by J. E. Taylor
“Did he rape you?” the officer asked.
Jennifer nodded, staring at the floor.
The officer picked up his walkie-talkie and requested an ambulance.
“I can take her to the hospital,” Steve answered.
The officer shook his head. “I would rather have the ambulance take her.”
Steve looked at the badge on his uniform. “Officer Andrews, I’m perfectly capable of taking my girlfriend to the hospital.”
“We would much prefer to have her taken by ambulance, Mr. Winchester.”
Steve swung toward the familiar voice.
“We’ll take it from here,” Jack said to Officer Andrews as the FBI converged on the apartment.
“What did he do to you?” Steve asked after the officer returned his gun.
“What he did to all his victims,” she answered. She raised her eyes to meet Steve’s.
Steve inhaled, biting the inside of his lip to keep from letting the emotion get the best of him. He hung his head, closing his eyes. The shakes gripped him and he stepped back. Reaching for a kitchen chair, he slid into it before his legs gave out under him. Fury filled every cell, every fiber, every thought, causing a red veil to shroud his vision and his hands to clench so tightly his nails dug into his flesh.
Son of a bitch is dead.
Jennifer wrapped her arms around her chest and started to cry again. “He said he wasn’t done with me.”
Steve stood, pushed his anger aside, and crossed, taking her in his arms, holding her and whispering, “It’s all right now, babe. He isn’t going to get the chance to hurt you again.” He turned his gaze to Jack, meeting his boss’s stare.
The medics arrived and Jack gave instructions for a full rape work-up on Jennifer, while Steve held her and stroked her hair.
“You have to fix the door,” she whispered, her eyes trained on the splintered wood hanging from a solitary hinge.
“Don’t worry about that right now.”
She pulled away meeting his gaze. “I don’t want him to be able to get in next time.”
Her entire frame shook in his arms and he nodded. “I’ll fix it later, I promise.”
Her chin shook and she buried her face in his shirt, stifling the sob that ripped from her chest.
“Mr. Winchester, may I have a word with you?” Jack said before Steve could follow Jennifer out of the apartment with the attendant.
He hesitated and met Jennifer’s gaze.
“It’s okay. You can meet me at the hospital after you fix the door.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“I’ll be there as soon as I finish.” Steve waited until she stepped on the elevator with the ambulance attendant before he turned back to the ruined door and his boss standing in the apartment. He knew her fixation with the door was a byproduct of shock, of feeling helpless, of needing something to cling to beyond what had happened to her. His stint at Yale taught him the bizarre things rape victims latch onto after being violated and even though he wanted to be with her, he knew the first thing to setting her mind at ease started with fixing the damn door.
Jack turned his attention to Steve after most of the personnel left.
Steve’s cell phone rang and he put his hand up, stopping Jack before he could speak. “Hi Charlie,” he answered.
“Linda said you bolted out of here like the place was on fire. Everything okay?”
“No, everything is not okay. Jennifer was attacked at the apartment this morning.”
“Jesus. Is she all right?”
“She’s pretty banged up but she’s alive. I have to get to the hospital. I’ll be in later.”
“Take the day off,” Charlie said.
“Thanks man, I appreciate it.” Steve flipped the phone closed. He stared at the front door now, propped next to the gaping doorway. The hinges bent and twisted and the wood splintered from his entry.
“Sit your ass down,” Jack ordered, pointing at the kitchen chair after the last of the forensic team left the apartment.
“What the fuck are you pissed about?” Steve snapped, ignoring the order. He grabbed a toolbox from the closet and dropped it by the door, pulling out a screwdriver before he looked at his boss. “Well?”
“You may well have blown your cover.” He folded his arms, glaring at his young protégé.
“I don’t give a shit. A regular 911 call wouldn’t have dispatched as quickly as a call for back up.” Steve jammed the screwdriver in and torqued it, loosening the screw until he could remove it with his fingertips. He pulled the first damaged hinge off the door, looking at the heavy metal in his hand before pitching it with all his might. It smashed the lamp on the nightstand.
“She’ll be all right,” Jack said and took a seat at the kitchen table.
Steve glanced over his shoulder. “If she had listened to me, none of this would have happened. I wanted her to go home until this case wrapped up. But no, she insisted.” He chucked the next hinge with the same bravado as the first, letting the anger burn away any hint of fear in his heart. The third hinge embedded in the drywall between the bed and the bathroom and Steve stared at it. “If I had made her go, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Steve, this isn’t your fault.”
He spun toward Jack, his jaw tight and his eyes narrow. “If…”
Jack cut him off. “Cut the shit, Steve. You can’t be with her every hour of every day. This had nothing to do with your current assignment, so get over it and get your shit together.”
Steve stared at his boss, dropping the screwdriver into his toolbox. “I need to go get a deadbolt and some hinges. Do you mind staying until I get back, seeing as I no longer have a front door?” He waved at the wood leaning against the wall.
Jack inhaled sharply. “Sure.”
The trip to the hardware store only worsened his mood and he slammed the bag on the desk, stripping his jacket and flinging it across the room. He wanted to be with Jennifer, not here fixing the fucking door.
