconvinced and wondering why it mattered.
He rested his elbows on the table. "Let me put it in clichéd terms: Actions speak louder than words, and your actions did not support the picture that Keller painted of you."
"You said you've known him for two years. You've known me a week."
"Ten days, actually," he said. "In two years, I never saw Keller risk his own life to protect someone else."
"When did I do that?"
"At Rachel's. You threw yourself on top of her when we were being shot at."
"Oh."
"And in Chicago, when I was about to walk into the hotel room into a loaded gun, you warned me. You could have let me come. That hit man would have taken care of me for you."
"Maybe I thought you were the lesser of two evils."
"Either way, you saved my life." He smiled. "Now, are you going to eat that soup or am I going to have to pour it down your throat? Because we both know I can take you."
His eyes, as dark as coffee with just a splash of milk, gleamed, sending her pulse tripping. Rattled. That's how she felt with that glittering gaze on her. That and suddenly too warm.
Thankful for the distraction, she picked up her spoon and tested the soup, determining that it tasted good after all. And she was starving. She reached for the crackers.
They ate in silence, as they had the entire week. It wasn't a tense silence or a particularly comfortable one. It was simply the silence of two people who had too much to say and had gotten used to not saying it.
Mitch cleared his throat. "I have a question for you."
She mentally braced herself. "All right."
"What's your favorite Arnold movie?"
She blinked at him. "What?"
"Schwarzenegger. Everybody's got a favorite."
It was an odd question, but it also seemed safe to answer. "Kindergarten Cop."
He grinned as he pushed his empty bowl back. "You didn't hesitate."
"It's a toss-up between that and Terminator, but I'm partial to the kids in Kindergarten Cop."
He cradled his head in mock agony. "It's not a tumah," he said, parroting the famous Arnold accent.
She laughed, relaxed some.
"My son loved it when I did that," he said.
That surprised her. "You have a son?"
He nodded, his humor fading. "Tyler. He lives with his mother."
"How old?"
"Seven."
She saw by the way he fixed his gaze on the table that it was painful for him to talk about it, so she stayed silent, letting him determine the course of the conversation.
"I haven't seen him in three years," he said with a note of sad wonder, as if he were speaking to himself rather than to her.
"Why so long?" she asked.
"Because I was an idiot." He gave her a tight smile. "I imagine that surprises you."
"That you have a son?"
"No, that I messed up with my own kid."
She registered the self-loathing in his gaze. Whatever had happened to separate him from his child, he had punished himself about it for a long time. "It's not too late to make it up to him."
"You make it sound easy."
"I'm sure it won't be, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try."
He considered her for a moment, then smiled. "Perhaps when this is over, I'll give it a shot." Rising, he collected their empty bowls. "Next course coming right up."
He disappeared into the kitchen, and she heard the clatter of dishes on the counter and the scrape of a spatula against a skillet. When he returned, he had two plates with grilled cheese sandwiches. Sitting down, he resumed their earlier conversation as if they hadn't taken a detour into his personal life. "It's interesting that you'd pick those two Arnold movies."
As she sank her teeth into the grilled cheese, Alaina tried to see the connection, but an unexpected flavor distracted her. Garlic. He must have sprinkled it on before grilling the bread.
"In one," Mitch was saying, "you've got a woman who has started a new life for herself and her son after escaping from the child's brutal father. In the other, the woman is on the run from a ruthless, unstoppable killer."
She didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed that he'd related her screwed-up life to action movies that had relatively happy endings. That he'd put that much thought into what her life was like unnerved her. "Is this some kind of Arnold-movie psychoanalysis?"
"Maybe. I have a theory that you can tell a lot about a person based on their favorite Arnold movie."
Seeing the laughter in his eyes, she relaxed a little more. "Then what's your favorite?"
"Conan the Barbarian."
A smile tugged at her lips. "This theory has merit."
"What would Jonah pick?"
"Probably Terminator 2."
"That's what I would have guessed."
"Why?" she asked.
"Kid on the run from something he doesn't really understand." He slid a finger down his nose, as if to remind her of how she'd bloodied it. "The kid's mom kicks butt."
She set down the second half of her sandwich as her newfound appetite and humor fled. "The kid's mom was pretty much nuts."
"Well, you're not nuts."
"How do you know?" she asked.
"Most of the time, I have good instincts."
"If they're so good, why didn't they tell you to get as far away from me as possible?"
"They did," he said.
"Then why didn't you?"
"I already told you. I made a mistake."
"And you're willing to die to correct it?"
"I'm not willing to die at all," he said. "It bothers me that you seem to be."
"Don't tell me you wouldn't die to protect your child."
