“I went to him and he laughed it all off. Told me it was my imagination.” Dev glared at the wall in front of her for a moment, seemingly wrestling with escaping emotions. “I filled out a report on it, anyway. He deep-sixed it. After three months of no action, and Gordon following me around like a lost puppy, I put in for a lateral move to come out here.”
“Men protecting men?” Sloan wondered, watching her expression carefully because he could feel how upset Dev really was. Just talking about it was making her edgy and tense. How badly he wanted to get up, move around to her chair, pull it out and draw Dev into his arms. But that wouldn’t be wise because now he knew another man had done something bad to her. And for him to try to hold her could backfire. Dev might see him as a would-be stalker, too.
She grimaced and took a jerky sip of wine, wrestling with barely held rage. “Always,” she gritted out. “I did nothing wrong. I’m not a flirt. I wasn’t in a relationship. But that doesn’t mean I’m out trying to get a man, either.”
“Did your supervisor have a friendship with Gordon?”
“Oh, yeah,” Dev whispered, shaking her head. “One thing you learn real fast about Bart is that he knows how to lure you and then hook you with his smile. With the way he maneuvers you. God, he gets inside your head.” She touched her brow, her voice incredulous. Turning, she met Sloan’s hooded stare. “When I was in Afghanistan, I met plenty of CIA operatives. One thing I found out in a hurry was the way they ingratiate themselves with you in order to gain your trust. Get inside your head.”
Raising his brows, Sloan nodded. “It’s a basic CIA tactic to gain someone’s trust. Find out what they like, what interests them, and then they adopt the same likes and dislikes you have, so you’ll trust them. After all—” and his mouth hooked upward a bit “—it’s a human frailty to fall in with someone who is like-minded. Right?”
Dev saw the gleam of understanding in Sloan’s thoughtful stare. “Yes. That’s exactly what they did. I hated it. I saw it and I’d call them on it. And then—” she rolled her eyes “—I meet Gordon and he was exactly like that. He asks you a bunch of questions, feeling you out, and then he suddenly feels the same way you do on everything.”
“Was he possibly a CIA agent?” Sloan asked.
“I don’t know,” Dev uttered wearily. She sipped her wine. “All I know is that he ingratiated himself with anyone that he thought had power. I watched him do it. I recognized what he was doing.”
“But he was stalking you?”
“Yes… God, I hated it. I knew he had our supervisor in his back pocket. I knew if I went to my boss, he’d bury my protest and not protect me.”
Sloan slowly unwound from the chair, walked to the fridge and pulled out the bottle of wine. Coming back, he refilled her glass. “Come on, you need to eat something,” he urged her, catching her glum, dark-looking eyes. He wanted to do a helluva lot more than pour Dev some wine. She gave him a grateful look and sipped it. Then she picked up a piece of cheese with a small cracker, beginning to nibble disinterestedly on it.
Sloan felt good about the fact that he could affect Dev positively. But his mind spun with so many questions. Was she this trusting with everyone? Was that why Gordon had stalked her? Because she was gullible? As Sloan walked to his chair and sat down, he felt terror and sadness surrounding Dev. She had gone pale as she’d confided in him. There was a lot more to this, he realized. Dev was fragile. Despite her outward appearance of confidence, Sloan felt the wound she’d received, and it had done major damage to her as a person. Perhaps as a woman? He really didn’t want to think Gordon had raped her. Just the thought turned his stomach and tightened it into a painful knot. His fist flexed and Sloan forced himself to remain relaxed. After all, Dev was a dog handler, which spoke about her sensitivity, her all-terrain awareness. She wouldn’t have survived those deployments if she didn’t have that outer awareness every soldier, every dog handler, developed.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Dev. You didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.”
When she turned, her green eyes had a sheen of tears in them. It tore at his heart. Sloan could feel a huge storm of emotions bubbling barely beneath her control. Her lower lip trembled.
CHAPTER SIX
WHY DID SHE suddenly want to burst into tears? Dev blinked a couple of times, forcing back her reaction. Was it the compassionate expression on Sloan’s rugged face? The burning look of care in his narrowed blue eyes? The sensation of Sloan invisibly wrapping her within his strong, safe arms even though he was sitting several feet away from her, sprawled out, relaxed, but focused on her? The sensation was so real Dev closed her eyes for a moment, her fingers tightening around the slender stem of the wineglass. She hadn’t had that much to drink. But maybe her stomach was empty, so she was more susceptible to alcohol.
