by Hope White
“And the fear I’m destined to be a victim of brutality for the rest of my life.”
“Hey, don’t talk like that.”
“Sorry, I know. I sound pathetic.”
He reached out and tipped her chin so she had to look into his eyes. “Not pathetic, frightened. You have every right to be. It’s okay to feel those feelings and then let them go.”
She shrugged and pulled away. “Did you use the word ‘feelings’? You’re awfully evolved for a guy,” she teased.
“Why, thanks, I think.” He smiled and the tension in her chest uncoiled a bit.
“I also used to teach a women’s self-defense class,” he said. “Let me ask you something. Where is the fear coming from?”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Tell me what it feels like, how it starts. For instance, when you were in Edward’s office, describe what you felt physically that drove you into the closet.”
“I heard shouting and something slammed against the wall and...” She clenched her fists by her rib cage. “My whole body tightened up, like it was in survival mode.”
“Your body was remembering the past abuse,” he said matter-of-factly, without judgment or condemnation.
“I guess.”
“And survival mode meant finding a good place to hide.”
“I didn’t have a choice. My body just took over.”
“Which is a good thing. That response saved your life. Don’t ever be ashamed of it.”
“But I’m tired of running away all the time.”
“It doesn’t sound like you ran from your father. It sounds like you put yourself between him and your siblings.”
“I’m not sure what good it did us.”
“Are you kidding? You survived, Nicole. That’s remarkable.”
“I feel like a coward.”
“I could argue with you and try to convince you otherwise but until you feel it in your own heart you will always see yourself that way. What would it take for you not to feel like a coward?”
“I guess...” She hesitated. No one had ever asked her that question. “If I didn’t have to run. If the abuser actually ran from me.”
“Okay.” He grabbed a vinyl cushion off the sofa. “I can make that happen by teaching you how to stand up for yourself, thereby forcing the aggressor to back off.”
“How are you going to do that?” She eyed the sofa cushion with trepidation.
“By teaching you some moves. A lot of it is about confidence. If you have confidence, you can defend yourself. That’s half the battle. Aggressors sense this and more often than not will choose another target. And if they are bold enough to approach you, you’ll be ready.” He winked. “First, you need to become comfortable hitting things. If a dangerous situation arises you can’t hold back. You’ve gotta give it everything, all the power that petite little frame of yours can muster.” He held the cushion between them. “With the heel of your palm, fingers back—” he demonstrated by holding up his right hand “—strike the cushion. Right, left, right. Easy at first, just to get a rhythm.”
“I can’t.”
“Come on, let it fly.”
“No.”
“You don’t want to be afraid anymore, right?”
“No, but—”
“Then fight back, come on, do it.” He shoved the vinyl cushion at her and she stepped around him.
But he stepped in front of her.
“Don’t! I can’t do this!”
He peered around the cushion. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to be like him.”
Alex slowly lowered the cushion. “Defending yourself doesn’t mean you’re an abuser like your dad.”
“I’d be punching, or hitting or whatever you’re about to teach me. How is that different than what he did to us?”
“You were innocent children. I’m teaching you to defend yourself against an attacker. There’s a big difference.”
She planted her hands on her hips and studied the floor.
“Nicole, look at me.”
Clenching her jaw, she glanced up.
“I want you to imagine how it would feel to walk down the street and feel confident that no one could hurt you, that you could effectively defend yourself. Can you do that? Can you imagine that feeling in your chest?”
“I guess.”
“No guessing. Close your eyes and imagine how it would feel not to be afraid.”
With a sigh, she imagined feeling safe in her own skin walking down a public street. A sense of peace flooded her chest.
“Your pulse slows to a normal beat, the muscles in your gut unclench, right?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Now open your eyes.”
She did and he was inches from her face. “That’s because you’ve released the fear. You can release the fear if you have confidence that you can protect yourself. You protected your brother and sister growing up, but no one protected you. It’s time you learned to do that for yourself. You’re braver than most people I know. Brave and courageous.” He trailed an errant strand of hair off her face and slipped it behind her ear.
The touch was tender and grounding. His admiration meant more to her than she could articulate.
“You think I’m brave?” she said.
“Absolutely. Now, give it your best shot.” He smiled and stepped back, waving the cushion as a target. “There’s no wrong move here. You’re just learning, so mistakes are necessary. And make a lot of noise. Scream, grunt, shout. Sometimes that in and of itself can drive off an attacker.”
He thought her brave and wanted to free her from the constant fear humming beneath surface. She struck the cushion, once, twice.
“Harder! Louder!” he encouraged.
“Argh!” She struck again. And again.
“Come on, more!”
“Get away from me!” As she punched the cushion over and over, her heart rate sped up, her muscles fueled with adrenaline, not fear.
“Good job.” He lowered the cushion. “Now I’ll teach you my secret weapon—the Donovan Slam.”
