Sleeping Beauty

by Dallas Schulze

  In some distant part of her mind she found herself thinking that she'd always known this would happen. Lightning didn't strike twice, people said, but it did. It had. And she was going to die because of it

  **Hey!" The shout barely penetrated the white hot fear that filled Anne's mind, but its effect on her attacker was inunediate. Cursing viciously, he

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  gave the bag one last frantic jerk, the force of it dropping Anne to her knees on the sidewalk. And then he was gone, swallowed almost instantly by the darkness beyond the alley's mouth. Vaguely, Anne heard someone runmng toward her but she could only kneel on the concrete, her fingers locked around her purse, her eyes blank with fear.

  **Anne! My God, are you all right?" Neill dropped to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he ran them over her shoulders and arms, looking for injuries, offering comfort. **Jesus, I was across the street. I saw you and was walking over to meet you when he—did he hurt you?''

  It must have taken just a few seconds, she realized. From the time he grabbed her until Neill's shout made him run couldn't have been more than a few seconds. But it had seemed like hours—a lifetime.

  **Anne? Honey, are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

  *Tm all right." The three words seemed to come from someone else.

  **Thank God." Still kneeling on the concrete sidewalk, Neill put his arms around her, dragging her against his chest, holding her tight enough to hurt. In a heartbeat, he was pushing her away, his

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  fingers digging into her shoulders. **Goddammit, why didn't you give him the fticking purse? You could have been killed/'

  *'That's what he called it/' she murmured, blinking against the drops of rain caught in her lashes.

  ''What?"

  "A fucking purse." Her tone was almost dreamy. "That's what he called it. It's actually a Coach purse. My parents gave it to me for Christmas last year."

  Neill stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. "I don't care if it was handmade by Santa's elves and delivered to you personally by Rudolph on Christmas morning," he said, gritting the words through clenched teeth. "You should have let the little scumbag have it."

  "My fingers wouldn't let go," she said simply. "They still won't."

  "Jesus." Neill's anger vanished as quickly as it had come. He lowered his forehead to hers and wr^ped his arms around her. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, honey. I was never so scared in my life."

  Oblivious to the drizzling rain, he held her, letting the feel of her—^warm and alive—^seep into him. He knew he would never forget the way he'd

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  felt when he saw that shadowy figure dart out of the alley. Rage that someone would dare to attack her. Frastration that he was too far away to stop it from happening. And fear that she might be hurt before he could get to her.

  He didn't know how long they knelt there, but it was the feel of the rain on his back that finally brought him to a sense of where he was. They were both soaked to the skin. She needed a hot bath and dry clothes. He needed a chance to get his hands on the slimy little sonofabitch who'd done this to her, but he would settle for getting her warm and dry. He eased reluctantly back and looked down at her. ''Are you sure he didn't hurt you?"

  She nodded. Her shoulder ached where he'd slammed her into the wall, and her knees throbbed from their impact on the sidewalk, but those were minor complaints.

  *l'm going to drive you to the sheriff station," Neill said, his fingers gently prying hers loose from her purse. **You need to talk to your brother, file a report."

  *'No!" The word exploded from her, her head jerking up so quickly that she nearly smashed into his chin. *1 don't want anyone to know."

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  *'Anne, the guy attacked you, tried to steal your purse. You can't just let him get away with it."

  **He has gotten away with it," she said bluntly. **He's gone. Talking to Jack, telling him what happened, isn't going to accomplish anything." Her fingers dug into his forearm, and, even in the poor light, he could see the plea in her eyes. *'Please, Neill. If I tell Jack and he files a report, everyone will know. They'll remember Br—^they'll remember, and it wiU make them look at me again. Please, I just want to go home. Just take me home."

  **Okay. It's okay." He stood, bringing her up with him. *'You don't have to tell anyone." He swung her up into his arms as easily as if she were a child, cradling her against his chest. He didn't understand why she was so adamant about not talking to her brother, but she was right about it being a largely futile gesture. It wasn't worth upsetting her over. He brushed a kiss over her forehead. 'Til take you home, baby."

  **Are you sure you're okay?" Neill asked as he took her keys from her and unlocked the cottage door.

  She hadn't said a word during the short drive but had simply sat in the passenger seat of the

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  Vette, her hands lying limp in her lap, her eyes wide open and staring at nothing.

  **Fm fine/' she said, but he wasn't sure he believed her.

  Neill pushed the door shut and guided her into the house. She would feel better now that she was home, he thought. She'd been frightened, but she wasn't really hurt. He wished she would cry. Tears would probably help. But she remained dry-eyed, looking around the smaU living room a little blankly.

  **Is there someone you want me to call? Your Mend Lisa, maybe?" He'd seen enough of her mother; guessed enough about their relationship, that he didn't bother to suggest calling Olivia.

  **No." Anne shook her head slowly. *'I don't want anyone. I don't want anyone to know."

  **Okay." Neill set his hand gently on her shoulder, feeling the rigidity of her muscles. She was wound so tight that a wrong word might be enough to make her shatter. *'Okay. I won't call anyone if you don't want me to. I'll just stay until you're settled."

