by LENA DIAZ,
She clutched her hands together in her lap, and he suddenly felt like the heel he’d just described. After everything she’d been through, and the upcoming interviews about her ordeal, here he was dumping on her. Regardless of the little drama that had just played out, it was nothing compared to what she’d endured.
He placed his hand over the top of hers. She glanced at him in surprise.
“I’m sorry, Teagan. I’m making it out to be far more important than it was. Let’s just drop it and—”
She shook her head. “No. I owe you an explanation. And it was far more important than you realize. Yesterday, at your house, you mentioned that your girlfriend left after your injury. Well you’re not the only one. Except it was my longtime high school sweetheart. It wasn’t official yet, but we’d always assumed we’d get married after we both graduated from college and got our careers going. He couldn’t...he couldn’t handle knowing what happened to me. Or how messed up I was for so long afterward.”
He took her hand in his and entwined their fingers together. “You don’t have to do this. It’s okay. I understand—”
“No. You don’t. Look, I’m over him. Way over him. Anyone who can’t stick around through the bad isn’t the one you want with you during the good. It was a blessing that I found that out before vowing to spend the rest of my life with him. The breakup was just a few months after the attack. I barely even think about him anymore. But I’ve never...since then I haven’t...well, it’s been hard to—”
“You haven’t dated since?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, then nodded.
He waited in silence until she looked at him again. He tugged one hand free and gently smoothed back a recalcitrant curl that had escaped the long braid down her back. “Since someone as gorgeous and bubbly as you could have a date any time she wants, that’s obviously a personal decision. But your parents don’t understand your choice, do they? They worry about you because you haven’t, in their eyes at least, moved on.”
She blinked as if in surprise. “How did you figure all that out so fast?”
He glanced down at his shirt and frowned. “Where’s my I’m a Profiler badge? I could have sworn I was wearing that today right along with my Eagle Scout badge.”
She managed a weak laugh and it warmed him inside to see her smile again. “You, Bryson Anton, were never a Boy Scout.”
He pressed his free hand against his chest. “You wound me to think I couldn’t be a scout.” He winked. “What gave me away?”
She shook her head, her smile more carefree. “You’d have been bored to tears doing all the things they make you do to earn a badge. Instead, you’d rather be out there in the thick of things, getting lost in the woods just to see if you could find your own way out. Or setting a fire to see if you could put it out. Not exactly good scouts material.”
“Looks like I’m not the only profiler around here.” He squeezed her hand before letting it go. “If using me helps to make your parents worry less about you because they think you have a boyfriend, then I suppose the subterfuge is okay. Just give me some warning before you throw me in a fire next time, okay?”
He barely had time to blink before she was straddling the console, one thigh plastered against him, her generous breasts flattened against his chest. All his logical, well-thought-out arguments about not getting involved with her, especially while working the case, were incinerated the second her lips touched his.
So much for warning him before throwing him into another fire.
His whole body was being scorched from the outside in, her tongue doing amazing things with his, her long nails raising goose bumps of pleasure across the back of his neck. But he wanted more, so much more. He groaned deep in his throat and wrapped his arms around her sensuous body. Then he half turned, pulling her the rest of the way onto his lap. He kissed her the way he’d wanted to since the moment she’d stood in his doorway looking so adorable as she breathed the word “Hi.” If the pain from his hip hadn’t stopped him that day, he’d probably have done something juvenile, like drool. Instead, he’d focused on the pain to keep from acting like a letch.
Teagan was unlike any woman he’d ever met. He never knew what to expect from her. Half of him was annoyed that he couldn’t predict her reactions even with his years of training as a profiler. The other half of him was sliding his hands around to the front of her shorts, grasping her zipper. Realizing what he was about to do, he drew on deep reserves of strength and forced his hands to release her zipper. Instead, he gently grasped her shoulders and eased her back to straddling the console instead of him. His lungs labored in his chest as they blinked at each other from only a foot apart. And he couldn’t help but be pleased that she seemed to be struggling for air just as much as him.
“Holy smokes,” she whispered, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat, her hands shaking as she reached up to check her hair. “Lennie what’s-his-face was junior high compared to you. Heck, elementary school. That was amazing. I can’t even remember what he looks like anymore. And we were an item for over eight years.”
He grinned, his ego ridiculously inflated by her compliment. “Wait. Lennie? Your old boyfriend’s name was Lennie?”
“No judging. People don’t choose their own names.” Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, making him groan. “Kiss me again, Bryson. Before I start remembering what what’s-his-face looked like.”
He grabbed her upper arms and gently but firmly pushed her back. “Hell, no. We need to talk about this...thing going on between us before it goes any further. Besides, another kiss like that and I won’t be able to walk for a week.” He grimaced and shifted in his seat. “As it is, I won’t be able to walk for a few minutes, at least.”
Her gaze flew to his lap and her eyes widened. “Oh, mercy. Lennie really had nothing on you.”
He laughed and pushed her farther away. “I’m starting to feel sorry for this Lennie guy.”