Alex led her into the warehouse and propped the cushion on a shelf to demonstrate. “Are you a lefty or righty?”
“Righty.”
“Okay, then you start with your left hand. Left, right, left.” He hit the cushion with his left, right and left heel of his palm. “Then the Slam. Heel of our palm goes up.” He demonstrated on the cushion. “So it connects with the nose. Even if you don’t break it, it will stun your attacker long enough to get away. Okay, you try.”
She fisted her hands then opened them, took a quick breath and repeated what he’d done. Left, right, left, slam.
“It’s about the upward motion,” he said. “And don’t hit too low or his jaw will do serious damage to your hand. Angle it like this.” He took her hand and adjusted her wrist so her fingers angled back even more. Holding her wrist he jabbed at the cushion. “See?”
“Yeah.” She also felt the warmth of his hand rush all the way to her toes. Who needed a space heater, anyway? The thought made her pull away, but he held her gaze a little longer than necessary.
Alex cleared his throat. “Okay, good. Try it again.”
She realized he’d felt it, too, the warmth, the connection. She smiled to herself. At least this wasn’t a one-sided attraction.
She wound up and swung, left, right, left, slam.
“Better,” he encouraged.
She struck the cushion a few times, feeling more confident and energized than she had in months, maybe even years.
Excitement coursed through her body at the thought of feeling like this instead of drowning in despair. She clung to the confidence as she struck the cushion again. Left, right, left
—
The high-pitched crash of breaking glass echoed across the warehouse.
EIGHT
A week ago Nicole would have instinctively ducked. Instead, she peered toward the source of the sound and fisted her hands.
“Get in the office,” Alex said, his eyes scanning the warehouse.
He shifted her protectively behind him and withdrew his gun. Once inside the office he went behind the desk and eyed the video feed.
“The building is secure, so don’t be frightened,” he said.
“I’m not.”
He glanced up and eyed her hands, clenched by her sides. “Well, look at you.” With a slight smile he refocused on the computer screen.
“Here.” He pointed to the monitor. A man hovered outside the building waving something in his hand.
“I’ve gotta check it out,” he said.
He started for the door and she blocked him. “I’m coming with.”
“You’re staying here.”
“Every time you leave me something bad happens. I’m coming, no arguments.”
With a nod of surrender, Alex said, “Stay behind me.”
Calming her excited heartbeat, she followed him as he stayed close to the perimeter wall aiming his gun into the dark distance. The long and narrow rows of lumber were subtly lit by outside floodlights reflecting through the windows. There was enough light to navigate down the aisles, but not enough to clearly see what was around the next corner.
Nic took a slow, deep breath and listened intently, hoping a foreign sound could give them a clue as to where the intruder was hiding. That is, if he’d gotten inside.
Another crash reverberated through the mill. Alex shielded her against the wall with his body. They waited for a few seconds, then kept walking.
Feeling as if she needed something with which to defend herself, she grabbed a piece of wood from a stack and held it close. If something happened to Alex she’d be vulnerable and utterly lost. No, she would not think that way.
They walked another twenty feet and he put up his hand in a stop gesture. He toed something on the floor with his boot. Glass.
They glanced up and spotted a broken window.
“Vandals?” she suggested.
“Possible. Let’s go.” He stepped toward the door and punched in the security code. He glanced over his shoulder. “You sure I can’t get you to go back to the office?”
“Nope. I’m with you.”
“Okay. Stay—”
“Stay behind you, I know.”
Alex pushed down on the metal bar, flung the door open and aimed his firearm left, then right. With a sigh, he holstered his gun. Nic peered around him and spotted a man leaning against a pile of cinder blocks. Thanks to the outside floodlights she could tell he was in his sixties, with messy gray hair and a partial beard, wearing jeans and a black jacket.
“Warren?” Alex said.
She took a quick breath of relief. Alex knew him, which meant he couldn’t be the killer.
Warren glanced at Alex with unfocused, bloodshot eyes. “Phillip, I fought to keep my job, but those selfish, money mongers threw us all on the street.”
“Who’s Phillip?” Nic whispered.
“His son. Lives in California,” he said to Nicole and kneeled beside the disoriented man. “Warren, it’s Detective Donovan. What are you doing out here?”
“Standing up for myself. Said my piece. Those bean counters ruined my life.”
Alex reached over and picked up a paper bag wrapped snuggly around a bottle.
“I gave them thirty years.” Warren glanced at the building with tears in his eyes. “Thirty years.”
“I’m sorry, Warren, but this is private property and you shouldn’t be breaking windows.”
The older man stood up and wavered. “I’ll break five more if it’ll make them listen.”
Alex grabbed his arm to keep Warren upright. “How did you get here? You didn’t drive, did you?”
Just then, a beam of light arced across the property. Nicole put up her hand to shield her eyes. The car stopped and the front door flew open.
