“It’s okay,” Evan said, and I knew he wasn’t talking about the dress.
“It wasn’t an alley,” I finally managed. “They attacked her under the pier. At least three of them and they had knives. They dragged her to a van. They raped her. They sliced her. And three days later they dumped her.” A tear trickled down my cheek. “They didn’t kill her. They left her to bleed out. She died all alone in a ditch near Miramar.”
“Goddamn bastards.” His voice was deceptively calm, but I could hear the steel beneath it. “Who? Did they catch who did it?”
I did. Me. It was me. I wanted to shout the answer, because that was the truth, wasn’t it? If it weren’t for me, Grace would still be alive, and nothing I could say or do or hope or beg could ever change that.
I tried to imagine telling him the whole truth. Leaning my head against his chest and feeling his hands on my back as I told him the story that I’d only ever told one person. Not my father. Not my mother. Not even the police. Just my uncle Jahn, and now he was dead, too, and my secret was mine once more.
I could imagine it, but I couldn’t do it.
“Was it political? Aimed against your father?”
“I don’t know who did it,” I said, looking at my hands, now fisted in the blanket. “But the police called it gang-related. My dad was still in the California legislature back then, but there didn’t seem to be anything political about it. There was no ransom note. No demand. They never arrested anyone. My dad even hired a PI, but he never got anywhere, either.”
“You were with her?”
I shook my head, expecting him to look at me like I was a little bit crazy.
“I should never have gone out tonight,” I said. If he thought the change in subject was strange, he didn’t comment.
“There’s nothing wrong with needing to let go sometimes.”
I wiped my hand under my nose and sniffled, feeling small and young and terribly lost. “Even when people get hurt?”
He slid off the couch and knelt right in front of me, then gently pressed his hands on my knees. “No one got hurt, Angie.”
I shrugged. “You almost did.”
His mouth twitched a little, making the dimple flash. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered you care, or insulted that you think so little of my skill.”
“Flattered,” I said, managing a smile.
He met my smile, and this time his own went all the way to his eyes. He leaned over and retrieved my cup from the floor, then handed it back to me. “Drink your cocoa.”
I actually grinned, and it felt nice.
“What?”
“It feels like you’re babysitting me.”
His scarred brow lifted, making him look sexy and arrogant all at the same time. He shifted his weight forward, and before I knew what to expect, he’d caught me in a kiss, hard and deep. I moaned, my body softening with need and thrumming with desire. We touched only in two places—lips and knees—and yet every inch of skin on my body crackled with banked electricity, as if Evan were a storm and I’d been caught unawares.
As swiftly as he’d moved in, he released me and settled back, leaving me gaping breathlessly at him. “You’re not a child, Angie. I’m not sure you were ever a child. And I damn sure know that I wasn’t.”
Since I didn’t have a clue what to say to that, I remained silent, holding my mug and wondering if my mouth was tingling because of the schnapps or because of his kiss.
After a moment, he rose, then held out his hand to me. I left the mug on the floor, put my hand in his, and stood.
Without a word, he led me to my bedroom. He turned me around, then slowly unzipped my dress. Whatever chill had lingered from the evening and the onslaught of memory disappeared, vanquished by the heat of his proximity. I soaked in his warmth, letting it soothe my rough edges even as tiny sparks bounced and fizzed inside me. And yet this simple touch was enough. So much, in fact, that he’d filled me up completely.
Gently, his hands stroked my shoulders. “Slip it off,” he said. “Get under the covers.”
“I—”
“Don’t argue. Just do.” He moved toward the connecting bathroom, and while he was gone, I complied, letting the dress slide off my body to pool around my ankles. I hesitated a moment, then unclasped my bra and let it fall, as well. I still wore the panties, silk and lace that were one of my many wardrobe indulgences.
I drew in a breath, lifted the covers, and slid into bed.
He returned momentarily with a glass of water. He handed it to me and I took it. I drank a long swallow, wondering if I should be sad that he’d manufactured this reason to leave the room while I undressed, or impressed that he was a gentleman at heart.
I landed on the side of gentleman. “Thank you,” I said.
“It’s just water,” he answered, but he smiled in what I thought was understanding. He nodded toward the bed. “Sleep now.”