But the real truth, whether Dev wanted to admit it or not, was that she thoroughly enjoyed Sloan’s easygoing, comfortable company. He was the direct opposite of Bart Gordon, who reminded her of a wild animal on the prowl, hunting for his mate, willing to do anything to make her his. Her gut clenched and she kept her eyes closed, trying to will away the terror that never seemed to leave her. It would steal upon her at odd times. Unexpected ones. Like right now. She should be happy to be with Sloan because he always lifted her spirits. He was kind. Unselfish. Interested in her, but allowing her, from what she could sense, to pace whatever it was between them. He didn’t push her like Gordon had. He didn’t close in on her, making her feel claustrophobic, which she was. Maybe it was because on bad days when her father wanted to drink heavily, he’d push her into the clothes closet in her bedroom and lock the door.
To sit in that darkness…the dankness…the lack of fresh air. Dev lost count of how many times she’d cried softly so she wouldn’t be heard. Because if her father did hear her, he’d come and rip the door open, bellowing down at her, telling her to stop crying. Big girls didn’t cry, he’d scream at her. Suck it up. Wipe those tears away. And he promised to come back in a little while—which was hours later—and let her out.
Dev felt herself begin to unravel, lose control, and she couldn’t do that. Sloan really didn’t know that much about her. And he’d probably lose respect for her. In the Marine Corps, Dev had tried so hard to keep it together. But her commanding officer was an alcoholic, too, and it was as if she’d stepped back into being a seven-year-old shoved into a small, dark, smelly closet. The only light leaking in was beneath the door and she’d stare at that light, willing herself to watch it, because it meant hope. Hope that her drunk father would eventually come and let her out of the closet. And God help her if she peed her pants because she couldn’t hold it any longer. Or if she got so thirsty she couldn’t cry any more tears. Those years were horrifying for Dev, and being in the military, she’d sought freedom from them.
Only she’d traded them for an alcoholic CO, Major Terrence Paddington, who had scared the hell out of her. He didn’t like or trust the women in his company. He didn’t care she was a highly trained dog handler who was good at what she did. He didn’t like women in combat, pure and simple. And he tried to keep her safe so that his blemished record wouldn’t look worse than it already did. No one wanted a woman to die in combat. That was a huge no-no. A black mark on her CO’s personnel jacket. And Dev had felt like she had been in that terrifying closet once again: trapped. Only with Major Paddington, he wanted to keep her imprisoned in that invisible closet for her entire deployment.
Dev began to see an overall pattern in her life: one of being crammed and hidden away by men. By the time Gordon had come along, she’d simply wanted to be out in nature, enjoying fresh air, the sun on her face, and doing her job tracking. But Gordon… Oh no, she could not cry! Dev’s fingers curved inward into her palm as she sat there, head tilted forward, her mouth compressed to stop the memories.
The memories came, anyway. But she could feel that invisible blanket sliding across her shoulder, warming her, protecting her, and she knew it came fr
om Sloan. He sat there quietly and she felt no urgency to speak. Her throat tightened. A desperation surged through her like a clenched fist ramming up from her wildly beating heart, into her throat, past the forming lump, and leaping into her mouth. And then…
“I hated Gordon always watching me,” she began in a desperate tone. Dev kept her eyes shut, not wanting to see what lay in Sloan’s eyes. Just the sensation of that immaterial embrace of his, that sense of utter safety surrounding her, allowed the words to tear out of her, never heard by another human being until now. “I could… I felt…his eyes… His eyes were always on me. I swear to God, I could feel this hot, burning sensation on my back when he came in and found me. I felt his eyes following me and the feeling that came with it…” Dev shuddered, the words jamming up in her aching throat.
“I—I could feel him wanting me. It was dirty. It was…awful. It was sexual, and he scared me. I tried to deal with it. I told myself it was in my head, that I was imagining things, that is was me, not him. I tried to convince myself that it was me.” Her voice broke.