"I would. In a heartbeat." He paused, as if debating the wisdom of saying what he was thinking. When he spoke, an edge replaced his earlier playfulness. "But I can't help but wonder how you reconcile that with the reality that you wouldn't be in the position you're in now if you hadn't kidnapped him to begin with."
The rising defensiveness irritated her. It hardly mattered what he thought. But maybe it did. "I didn't have a choice."
&n
bsp; "Why not?"
She pushed away from the table, unable to sit there another second with his intense gaze on her, challenging her. Retreating to the fire, she sought its heat to chase away a sudden chill. This was dangerous territory that she was unwilling to tread. It was one reason she had kept him at a distance all week. "I don't want to talk about this," she said.
"I think we should."
"It doesn't matter. None of it matters."
"I think it does."
He seemed determined to hammer at her until she admitted ... what? That everything that had happened was her fault?
Emma dead. Her mother murdered. Grant Maxwell shot. And why?
Because she had coveted her sister's fiancé. There was no question that she had been attracted to Layton. She had flirted with him on more than one occasion. He was a good-looking, intelligent man who'd paid attention to her when others had brushed her off. He'd laughed at her jokes. He'd seemed to respect her refusal to kowtow to her controlling father.
It had frustrated her that he was with Addison when it had seemed so obvious that Alaina was the one he'd wanted. She'd seen it in his electric blue gaze every time he'd looked at her. Maybe he had seen something in hers, too. She had certainly done nothing to discourage him when he'd looked at her that way.
Alaina listened to the snap-pop of the wood, felt its heat on her skin, though it failed to warm the chill inside her that had its origins in guilt. She'd learned to live with the chill. Jonah had taken the edge off, had very nearly banished it. Without him, she imagined her heart would have been a block of ice by now. Maybe one day it still would be. Maybe some day soon.
She felt Mitch behind her, waiting for her to respond, and sensed he would wait all night. She drew in a slow breath. "When he took my son away, Layton didn't even want him. Nobody wanted Jonah but me, and I was the only one who was told I couldn't have him."
"So the obvious choice was to run away."
She told herself his sarcasm didn't hurt, but it did. It really did. "It was absolutely the right thing to do. I made a choice. A hard choice."
"And when you slept with your sister's boyfriend? What kind of choice was that?"
* * *
Mitch held his breath. He expected her to be angry. At least, that's what he wanted. Fury, resentment, hostility. Any reaction would do. As long as there was emotion. Ten days ago, she'd been fiery with rage and frustration. Fierce with maternal defensiveness. She'd been mad as hell and fighting for her own life and the life of her child. Even the first morning here at the cabin, she'd been determined to beat Keller, to get her son back.
Since then, the fire had died out of her eyes. He didn't think she had given up, but hope seemed fleeting. She conversed. She even laughed. But she was going through the motions. It was as if she'd shut herself down because she didn't know how to deal with what she would feel if she didn't. Instinct told him that to jumpstart her emotions, he had to tear down her defenses, and the angrier he made her, the faster that would happen.
When she finally faced him, though, he saw that his attempt had failed. Her features, though pale and drawn, were carefully blank, her eyes as expressionless. "Did you say earlier that there's pie?" she asked.
His plan had backfired. Instead of snapping her out of whatever torpor she'd slipped into, she seemed to have retreated even further. Frustrated but fearing she might be too fragile for him to push any harder, Mitch scooted his chair back and stood. "I'll get it."
After gathering their dirty dishes, he carried them into the kitchen and set them in the sink. His hands shook as he sliced into the fresh apple pie and served two pieces onto clean plates.
He blew it, he thought. She'd been relaxing with him, and he'd pushed too hard. But, God, he wanted her to look at him just once without that damn wariness in her eyes. He wanted her to trust him. He just plain wanted her. It surprised him how much. Even as he'd kept his distance from her all week, his need had grown. And if she never trusted him ...
When he returned with the pie, he saw that she hadn't moved from where she stood in front of the fire. She had her arms curved around herself as if she were cold.
"Do you want a refill on coffee?" he asked as he set the plates on the table.
She didn't move, and he thought she hadn't heard him. "Alaina?"
"He raped me."
She turned from the fire, and Mitch stared at her, wanting desperately to have not heard her correctly. But, on some subconscious level, he'd already known that she'd been assaulted. He'd suspected it after she had freaked out when he'd straddled her on the bed to subdue her. Hearing her confirm his fear -- and that it had been Keller -- didn't make the rage any less powerful. It rolled over him, heavy as a cement truck.
That bastard. That fucking bastard.
Alaina's gaze dropped from his, and she rubbed her arms. "He came up with his own version of what happened, of course."
