by Rachel Lee
Regardless, she hurried around the lower floor, making sure all the curtains were tightly closed, even though she seldom opened them. They’d been the first change she had made after her grandmother’s death. Heavy, light-blocking curtains over the downstairs windows. Because once she was alone, she feared the idea that someone could look in. She’d turned the lower part of her house into a cave. Even recognizing what she was doing, she couldn’t stop herself.
Finally she managed to sit at the table and give her wobbly knees a break. She tried to tell herself she was overreacting, but that didn’t work. Someone was trying to make her miserable. Maybe even trying to scare her.
It was all too much. She felt drawn as tight as a bowstring, and she didn’t think it was just the letters. It was having Austin in her life, a man who had been inserted into her carefully constructed world. He was nice, he was fun, he’d gone out of his way to make her comfortable with him, but his presence caused tension. It broke the smooth surface of her life with thoughts of a different life, with awareness of how much of an emotional mess she was. He reminded her of her failures and her weaknesses...and her desires.
He alone was enough. But the letters, too?
Then she heard Austin’s key in the lock. For the first time, the sound filled her with relief. Huge relief. He was home and she didn’t need to be alone with all this anxiety. She didn’t even question her reaction. He might be a source of tension, but he was also something else at this instant: protection. A friend. Someone to break the solitude that offered her no comfort at all.
He entered and headed for the stairs. She called out, stopping him. “Austin?”
He backtracked and came to the kitchen doorway, smiling. “Hey,” he said by way of greeting. Then his face changed. “Corey? You’re pale as a ghost. What’s wrong?”
“Another letter.”
He swore. At least she thought he did, but it sounded like Spanish. It also sounded like cussing. Before she realized what he was going to do, he closed the distance between them and dropped to his knees beside her chair.
“Don’t panic,” he said.
An instant later, his powerful arms wrapped around her and hugged her tightly. She stiffened instinctively, ready to pull away. She never let a man get this close. But all of that vanished swiftly as she realized something else: it had been a long time since anyone had hugged her and she missed the feeling, the warmth. What’s more, she actually liked the strength of his arms surrounding her like a bulwark.
Oh, God, was she making a terrible mistake? But the emotions overwhelmed her, the need overwhelmed her, driving the stiffness from her body until she surrendered to his embrace.
He just held her. He did nothing to frighten her, nothing to make her uneasy. It was as chaste as any hug her aunt or grandmother had given her. She closed her eyes, accepting the comfort he offered, and discovering it wasn’t so very difficult to do. In fact, it was easy.
She should have been disturbed by that, but she had other things to be disturbed by. It was just a hug. A simple hug. The kind people gave each other all the time.
She drew a long, shuddery breath, then expelled it, and with it a very old tension. It would probably return, but for now it evaporated in the warmth of his arms, and she was reaching a point where she desperately needed someone.
Going it alone all the time, even with a circle of friends, wasn’t easy. She needed someone to share this new circle of hell with her, to walk with her through it. Yes, that was selfish, but who else could she turn to? Her friends were all married. They wouldn’t have the time or even understanding of what she was going through now. After all, murder hadn’t visited their lives.
Austin, at least, seemed to understand. He was no stranger to dark places. Her friends would either laugh the notes off or tell her to go to the sheriff. But she so far had nothing to take to the sheriff, and she couldn’t laugh this off. She was long past that now with a third note sitting on her hall table.
Then Austin spoke again, and she heard his voice rumble in his chest against her ear. “You’re not alone,” he said.
Had he read her mind? Or maybe he just got it. Before she could figure it out, though, he loosened his hold on her and began to pull away. She wanted to stop him, but didn’t have the temerity. Losing the protection of his arms made her ache, made her feel empty. Oh, man, she could get into trouble here.
She blinked rapidly, reaching for her self-control as he stood.
“Coffee?” he asked. “Or something else.”
“Coffee,” she decided. “I’m not going to sleep tonight, anyway.”
He paused halfway to the pot. “What did it say?”
“I haven’t opened it. I recognized the envelope and then started to fall apart. Sorry. It’s just that it’s the third one. I can’t tell myself it’s meaningless any longer.”
“No, of course not. And don’t be sorry. You weren’t exactly hysterical, but if you had been, I wouldn’t have blamed you.”
“Why not?” she asked, wondering why she all of a sudden felt angry. “You’ve faced far worse things without getting hysterical, I’m sure.”
“I get hysterical quietly, deep inside. I’ve also never been stalked like this. Getting angry? Good. You should.”
She should? But there it was, fury flowing hotly into the places so recently filled by fear and a sense of failure. Like white fire, it felt as if it would melt her from the inside out. “What good is anger?”
“It’s a helluva lot better than hopelessness or fear. It’s quite a powerful fuel, actually. As long as you use it right.”
Her hands clenched. Her mouth felt dry, her insides wanted to push a primal scream past her lips. Angry? Oh, hell, yeah, she was angry. She wanted to shred something with her bare hands.