Dev felt the beaded coolness of the condensation on the outside of the wineglass beneath her fingertips. She focused on it because the emotions writhing within her threatened to overwhelm the dissolving control she had over them. “But it wasn’t me,” she said. She hung her head, chin against her chest, fingers tightening around the stem. “Three months went by and he would quietly come into a room where I was and come up behind me… God,” Dev whispered unsteadily, wiping her eyes and opening them, staring sightlessly and straight ahead. “He never announced himself. He would always find me when I was alone, in a back room, when no other people were around. He was stalking me. Waiting. I didn’t know why, except I felt so damned scared my brain would freeze.”
Dev forced herself to lift her head and looked up at Sloan. The urge to get up and run into his arms nearly overwhelmed her. Somehow, Dev knew Sloan would open them, haul her into his embrace and hold her tight. Hold her safe. It suddenly dawned upon her that since Gordon’s attack, she had felt like raw meat with no way to shield her natural vulnerability from anyone. He’d stripped her. Humiliated her. Overwhelmed her with his brute physical strength.
Dev drowned in Sloan’s stormy blue eyes, helpless to tear her gaze away from his. It was almost a hypnotic look, one pulling her in, pulling her closer, but she felt no terror. Just…safety. And it allowed her to give voice to something she’d never told anyone.
“Gordon kept after me for six months,” Dev continued in a low tone. “I had tried to get my supervisor to stop him at three months. And I knew in my gut that Gordon was aware I’d written up a report on him. That I had accused him of sexual harassment, inappropriate touching…” Dev swallowed hard, looking away, because she couldn’t handle the sympathy burning in Sloan’s eyes. She said in a hoarse voice, “He…found me… I was out in the barn, up in the hay mow on the third story one evening. I was running late. I’d needed a bale of timothy hay for Goldy. We’d just gotten off a successful mission to find a lost twelve-year-old boy. Bella had found him. It was almost dark. I had Bella in the truck. I’d cleaned up Goldy and put her in her stall. And when I realized there was no hay down on the first floor, I hurried up the ladder to get a bale from the third floor.”
She pushed the wineglass away, clenching her hands. “I didn’t hear Gordon coming…”
Everything came roaring back to Dev and suddenly she was in a flashback, no longer there with Sloan, but back on that shadowy third floor of the barn. She had been hefting a hundred-pound bale of hay and had dropped it in the mow. She remembered the sweet fragrance of the alfalfa hay encircling her nostrils like a perfume, wishing she could just collapse into that mattress-like dried hay and go to sleep. She had been tired. So tired. It had taken nearly twelve hours to track and find the lost, frightened young boy. Dev had been physically exhausted, emotionally stressed and mentally whipped.
Not allowing Bella to go into the barn with her had been a mistake. She’d dropped the bale next to that huge amount of loose hay, removed the two huge iron hooks from it and pulled her Buck knife from the leather scabbard on her belt. Leaning down, Dev had swiftly cut the three taut strings of twine that held the bale together. It had sprung open. She’d slid the Buck knife into the sheath, snapped it shut and leaned down to pick up a flake for Goldy.
A man’s hand had snaked from behind her, his long, powerful fingers gripping her nape and then twisting her to one side, shoving her backward, off balance and into the mow. Dev had gasped, her arms flying upward, shocked by the assault. She hadn’t known who it was until she’d landed on her back, the air knocked out of her.
Gordon’s eyes were slits as he approached her. He had a grisly, triumphant smile on his full mouth as he jerked open the leather belt around his jeans, yanking at the snap and unzipping his trousers as he halted and lorded over her. Dev couldn’t move. She lay helplessly, gasping like a fish out of water, terrified by the crazed look in Gordon’s eyes. She saw him jerk down his jeans, the thick erection pressing against his blue boxer shorts, He pushed his Levi’s below his knees. And then grabbed her by a shoulder to keep her pinned. He jerked at the snap on the waistband of her Levi’s. He yanked them downward, grabbing for her panties, ripping them off her. Dev cried out, adrenaline suddenly firing through her like an explosion.
Gordon cursed at her, calling her a bitch, his fingers digging painfully into her shoulder to keep her trapped. Dev lifted her legs, fighting back. She arced her left hand upward, her fist slamming into his prominent nose. Instantly, pain shot up into her hand and her wrist.