  His soft, soothing tone made Anne aware of her own unnatural stillness. He must think she was nuts. It wasn't as if she'd been hurt She hadn't

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  even lost her purse. Her fingers knotted over the soft leather until the pressure made her knuckles ache. It was stupid to be so upset. Nothing had happened. She had to pull herself together.

  Reaching deep inside herself, Anne found a small pool of calm to draw on as she turned to look at him, forcing a small smile. '*Fm okay. Really. You don't have to stay. I'm fine."

  Looking at her, Neill thought **fine" was an overstatement. Her skin was the color of parchment, and there was a bruised look about her eyes that made his hands ache for the feel of her attacker's throat beneath his fingers. Fine? Under other circumstances it would have been funny. What she looked was fragile. Breakable. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her until the shadows went away, but something in the rigid way she held herself made him think that, if he touched her now, she might fall apart, and he wasn't sure that would be a kindness.

  *l'm not going anywhere." He silenced her protest with a lift of his brow. *l'm not leaving you alone right now."

  '*Okay." She looked away before he could see how pathetically grateftil she was.

  **Why don't you go take a hot shower while I

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  see what I can come up with by way of something hot to drink?''

  Anne nodded and moved toward the stairs. Her movement felt stiff and clumsy, as if her muscles weren't working quite right but she forced herself to climb the stairs, away from Neill's too-observant gaze. Panic—^unreasoning and uncontrollable—^was welling up inside, knotting her stomach and making her throat ache. She didn't want him to see her like this. She'd spent most of her life learning to lock the fear away in a little compartment inside herself, but now the lock was broken and it was sUthering out, threatening to swallow her whole. She just needed a few minutes alone to force it back.

  Neill watched her out of sight, his forehead creased. She would do better to let go of
some of that damned self-control. And he wished she would let him call her brother, file a report. What was it she'd said? Everyone will know and they'll look at me. What the hell was that about?

  The sound of a door shutting upstairs shook him out of his thoughts. Still frowning, he headed for the kitchen. For a woman who seemed as open as a book, Anne certainly had a lot of hidden comers.

  He had no problem finding his way around her kitchen. It wasn't big enough to present a chal-

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  lenge. Small but welcoming, he decided, as he poured milk into a pan to heat for cocoa. There was a window over the sink that he guessed must look out over the rose garden and a cozy breakfast nook in one comer. The walls were a soft white and the cabinets a pale oak finish. Porcelain knobs in the shape of strawberries added a whimsical touch.

  While the milk was heating, he found two mugs and made note of the fact that she had several cans of soup. He would see how she was feeling when she got out of the shower and maybe he'd be able to coax her into eating a little something. According to his mother, hot soup and a grilled-cheese sandwich were a near universal cure-all.

  The milk was starting to bubble, and he reached out to tum it off, cocking his head for the sound of the shower. In a house as small as this, he should be able to hear water ranning. But there was nothing but the soft susurration of the rain outside. Maybe she*d finished and was drying off? But when he thought about it, he couldn't remember hearing the shower at all.

  Uneasy now, Neill left the kitchen and went to the foot of the stairs. He heard nothing at first; then there was a low, keening sound that made the hair

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  rise on the back of his neck. He took the stairs two at a time. The upper hallway was little more than a wide landing. There were three doors, but only one with light showing beneath it. The sound was clearer now, a soft whimpering that made him think of a tr^ped and dying animal.

  **Anne?" He tapped on the door, but the whimpering continued unabated. God, had she been hurt after all? Wild visions of intemal bleeding and concussion swirled through his mind. He tried the knob and cursed quietly, viciously, when he found it locked. Grabbing for control, he leaned his forehead against the door and tried to make his voice soothing, coaxing. **Anne? YouVe got to open the door, honey."

  There was no response, only that sad, hopeless whimpering that cut through him like a knife. Frustration nearly had him putting his shoulder to the door and breaking it down, but he caught himself. She'd been through enough tonight. Having him break down the bathroom door was probably not going to do her any good. But he couldn't just stand out here like a damned statue. Listening to her was tearing holes in his gut.

  Think, Devlin. There's got to be a way to... Grinning maniacally, Neill fished his wallet out of

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  his back pocket. Every two-bit private detective on television could open a lock with a credit card. How hard could it be?

  It was harder when your hands weren't completely steady and your pulse was beating twice as fast as it should, but, in the end, he figured it wasn't more than half a lifetime before he heard the quiet snick of the lock. His breath exploded from him as he pushed the door open and stepped into a surprisingly spacious bathroom.

  He had a flashing impression of cream-colored tiles, punctuated by the hot flash of purple bath towels and curtains splashed with purple and yellow pansies. But his attention was all for the figure curled up on the floor under the window. She'd drawn herself into a tight little ball, arms wrapped around her legs, face pressed against her knees, and she was rocking back and forth and whimpering softly to herself.

