The bastard wasn't dead, but Jordan bent down and checked his pulse, just in case. No, just unconscious. As he straightened, every muscle in his body protested. With one last contemptuous look at the man on the floor, Jordan grabbed his clothes and headed toward the door, wincing with every painful step.
“Wait.”
Jordan stopped in midstride, somewhat surprised the man had regained consciousness. “What?” he mocked.
“You ready for another beating? I doubt you'll survive the next one.”
McCall rose to his knees, swaying. Swollen eyes blinked heavily, as if having problems focusing. “The cabinet over in the corner … There's a file in it. You wanted the truth about Devon Winters … then take it.”
Jordan eyed him warily. Now what was the catch?
“You'll find this file to be less of a fairy-tale version. More along the lines of a horror movie, as opposed to what I'm assuming was the G-rated version Eden so kindly gave you.”
Like he was going to believe anything Noah McCall ever told him again. Jordan shook his head but went over to the filing cabinet anyway. He pulled it open to find it full of files. Since he didn't care about any of the others, he quickly located Eden St. Claire's.
This one was much thicker than the one Eden had given him, somewhat battered-looking. As if it could actually be authentic. Anticipation lightened the darkness burning inside him. Maybe the bastard was actually telling the truth this time. Not that it mattered. Nothing or no one could ever justify the lies he'd been told.
File in hand, he trudged out of Noah's office. He'd go home and take a shower, grab a large glass of scotch, and read the truth at last.
After he did, he would have no real plans other than to never see Devon/Eden again. Once he found out the entire truth, he could finally put all of this in the past where it belonged.
In a distant place in her mind, Eden heard groaning and then small, soft sobs. This person, whoever it was, was in pain. Why didn't someone help them? Couldn't anyone else hear the sounds?
With Herculean effort, Eden blinked her rock-heavy eyelids open. She needed to help, had to get to them. Not until she was completely awake did she realize the sounds came from her.
She blinked. Her lids had to weigh ten pounds apiece. Why did she feel as though someone had stuffed her head with cotton? Her mouth felt as if she'd been chewing sand and her throat hurt as if she'd swallowed glass. She twisted to sit up and bit back another groan. The rest of her just felt like shit.
Forcing herself to move, Eden shuffled to the bathroom. Before she did anything else, she had to get something to drink. Why was she so thirsty?
A scene from last night flashed in her mind. She'd worked out for hours, sweated profusely, and then Jordan appeared. He'd tied her up and denied her water.
She gulped down three glasses before she felt the slightest relief. Other needs taken care of, Eden shuffled back to her bedroom. Uncertainty stopped her in the middle of the room. What was she supposed to do now? For almost seven years, she'd had purpose … a reason to exist. Now, after last night, she wasn't sure that reason was even valid anymore.
Jordan had discovered the truth, in the worst way possible. He'd figured it out for himself instead of her being courageous enough to give it to him … the way he deserved.
Silly, weak tears flooded her scratchy eyes and she battled them back. No, her crying days were over. She didn't deserve the relief of tears. Besides, tears were for others, not for people like her. When you've walked through fire and come out singed but alive, tears are a way of going backward. The last few weeks she'd allowed herself to go backward, but no longer.
With little thought, Eden dressed in a warm sweater and jeans. She didn't bother with makeup and took care of her hair by pulling it back into a ponytail. Before she left her bedroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror and blinked in surprised horror.
Devon Winters stood before her. Yes, there were still differences to her facial structure, but Devon was there, too. It was the first time in years Eden had seen the young girl she'd tried so hard to forget. Why now? And then it hit her. It wasn't the reconstruction from the dozens of surgeries that changed Devon into Eden, it had been the “I can survive anything” attitude Eden had adopted. Now that lost, little girl was back. Those clear gray eyes she'd taken such pains to disguise stared at her with bewilderment and sorrow. She looked like the broken spirit she'd once been.
At that thought, a transformation took place before her eyes, as if someone touched her with a magical wand. Eden St. Claire had overcome too much, suffered untold pain and trauma, and, dammit, done too much good in her life to allow herself to become broken again.
Yes, she'd lost the man she loved, and yes, she had made some major mistakes, but she refused—refused—to allow it to overwhelm what she had accomplished.
For the first time in a very long time, Eden gave herself a break.
Feeling more in control and much more like herself, she headed to the kitchen. It had been more than twenty-four hours since she had eaten. Not being hungry was no excuse for not taking care of herself.
She'd just poured herself a fortifying cup of coffee and was about to begin breakfast when her doorbell rang. Refusing to consider for a second that it might actually be Jordan allowing her one more chance to make it right, Eden pulled the door open wide and could only stare in surprise at the face she'd never thought to see again.
“Hello, darling. Did you miss me?”
Trauma from the last few days slowed her reaction time.
She threw a hand out to ward him off. Before she made contact, a small cylinder pressed against her neck. Her muscles locked up and then collapsed. Eden felt herself falling to the floor. Her last conscious thought was the ridiculous wondering of how she'd ever thought this man was attractive or harmless.
twenty-three
Grim, dark silence hung in the air. Jordan's heart … soul … his very being ached. A half-empty glass of scotch sat on the table beside him, a taunting reminder that he'd fully intended to get good and drunk and then read Devon's file. He'd taken one sip, opened the file, and plunged into hell.