“I—” I stumbled on my words. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He bent and gently stroked my forehead. “I’ll be right here.” I watched as he settled himself in the floral print armchair near the wall of windows, the dark expanse of the lake behind him with just a few scattered boat lights glittering like stars. “Sleep,” he repeated, and I nodded, suddenly aware of how heavy my eyelids felt.
I snuggled under the covers, then let myself drift off.
I felt warm. I felt safe. I felt protected.
At least until the shadows came.
The scream cut through the air, so loud and sharp and painful that it wrenched me awake.
Strong arms surrounded me, and I drew in a breath, terrified, and only then realizing that I’d been the one doing the screaming.
“Deep breaths, baby. I’ve got you. Just take some deep breaths. You’re safe. You’re with me and you’re safe.” Evan’s voice washed over me, warm and commanding, as if simply by saying that I was safe he could make it so. I was sitting upright, clutching tight to him. My arms were around him, my hands fisted in the back of his T-shirt.
The sheet had tumbled away to gather at my waist, and my breasts were pressed against him. His hands, big and warm and strong, gently stroked my bare back as I gulped in air, trying to shake free of the tendrils of fear that still clung to me, cold and menacing.
“You’re safe,” he repeated gently. “You’re okay.”
I nodded, realizing as I did that I was starting to believe it. I was awake. I was safe. I was warm in the security of Evan’s arms.
I’m not sure how long he held me like that. All I know is that by the time I finally did pull away, he’d given me enough of his strength to make it the rest of the way on my own.
“Better now?”
I nodded, then sat upright on the bed, one leg tucked under me. I took the tissue he handed me and blew my nose.
“Was it about Gracie?”
I closed my eyes in silent acknowledgement. “It was like I was there. The men. They were attacking her. They had knives. They were coming at her. But I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t move. I wasn’t there—not really. But I had to watch. I had to watch, because it shouldn’t have been her at all. It should have been me.”
Once again, the tears burst forth, and he gathered me into his arms. I thought that I should pull away or curl up into a ball or tell him to leave me be for just a little while until I managed to get my act together. But I didn’t. I didn’t have the strength, but more than that, I didn’t have the desire.
“It wasn’t an alley,” I finally managed. “They attacked her under the pier. At least three of them and they had knives. They dragged her to a van. They raped her. They sliced her. And three days later they dumped her.” A tear trickled down my cheek. “They didn’t kill her. They left her to bleed out. She died all alone in a ditch near Miramar.”
“Goddamn bastards.” His voice was deceptively calm, but I could hear the steel beneath it. “Who? Did they catch who did it?”
I did. Me. It was me. I wanted to shout the answer, because that was the truth, wasn’t it? If it weren’t for me, Grace would still be alive, and nothing I could say or do or hope or beg could ever change that.
I tried to imagine telling him the whole truth. Leaning my head against his chest and feeling his hands on my back as I told him the story that I’d only ever told one person. Not my father. Not my mother. Not even the police. Just my uncle Jahn, and now he was dead, too, and my secret was mine once more.
I could imagine it, but I couldn’t do it.
“Was it political? Aimed against your father?”
“I don’t know who did it,” I said, looking at my hands, now fisted in the blanket. “But the police called it gang-related. My dad was still in the California legislature back then, but there didn’t seem to be anything political about it. There was no ransom note. No demand. They never arrested anyone. My dad even hired a PI, but he never got anywhere, either.”
“You were with her?”
I shook my head, expecting him to look at me like I was a little bit crazy.
“I should never have gone out tonight,” I said. If he thought the change in subject was strange, he didn’t comment.
“There’s nothing wrong with needing to let go sometimes.”
I wiped my hand under my nose and sniffled, feeling small and young and terribly lost. “Even when people get hurt?”
He slid off the couch and knelt right in front of me, then gently pressed his hands on my knees. “No one got hurt, Angie.”
I shrugged. “You almost did.”
His mouth twitched a little, making the dimple flash. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered you care, or insulted that you think so little of my skill.”
“Flattered,” I said, managing a smile.
He met my smile, and this time his own went all the way to his eyes. He leaned over and retrieved my cup from the floor, then handed it back to me. “Drink your cocoa.”
I actually grinned, and it felt nice.
