by Mallory Kane
Ignoring them, Dev rested his forearm on the top of the car door and bent his head. “Connor, you met Detective Givens this morning. He’s going to ask you a few questions.” Dev’s grim expression lightened a bit as he studied her. “Okay?” he asked gently.
She nodded, hoping he’d stay while the other detective questioned her. But he moved away.
Givens moved into her line of vision. “Ms. Connor? This won’t take long. Can you tell me what you were doing out here alone this time of night?”
“Working late,” she said, noticing that her voice quavered. She swallowed. “I had a lot of rescheduling to do because of—because I missed my show this morning. And I needed to prepare for tomorrow’s segment.”
“Were you by yourself inside?”
“I think so. I didn’t notice anyone else in the office. Naturally, there’s always a security guard here.”
Givens made a vague gesture. “Yeah, Benoit went to talk to them. So was there anything different about tonight?” he asked.
“Different? Like how?”
“Like anything. Lights out, people hanging around the building. Anything.”
She shook her head. “Nothing, except that I was attacked.”
“Okay. Why don’t you go through everything that happened. Start with when you left your office.”
“It was after eight,” she told him. “I took the elevator down to the lobby. Mr. Daniels was at the security desk.” She pointed toward the security guard.
“Right. What happened next?”
“He walked me to my car, like Dev—Detective Gautier arranged. I opened the passenger door to put my things on the seat and he turned to go back inside. Somebody knocked him down. When I turned—” She stopped. She hadn’t even thought about what she’d seen. Everything had seemed to happen at once. But now, thinking back, she realized she’d actually noticed the attacker. “When I turned, I got a glimpse of someone in a dark hoodie and jeans. I think they had on sneakers.” She closed her eyes, remembering.
“I was about to run over to Mr. Daniels to see if he was all right, but someone hit me from behind. It must have been the person I saw. He grabbed me around the neck and whispered something like, ‘You wouldn’t listen, would you.’ Then, ‘All your fault, Reghan Connor.’”
“Are those his exact words?” Givens broke in.
“I think so.”
Givens made a face. “He said your name.”
“Yes. He definitely knew who I was.” Her skin tightened at that thought.
“Okay, go ahead.”
“By that time he was choking me. I couldn’t breathe. I felt something on my neck, then on my hand. At first I didn’t notice that it hurt. It felt kind of cold.” She pressed her lips together, thinking of the cold-hot pressure of what must have been the blade. She shivered. “I thought I was going to suffocate, but just then a car turned in. Its headlights shone straight on us. He let go of me and ran.”
“Headlights? Did the car stop?”
“No. It didn’t stop.” She turned to look toward Canal Street. “I assume it turned into the parking lot, because its headlights shone directly on us for a few seconds. I don’t know where it went.”
“Do you think your attacker got into it?”
She shook her head. “No. I think he ran. The car scared him off.”
Givens scribbled some more. “Can you describe the person who attacked you?”
“I’m not sure.” She closed her eyes, reluctantly going back there and reliving the feeling of the attacker’s arm around her neck, and her fingers on his forearm. “He was strong,” she said. “Small but strong.”
“Wait.” It was Dev. She hadn’t realized that he was still standing there. The tension that was straining her shoulders and back relaxed minutely. “What do you mean, small?” he asked.
She thought about it. “Not necessarily short. He was probably about my height. But he was thin. No fat on him. And strong.”
“What about his clothes?” Dev asked. “You said he had on a hoodie?”
“It had a hood, but it wasn’t fleece, like a sweatshirt. It was loose, so really, I guess I ought to say that I grabbed his shirt—not his arm. When I tried to elbow him in the ribs, his stomach muscles were hard.”
“Do you think you injured him?” Givens asked.
She laughed shakily. “No. I think it just surprised him. But then that car turned in and he ran away.”
Givens nodded gravely, then turned to talk to Dev. She couldn’t hear what they were saying. Sirens echoed in the distance, becoming louder and louder. Vehicles drove into the parking lot and headed toward them.
After a moment, Dev crouched beside her. He gently took her hand in his, and bent his head over her splinted hand. “How’s the palm feeling? Does it hurt?”
She stared at his bent head, at his soft, unruly hair. She had an odd urge to bury her nose in it for a second. Just as she remembered, he smelled like soap and coffee. Her eyes stung, and she swallowed hard, fighting against even the possibility of tears.
Dev lifted his head. When his gaze met hers, he gave her a small smile as if to say, you’re okay. I’m here. Then he stood and propped an arm on the top of the car door. “As soon as Givens is done, I’ll get you out of here.”
His tone was clipped and professional, but his words were kind. Tears pricked at her eyes again. If he weren’t careful, he was going to convince her that he was worried about her. And if she weren’t careful, she might just get used to it.
Dev opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a uniformed officer.
“Detective Gautier? Detective Givens called me. I need to get pictures.”
With a glance toward her, Dev left her with the other man.
“Step out of the car please, ma’am,” the officer said.
