Solid Heart (Unseen Enemy Book 7)

by Marysol James

  “I know. It’s OK.”

  “I’d rather be here with you.”

  She laughed. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause hospital food is delicious, and hospitals are fun, fabulous places to hang out. I can totally see why you’d want to stay.”

  “I want to stay so I don’t have to walk more than five feet to kiss you. I’d be able to kiss you whenever I wanted, actually.”

  “You think so, huh?” She tipped her head back, stared up at his gorgeous face. “You think I’d just let you kiss me whenever the mood struck you?”

  “Yes.”

  She blinked, a bit startled at the undercurrent of mine under that single word.

  He took advantage of her momentary speechless state to lower his face to hers. He kissed her – just a lingering little touch on her sweet lips – and pulled away again.

  “See?” he murmured against her mouth. “Any time I want.”

  “You’re pretty confident in your charms, aren’t you?” she teased him.

  “Yep.”

  She laughed again, and he loved to hear it. He loosened his grip around her now, just a bit.

  “So you’re staying with Alexandra again tonight?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “OK. I’m working overnight, but I’ll drop by around six tonight, bring you some real food. Yeah?”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Mind?” Mark pushed her hair of her curved cheekbones, just drank in her lush beauty. “Nah, babe. I want to make sure you eat, and soggy cafeteria sandwiches don’t cut it for me. Any requests?”

  “Hmmm. Well, I love Chinese food, as you know, and I never got to finish my meal last night.”

  “OK, I’ll grab some for you. And that reminds me, sugar, give me your car keys.”

  “Why?” Francine said.

  “Because your car is still at Mei’s restaurant, and it’s gonna get towed soon. I’ll have someone from work drive me over there around six tonight, I’ll grab some of Mei’s famous spring rolls, and I’ll bring your car here so you can get yourself around, if you have to. Sounds good?”

  Touched, Francine gave him a brilliant smile. “It all sounds perfect.”

  “Except for the ‘bringing you food at the hospital’ part. I’d rather cook for you at my place.”

  “You cook?” she asked, wondering if the man could get any more amazing. “Like, really cook?”

  “Yep. One of my favorite ways to relax.” He traced the curve of her lips, simply unable to keep his hands off her for more than twenty seconds at a time. “You want to come over tomorrow night? I’ll cook for you.”

  “I’d love that.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She ran her hands up and down his strong forearms. “We can have our first date.”

  “Third date,” Mark said.

  Francine paused. “…Third?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Well,” Mark said. “Dinner at Mei’s last night was date number one, with coffee and dessert here at the hospital afterwards. We had a breakfast coffee date this morning, so that’s number two. Sadly, I won’t be able to eat with you tonight, since I’ll have to get to work, so dinner at my place tomorrow is number three, by my count.”

  She laughed once more, shaking her head. “Nope. Tomorrow is our first official, real date.”

  “Wrong, sugar.”

  “Right, handsome.”

  “OK, OK.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “We’ll just have to agree to disagree about this.”

  “I agree,” she said. “Let’s disagree.”

  “Fuck, Francine.” His voice was low, a bit stunned. “You’re so incredible. Where you been all my life, darlin’?”

  Francine looked up at him, taken aback at his intense, possessive words. Mark really wasn’t a commitment-phobe, was he? He didn’t play games, and he didn’t pull power plays, and he sure as hell didn’t hide what was on his mind.

  If he thought it, if he felt it, then he said it, he acted on it. This was a totally new experience for Francine, and she found it refreshing. It made her want to be open with him, too, to just speak what she felt and thought. So she did.

  “I’ve been waiting for someone like you,” she said quietly. “Waiting for you.”

  They stared at each other, eyes locked, holding hands. In this moment, the connection between them was so strong, it almost felt physical. Neither one understood how they could feel so much, so fast, for the other person. They just knew that they did.

  Understanding the ‘whys’ and ‘hows’ didn’t matter, really – accepting that they were at the beginning of something wonderful did matter, though. Reaching out, letting go, trusting each other… those things mattered. If they did that... well. Then they’d see where they ended up.

  “I’m here,” Mark said roughly. “I’m here, babe.”

  “I know.” Tears sprang to her eyes suddenly, surprising her. She quickly looked down and away, flustered and embarrassed.

  Mark had seen the glitter of tears, knew that they weren’t from sadness, or fear, or confusion. No, some tears were good tears, and that’s what these were. He didn’t say a word about them, though, didn’t call any attention to them. Instead, he lowered his lips to the top of her head, dropped a small kiss on her blonde hair. The sweetness of the gesture made her smile, and that was when he finally let her go.

  “I gotta get to work,” he said. “You grab your car keys for me, and I’ll see you tonight. I’ll be the one all loaded down with takeaway containers.”

  “Tonight,” Francine echoed. “Be careful at work, OK?”

  “Always, sugar. Always.”

  Chapter Five

  The next day

  Francine stared at herself in the hospital bathroom mirror, hoping that she looked OK. Two nights spent sleeping in a chair had definitely not done wonders for her appearance. She examined the purple circles under her blue eyes, eyed her wrecked nails, took in her wrinkled clothes.