“What?”
“It feels like you’re babysitting me.”
His scarred brow lifted, making him look sexy and arrogant all at the same time. He shifted his weight forward, and before I knew what to expect, he’d caught me in a kiss, hard and deep. I moaned, my body softening with need and thrumming with desire. We touched only in two places—lips and knees—and yet every inch of skin on my body crackled with banked electricity, as if Evan were a storm and I’d been caught unawares.
As swiftly as he’d moved in, he released me and settled back, leaving me gaping breathlessly at him. “You’re not a child, Angie. I’m not sure you were ever a child. And I damn sure know that I wasn’t.”
Since I didn’t have a clue what to say to that, I remained silent, holding my mug and wondering if my mouth was tingling because of the schnapps or because of his kiss.
After a moment, he rose, then held out his hand to me. I left the mug on the floor, put my hand in his, and stood.
Without a word, he led me to my bedroom. He turned me around, then slowly unzipped my dress. Whatever chill had lingered from the evening and the onslaught of memory disappeared, vanquished by the heat of his proximity. I soaked in his warmth, letting it soothe my rough edges even as tiny sparks bounced and fizzed inside me. And yet this simple touch was enough. So much, in fact, that he’d filled me up completely.
Gently, his hands stroked my shoulders. “Slip it off,” he said. “Get under the covers.”
“I—”
“Don’t argue. Just do.” He moved toward the connecting bathroom, and while he was gone, I complied, letting the dress slide off my body to pool around my ankles. I hesitated a moment, then unclasped my bra and let it fall, as well. I still wore the panties, silk and lace that were one of my many wardrobe indulgences.
I drew in a breath, lifted the covers, and slid into bed.
He returned momentarily with a glass of water. He handed it to me and I took it. I drank a long swallow, wondering if I should be sad that he’d manufactured this reason to leave the room while I undressed, or impressed that he was a gentleman at heart.
I landed on the side of gentleman. “Thank you,” I said.
“It’s just water,” he answered, but he smiled in what I thought was understanding. He nodded toward the bed. “Sleep now.”
“I—” I stumbled on my words. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He bent and gently stroked my forehead. “I’ll be right here.” I watched as he settled himself in the floral print armchair near the wall of windows, the dark expanse of the lake behind him with just a few scattered boat lights glittering like stars. “Sleep,” he repeated, and I nodded, suddenly aware of how heavy my eyelids felt.
I snuggled under the covers, then let myself drift off.
I felt warm. I felt safe. I felt protected.
At least until the shadows came.
The scream cut through the air, so loud and sharp and painful that it wrenched me awake.
Strong arms surrounded me, and I drew in a breath, terrified, and only then realizing that I’d been the one doing the screaming.
“Deep breaths, baby. I’ve got you. Just take some deep breaths. You’re safe. You’re with me and you’re safe.” Evan’s voice washed over me, warm and commanding, as if simply by saying that I was safe he could make it so. I was sitting upright, clutching tight to him. My arms were around him, my hands fisted in the back of his T-shirt.
The sheet had tumbled away to gather at my waist, and my breasts were pressed against him. His hands, big and warm and strong, gently stroked my bare back as I gulped in air, trying to shake free of the tendrils of fear that still clung to me, cold and menacing.
“You’re safe,” he repeated gently. “You’re okay.”
I nodded, realizing as I did that I was starting to believe it. I was awake. I was safe. I was warm in the security of Evan’s arms.
I’m not sure how long he held me like that. All I know is that by the time I finally did pull away, he’d given me enough of his strength to make it the rest of the way on my own.
“Better now?”
I nodded, then sat upright on the bed, one leg tucked under me. I took the tissue he handed me and blew my nose.
“Was it about Gracie?”
I closed my eyes in silent acknowledgement. “It was like I was there. The men. They were attacking her. They had knives. They were coming at her. But I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t move. I wasn’t there—not really. But I had to watch. I had to watch, because it shouldn’t have been her at all. It should have been me.”
Once again, the tears burst forth, and he gathered me into his arms. I thought that I should pull away or curl up into a ball or tell him to leave me be for just a little while until I managed to get my act together. But I didn’t. I didn’t have the strength, but more than that, I didn’t have the desire.