She almost cried. She’d thought they were done with her. She should have known better. For the next few minutes, she was pushed and prodded, snapped at and ordered around as the photographer took photos of every square inch of her body. Her neck, her hand, her face, her bloodstained clothes, her legs and feet. By the time he finished, she felt like she’d been strip-searched.
Then another officer examined her hands. “Did you scratch him or grab his hair or anything?” he asked crisply.
“All I could get hold of was his sleeve. “
“Good,” the man said. He cleaned and examined her nails. Occasionally he would pick at something with a pair of tweezers and put whatever he’d retrieved into a plastic bag.
While he was making notes on the bags, Detective Givens came over. “I want to get a good look at the neck wound,” he said to the officer.
“Sure,” the officer said. “Ma’am?” he gestured, asking permission to touch her.
Reghan wanted to break down with frustration and exhaustion, but she didn’t. She swallowed and stood still as she could. The officer instructed her to lift her head, then he shone a flashlight’s beam onto her neck.
Givens whistled. “I see what Dev means,” he muttered.
“About what?” Dev’s low voice said behind him as he approached.
“About the cut on her neck being just like the kids’ wounds. We can’t let the media get hold of this.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Dev said to the officer, who released the pressure on her chin. She lowered her head. “You about done, Roy?” Dev asked.
Givens frowned, then nodded. “Sure. Ms. Connor, I need you to come by the station and file a report tonight. Oh, and I need those clothes.”
“Oh….” Reghan felt like a puppet being pulled this way and that with no backbone to stand up for herself. She swayed and Dev caught her. “Roy, cut her a break. I’ll bring her by for her statement tomorrow, and I’ll bring her clothes to the lab tonight. I was first officer on the scene. I can maintain the chain of evidence.”
Givens rubbed his face. “Shit, Gautier. Do whatever the hell you want to do. My guys tell me there was practically no trace anyhow. Just get the clothes back her
e sometime this week, will ya?” he said wryly.
“No problem, Roy.” Dev pulled his keys from his pocket. “We need to go,” he said. “Givens says the media’s gotten word of the attack, and he agrees we should keep your name out of this if we can.”
She felt her eyes tearing up. “Dev, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done—”
“Hey, don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you. It’s probably futile, but we’re trying to keep as much about the case as possible out of the media. Even so, there’s a good chance they’ll find out before too long. But I’m hoping we can keep the similarity between your wounds and the boys’ under wraps. The last thing I want is for my kids’ murder case to be linked to a celebrity stalking.”
His clipped words were astonishingly hurtful, especially after what had seemed like tender concern. “I see,” she muttered, feeling whipped by his insensitivity when just a moment ago his presence had made her feel so safe.
He made a face. “You know what I mean.”
She did. He meant exactly what he’d said. She started to stand.
“Whoa. Where are you going?”
“To my car.”
“Give me your keys. I’ll have one of the officers drive it to the center,” he said.
“No. I can do it—” she started, but he interrupted, slashing his hand through the air.
“Can the tough stuff, Connor. That hand is out of commission as long as you have that splint on. You are right-handed, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You can do it.”
Irritated by his officious attitude and mocking imitation of her, she glared at him and started to swing her legs out of the passenger seat of his car. She reached automatically for the doorframe to leverage herself to her feet. The metal brace hit the frame with a clunk. She slumped back into the seat in frustration and glared at it. “I don’t see why I need this thing,” she said. “The bandage should be enough.” She tried to flex her fingers, stretching them as much as she could. An echo of hot pain flashed across her palm and she gasped.
“Maybe that’s why, cher,” Dev said, touching her just above the bandage, surprising her. “Is it okay?” he asked. “You didn’t rip off any of the strips, did you?”
His fingers sent warmth seeping into her skin. She sighed in defeat. He bent and put his hands on her calves just below her knees, then looked at her in indulgent challenge. She gave in and allowed him to lift her legs back inside the car as if she were an invalid. He slammed the door and got into the driver’s seat.
She closed her eyes as he cranked the car and pulled out onto the street. There weren’t many times in her life that she’d had to let someone else take charge. She didn’t like it. She wanted to fight against it, even though she’d been grateful for his help when he’d first gotten to the scene. She knew a shrink would probably have a field day with all the implications of her constant struggle to handle everything on her own. He’d probably throw around phrases like “abandonment issues with her father,” “inability to trust,” “problems with authority.” Which is why she’d always steered clear of shrinks.
After a lifetime of determination to be self-sufficient and independent, it scared her how easy it had been just to allow Dev take care of her.
As hard as she’d fought to prove that this man was not a hero once she’d been disillusioned by his lies, she’d known the first time she’d ever seen him that he was hero material. Tonight, if one of those reporters had questioned her about the attack, she’d be hard-pressed to deny that he had shown up like her own personal knight in shining armor. If he wrapped her in his strong arms and held her for a while, she knew she wouldn’t protest. Just until she felt capable of taking care of herself again. Like maybe about fifty years or so…
Quiet heat slid through her at the thought of a lifetime of being cradled in those strong, gentle arms. She glanced over at his shadowed face, and her romantic fantasies dissolved in a bitter dose of reality. He could be strong and gentle, but she’d be wise to remember that he considered her an albatross around his neck. Any kindness he’d shown her was no more than he would show to any other crime victim. She turned away to look out the windshield and saw the familiar streets of the Garden District.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, puzzled.
