She was angry—so, so angry—but a good part of her was scared, too. And not only because Lucas had taken great pains to point out that, just because Turner was gone now, it didn’t mean he couldn’t come right back.
“Lock the front door,” he commanded. “Don’t go looking to see if he’s still around the house. I hope you scared that fucker senseless and he ran out into the street and got hit by a car. Just in case, lock up and go back to your room. Lock that door, too. Wait for me there, Maria. I’m on my way.”
She tried. Really, she did.
When she was done in the foyer, Maria sat with her back to Ophelia’s front door, her radio in her left hand and her bat in the right. Her grip on both was so tight, she could barely feel them. She would let them go only over her dead body.
A small gasp turned into a strangled groan when she realized that could have been a possibility if she hadn’t had her bat to ward Turner off. It was obvious what he had wanted from her the instant he slipped into her bed but who knows what he had in mind for an encore?
If she wasn’t already on the floor, bracing the front door with her trembling body, that thought would have put her there.
Her legs were weak. Fear made them that way. Because Lucas’s forceful personality was so achingly familiar, she managed to do exactly one thing he told her to do before they gave out and she landed in a heap on Ophelia’s polished hardwood floor. The door was locked. In all of Maria’s twenty-six years, it was the first time she ever turned it. The soft click didn’t make her feel any better.
Nobody locked their doors in Hamlet. There had never been a reason to.
As soon as Maria managed to confess everything that had happened, Lucas rattled off his string of instructions. She repeated them to herself in a loop, though she made no move to get up and follow them.
Go to the front door. Lock it. Head back to her bedroom and lock that one, too. Barricade herself in the small room where she could be safe until he got there. Keep the radio close at hand, but leave the line open in case he needed to call her back—or, worse, she had a reason to buzz him again.
Lucas said he would call Caitlin while he was on the way to Ophelia. Thank God for that. While Maria knew that the sheriff needed to be told—Hamlet needed to be warned that a predator was on the loose—she didn’t think she could tell another soul how close she came to being attacked.
The throb in her cheeks was an inescapable reminder that she was attacked.
Even as she cowered on the floor of the foyer, Maria admitted to herself that there probably wouldn’t be a need for her to tell. Not only would her brother handle that for her, there was no doubt that news of the assault would get around eventually.
It always did.
Knock, knock.
Maria’s heart skipped a beat.
Someone was at the door.
It felt like seconds, it felt like years but it sure didn’t feel like enough time for Lucas to speed across town. He was a demon in his Mustang, always flying down Hamlet’s narrow streets. Even that car couldn’t go that fast, though.
So who was it?
“Who’s there?” The words were hoarse, a mere whisper. Choking up on her bat, she pulled herself up to her knees and turned so that she was facing the door. Maria cleared her throat. “Who’s out there? Dimmi!”
“Deputy Collins, miss. Sheriff De Angelis sent me.”
“There’s no deputy named Collins,” Maria shot back.
“I’m new.”
There was no one new in Hamlet. The only outsider she heard of was—she swallowed so roughly, it felt like a rock jagged its way down her throat. Turner.
No. Never again.
“Lucas, my brother… when he gets here, I’ll see about letting you into Ophelia. Until then, you wait.”
“I’m here to do my job, miss. Sheriff De Angelis sent me to clear the residence and make sure you were doing alright until she arrived. I’ve already checked the perimeter. I need to do the inside and I can’t do that from the porch.”
It didn’t matter that he knew Caitlin. Anyone who spent more than five minutes in Hamlet would learn about the sheriff in one way or another.
Something niggled in the back of her head. Hadn’t she heard something about a new deputy?
Wait—
“What’s your first name?” she demanded.
“Sylvester. I’ve only been on the job in Hamlet for a week or two, but you can trust me. Now let me in.”
It was hard to think. Her head was pounding. Sylvester? That wasn’t familiar. Was it?