Now, as dawn made a wide sweep of soft light across his living room, Jordan's sleep-deprived eyes stared at the document as if it were loaded with poisonous snakes.
Snatches of doctor's reports slithered their way into his mind.
Patient's Name: Jane Doe
Injuries: Severe concussion. Deep facial lacerations, both jaws and nose broken, left wrist fractured, left ankle fractured, cracked pelvis. Vaginal and anal bleeding and bruising indicate repetitive and brutal rapes.
Facial lacerations will require extensive reconstructive surgery.
Suffering from exposure and blood loss.
No identification or distinguishing marks found other than small tattoo of hummingbird on victim's right shoulder.
According to the report, she'd been found the night of April 6 in an alley two blocks from his house. It had to have happened right after she ran out his door. After he'd hurled those vile, hideous things at her, she'd plummeted into an even more horrific nightmare. She hadn't just been attacked, she'd been brutally beaten and sexually violated for hours … tortured.
How she must have hated him. If he'd listened to her, let her stay and explain. If he'd just called a cab, none of this would have happened.
No wonder she hadn't told him the truth. He was only surprised she hadn't shot him the moment she saw him. She'd spent seven years trying to forget everything that happened and he'd waltzed in and put her life in turmoil all over again.
He couldn't blame her for her deceit and manipulations. She played him for the fool and he could only wonder why she hadn't tried to destroy him completely. It was no less than he deserved.
Elbows propped on the table, he rubbed his hands over his face. Last night … the way he'd treated her … the things he'd said. It was seven years ago, all over again, but so much worse. Jordan shook his head,
quite sure there could be no forgiveness from her. But he had to see her anyway.
He pulled himself to his feet, the pain from his fight with Noah a dull throb compared to the pain in his heart. She wouldn't want to see him. Probably even figured he was on his way back to the States.
Well, he wouldn't take no for an answer. He thoroughly intended to do some major groveling. Olympic-style begging, if necessary. And he still had some questions. He didn't want to hurt her any further, but he had to know everything. It was time—way past time—for all of it to come out in the open.
He headed toward his bedroom, figuring a shower would clear his mind somewhat. Then he'd go to Eden. Unless she'd changed the locks this morning, he still had a key. If she refused to see him, he'd get in and wouldn't leave until they'd both had their say.
A knock on the door stopped him. Jordan stalked to the door, hope rising that somehow Eden had come here to kick his ass. If so, he'd gladly bend over and let her have at him.
He pulled the door open and then immediately tried to slam it shut. Noah's big hand stopped the forward progress.
“I know you don't want to see me, and buddy, let me promise you, I couldn't care less about seeing you again. However, I figure you still have questions and there're only two people who know the answers. I won't have you going back to Eden and destroying her any more than you already have.”
Jordan had been ready to blast him back to the bowels of hell, but his words took the wind right out of him. Wasn't that exactly what he'd done? Seven years ago, and then again last night?
Jordan turned around and slumped into the chair he'd just left. He indicated with a wave for Noah to sit, too.
Noah wrinkled his nose at the booze on the table. “What'd you do, drown your sorrows?”
“I intended to, but got distracted.”
Noah nodded with solemn understanding. The bruises on his face stood in stark relief to the pale green pallor of his complexion. “I tried to do the same. Unfortunately, I never could stand the stuff. Ended up puking my guts up.”
“Want some coffee?”
“No. I just want to get this over with so I can go see Eden and clear my conscience. She'll be furious I told you, but all of this has gone too far. You deserve to know and God knows Eden doesn't need to relive it … what she remembers of it, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
Noah gave a slight shrug and then grimaced as if the movement cost him. “Just that … she remembers very little of the attack. A blessing really.”
“How much of it?”
“Oh, she remembers the pain … the fear. Said she remembers brief glimpses, but not the entire event. Good for her, because at least she was spared that. Bad for the police because the punks could never be identified.”
“Why weren't Devon's mother and stepfather notified? I know she was found without identification, but when they reported her missing, Devon would've still been in the hospital. Surely a connection could be—” Jordan jerked at the odd look on Noah's face. “What?”
Noah snorted a small laugh and shook his head. “Devon's mother was contacted. She came to the hospital, took one look at Devon, and denied it was her daughter.”
Jordan shot from his chair. “No way … no fucking way!”
“Afraid so. Gave the police all sorts of reasons why this woman couldn't be Devon. She was too short, too thin, wrong color hair, and of course, Devon would never have something as common as a tattoo.”
He couldn't believe a mother, even one as vile as Alise, could deny her daughter when she was in such need. “Maybe she really didn't think it was Devon. The tattoo was on her shoulder. Maybe Alise had never seen it.”
“I can't believe you're making excuses for her.”
“I'm not making excuses for the bitch. I just can't believe that even the monster I know her to be could do that to her own daughter.”
“Well, believe it, because a few months later, Devon called Alise.”