Austin readied the coffeepot, then came to sit at the table. “Have you ever gotten angry about anything before?”
“Well, of course.”
“No, I mean really angry. Killing angry. When your mother died? I doubt it. What about your aunt and grandmother? Did you ever want to tear the heavens apart?”
“No,” she admitted, closing her eyes.
“I figured. Well, go ahead and rage. God knows, you have plenty of reason. If it gets to be too much, let me know. Gage gave me the key to the gym at the college. I hear they’ve got a few punching bags.”
She took a moment to process that as her nails dug into her palms. “Gage? Key? Why?”
“I mentioned that you and I wanted to try a little sparring, but with your work schedule I figured Sunday morning would be about your only free time. Next thing I know, he gives me a key.”
“Oh.”
“Nice guy, your sheriff. When did you eat last?”
Food? She couldn’t even think about it. The worm of anger was gnawing at her insides, consuming her. “I don’t know.”
He didn’t say another word, just left her to deal with the rage that had filled her. She didn’t deserve this, she thought. After all she’d lost, she didn’t deserve to be hounded like this by some sick twist who probably thought it was amusing.
As soon as she had the thought, her anger started to die. “Deserve?” she said aloud. “Why don’t I deserve this? Things happen to people all the time that they don’t deserve.”
“True,” he said, popping some leftovers in the microwave and pushing the buttons. The beeps sounded loud. “But that doesn’t keep us from feeling that way. Nor does it help to short-circuit our feelings by telling ourselves someone has it worse. Of course they do. The world is full of people who have it worse. If they ever find the guy who has it worst of all, I want to meet him.”
Amazingly, that made sense to her. It was as if he could enter her mental conversation and finish it. Damn, he was something else. “You’re good at reading my mind.”
“I just
hear what you say.”
Soon he’d filled two plates with leftover pulled pork and yellow rice. He had found a bag of prepared salad mix and dumped that into a bowl, placing it along with two bottles of dressing on the table. He added small plates for the salad and mugs of coffee.
“Eat,” he said gently as he sat. “You’re going to need it.”
“For what?”
“Getting through this. No time to go on a diet.”
She wasn’t hungry but she forced herself to eat, anyway. At least she was emerging from the emotional storm that had beset her since she saw that letter. She’d visited nearly the entire emotional map, she realized. As she settled into a calmer frame of mind, her appetite returned and she ate a healthy portion of everything.
“You’re a great chef,” she said. “That was as delicious tonight as it was the first time.”
“I enjoy cooking.”
“You’re spoiling me.”
He flashed a quick grin. “I don’t mind. Feeling any better?”
She pushed her plate aside and reached for her coffee. “Yes. Much. I was caught in a whirlwind.”
“I thought so, but I wasn’t sure.” He cleared the dishes to the counter quickly and returned, facing her across the table. “You’ve been holding a lot in.”
“What else is there to do?”
“Share it.”
“Do you share it?”
“Believe me, I do and did. I left some people at the agency feeling pretty scalded about the treatment I got while I was undercover. The agents who thought I was one of the bad guys and tried to take me out I could deal with. I was undercover. But leaving me in the filthy, stinking jail getting beaten to a pulp? I didn’t much care how many good reasons they had.”
“I guess not.”
“But I don’t want to talk about me. Not now. I want to talk about you. You’ve been holding in an awful lot, haven’t you.”
“We all have to cope.” But even as she spoke the sensible words, she felt her eyes begin to sting. No, please. She didn’t want to break down now.
“Sure we do. But that doesn’t mean burying our feelings. You’ve had a lot of loss for someone so young. People who should still be with you.”
She stared at him from burning eyes. “You’ve never lost anyone?”
“I didn’t say that. I’ve buried mis abuelos, two of my grandparents. I lost an uncle in a car accident. But there’s a huge difference. I had a big family to share the grief with. Who did you have?”
“Well, when my aunt died, I had my grandmother.”
“How did that go?”
“I think she felt pretty badly. I mean, it was her daughter and she had lost both of her daughters.”
He sighed and sat back. “So you were the strong one, eh? You helped her as much as you could because her loss was so great.”
“Well, of course! I lost my aunt, but she lost her only remaining daughter!”
He nodded. “So you measure loss? You weigh it on a scale? Losing a daughter is a bigger loss than losing an aunt?”
She felt the spark of anger again. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did. And maybe for some people it’s true. I wouldn’t know. Losing a child is a terrible thing. I feel for your grandmother. But I also feel for you. You lost someone important, too, and then you lost your grandmother. I bet you did a good job of carrying on.”
“You have to.”
“I agree.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m really not arguing with you. What I’m trying to get at is...well, did you leave space for yourself to grieve? Did you have someone you could cry with when it hurt too much? Or did you lock that part of yourself away?”