He didn’t have an accent, not like he had. Sylvester’s voice was smooth as silk, as rich as chocolate. It was calming. Soothing. She let it wrap around her, almost like a warm blanket that kept her from shivering.
When a few moments passed and Maria made no move to open the door for him, she heard the deputy pace around the front porch. The heavy thud of his boots, the jangle of the handcuffs he’d have at his belt.
“My name’s Sylvester,” he said again, “but my buddies call me Sly. You can, too, if you’d like, miss. Say, you might even know a buddy of mine. We served together on the outside. Rick Hart?”
That was a name she knew. A few years older than her, Ricky Hart ran with Lucas and Caitlin’s crowd when he was a kid. He was also one of the only people that she knew who left Hamlet. Right after graduation, he ran off to become a hero, joining the Marines.
He came back about a year ago. And he came back… different. But he was still Ricky.
Maria might not trust this Sly. She did trust Ricky Hart. And if Caitlin took on Ricky’s old Marine buddy as one of her treasured deputies, then that meant the sheriff vouched for him, too.
That was good enough for her.
“Va bene. Okay. Give me a minute.”
She kept the bat gripped tightly in one hand while pushing up off of the floor with another. Her long body unfolded in a jerky motion before she shook it off. Lucas would be there any minute. Caitlin was on her way. And she had a deputy out there offering her protection.
The peephole was at her eye-level once she was leaning against her door. Pressing her nose to the wood and her eye to the glass, she got her first look at Sylvester Collins.
Okay, then.
She saw the deputy hat, the beige uniform shirt, the pressed slacks, the heavy boots, the radio on his belt and the shiny metal handcuffs looped beside it—but all that was window dressing for the man standing tall on her porch. He presented a strong profile as if he expected her to check him out before she opened the door.
And, God help her, she was checking him out.
The man was utterly gorgeous.
His dark skin seemed to gleam in the moonlight. His lips were drawn in a serious line, accentuating the sharp cheekbones that looked like they were chiseled into his very masculine face. By the glow of the weak porch light, she could see that his amber eyes were a few shades lighter than his skin. They were enchanting, like a freshly minted copper penny.
Whoa.
Her free hand fumbled as she tried to open the door. After a second, she managed to get it to work before pulling the door inward and looking up at the deputy. He was taller than her.
Oh, goodness. She was a sucker for a man who topped her in height.
He blinked. It struck Maria just then that she was wearing her nightclothes. Not to mention she probably looked like she’d been in a fight for her life. Which she had, of course. All the same, she took a hurried step back, trying to lose herself in Ophelia’s shadows.
Removing his hat, she saw that he wore his hair shorn close to his scalp. Deputy Collins took a step towards the open door. “Miss De Angelis?”
“Maria. Please.” She gulped. The force of his stare made her nervous is an entirely different way. “I’m sorry for being so careful. Come in.”
He did. “Don’t apologize to me. I’m here to take care of you.”
After a moment’s deliberation, she nodded. He was going to take care of her? Bene. She’d let him.
>
But hell if she’d let go of her bat.
Lucas showed up two hours later.
By then, Maria had already entertained half of Hamlet’s sheriff department. Ten minutes after Deputy Collins arrived, Caitlin was there, her gun drawn and a look in her steely gaze that told Maria that the sheriff wouldn’t hesitate to use the weapon if she found Turner lurking in one of the corners of Ophelia.
Together, with Maria and her bat huddled between them, they all swept the house again, just in case Turner somehow snuck back in since Collins initially cleared the rooms.
The idea didn’t seem so preposterous when they realized that he didn’t leave a trace of himself behind in the Blue Room. Either he already had his truck packed up before he slipped into Maria’s bedroom, or he somehow managed to sneak back into Ophelia after she chased him off with her bat.
Both ideas were unsettling. As was the idea he might still be sneaking around Hamlet in his underwear.