Her lips firmed. “Don’t. Trust me. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy.” She settled back down on her side of the car and drew a ragged breath.
Seeing her mood change so quickly, as if swimming through a layer of dark memories, had an ice water effect on his traitorous body—which was a good thing right now. But it also had him wanting to punch her ex-boyfriend for the hurt he’d obviously caused her.
“I’ve got a few friends at the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office,” he said. “Where’s Lennie live? I bet I could rack him up enough speeding tickets so he’d be riding the bus to work for the next six months.”
Her mouth quirked in a reluctant smile. “Mercedes-Lennie on the city bus. Now that might be fun to watch.”
“Just say the word.”
She laughed, then pointed to the digital clock on his dash. “Didn’t you say the interview was supposed to start about now?”
He noted the time and grimaced. “Hopefully a couple of minutes won’t make them change their minds. You sure you want to do this? You can drop me off and pick me up when I call.”
“I’ve never wanted something this hard in my life. I’ve been in limbo for years. If you can help me end that, put this monster in prison once and for all, it will make all the difference. I can handle it. I promise.”
He wasn’t nearly as optimistic as she seemed to be. But he wasn’t going to argue with her. If she wanted to be a part of this, as far as he was concerned, she had every right to be. Because it was her life and all about making her feel safe again.
“It’s that gray-blue stucco over there, two houses down. Close enough to walk but with my hip, I’m going to be lazy and drive the last fifty yards.” Once they were parked in the driveway, he grabbed his briefcase from the floorboard behind her seat.
Unlike at her parents’ home, she didn’t wait for him to open the door. He silently cursed his hip for slowing him down. But there was no way he could go even one more step without
his cane. He hefted it from the back seat and limped after her, pain his constant companion.
He’d pushed himself harder today than any day since he’d been shot. And it showed. His hip was so stiff and ached so much that he was running more on willpower than physical strength. And after that little stunt that he and Teagan had just pulled in his car, he was practically a cripple. But he’d grit his teeth and keep going, somehow. At least until this interview was over. And the moment he reached his hotel room he was going to collapse on his bed, down some painkillers and not move until morning.
At the door, he rang the doorbell then started when Teagan clutched his right arm.
“Teagan—”
“Don’t fuss at me. I’m not flirting, Bryson. Just give me a second.”
He noted the stress lines around her eyes, the ashen gray tint to her brown skin. He wanted to take her hand in his, offer his strength. But he didn’t have any to spare. If he let go of his cane he was afraid he’d fall down. All those times he’d blown off a rehab appointment were really coming back to bite him.
“It’s okay, you’ve got this.” He offered a reassuring smile. “We’ve got this. We’re a team, together. I’m here for you, all right? Trust me.”
She blew out a shaky breath and nodded just as the door opened.
A woman stood there, looking even more stressed than Teagan, her face so pale it was shockingly white in the dimly lit foyer.
Bryson lamely nodded rather than hold out his right hand since it was currently clutching his cane so he could remain upright. “Mrs. Broderick, it’s nice to meet you in person. I’m Bryson Anton. This is Teagan Ray. Is this still a good time to speak with you and your husband about Teagan’s abduction two years ago?”
“Of course.” Her gaze darted from one to the other, then behind them before she stepped back. “We’ve been expecting you. Please, come in.” Without waiting, she turned and strode through the long, dimly lit foyer away from them.
Bryson hesitated. “It seems as if this impending interview is far more upsetting to Mrs. Broderick than I’d expected. Maybe you should wait in the car.”
“No way. I don’t want to blow my chance. If I can’t handle the emotions of this first interview, you won’t let me go to the ones tomorrow. I’ll be okay. You’ll make sure of it. We’re a team. That’s what you said. Right?”
He regretted agreeing to take her with him for so many reasons. But they couldn’t stand here waiting and make the Brodericks think they’d changed their minds. He motioned for her to step inside. She gave him a tight smile, and they started down the foyer together.
Mr. Broderick’s deep voice sounded from the family room that was just visible through the arched opening a few feet away.
Teagan gasped and stopped.
He turned to see what was wrong. Her eyes were opened wide, a hand pressed to her mouth. She looked absolutely terrified.
“Teagan? What’s wrong?”
“That v-voice,” she croaked, obviously struggling to push any sounds out. “His voice.”
Bryson swore as understanding dawned. He dropped his cane and clawed for the pistol holstered at his waist as he struggled to turn around without falling. White, hot pain exploded in his head and his hip crumpled beneath him. Teagan’s scream was the last thing he heard as everything went dark.
Chapter Twelve
Teagan stood frozen, the horror of what was happening—again—seeping into her bones like leaden concrete, anchoring her in place. Her pulse hammered in her ears, blocking out the sounds around her. It was as if her mind had separated from her body and all of this was happening to someone else.
Bryson. Sweet, wonderful Bryson lay dead at her feet, his dark hair matted with blood. She’d only caught a glimpse of his battered body before jerking her gaze up toward the man who’d hit him, fully expecting the next blow from the baseball bat to land on her. Even so, she couldn’t raise her arms to defend herself. She. Couldn’t. Move.