She opened her mouth to dispute him, then realized she couldn’t. His words were opening a sinking, hungry maw inside of her, full of monsters and demons she had locked away. Her eyes closed, her breaths came more rapidly, and her chest began to feel as if it would crack open.
“I didn’t have a big family,” she said, her voice breaking. “When my aunt got so sick, I had to help my grandmother with everything. I took over most of the store so she could sit with Aunt Lucy. There wasn’t anyone else to do it, Austin.”
“Lo entiendo.” He paused. “Sorry, I keep slipping languages. I get it.”
“Then it was as if...as if the heart were cut out of her. After my aunt died, my grandmother just...lost her zest completely. She was just going through the motions and practically faded before my eyes.”
“Nice for you.”
Her anger sparked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Was she sick?”
“At first, no. Depressed, I think.”
“Of course she was depressed. Everyone gets depressed over the death of someone they love. Maybe it’s just the way you describe it, but you were still here. Didn’t she care for you?”
“Of course she did!”
“But she didn’t make you feel that way, did she.”
He didn’t ask it as a question, he stated it. And the way he said it, with such certainty, lit the engine on the rocket of her anger again. She wanted to jump up and shout at him, and tell him he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.
But even as her body started to stiffen, as she began to push back from the table, the justice of his statement hit her like a gut punch.
All the air whooshed out of her and she bent forward, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to ease the devouring ache. True or not, she had felt as if her grandmother had given up and abandoned her. Fair or not, watching Cora fade had left her feeling deserted, not cared for.
“I hate you,” she whispered between her teeth.
“I don’t blame you. Truth is a painful thing.”
“You don’t know! You can’t know.”
“I hear you,” he said quietly. “I hear the words you speak, every one of them, and how you speak them. I am not going to say that’s exactly what happened with your grandmother. She was getting older, she may have had a sickness they didn’t find. But you felt abandoned, chica. And you weren’t wrong. Escúchame, listen to me. Your feelings are reality. They are as real as a physical event. Maybe they’re even more real. And I wish I could settle on one language.”
“You don’t usually have trouble,” she answered, her voice muffled.
“I seem to be getting a bit emotional myself.”
“Why?”
“Because I give a damn.”
The words seemed to explode inside her head. He gave a damn about her? Caught in a maelstrom of other emotions, she didn’t know what to make of that or her reaction to it.
“You’re a nice lady,” he went on. “Very nice. You didn’t want a man in your house, but you’ve been kind to me. You’ve been through a lot of loss, but you’ve remained strong. And you’ve been terribly alone.”
“I have friends.”
“Lots of them,” he agreed.
“They helped me as much as they could. They really tried.”
“But did you let them?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly that. Did you turn to them, or did they have to come to you? Did you hold it inside because you didn’t want to impose on them? Did you feel as if your sorrow would become a drag on them, too? Did you put on a bright face even when you weren’t feeling it?”
She glared at him as the truth of his words struck home. “Do you think you’re some kind of psychologist?”
He shook his head. “I watched my mother do these very things for years after her best friend died.”
“So maybe you’re projecting.”
“It’s possible. So tell me I’m wrong.”
But she couldn’t. The worst of it was, she couldn’t deny any of what he said.
Be strong. It had been her mantra ever since she could remember. Sitting hunched over, hugging herself, she couldn’t even move. It was as if her entire self-image had been exploded and lay in smoking scraps around her. When she looked inward, she saw a bleak landscape.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she whispered. “Why?”
“I told you. I care. I’ve been with you for a few weeks now. I see a strong woman who tries to rely on no one. I also see a woman who’s been acting as if nothing is wrong when I know damn well that those notes disturbed you. Then another one came and you couldn’t even open it. Now here we are, that note is waiting out there, and I want something very clear before we open it.”
Something inside her chilled at the very thought of that note, but given the huge tide of feelings he had ripped open in her, it didn’t seem like such a big thing. “What’s that?”
“That with me you’re not going to hide your feelings or your fears. You’re going to be open so we can deal with this together. I can’t do that if you’re always hiding behind a smooth facade.”
“What difference does it make?”
“It lets me know you trust me enough to scream or cry. If you won’t trust me, that’s your choice. But without trust, things’ll be a whole lot harder.”
“It might be nothing,” she said quietly.
“I hope so. But with a third note, I’m not betting on it. Are you?”
Slowly she shook her head.
“Then let your feelings rip, Corey. Whatever they are. Be honest about anything and everything, including what a pain in the butt I am and how wrong I am about you. Just quit being a stranger.”
Exhaustion from the extreme emotions that had torn through her since she saw that letter, since Austin had dissected her with surgical finesse, began to creep through her. She put her head in her hands and thought that she ought to hate him. He’d peeled her open and revealed all the hidden pain within.
She really ought to hate him.
But somehow she couldn’t. In the wake of the storm came something like a summer breeze, blowing away all the painful detritus, at least for now.