After they were certain that he wasn’t in the house now, Caitlin sent her new deputy back to his cruiser. The sheriff would sit with Maria while they waited for Lucas to arrive. Mason was already out on patrol, looking for Turner’s truck. Sly would join the search. If Turner was still in Hamlet, he would pay for it.
If he was gone, then good riddance.
Maria was starting to droop. The anger that first fueled her had faded to a weary sort of fear that the worst night of her life would never end. Caitlin settled her in the kitchen with a comforting mug of hot chocolate before taking a guard’s stance in the doorway that led into the hall.
She was still standing there when Lucas finally burst into the house. Catching the wild look in his icy blue eyes, she blocked him from entering the kitchen.
“Give her a second, Luc,” Caitlin murmured in warning. “She’s had it rough. You looking like you’re ready to kill someone won’t help her.”
Caity was right. He took a deep breath, struggled to get himself under control. Lucas normally prided himself on that control. He damn well wouldn’t let his ex see him lose it.
“Yeah. You’re right. I just… I had to make sure she was safe.”
“And she will be. Look, I’ve called everyone in on this. Willie brought her kids down to the station house to free me and Mase and Sly up for patrols. I’ve already sent Sly and Mase out, looking for some sign of this bastard. Phil Granger is gonna park his golf cart down by the welcome sign to see if he can watch for anyone coming or going into town.
“If that creep already left, we might have seen the back of him by now, but something tells me he might not be shaken off too easily.” Caitlin snorted, her eyes blazing with a mix of protectiveness and fury. “Fucking outsiders. He comes back here, Luc, we’ll get him.”
Lucas listened to everything Caitlin said, though he never looked away from Maria. Caitlin was short, barely coming up to his chin, and he could easily see past Caitlin and into the kitchen.
Ah, Maria.
Her head was bowed, her long dark hair hiding her face from him. She had her hands wrapped securely around a mug. He could smell the chocolate from where he was standing.
Hot cocoa. One of Maria’s favorites. Whenever she was feeling sad, she drank it like it was the finest of wines. After her parents’ deaths, she guzzled the stuff like it was water.
The scent of it made his stomach turn. She was hurting way more than she would ever tell him.
Caitlin leaned in. “I have my radio,” she told him. “If I see anything, hear anything, I’ll buzz you. Do the same?”
He nodded. Taking Caitlin’s hand, he gave it a squeeze. “Thanks, Caity.”
“No thanks needed, Luc. This is Hamlet.” She jerked her pointed chin over at Maria. “And she’s family.”
Another squeeze and he let her hand go. “I’ve got my radio, too. I’ll keep the emergency channel open. No matter how late it gets, I’ll answer.”
“Leave it to us. We’re the cops. You’re the doctor, yeah, but more importantly, you’re her brother. You stay here with Maria. It’s where you’re needed right now.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Moving past Caitlin, sure she could let herself out, Lucas walked over to the kitchen table. He bent his knees, crouching down low so that he was on the same level as Maria. He rested one hand lightly on her arm, a flash of fury coursing through him when she flinched.
“Lucas.” She blinked, clearly dazed. “You’re here.”
He saw the red blotches on her cheek. The fury intensified. That morto struck Maria’s beautiful face.
Lucas could kill him over that slight alone.
Extending his hand towards her, Lucas ran the tips of his fingers lightly over the marks. By tomorrow, they would be bruises. His fingers curled, aching to heal the marks, erase them, make them so his sister had never been struck. But he couldn’t. Dropping his hands to his side, he stood up and turned away from Maria. He couldn’t bear looking at his failures.
“This is my fault,” he murmured.
“No, Luc, don’t—”
“I didn’t want to let him stay. I should have pushed it.”
“I wouldn’t have listened.”
“Too many things on my mind…” With a rough shake, he jerked his head so that he was looking back at Maria. “You’re just as important. More, now. You’ve always stood by me. I should’ve done the same.”
“Are you okay? I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” When he turned from her again, Maria shakily climbed out of her seat. She moved behind him, then reached out and latched onto his arm. It seemed to her that Lucas needed the contact far more than she did. “What’s wrong with you? Where have you been?”