Instead of hitting her, he’d taken Bryson’s pistol out of his holster, then shoved his hand in her pocket and yanked out her gun too, all before she could even blink. How had he known she had the gun when even she, in her moment of need, had forgotten it?
He’d been just inches from her but after taking the guns, he’d walked away. She watched helplessly, uselessly still as a statue, as the man—oh God, that voice—crossed the family room to the woman cowering in the corner. What was her name? Broderick. Mrs. Broderick. A trap. She’d led Bryson and Teagan into a trap. Why? Why would she do that?
The woman’s lips moved. She was looking up at the man, hovering over her with the bloody baseball bat in his right hand. She was saying something, pleading? The words were lost in Teagan’s fractured mind, unable to penetrate the sound of her own heartbeat rushing in her ears. Thump. Thump. Thump. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, white noise that masked everything around her. The tableau played out like a silent movie before her, a nightmare. Because surely none of this was real. It couldn’t be.
Not again. Not again. She couldn’t survive this again.
The man lifted the bat.
No. Teagan tried to yell, to get her legs to move. She had to help the lady. But her throat was so tight she couldn’t make a sound. Her legs were shaking so hard she couldn’t take a step.
He brought the bat down in a deadly arc.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Oh dear God, please, no! The bat. The woman. Bile rose in Teagan’s throat. A low-keening moan filled her ears, and the man jerked around to look at her. She realized that she was the one making that awful sound.
The room around her darkened, like a tunnel, narrowing down to one point where all she could see was the man across the room, watching her. Everything centered on what she’d never seen until this very moment. His face. She’d known that voice, the devil’s voice. To this day, it haunted her dreams. But that face. How could such evil hide behind such an average, kind-looking face?
There was nothing remarkable about it. He was white, clean-shaven, his light brown hair streaked with blond that had no doubt cost a fortune at some expensive salon. Which meant this man had money, a job, likely a home, a car. A family? He was just like anyone else she’d pass on the street.
Except that he wasn’t.
The eyes. The eyes gave him away. They were dark, almost black, completely devoid of warmth. An abyss of emptiness, a deep well of evil with no soul to warm them. They were the eyes of the monster who’d hurt her two years ago. The same monster who’d just brutally killed Mrs. Broderick. And the wonderful man lying at Teagan’s feet.
She couldn’t look down. Couldn’t stomach seeing the damage the bat must have done. She didn’t want that image burned into her retinas. Bryson. Smart, gorgeous, sweet Bryson Anton, who wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for her.
Forgive me, Bryson.
Evil stared back at her from twenty feet away. Blood dripped from the bat in his hand. She shuddered as a wave of nausea gripped her.
He smiled, as if pleased at her distress. Then he started toward her, still holding that awful bat. Slowly. Like a lion stalking the weakest member of the herd, separating it out, readying for the kill.
Her mind screamed at her. Move. Run. Do something.
But she couldn’t. Why not? She’d run before. Two years ago, when her attacker injected drugs to put her to sleep, but missed the vein, she’d taken advantage of his mistake. She’d pretended to be asleep. And then, after hearing the sound of his car driving away, she’d forced one foot in front of the other. She’d gotten away.
There were neighbors close by. Some of them had to be home. Most of them had to be home. The workday was over for the nine-to-fivers. All she had to do was turn around and...no.
She couldn’t leave Bryson.
She didn’t deserve to survive yet again when he lay at her feet in his own blood. It was her
fault. This, then, would be her penance. Face the monster. Pay the price for bringing Bryson here, for destroying a wonderful man.
Shoes echoed against the floor. Hardwood. Like her parents’ house. He was coming closer. Relentlessly. Slowly. Savoring her fear.
She whimpered, and hated herself for it. She was about to die. She wanted to face him with dignity in her last moments. But the wounds of the past were too much to overcome. Her body wasn’t her own anymore to command. She couldn’t stop shaking. Maybe she was already dead.
Evil stopped three feet away.
She forced herself to meet his gaze, to memorize every line, every bump, every angle of his ridiculously ordinary face, refusing to look away as fate raised the bat once more. If she couldn’t run, at least she could stand here and pretend courage she didn’t possess. There would be no defensive wounds for her. But as she stared at him, a strange sense of déjà vu swept through her. She’d seen him before. Not at the shack. He’d always concealed his identity back then. So she had to have seen him somewhere else. But where? Who was he?
He raised the bat higher, watching her, as if waiting to see what she would do. As she remained motionless, his smile faded. She wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of cowering. She was ruining his fun.
Hooray for her. Finally she’d beaten him. If only in a very small way. This time it was her turn to smile.
Hate glittered in his eyes as he slowly lowered the bat. He tossed it onto a nearby chair and reached behind him. Metal glittered in the overhead lights. A gun? No. Silver circles. A short chain connecting them. Handcuffs. He’d bound her last time, tied her with strips of cloth. But never handcuffs. She’d cut through the strips with her teeth after the drug had failed to knock her unconscious. Perhaps he’d changed his routine since then. He’d learned from his mistakes.