Mitch didn't move, didn't breathe, as he grappled with the fury that threatened to aim his fist at the nearest wall.
She blew out a shaky breath, glanced at him, then away again. When she spoke, he had to strain to hear her. "They all bought it," she said. "My father. My sister. My mother ... though I think she didn't at first, until my father did his usual bullying. I suppose I can't really blame them. My behavior had never been ... ideal." Her laugh was humorless as she gazed into the flames. "I didn't even tell them at first, because I was terrified that that's how they would react. They would think it was somehow my fault. I mean, I couldn't really expect them to think it wasn't my fault when even I didn't think that." Her voice cut out, and she paused, chewing her bottom lip.
Jesus, Mitch thought. She'd been eighteen, a kid, with no one to turn to. Pity simmered just below the rapid boil of his rage. But he said nothing. After waiting seven days for her to start talking, he wasn't about to interrupt her.
She sniffed, cleared her throat. "So I kept it to myself, tried to get over it. I made sure I was never alone with him again, never vulnerable. Locked my bedroom door at night, even shoved my desk chair under the knob in case he figured out how to pick the lock. Then I found out I was pregnant." She dropped her head back, as if looking toward the heavens for an explanation. "God, I'd wished so much that I'd fooled around with my boyfriend. Then there would have been a chance that the baby wasn't Layton's. It would have been so much easier. I even considered letting everyone think that, but I couldn't do that to Michael. And as time went by, I began to realize that I had to tell them. Especially Addison. She'd married him by then, and I let her, knowing what he was. That ate at me." She took a breath, held it in. "So I told them." She gave him a sad, tremulous smile. "It wasn't pretty."
Mitch's heart squeezed in his chest so hard it hurt, and his hands shook with the need to destroy something, to vent this terrible, impotent rage. He didn't know what to say, what he could say. Then it hit him why she hadn't told Jonah about his father. How could she tell her son that he'd been given life because a vile act of violence had been committed against her?
"Please don't look at me like that," she said softly.
He tried to force himself to relax, to school his expression. He didn't know how he had been looking at her, but surely the ferocity of his thoughts had been clear.
Perhaps too clear, because she had her arms wrapped around herself, as if for protection. Her gaze, watchful, steady, was on his, her gray-green eyes guarded as ever. He realized slowly that she was waiting for something. What? What did she need from him? What could he possibly give her that would make any of it okay?
"I'm sorry," he said, furious at the inadequacy of it. He'd never felt more like an inept jerk.
Her lips compressed as if to hold back a rush of emotion. Her chin trembled, and he could see she was struggling to hold it in. She started rubbing her arms again, as if she were freezing.
God, he wanted to scream, to beat the wall. If Keller had been standing there, he would have gladly ripped his heart out. What kind of monster did what he'd done
? The son of a bitch had actually painted himself as the victim when he'd asked Mitch to find his son. "My sister-in-law is a shrewd, ruthless woman."
Suddenly, Mitch could understand how a man could be overwhelmed by the need for vengeance. The hate he felt was grinding, animal, as he clenched his fists at his sides. "He's going to pay, Alaina," he said in a low voice. "He's going to pay for what he did."
She went still. "You believe me?"
He gazed at her, baffled. "Of course, I believe you. Why wouldn't I?"
She moved jerkily to the sofa and sat, curving one arm around her middle and pressing the tips of her fingers to her lips. Tears began to fall, and her breath hitched once before she leaned forward to bury her face in her hands.
Perplexed and shaken, Mitch forced his anger aside and sat beside her. He didn't know what to do or say as she wept, so he rubbed a gentle hand over her back. As comfort went, it seemed insufficient, but he felt her lean against him ever so slightly.
Putting his arms around her, he cradled her against him, absurdly relieved when she burrowed in and held on.
Chapter 28
The phone rang, and Addison leapt up from Layton's desk chair, her hand covering her heart as if she'd been caught.
But, no, it was just the phone.
She debated answering it. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't. It was Layton's office phone -- and she rarely was in his office. The last time had been to swipe copies of the detective reports on the search for Alaina that she had given to the feds. Certainly now she didn't belong there, looking through his desk drawers for evidence of his affair.
That cheating son of a bitch.
She'd known for a week, and her anger was still strong. She'd been watching him for clues but had observed nothing. Oh, he was good, she thought. He was so good at deception. She hadn't thought she could despise him any more than she already had, but she did.
The phone rang a third time, and she snatched it up. "Layton Keller's office."
"May I speak to Mr. Keller please?"
Addison didn't recognize the sing-song female voice, and suspicion turned her vision red. "He's unavailable at the moment. May I take a message?"