  **Anne?" Neill crouched next to her, his hands not quite steady as he reached for her. *'What is it? Are you hurt?"

  The low voice nudged against the cold white terror blanketing her mind. She'd leamed a long time ago to hide from the fear, to retreat inside herself, squeeze her eyes tight shut, throw her hands over

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  her ears and hide until it went away. It was better that way, better to deal with it alone. She was ashamed of the weakness, had always been ashamed of it Don't cry, Anne. How can you be so selfish? Vm the one who lost a daughter. Stop acting like a baby. Don't you care about me at all?

  The long ago words echoed in her mind, the voice sharp and angry, making her want to put her hands over her ears to block it out But she couldn't block it out, because it was inside her head.

  Something terrible had happened to her sister. No one would tell her what. When she asked what had happened. Mama slapped her and sent her to her room. Mama had never slapped her before. She curled up in a ball on her bed, clutching her old teddy bear as a shield against the fear that beat frantic wings inside her chest. She didn't wider-stand what had happened to Brooke, didn't understand why she couldn't walk to school anymore or even go out to play in the yard without someone coming with her, but she knew it was wrong to ask why, selfish to be so afraid. She wasn't a baby anymore. She was a big girl, and big girls weren't afraid.

  Ignoring her weak attempts to pull away, NeiU wrapped his amis around her and pulled her against

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  his chest and held her tight. *lt's okay, baby. Let it out." He crooned the words, as if talking to a frightened child. "You'll feel better if you cry. Come on. Just let go. I've got you safe."

  The arms around her felt strong and solid, a warm barrier against the fear. Safe, he said, I've got you safe. Anne shuddered once and, turning her face into his shoulder, let the tears fall.

  She had no idea how long she cried, but, when the tears finally subsided to shuddering half sobs, she became aware that she was no longer on the floor but was cradled across Neill's lap, as he sat on the closed lid of the toilet. Her cheek was resting against his chest, and she could hear the solid iliythm of his heart beneath her ear.

  *Teel better?" he asked quietly, and she was vaguely astonished to reaUze that she did. In a little while she would remember to feel embarrassed by her loss of control, but at the moment it felt so good to just lie there, with his hand stroking her hair. She had to swallow a murmur of protest when he eased her a little away and stretched out one long arm to grab a handful of tissues from the box on the counter. "Let's dry your face, and then you need to get out of those damp clothes."

  Suddenly self-conscious, Anne tried to duck her

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  head, but Neill held her easily, mopping up the traces of tears with a kind of gentle ruthlessness that made her heart stutter in her chest. Hesitant, half afraid of what she might see, she lifted her eyes to his face. He didn't look disgusted, she thought.

  'Tmso—''

  **If you say you're sorry, Fm going to have to get violent," he said flatly.

  "But I—*' His brow arched, and she swallowed the words.

  *'Good choice." He brushed a kiss against one flushed cheek before setting her on her feet and standing up. *'I want you to take a hot shower and get warm. You'll need a robe or something to put on," he said, glancing around the bathroom for something suitable. "Tell me where to find one."

  "I can—"

  "No, you can't," he said, smiUng as he reached up to brush a damp curl back from her forehead. "Let me take care of you for a Uttle while, okay?"

  How could she argue with that smile? With those eyes? How could she argue when it felt so good to have him taking care of her? Giving in, she told him where to find her robe and waited while he turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature.

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  It was only when he reached for the buttons on her shirt that she came to life.

  **I can undress myself," she said, stepping back.

  *Too bad," he said huskily, and was pleased when she flushed. Smiling crookedly, he brushed his fingers over her warm cheek before leaving her alone.

  When Anne went downstairs twenty minutes later
, he was setting steaming bowls of soup on the tiny breakfast table in her kitchen.

  **You're just in time," he said, as she hovered in the doorway. Turning off the bumer, he scooped a pair of grilled-cheese sandwiches onto plates, cut each in half with a deft stroke of a knife and set them on the table next to the soup. *1 hope you don't mind me raiding your cupboards. We missed dinner tonight, and I figured you might be hungry, I know Fm starving."

  Anne had opened her mouth to tell him that she couldn't possibly eat anything but closed it without speaking. If he was hungry...

  *1 wasn't sure what you'd want to drink." He cocked an eyebrow in inquiry.

  *'I... water, I guess. Water would be just fine.'*

  This domestic little scene wasn't what she'd expected. While she was in the shower, she'd had

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  time to think. And what she'd thought about was the fact that Neill was sure to have questions. He would want to know why she didn't want to file a police report. He probably thought she'd overreacted to the attempted mugging. After all, aside from a couple of bruises, she hadn't been hurt, hadn't even lost her purse. Had she said anything about Brooke? She couldn't remember, but, if she had, he was going to want to know what the connection was. She'd come downstairs, dreading the questions, knowing she owed him truthful answers, without evasion.

  And all he'd asked was what did she want to drink.

  "It's not exactiy gourmet," Neill said, as he set her water glass on the table. *'But I did put a slice of tomato in the sandwiches before I grilled them, which is a unique little touch I invented myself."

  **Maybe you should market it," Anne said, coming forward when he pulled out her chair with a flourish.

  **I prefer to keep it my own littie secret. Let Wolfgang Puck gnash his teeth in frustration over the superiority of my grilled cheese."