“While you were being questioned, I called Lieutenant Flanagan. There’s no way he’s going to release your house as a crime scene, now that you’ve been attacked, but he did give me permission to let you pick up a few things.”
She did a double-take. “You did?” She felt like hugging him. Her blouse was soaked with blood, her jacket and skirt were filthy. She knew it was silly to be so grateful for a change of clothes when her life had been threatened, but she couldn’t help it.
He pulled to the curb in front of her house. He came around the car, opened the passenger door and held out his hand to help her out. Once she was on her feet, he slid his hand up her back and pulled her close for an instant. Awareness pooled deep inside her as her body absorbed his heat and comfort. She had the most overwhelming urge to lean into him and let him support her, let him be the strong one. She already knew how easy it would be. So easy. And so dangerous. She started to move away.
“Not so fast, Connor,” he whispered against her hair. “We need to make sure you’re steady on your feet.”
Of course. He was just making sure she didn’t faint on him. She stiffened. “I’m fine,” she said firmly. All she had going for her right now was control, and she was clinging to the last thread. If she gave in and leaned on him, the panic that had its claws sunk into the soft tissue of her throat would climb out, and she’d break down completely. She couldn’t allow that. She had to get through this, and she had to do it herself.
“Right.” The word was clipped. He left her side and moved his hand so it barely rested above her hip. He guided her up onto the porch and under the yellow tape. Then he took the key to her house out of his pocket and unlocked her front door. She’d forgotten he still had it. As soon as they were inside, she reached for the light switch.
He stopped her. “No. No lights. I don’t want to advertise that we’re here.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a large handgun. “Come with me,” he said, and headed for the kitchen.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed his forefinger against his lips and shook his head, letting her know to be silent.
He surveyed the kitchen, then returned to the front room. He gestured toward the stairs. “Stay right behind me,” he murmured.
“You don’t really think there’s someone here, do you?” she whispered, defying his orders.
“No, but then, I never make assumptions.” He started up the stairs. Reghan followed behind. He shook his head disgustedly when they reached the top of the stairs. “Damn it, Connor, you can’t live here with no curtains on the windows. Anyone standing across the street can know what kind of damn toothpaste you use.”
“I have blinds.”
“Which are always open.”
“You don’t know that,” she retorted, although he was right. She never bothered to lower the blinds. She liked the airy openness of the house.
He pinned her with a glance, a sly humor evident in his quirked eyebrow. “They are always open, though. Aren’t they?”
She looked away. He made a sound suspiciously like a snort. Leaving her bedroom, he checked the rest of the second floor. Watching him prowl silently through her house like a tiger that knows it’s at the top of the food chain, Reghan felt a tightening of her skin, a heightening of her senses. There she went again. Despite his attitude, despite everything that had happened, her body was still affected by him. She reached up to rub her temple where the warning twinge of a headache lurked, and the pain in her bandaged hand reminded her of why he was here.
Someone out there had attacked her. Had deliberately cut her neck in a cruel, shallow imitation of the cut that had kil
led three teenaged boys.
All at once, Dev’s stealthy prowling seemed ominous. The fact that he thought it was worth his time to be sure her house was safe made her feel anything but safe.
“Okay,” he said. “Get your stuff and let’s go.”
“Could I just wash up first? Maybe a quick shower? A really short one. Five minutes.”
“No. You can take a bath at the center.”
She blinked. “But I want—I need—” She stopped. There was no way she could explain to him how helpless and out of control she felt. How easy it would be to fall totally apart. She wasn’t even sure she understood it herself. All she knew was that if she couldn’t do something normal, something ordinary, she was going to fall apart.
“Connor?” Dev said, drawing her attention again.
“Okay, I get it,” she grated. “No shower. I guess there’s no TV show tomorrow either,” she said in exasperation, indicating the brace on her hand.
He just looked at her. No sympathy there.
“Fine. No problem.” She heard her voice become shrill. Another few seconds and she was going to lose it. “Just lead the way. I’ll follow meekly behind.”
A faint amused expression crossed his face. “That’d be a first,” he muttered. “Show me where your overnight bag is. I’ll get it and open it for you.”
She directed him to her closet. He set the open bag on her bed. “Get started,” he ordered. “You’ve got two minutes to pack.”
What. Ever.
When they’d arrived back at the center and she was safely ensconced in the pink bedroom, Reghan finally gave in to the fear and pain. She stood with her back pressed to the closed door, hugging herself, feeling the splint on her hand biting into the flesh of her abdomen. Her whole body shook with delayed reaction. The tears she usually held back with the ferocity of a dog facing down a bear slid down her cheeks. As always, crying made her nose run and her eyes burn, not to mention pushing the vague pain in her temple into a full-blown headache.
It’s over. You’re okay. Dev’s words echoed in her mind, his soft, low voice calming, soothing. It was over, at least for now. She was secure inside the center he’d built for that very purpose, as a safe haven.