He presented her with a stony profile. His jaw clenched, tightening as if he had some inner rage just begging to be let loose. His gaze, normally so icy and alert, was frightening in its intensity. A flare of his nostrils, a soft exhale that caused his body to shudder.
“Now? Tonight?” he asked, in a voice with such little emotion that it was clear he was seconds away from snapping. “Or before?”
A chill skittered up Maria’s spine. For the first time she could ever remember, Lucas was scaring her. And she knew, more than she was sure that Turner had terrible intentions, that she didn’t really want to know that answer to either of those questions.
So she didn’t ask.
8
Lucas stayed the night. Maria couldn’t have sent him home even if she tried.
It was harder to get Caitlin to leave. It was only when Deputy Collins buzzed in an update and dutifully reminded the sheriff that there was a villain on the loose in their small village that Caitlin left Maria in the care of her brother.
Or, considering the curious way Caitlin was eyeing Lucas before she left, maybe it was the other way around.
Maria couldn’t help but remember her brother’s disheveled state from the morning he returned from his mysterious three-day trip. The purple shadows under his eyes, the way his hair was tousled and his face covered in stubble.
Tonight, he was impeccably dressed. His dark hair was combed, that ruler-straight precision part on the left back in place. The bags were gone. A steely determination replaced the fatigue.
And, yet, Maria thought he looked infinitely more vulnerable.
He watched her carefully. Exhaustion weighed heavy on her shoulders, she was so tired, but she might have exaggerated her yawn to give him a hint that she was ready for bed.
Lucas stopped her before she could escape from the kitchen and his presence. Pulling a small bag from his pocket, he opened it and extracted a tiny white pill. He held it out to her.
She shook her head. “No, Luc.”
“Take the pill, Maria.”
“I don’t want it.”
He cupped her chin in his hands. “Without it, will you sleep?”
They both knew the answer to that question. Though it might have been a few hours that separated her from before Turner’s attack and now, she couldn’t forget that last
night she’d slept soundly in her bed, oblivious to any threats. Now, she doubted she ever could again. As tired as she was, she doubted sleep would follow.
She turned away so that she didn’t meet his knowing gaze.
Gently, so gently, as if the smallest gesture would cause her to shatter, Lucas guided her to face him again. “I won’t sleep until you do,” he said. “Please take the pill. For me.”
How could she refuse when he entreated her in such a way? Maria would’ve rather gone another round with Turner and her trusty bat than disappoint Lucas.
Snatching the little white pill out of his palm, she popped it in her mouth and, with a grimace, swallowed it dry.
“There. Happy now?”
“Very.”
Maria scowled. She couldn’t help it. “I’m not a baby, Luc. I managed to beat him back with my bat, you know.”
“I know. And you’re not a baby, but you’ve done more than enough for tonight. For once, let me take care of you.” Wrapping one arm around her shoulder as he led her out of the kitchen, she could’ve sworn she heard him murmur, “Your big brother will take care of everything. Trust me.”
When Maria woke up the next morning, it took her a minute before she realized something wasn’t right.
The sun was streaming in at an odd angle. That wasn’t her dresser. Her nightstand was supposed to be on her right side, not over there. And why was her bedspread pink?
It hit her an instant later.
This wasn’t her bedroom.
She remembered insisting to Lucas that she wanted to return to her own room—she wasn’t going to let him ruin the one room in Ophelia that was hers alone—but some time after that pill kicked in, her brother must have had another plan. It was obvious from the decor to the pale pink walls and the flowers on the dust-free mantle that she was in the Rose Room.
And she was alone. Thank the Lord.
Something told her that that was a determination she would be making upon waking up for quite some time.
Maria rolled over in the guest bed, freezing in place when she bumped against something long, hard and skinny. Her fingers twitched, her breath coming quick. What was that?
Ophelia Page 5