Jack sat at the kitchen table with his eyebrows raised and a cup of coffee steaming in front of him.
“Are you going to help me?” Steve asked, peeling the first hinge out of the package.
Jack sighed. “Jennifer called.”
Steve stopped and looked back at his boss. “And?”
“We talked. I’m sending a sketch artist over to the hospital along with a psychologist.”
The air went out of Steve’s chest and he gave a nod, returning his focus to the door.
“I suggest you speak with the psychologist too.”
Steve shot a glare back at his boss. “I don’t think so.” He returned his attention to fixing the door, screwing the hinges on. “Can you give me a hand with this?”
Jack crossed and held the door in place while Steve attached the hinges to the wall.
“I’ll get the deadbolt later.” Steve closed the door, leaning his forehead on it after it closed snug. He dropped the screwdriver on the floor. Curling his hand into a fist, he drew back and hit the door with everything he had, the guttural roar filling the apartment. He punched again, and again, and again, the rage growing with each brutal blow.
Jack grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Easy!”
He almost threw a punch at Jack, but stopped with his arm back. “I’m going to kill him!”
Jack let go of his forearm. “Easy.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Steve whispered, tears making tracks down his face. He dropped his arms, blood dripped from the knuckles of his right hand. He leaned his back against the door, fighting for control. His eyes planted on a single spot in the ceiling.
“You…”
“I’m fine Jack.” Steve shot his gaze to his boss, wiping his face on his sleeve. “I’m just pissed off. Rip shitting, ballistically, pissed off.”
“Rip shitting, ballistically, pissed?” Jack couldn’t help it; he chuckled and stepped away. “Is that a new technical term?”
> Steve cracked a small smile. He glanced at his bloody knuckles. “This hurts like a bitch.” He couldn’t flex his hand without pain shooting up his arm. “I think I broke it.”
Jack looked at the mangled mess. “I’m sure you broke it. Let’s get you to the hospital.”
Steve nodded, digging his car keys out of his pocket and handing them to Jack. He swept his coat off the floor and headed out of the apartment.
Chapter 27
Jennifer sat wrapped in a blanket, humiliated from the rape exam. Pictures had been taken of the damage to her face, ribs as well as the various bruises on her thighs, knees and elbows. She could have dealt with that, but the pictures of the entry wounds, the bleeding from her anal passage, were as demeaning as the rape itself.
All she wanted was Steve, but he hadn’t arrived yet.
She hopped off the exam table and picked up her pocket book, rifling through it. The cell phone wasn’t there and her breath hitched in her chest. It was probably still in the apartment on the floor somewhere.
“Excuse me,” she said to the officer guarding the door. “Do you have a cell phone I can use?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He reached into his pocket and produced the phone, handing it over to her with a nod.
“Thank you.” She retreated into the room and dialed the apartment.
“Hello?”
Jennifer looked at the phone. It was her number, but the voice wasn’t familiar. “Is Steve there?”
“Jennifer?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Jack. Steve went to get hinges and a deadbolt for the door.”
She pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes closed to keep the tears from leaking out. Steve was doing exactly what she asked him to do and that solidified the lump in her throat. When she was sure she had control, she whispered, “Okay.”
“Do you want to talk about what happened?”
Jennifer debated. This was the man who witnessed the destruction in Brooksfield as well as the best man at their wedding. She closed her eyes, inhaling and letting the emotions coiled up inside flow along with a fresh set of tears. “Jack, I was so scared,” she began. “I kept imagining Steve’s face when he found me dead like all the other women that bastard killed. That’s what kept me fighting.” Her voice hitched and she clamped her lips closed on the sob. Swallowing, she reigned in her emotions. “I couldn’t let him find me like that. I got lucky and got to the phone before he knocked it out of my hand.”
Jack’s breathing filled the line as he listened to the story.
“All I can say is thank god for karate. I got a couple of good licks in myself so the bastard’s sporting some serious bruises too.”
“Do you think you can give our sketch artist a description?”
“Yeah,” she answered quietly. “I can do that.”
“And I’m also going to send over someone you can talk to, all right?”
“I just want Steve.”
“I’ll bring him as soon as he gets back.”
“Thank you, Jack.”
“No problem, kiddo. We’ll catch the bastard.”
Hanging up, she wiped her face and brought the phone back to the officer. “Thank you.”
“No problem, ma’am.” He flashed his white teeth at her and nodded.
She climbed back on the hospital bed and wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders, curling up and shivering from more than just the chill in the air. When he had the death grip on her throat, raping her on the floor, she thought that was it. That was how her life was going to end. No matter how hard she fought, she wasn’t going to win the battle.
The sound of the sirens had been distant, detached. Even his threat seemed fuzzy. But Steve knocking the door down was crystal clear. His wild-eyed expression coupled with the blotchy color in his face burned into her memory. He shook just as much as she did when he wrapped his arms around her, although she didn’t think he was aware of it at all.
Jennifer closed her eyes, letting the drugs pull her into the darkness.