  No, she was most certainly not a vision, and though she’d managed to beg a shower from a kind nurse and find basic toiletries in the gift shop downstairs, she didn’t look anything like her best. She sighed, and thought that at least she had clean teeth, and shampooed hair, and was wearing deodorant. Small mercies, bien sûr.

  She went back to Alexandra’s room, smiled at her as she sat semi-propped-up in bed. She was looking better already, and Francine knew that it was largely because of peace of mind. After all, for the first time in three years, Alexandra could close her eyes and not worry about being beaten awake, or raped in her sleep, or hit hard enough to knock her unconscious for hours at a time.

  Her physical injuries were still horrifying, but her mental and emotional states were better than they’d been in ages, and that calm was all over her. It relaxed her face, it loosened up her body, it freed her words. She and Francine had talked unceasingly for two full days, only stopping for Alexandra to get some rest.

  “Hey,” Alexandra said now. “You ready for your date?”

  “As ready as I can be,” Francine said. “At least I found a fruity body wash, so I smell OK. I’m not totally convinced that I’m a peaches-and-melon person, but what the heck. Beggars can’t be choosers, huh?”

  Alexandra smiled. “You look beautiful.”

  “You think?”

  “I do.” Alexandra stared at the other woman, glad that she was doing something for herself for once. “He’s a good man, Francine.”

  She blushed pale pink. “He is.”

  “Soooooo…” Alexandra sing-songed, teasing. “You gonna stay the night, or what?”

  Francine blushed hot pink. “Uh, no. I don’t sleep with guys on the first date.”

  “I thought it was your third date.”

  “Bah. So not.”

  “Bu
t – just out of curiosity – do you sleep with guys on the third date?”

  Francine’s blush now bordered on crimson. “Ummm… no.”

  “But sometimes?”

  “No.”

  “What about this third date?”

  “You mean this first date?” Francine countered.

  “Yeah, OK, whatever,” Alexandra said with a grin. “You’d better get going to your first date, doc. Don’t keep the man waiting.”

  Francine paused, suddenly worried about leaving Alexandra alone. “You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  “Seriously? You think I’m going to keep you away from that guy?” Alexandra shook her head. “No way. No goddamn way. Get your butt in to your car and over to his place, and if you come back here before nine a.m. tomorrow, I’ll be very, very unhappy, I promise you.”

  “But –”

  “Stop with the ‘buts’. I’m good. I’m happy for you. I want you to go, Francine. So go, OK?”

  Francine looked at her for a long moment before finally answering. “…OK.”

  “Thank you,” Alexandra huffed. “God, you’d think you were being dragged off to the dentist for a root canal or something, the way you’re putting off going.”

  Francine laughed. “Alright. Point taken. I’m going.”

  “Finally.”

  “Oh, by the way,” Francine said. “I just heard back from Olivia ten minutes ago. She’s set aside a bed for you at the safe house that I work at, and I’ll take you over when you’re released from the hospital in a few days. There’s an in-house medical clinic, and you’ll be able to fully recover from your cheekbone surgery there.”

  Alexandra went very still. “Really? I’m – I have a place at Liv’s?”

  “Yes. Now that Rick will be out on bail tomorrow, there’s no way you can go home. But we’ve got you, OK? You’ll have a guard at the door here, and the hospital staff have his photo. We’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

  “Oh, God.” Alexandra felt relief just crash over her. “Thank you. Thank you so much for getting me in to the safe house.”

  “Don’t thank me, Alexandra. Thank Liv – it was her call.”

  “I will. In person.”

  “You OK?”

  “Yes. Totally.” Alexandra gave her a smile. “Now… go. Go see Mark.”

  “Bossy,” Francine said. “So damn bossy.”

  “Uh-huh. And Francine?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Have fun.” Alexandra gave her an evil grin. “Lots of fun… like fourth-date kinda fun. And I’ll want all the dirty details tomorrow morning, doc.”

  Francine’s blush went straight to purple this time.

  **

  So,” Mark said as he stirred the sauce. “How did a French-Canadian girl end up in Denver?”

  “On an airplane,” she said brightly.

  “Smart ass,” he muttered. “You’re just lucky that it’s a cute ass, too.”

  Francine giggled. “OK, seriously… I moved here about five years ago from Montréal.”

  “For work?”

  “Yes, partly.” She hesitated, drank a bit of wine. “I’d had a – a very difficult case. It was… well. It was awful. After it all ended, I really wanted to get a fresh start, away from Québec. Even away from Canada.”

  Alert now, hearing something dark in her voice, Mark looked up. “What happened?”

  “Oh,” she said lightly, aiming for casual, failing pathetically. “Nothing to talk about, Mark, really. It was a long time ago, and none of it matters anymore, anyway.”

  Without a word, he put down the spoon, turned down the heat under the pan, strode across the kitchen to her. She was sitting at the island on a stool, and she gasped at how fast he moved towards her. Instinctively, she leaned back and away, but Mark wasn’t having any of that.

  He stood right in front of her, huge and intimidating. “What. Happened?”