Jordan was still standing from his reaction to the previous bombshell. At this news, he dropped back into his seat, once again in disbelief.
“The police … they never said …”
“The police didn't know. Took a lot of courage for her to do it, but she called Alise and told her what happened. She didn't know then and still doesn't that Alise already knew about it and denied her daughter while she was still unconscious.”
“What did Alise say?”
“Pretty much what you'd expect from the spawn of Satan. ‘You brought these troubles on yourself… You live with the consequences.’ Then she hung up on her.”
“Bitch.”
“Can't argue with that.” Noah rubbed his hand across his face and then winced. “By that time, a lot of Devon's major injuries were healed, but she was still going to need months of medical care and counseling.”
“Did she … why didn't she …?” His dry mouth grew even drier. “Did she try to contact me?”
Noah's smile was gentle, almost pitying. “Did you really expect her to?”
He hadn't expected her to, but he'd had to ask. “So how did you get involved? Did you even know Devon?”
“No, but LCR has far-reaching contacts. When Devon began to recover, one of the doctors discovered her gift for languages. This particular doctor kept an eye out for cases such as hers. People LCR could help and then, at some point, train them to work for us.
“I first met Devon about a week after her attack, just briefly. She was still heavily sedated, but I wanted to make a contact … see what she was up against, physically and emotionally. After that, I met with her a couple of hours each day.”
“Did you tell her who you were, what you wanted?”
“Not at first. I posed as a staff psychologist.”
“And you got away with that?”
Noah shrugged, as if impersonating a doctor was a commonplace, ordinary activity. “As I said, I have some contacts. Anyway, after a few visits, I began to see her potential. But it was going to have to be up to her to decide. She was in for a hell of a rough road, but I could tell she was a fighter.
“After she was released from the hospital, one of the nurses was kind enough to invite her to stay with her, but she needed extensive plastic surgery, as well as ongoing physical therapy.”
“Because of her ankle?”
“Ankles, pelvis, wrist … She even had a dislocated shoulder, though the doctors thought that was inconsistent with her injuries and suspected it didn't happen during the attack.”
A memory flashed through him of seven years earlier. Devon's small hiss of pain when he grabbed her arm, the stiff way she held herself when she'd walked into his study … her request for aspirin. She'd been hurt before and he'd been so focused on himself, he hadn't seen it.
Jordan hadn't thought he could feel any worse than he already did; he'd been wrong. He didn't know how she'd been injured, but could only guess how that injury might have facilitated what happened later. Would she have been able to fight off her attackers if she hadn't been hurt?
“Jordan … You still with me?”
Shaking his head to clear it, Jordan answered with another question. “So when did you tell her who you were?”
Noah's eyes had a faraway, shadowed look for a second, then a small smile kicked up his lips. “About a month after we met. Gotta tell you, seeing the fire in her eyes when she realized I'd lied to her did me good. She was one pissed woman. But then, when I told her what I did, what LCR was all about …” His voice filled with admiration. “When I first met her, I'd never met anyone more broken. Then, getting to know her, I realized how courageous she really was and what she could bring to LCR. When I told her I wanted her to come work for me, I saw excitement and hope, but also despair.”
Though Jordan figured he knew, he had to ask, “Why despair?”
“She was so scarred … about as bad as I'd ever seen.
But I talked to the doctors. As young as she was, they had great hope that with extensive sur
gery, she could be put back together.
“I brought her here to Paris and flew the best plastic surgeons in to assess her. We interviewed them and then Eden—Devon chose the one she felt the most comfortable with. I think the surgeon and his team looked at her as a challenge. Thank God they met that challenge and then some.
“In between surgeries and recovery, we trained. She was fluent in six languages already and had a good start on self-defense training. She was a perfect fit for LCR. She just needed extra training and some focus.”
The more Jordan learned, the greater his realization that Eden St. Claire was perhaps the most admirable person he'd ever met. How many people who had gone through the trauma she endured could not only overcome that trauma but risk their life and perhaps their sanity to help others? Jordan had never believed in heroes as much as he believed in ordinary humans who sometimes performed extraordinary deeds. There was nothing remotely ordinary about Eden St. Claire.
A haunting memory of her last words to him seven years before flashed in his mind. She told him she wished she could have been his hero. And now that wish had come true, but he was no longer her hero. Hell, she probably hated him beyond anything he could imagine.
A thought pounded on him, information Eden shared with him when they'd first become lovers. It was either ask Noah now and get it out of the way or find out from her later on. Right now, the most important thing was to get all the information he could. Then he'd find a way to deal with her pain.
“Eden told me she can't have children.”
Noah raised a brow, but answered quietly, “The dam-age to her female organs from the rapes was too severe. She had to have a hysterectomy.”
Jordan nodded as sadness pervaded his entire being. What this woman had gone through because of one small lie was a travesty, and what he had done to her was criminal.
Noah interrupted his tortured thoughts. “Something's been bothering me. I would have asked Eden last night, but she was in no condition to talk.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean, Jordan? I don't know what you said to her but …” He shook his head. “You'll just have to go over there and see for yourself. But what I don't understand is, why were you leading her on in the first place?”
Rescue Me: A Novel Page 29