by Jaycee Clark
Quickly, he rose, grabbed his wet pair of gloves off the floor where he’d thrown them, and hurried down the stairs.
Just as he eased out the sliding door in her kitchen into the darkened courtyard, he heard the shots shattering the front door lock.
The shadows covered him as he slithered through the darkness, hopped over the back fence and hurried through the alleys. Sirens screamed in the night.
He walked a block down to his car. Inside, he pulled off the gloves.
Thrumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he tried to figure out what had gone wrong. How had the police arrived?
It didn’t matter. He’d find out.
Right now, he needed to get to the airport.
• • •
Brayden hurried down the stairs. She hadn’t answered. At the door he pulled on his coat and grabbed his keys.
“Where are you off to?” Aiden asked coming from the living room, where everyone else was.
“To town.”
“Why?” Aiden stopped in front of him.
Brayden didn’t have time for this. “She didn’t answer.”
“So?” His brother crossed his arms. “Maybe she’s out with another guy. What do you care?”
“Christian is . . .”
The corner of Aiden’s mouth twitched, but his eyes narrowed. “Don’t pull another stunt with her like you did after Gavin and Taylor’s party,” Aiden warned, his voice low.
“What?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“You heard me.”
Brayden closed his eyes. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Why are you rushing off to town?”
Damn it. “Because she said she’d be here and she’s not!” he yelled.
Aiden stepped back and lowered a look at him.
He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Something is wrong, Aiden. Really wrong.”
“Fine. What do you think is wrong?”
“Someone’s been calling her. Creepy, midnight calls, she said. Last night the guy left her a gift. Whenever I see her, she’s always darting looks over her shoulder. Have you even seen her lately?”
Aiden nodded and frowned. “Yeah, she didn’t look so good. I was pissed at you. Figured it was your fault.”
Brayden smiled. “Yeah, well, I did too at first. But now, after this morning . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t know, Aiden. Something is off, way off. I never should have left her. I should have waited on her and driven her up here myself. I should have gone back to town hours ago.” He stopped and looked at the floor. “I’ve got a really, really bad feeling. Like the time Tori was taken.”
There, he’d said it. The churn of sickness coated his stomach. He stuck his hands out and saw they trembled. “She should be here. I’m going to town.”
Aiden studied him for a minute, then reached around and into the coat closet, retrieving his own black woolen coat. “I’m going with you. Let me tell Jessie.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m going.”
He reached for the door.
He stepped outside and into the cold wind that slapped and stung, a vengeful woman full of fury.
Chapter 7
Gabe looked around the hallway, his gun sweeping wide, Emma right beside him. She’d radioed in as soon as he’d shot the locks. In the kitchen he saw blood on the floor, the scattered fruit.
“Christian!” Turning, he ran down the hall, took the stairs three at a time.
His heart raced at what he might find. Had the guy taken her?
Why wasn’t she answering? He didn’t want to think about that. Too many bodies bloodied his memory with grotesque images at what could have happened. Sirens pierced the night.
Please, let her be okay.
He turned the corner to her room and stopped, frozen at the sight before him.
She was tied, spread-eagle on the bed. Rage pounded through him and then the freeze-frame snapped and he moved. Emma swore behind him and shifted to check the bathroom.
“Clear,” she said.
No one. The closet doors stood open, torn and ragged clothes falling out. The place was empty.
Lowering his gun, he walked to the bed and saw her chest panted fast and furiously. Thank God. She was alive. He tried not to look, but the image seared into his mind. Tethered like an animal, she was exposed and at the mercy of whomever had done this.
On the floor lay her crushed inhaler. On the bed beside her, a bloodstained knife. Folded neatly in the chair were blankets and sheets. He jerked one of the blankets off and threw it over her, but not before he’d registered the multiple bruises and cuts covering her. Her wrists were bloody and bruised, the skin peeling back where she’d rubbed against her bindings.
“Christian?” he whispered. He reached up to untie her gag and blindfold. As soon as his finger grazed her cheek, she flinched away, the whimper squeezing his heart.
Damn the bastard.
Voices called out.
“Up here!” he yelled. Trying to ignore the way she stiffened, he untied the gag and blindfold, ripping them aside. Her wide terror-filled eyes stared at him for a long second, then slid closed.
The wheeze of her fighting to breathe filled the air.
“Do you have another inhaler?”
She didn’t answer.
He looked up at Emma. “Don’t forget to get that knife and syringe. We need them bagged as soon as the crime tech guys are done.” He stopped; Emma knew how to do her damn job. There was blood on the knife. He saw the slice that dribbled blood on her arm. Had seen those on her thighs.
She was shaking, he could feel the bed tremble.
He jerked out his own pocketknife, leaned over, and cut the ropes that bound the woman to the bed. Pristine white nylon dangled, marred with crimson.
“Hang on, Christian. Just hang on.” He started to touch her, but didn’t.
He looked at her trembling on the bed. What the hell was she doing here alone? If she were his, he damn well wouldn’t have left her alone for one second.