  “I –” She gulped at the anger on his face. “I don’t –”

  “Why won’t you talk to me about it? Was it that bad?” His mind was racing, full of awful images. “Did you get hurt?”

  “Mark –”

  “What?”

  She paused, peered up at him. “I just – I don’t talk about it. Not with anyone.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because… because it was awful. Not just for me, Mark. For everyone involved.” Her voice was gaining strength now. “And I can’t talk about it in any detail, to be honest, since two of the other people involved are now in a witness protection program. I signed about a thousand papers saying that I wouldn’t talk about it.”

  “You gotta tell me something, babe. I’m worried about you now.”

  “Why?” She tried to smile. “I’m here, Mark, and I’m fine. You can see that for yourself. Nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m worried because, as you know damn good and well, physical stuff ain’t the whole story. People can recover physically in a week, but not be at all healthy in their heads. They can be haunted and paralyzed by memories and trauma… they can have flashbacks and panic attacks for years after whatever happened.” He stared down at her, gentled his tone. “You know this, Francine. You’ve made a career out of helping people with the real healing, all the stuff that has to be taken care of after the bruises and breaks have disappeared. I’m worried that you’re carrying something around, and I don’t want to accidentally bump up against it and scare you. I never want to scare you.”

  Francine looked away. Yeah, Mark was right to ask, to demand clarification. Of course he was.

  “OK. I’m sorry.” She sighed. “Back in Canada, I had a client with a very abusive, dangerous husband. I helped her and her daughter escape in the middle of the night, and I helped them hide. He figured out that I was involved, and he… he came for me.”

  “What?” Mark wanted to shout the word, but by some superhuman effort, he managed to keep his voice level. “He came for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “He hurt you?” Mark stared down at her, trying hard to not see that beautiful face all bloody and broken. “He fucking touched you?”

  “No.” She heard the shakiness in that word, cleared her throat. “No. He… he got in to my house, but I had a panic room installed in the back of my closet. I managed to get to it, deadbolt the solid-core door, call the police. He was pounding and kicking at the door, but he never got his hands on me.”

  “Thank Christ.” Mark touched her now, caressed her soft skin. “So why don’t you talk about it, sugar? It scared you that bad when he broke in?”

  “Oh, it scared me, alright,” she said. “But that wasn’t the really awful part.”

  “So what was?”

  She went quiet for a few seconds, and he just waited. Finally, she sighed.

  “After. After was bad.” She traced a pattern on the island with her fingertip. “The court case, the testifying, the back-and-forth, and the legal arguments. Everything came down to me, in the end, to my testimony.”

  “Why you?” Mark was baffled. “Why not your client? His wife?”

  “Because her lawyer didn’t want her up on the stand.”

  “How come?”

  “Because her husband was a lawyer, and he was representing himself,” Francine said. “My client could barely tolerate being in the same room as the man, and the thought that he’d be right there, in her face, questioning her about the abuse that he’d inflicted on her?” She shook her head. “No. No, she wasn’t anywhere near strong enough for that. So I was the key witness for the prosecution – and he made it his obsession and personal mission to take me down. Discredit me, attack me, scare me. And he did one hell of a job of it, I can tell you.”

  Mark clenched his hands. “He abused you in open court?”

  “Pretty much. He stayed well within his legal bou
ndaries, but he came at me hard.” She bit her lip. “He – he enjoyed the verbal sparring with me. He found it – stimulating.”

  Mark stiffened. “In what way?”

  “Sexually.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “He… well. He fell in love with me while he had me up on that stand, in whatever twisted way that he thinks about love. He loved having me sitting there, at his mercy, having to answer his questions. If I showed any spirit or spark, he went about methodically breaking me down. If I stayed cool, he tried to provoke me. He thought of it as… as foreplay.” She looked at Mark. “It went on for five days like that.”

  “Five –” Mark shut his eyes. “Fuck, babe. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” she said. “I’d do it again, since it meant that he was found guilty of the attempted murder of his wife and child, and was sent away for eight years. They got new identities, went in to hiding. It was worth it, Mark. I don’t regret one second of it.”

  “You know where they are? His ex-wife and kid?”

  “Not a clue. I said goodbye in a private room at the courthouse, and that was the end. Where they went from there, where and who they are now, I don’t know.”

  “And him? Still in jail?”

  “I assume so.”

  “Would they inform you if he was released?”

  “Yes. They said they would.”

  “Thank God.” He opened his arms to her now, and she just leaned in. “I’m sorry I was so fucking pushy, sugar. I was just worried that something had happened to you.”

  “No.” She spoke softly. “Nothing happened to me, Mark. Not the way you’re thinking.”

  “OK.” He took a deep breath. “OK. Tell me the rest.”

  Francine closed her eyes, held on to him. “After it was all over, I needed a fresh start, away from all the media coverage and press. He’d been a very well-known person in numerous prestigious Montréal legal circles, and the waves were huge around me. Huge enough to drown me, I swear. I got hate mail, I was stalked, I was sent flowers and thank-you notes. I was called a lying bitch, and I was called an angel, and I was called a voice for the helpless. I was hated, and lauded. I had endless invitations from TV and radio to talk about the case, and domestic violence in general. It was – it was all too much. You know?”