A tall man, about Warren’s age, jogged over to them. “Sorry, detective. Warren’s had a bad week.”
“Good thing he’s got you as a friend, Vic.” Vic and Alex helped an obviously drunken Warren into the car. Vic shut the door and turned to Alex. “We went out for fish and chips with the guys and the next thing I know, he’s gone. I had no idea he brought his own bottle with him.”
“I’ll dispose of the booze,” Alex said.
“Phillip’s out of the country for a few weeks on business and the anniversary of Madeline’s death is next week,” Vic said.
“I understand. I’ll smooth things over with the property owners but I need a favor in return.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t tell anyone you saw us here tonight.”
Vic eyed Nicole with a raised eyebrow.
“It’s not like that,” Alex said. “She’s in my protective custody.”
“Oh, the girl from the Lange murder,” Vic said.
“Nicole, this is Victor Pratt, town councilman and volunteer firefighter.”
Vic extended his hand and Nicole shook it.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
“Heard about what happened to your boss. I’m very sorry. We all liked Edward very much.”
“Thanks.”
Vic glanced at Alex. “Protective custody, does that mean...?”
“It means we don’t want anyone knowing where she is for the time being. Can you help me with that?”
“Absolutely. My lips are sealed.”
Muffled shouting echoed from the car. Nicole glanced at Warren who was waving his fist in a threatening gesture to no one in particular.
“Not sure about Warren, though,” Vic offered.
“He probably won’t remember much,” Alex said. “He’s out of it. Thought I was Phillip.”
Vic shook his head with regret. “Wish I could do more for him. He’s taken a nosedive these past few weeks.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. How about taking him to church?” Alex suggested. “Being around God’s love and the love of his neighbors and friends might brighten his outlook on life.”
“Good idea. I could make some calls to let folks know he’s struggling. That way they’ll rally around him.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Alex said.
“Well, you two have a good night.” Vic shook Alex’s hand, nodded at Nicole and left with Warren.
Alex motioned to Nicole. “Let’s get inside.”
As they went back to the building Alex paused by the door and poured out what was left in the liquor bottle. With one last scan of the property, Alex placed his hand at the small of Nicole’s back, guided her inside and set the alarm.
They walked silently back to the office, Nicole deep in thought. Tomorrow was Sunday, a day of worship, and she sensed on any other weekend Alex would be at church singing hymns and embracing God’s word. She remembered seeing the silver cross dangling from a chain around his neck when she’d regained consciousness in the study. Although God was a complete and utter mystery to Nicole, Alex was a believer and she felt guilty that his job protecting her was keeping him from church.
“You can go tomorrow, if you want,” she said, stepping into the office.
“Go where?”
“To church. It’s okay if you want to leave me here and attend services.”
He glanced at the computer monitor. “I’m not going to leave your side, not until we find the killer.”
“Well, I could go with you.” She was shocked she’d uttered the words.
His gaze slowly drifted up from the monitor. “I’m honored t
hat you’d do that for me,” he said. “But we’re trying to keep a low profile. The two of us attending church together in a small town like Waverly Harbor would be like lighting the fuse of a gossip bomb.”
“Oh, right. I hadn’t thought about that. I don’t have a lot of experience with small-town stuff.” She collapsed on the vinyl sofa and tipped her head back against the wall.
“Small towns are great but they have their challenges.” He glanced at her. “What kind of town did you grow up in?”
“I guess you’d call it a small city. It was pretty anonymous.”
“That must have been lonely. It doesn’t sound like you were a churchgoing family, but you had school friends, right?”
“Not many. We kept to ourselves—you know, to protect the family secret.”
“I wish someone had been there to protect you,” he said, in a low, soothing tone.
“Me, too.” A few seconds of silence passed. “I wish God had been there for me.”
Alex looked up, waiting.
“I prayed to God to help us. I guess I’m just not worthy of God’s love.”
Alex was suddenly across the room sitting next to her. He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t say that. We all deserve God’s love and forgiveness.”
“I wish I could believe that.” Tears misted her eyes and she glanced away.
With his forefinger and thumb to her chin Alex guided her to look directly into his eyes. “You are a remarkable, intelligent and kind woman. You are very special, Nicole, and very worthy of God’s love.”
Time seemed to stand still, like in a dream when everything freezes in midaction. She wasn’t sure who moved first but their lips touched with a gentle, warm kiss, a kiss that obliterated all thoughts of danger and insecurity. Her heart silenced the rational side of her brain that whispered this was unwise, unreal.
She surrendered to the soft, tender kiss and slipped deeper into a sense of peace. Peace and, did she dare say, love?
Fear ripped through her, shattering the perfect moment.
She broke the kiss. Avoiding eye contact, she leaned against his chest and scrunched his shirt between her fingers. She could hear his thundering heartbeat against his chest. He felt it, too, the indescribable magic sparked by their kiss.