Emma came back from the bathroom bagging more evidence. “The ambulance is on the way,” a uniform said from the doorway.
He nodded. “Good, keep the neighbors back and away from here. I want this entire place picked apart.”
Gabe’s gaze was locked on Christian curled tightly in the center of the bed.
• • •
The hospital noises were sharp and loud, yet distorted. The harsh glare of florescent lights stabbed and prodded her headache, teased the nausea. She’d been given albuterol here and in the ambulance. At least her chest didn’t hurt anymore and she could breathe from the nebulizing treatment. Though not too deeply; her bruised ribs pulled and all but moaned if she did.
Slowly, she slid off the exam table.
“Since you didn’t have any clothes, you can put these on,” the female doctor said, laying a pair of folded blue scrubs on the end of the bed.
They were at Sibly Memorial Hospital. Aggravated sexual assault. They performed a rape kit. The doctor didn’t think the attacker had time to get to that part, thank God. Christian couldn’t remember everything, and what had he done to her while she was out? She didn’t say no when they asked for her consent, and she signed the form. For almost two hours she answered what questions she could or would and endured all the poking, probing, and exposure she could stand. Maybe, maybe he left something else behind, he’d touched her enough. She did remember that.
A violent shiver shook her. Oh, God. This wasn’t happening. Not again.
Clicking. The clicking. They’d taken pictures to put in the reports. It was no less humiliating now than it had been eight years before.
The clicks. He’d taken pictures too.
That’s what the slight clicking noises had been, and beeps. Had there been a beep? Digital camera? Bile rose again in her throat. She’d already thrown up the water they’d given her. And the pain meds.
She couldn’t quit shaking. God
, she was freezing.
“You should stay tonight for observation,” Dr. Ripley said and cleared her throat. “Did you call your family?”
The doctor knew. Most didn’t connect her with the Kinncaids, but this woman did. No big surprise. With the Kinncaids and two of them doctors, some people knew her.
Christian only shook her head, her gaze focused on the white bandages around her wrists. The edges of her vision were still blurred, thanks to whatever he’d given her. It was like looking in a tunnel. The wraps on her wrists mirrored the one on her right thigh. One of the cuts was deep enough she’d needed stitches.
Dr. Ripley sighed. “I would advise you to talk about this with them. Hiding something like this doesn’t help.”
The white strips stared back up at her. They reminded her of the ropes. Voices yelled from out in the ER, machines and trays clattered and clanged, shoes squeaked as they ran down the hall. She was surrounded by people and felt utterly isolated.
Pictures and phrases danced chaotically through her mind. She didn’t really remember the ride here. Just the terror. Words. His voice.
. . . Anything and the Kinncaids will die . . .
Her hands shook as she slid the scrub uniform on.
“You can take a shower here, if you want.”
A shower. But what if someone came in while she was naked? What if someone saw her? It was a public place, what if he was here waiting for her. What if . . . No, the hotel. She’d lock the door and shower there. Hot, very, very hot. It was safe there.
Christian shook her head at the offer. She just wanted out of here. Away from all these people, their questions and the pitying looks.
Dr. Ripley continued, “If you’re going home, I’ll write you a prescription for the pain and another for a measured-dose inhaler. Though I’d rather you not take the Percocet, painkillers, for at least another four hours if you can handle the pain. You’ve got a nasty concussion and your tox levels are still not as clear as I’d like them to be. But I’ll send you enough to get you through the night. Get this prescription filled in the morning.” The sounds of scribbling filled Chris’s ears. “And to be on the safe side, have someone wake you up every hour or so.”
The rip of paper made her jump. She turned and took the prescription and little white bag Dr. Ripley held.
The doctor held a card out. “Here’s a group. We meet every two weeks. Survivors of sexual crimes. If you need someone to—”
“Thanks,” Christian cut her off, snatching the card. Taking a breath, she took small steps to the door and opened it. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet.
Gabe and Emma leaned against the wall. Geoffery and Drayson with them. Oh, God.
Emma Laurence had been in the room during part of the exam asking questions and taking notes until Dr. Ripley told her to leave. Or at least she thought so. It was hard to remember.
“Are you . . . how are you . . . Do you want to talk to us now?” Gabe asked her, not moving any closer.
She didn’t want him closer.
“Lieutenant, she needs to rest,” Dr. Ripley said, coming up behind her. “Chris, do you want me to call you a cab?”
Christian nodded.
“No, I’ll take her,” Gabe said.
Dr. Ripley looked at her for her decision.
She darted a look at Gabe, but didn’t hold it long enough; she didn’t want to see the look in his eyes. “I just want to go to the hotel,” she whispered.
“How ’bout Seneca?” he asked softly.
Seneca. Home. The Kinncaids. Oh, God.
Tears pricked her eyes, but Christian shook her head. Cleared her throat. “No. No, the hotel. I want a shower. I have to take a shower. And some clothes.”
A moment passed, noises shuffled around them, and she felt like she was part of some movie, invisible while the world moved slowly around her.