Chapter 28
The halls echoed with footfalls, as Charlie’s shiny Bruno Magli wingtip shoes clicked on the hard tile. With a bouquet of flowers in his hand, he approached the desk. “Can you tell me where I can find Jennifer Curtis?”
The nurse glanced up at him, taking in his finely tailored charcoal grey Armani suit and the flowers in his hand. She raised her arm pointing down the hallway. “The room with the policeman stationed outside.”
Charlie nodded and headed that way, wondering why there were police outside the door. The officer stood, facing him as he approached.
“I’m a friend of the family,” he said as he approached. “Is Jennifer okay?”
The officer gave him the once over and stepped aside.
He knocked lightly on the door and slipped inside without waiting for a response. Steve wasn’t there and Jennifer was sleeping in the bed. The blanket had shifted, giving him a view of her milky thighs. He licked his lips and reached out to touch her skin, stopping at the last second. His fingers hovered over her flesh, feeling the warmth radiating off her, and he pulled back, admonishing himself. Charlie took a step back and glanced at her bruised face as he cleared his throat.
* * * *
“Steve?” Jennifer’s eyes fluttered at the sound in the room. When they cleared, she shot up to a sitting position, pulling the blanket around her. Her eyes pulsed in their sockets and she stared at Charlie Wisnowski clad in a charcoal grey Armani suit, carrying a bouquet of flowers.
“I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said. “Steve told me you were here.” He offered a shrug and placed the flowers on the end of the bed. “Where is he?”
Her gaze darted between the door, the flowers, and the man in the finely tailored suit. Where the hell was Steve anyway? “He had to fix the door.”
“Are you okay?”
She wasn’t about to get into anything with him, so she nodded. His eyes scanned her and she shifted on the bed, straightening and tightening the sheets around her waist, trying to hide her discomfort. His eyes slid by her left hand and snapped back to the diamond ring adorning her finger. Oh, shit.
His brow creased and he pointed at her left hand. “Did I miss something?”
Jennifer looked at the diamond. “Steve asked me to marry him this weekend.” Charlie’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth slightly dropped. The shock of the statement settled in and he recovered his smooth demeanor before her eyes.
“That’s fantastic.”
“Why did you come here?”
“I just…” He stumbled over his answer, pointing at the flowers. “I was worried,” he finally sputtered. “Steve didn’t sound okay on the phone.”
The way his eyes kept surveying her body and darting back to her face reminded her of the way the fraternity boys had looked at a few days before they kidnapped and raped her. She shifted, pulling the blanket tighter and her gaze dropped to his hands. A fraction of relief washed over her at the sight of his smooth and unscathed skin.
A knock on the door interrupted them. “Excuse me?” A woman poked her head through the door. “Ms. Curtis?”
Jennifer nodded.
“Do you mind if we come in?” She looked between Charlie and Jennifer.
“Please,” she said.
The woman entered and took a seat, pulling out a sketchpad and pencil. She cast a glance in Charlie’s direction.
Jack stepped in the room behind the sketch artist, his eyes flying between Charlie and Jennifer. His neutral expression belied his surprise at meeting his target face-to-face. He nodded toward Jennifer. “Ms. Curtis, I see you have company, so I’ll come back at a more convenient time.”
“This is Mr. Wisnowski, my fiancé’s boss. He came to see how we were doing,” she said. “Charlie, this is Special Agent Murphy with the FBI.”
“FBI?” He shot her a questioning stare.
Nodding, her hand fluttered to her face. “Apparently, the man who attacked me
has done this before.” She swallowed and looked at Jack. “Where’s my fiancé?”
He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “He’s in the emergency room having his wrist looked at.” Extending his hand to Charlie, he said, “Pleased to meet you Mr. Wisnowski.”
Charlie returned the handshake. “Likewise.” He glanced back at Jennifer. “I’ll go see if I can find Steve,” he said and slipped out of the room.
Jennifer waited a moment before she turned her gaze to Jack. “What did Steve do to his hand?”
“He had it out with your front door.” He glanced at the sketch artist. “This is Special Agent Mary Stewart”
She extended her hand to Jennifer. “I am sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” Her half-smile and slight tilt of her head brought home the reason they were there. “Now, can you describe any facial features of the man who attacked you?”
Chapter 29
Steve sat in a chair holding his torn-up hand, watching the news on the television set. Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked toward the waiting room doorway. Charlie stood leaning on the frame with his arms crossed.
His eyes widened and his jaw loosened, the surprise registering for an instant before he snapped his mouth shut.
Charlie slid into the seat next to him. “The FBI?”
He nodded.
“What the fuck?”
“Serial killer,” he answered. With a stoic expression, he swiveled his gaze from the television to Charlie. “She’s lucky to be alive.”
“Jesus.” He took a closer look at Steve’s hand and pointed toward it with a silent question.
“I had a meltdown and beat the shit out of the door.”
“Did they catch him?”
He shook his head. “No. Why are you here?”
“I stopped in to check on you.”
Crock of shit! Steve threw a glare in Charlie’s direction. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to rat you out.”
“I never doubted that for a second.”