Gordon winced and shouted out a curse, surprise flaring in his eyes. He reared back, his nose bleeding, the blood running swiftly across his lips and down his chin.
It was the break she needed! Dev wrenched her shoulder away from his grip. He released her and she swiftly rolled away from Gordon. His other hand was below the waist of her jeans, grasping at her crotch. Screaming in terror, Dev kicked out, throwing him to the floor as her boots connected with his chest. She shoved to her feet. Disoriented, in shock, she hesitated a split second, pulling up her Levi’s, trying to find a way to escape him.
Gordon snarled and grabbed at her arm. He jerked Dev down into the mow once more. She shouted for help.
Her head slammed into the soft mow, Gordon’s weight coming down on top of her. She kept screaming, desperate for someone to hear her. Her elbow felt immediate pain as she connected with one of the hay bale hooks lying nearby as he shoved her deep into the mow, fingers digging into her thighs, forcing them open. She saw the rage in Gordon’s slitted eyes as his hand wrapped around her throat, holding her as he positioned one knee between her legs.
Bucking, kicking, Dev refused to give up. Panic seized her as he ripped her shirt open, exposing her white bra, then her breasts.
No!
Dev shrieked, her fumbling fingers locating the wooden handle of one of the huge iron bale hooks. His hand pinched and squeezed her breast, a victorious smile on his face. Everything began to turn gray around her as he deliberately shut off her breathing.
Desperate, Dev knew she was losing consciousness. With all her might, she jerked her hand upward, arcing it into his back. The hook point sunk deep into his upper back near his right shoulder blade.
Howling in pain, Gordon lunged upright, his left hand clawing wildly at the hook embedded deep into his flesh.
Dev scrambled away as he tilted to the left, losing his grip on her. Panting, scrambling to get to her hands and knees, she spotted the ladder, lunged for it. Her shirt was torn open, bra exposed. Her Levi’s were sliding down toward her knees. Grabbing them, she yanked them upward and surged toward the opening.
Shaking so much Dev thought she’d fall off the ladder, her knees nearly buckled beneath her. She heard Gordon’s curses. Heard him struggling to his feet.
The next thing she knew, he’d thrown the huge bale hook at her. It glanced off the silvery wooden wall of the barn, barely missed her head
and went sailing silently down past her then clanged loudly against the wooden floor far below Dev.
Hurry! Hurry!
Gasping for breath, Dev didn’t dare look up. Her feet slipped several times on the ladder, her hands gripping the sides. Splinters jammed into both her palms, but she felt no pain.
The moment her feet hit the second floor, she sprinted for the next ladder which would take her to the main floor of the barn. And escape! The thunking of Gordon’s boots were heavy on the ladder above her.
Oh, God! No! Small cries tore out of Dev as she raced toward the last ladder. She wasn’t sure her weakening knees would hold her up. Dev hit that ladder at a run, leaping down into the large square opening. She didn’t care if she hurt herself at this point or not. It was better than getting raped!
Her boots skidded and slipped on the worn wood and she fell the last three feet to the first floor, pain arching up her right hip. Hearing the heavy thunk of boots on the second floor above her, Dev scrambled to her feet. Outside was her truck. Weaving, arm flailing to keep her from falling, holding up her Levi’s with her other hand, she raced down the wooden ramp to the slope where the truck was parked. Everything was shadowy and dark, and her heart was pounding so hard in her ears that she couldn’t hear anything. Though she jerked a look over her shoulder as she stumbled down the slope, terrified Gordon was right behind her, Dev didn’t see him.
Yanking open the door to her truck, she hopped in, grabbing for the keys she’d left on the dash. She slammed the locks shut.
Bella whined. Then her eyes were riveted on the barn, hackles up on her neck and back, growling menacingly.
Dev got the truck started with a badly shaking hand. She jammed her foot down on the accelerator, the truck roaring and leaping forward, skidding, a plume of dust rising in its wake. Wrestling with the truck, Dev glimpsed a shadowy figure racing out of the barn toward her. It was Gordon! Teeth clenched, her eyes on the highway ahead, she knew she had to escape! Her breasts ached. They felt bruised. She could still feel his kneading, hurting hand around them. Oh, God…
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