Finally, he answered, “Fine.”
His phone rang. Jerking it out, he walked away from them.
“Luv,” Drayson said, reaching out to her.
She backed away.
Someone cleared their throat. “Honey, if you need anything, anything at all, just give us a call, all right?” Geoffery asked.
All she could do was nod.
She heard them walk away.
Dr. Ripley placed a hand on her arm. “I need to know where to call. I’d really prefer you stay the night.”
She shook her head no.
“Okay, then I’ll ask you to come in, in a couple of days, but I’ll call you. Check on you tonight. All right? You should also follow up with your own gynecologist.”
Christian hated this place, words and sounds sharpened and droned on. “I—I don’t know where I’ll be. Probably the hotel.”
Dr. Ripley only raised a brow. “Don’t go through this alone.”
Alone . . . alone . . . alone . . .
She had to be. Just like before. He hurt her friends and those closest to her.
. . . Say anything and the Kinncaids will die . . . will die . . . will die . . .
Gabe walked up to them. “You ready?”
She jumped and nodded. He offered his jacket, but she didn’t take it.
Her bones felt brittle. If only she could get warm.
Dr. Ripley wrapped a blanket around her. “It’s cold outside.”
“Come on,” Detective Laurence said.
She followed them out the door and into the unforgiving, bitter cold.
• • •
Brayden slammed to a stop in front of the ER. Nausea rolled in his stomach.
He should have gotten here sooner. But the damn wreck on the interstate had traffic backed up for over an hour.
When they’d finally reached Christian’s condo it was to find the place swarming with cops, and all they’d been told was the resident of number nineteen was at Sibly Memorial. Some sort of attack.
What the hell had happened?
He ran through the double doors, hearing the faint swoosh behind him as they closed.
At the nurses’ station, he thumped the counter with his fist. “Christian Bills?”
The nurse looked at him and tapped some keys and shook her head. “No, sorry. I just came on about two minutes ago and she’s not listed.”
Brayden slowly counted to five. “Will you check again please? We were told she was here.”
“Brayden? Aiden? What are you doing here?”
Brayden turned and saw a doctor he’d met with his mother several times.
She smiled. “Dr. Ripley. You just missed Christian.”
“What happened?” he asked.
Her look darted away, then down at the chart she was holding. Ice skittered through him. Finally, they rose back to him. “You know I can’t discuss patients.”
“Is she okay?” She must be if she left. “You said ‘missed her.’ Where is she?”
Dr. Ripley sighed and motioned them to the side.
“Yes, she was here. I would have preferred she stay the night, but she refused.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Brayden snapped. Where was she? This was like before. Cops, hospitals and no one telling him a damn thing.
“Dr. Ripley,” Aiden said, “is there anything you can tell us?”
“I heard her mention the hotel. Detectives Morris and Laurence gave her a ride.”
Brayden barely heard the last of it; he was already hurrying to the door, dodging a gurney and the persons pushing it.
By the time they reached the car, Aiden was on his phone talking to Quinlan, who was still at the hotel overseeing the setup for a large convention.
“Quin, just keep your eyes open for them.” Pause. “I don’t know.” Pause again. He could hear Quinlan’s voice through the car. “We don’t know. Yeah, we’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Brayden felt sick. He should have stayed. He should have stayed. He knew it! Damn it!
He slapped the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.
Taking every shortcut he kn
ew, he raced through the traffic. Aiden never said a word, not that he would have noticed.
He had to get to Christian.
• • •
In the elevator, she braved, “Did you call him?”
One long moment passed before Gabe cleared his throat. “I tried to, he wasn’t there and I didn’t leave a message.”
Christian closed her eyes, relief trickling through the fear, yet she wished he were here. Part of her wished for the safety she felt with Brayden, even if it was only an illusion.
But even if he were here, she wouldn’t know what to say or do. She didn’t want him to see her like this. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this.
Weak, frail, beaten.
She was strong. She survived before, she would again.
She would again.
The doors slid open and she stepped out into the quiet, dimmed hallway. The plush rugs, laid out in the entry, swallowed her footfalls. At apartment 3B, she stopped. Her key. Her key was in her purse and . . .
“I picked this up at the condo. I figured you’d need it.” Detective Laurence held out her purse.
Christian reached for it, but stopped. The locket. The locket had been in her purse. He’d been in her purse.
She shook her head. “No. No. I don’t want it. I’ll call down and get another one.”
“I can get it,” Gabe volunteered.
“No!” she yelled. “He—he touched it. I don’t want it.” The shaking wouldn’t stop. She hurt, hurt all over. She just wanted inside, inside where it was safe. Away from him. With nothing he’d ever had his hands on.
“He was in your purse?” Laurence asked.
She nodded, reached up and felt the side of her neck, where the chain had bitten the flesh as he’d ripped it off.
“The locket.”
“What locket?” Gabe asked.
“The one—the one I called you about today.” She looked to the door in front of her. “He got it out, put it on me when—when—when . . .” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.