by Cait London
Nick had driven into town to collect Scout, and when she was seated beside him, Maggie had leaned into the window, lightly kissing his cheek. She was riding on excitement, and when he turned slightly, the kiss lingered and tasted, and hungered. Impetuously, she’d reached into the pickup cab and held his head as they kissed, each seeking the other, satisfied for the moment. “Thanks,” she’d said.
“Come in here, and we’ll go for a ride,” he’d invited when he could talk, because Maggie’s quiet reserve had slipped for once, allowing him into the woman.
She’d laughed knowingly and playfully ruffled his hair. “You want more than to take a ride.”
“Some other time?” he offered, steaming and feeling quite rosy himself. But she had run into Ole’s, waving back at him. That slight jiggle of her butt had left him with the hard knot of desire that even hard work in the vineyard wouldn’t ease.
“Nick?” Beth was urging as she and Scout followed him up the stairs.
Terror wrapped its ugly fist around him; Maggie could be—“I’m on my way.”
Eugene held open the outside door. “Beth told me. I just called Old Reno. He fishes down there by the Evans place. That thirty-footer, high-class outfit just took off down the harbor, out to the lake. The guy was helping a woman into the boat. She looked like she needed it. Said she was a red-haired woman. Maggie—”
“I know. Tell Old Reno that I need to borrow his boat, okay? And call Dante, tell him to meet me at the boat.”
“Sure. Don’t let anything bad happen to Maggie, Nick. She’s not like that party crowd we get in sometimes.”
“Nothing is going to happen to her, Eugene,” Nick said and prayed that he was right. “Come on, Scout.”
Nick rammed the vehicle into gear and spun out of the parking lot. If Beth was mistaken, all that could happen was a little embarrassment for him. If Maggie was in danger—he didn’t want to think further and focused on racing to the harbor. She was terrified of water, but she just might have overcome that in her desire for a new client base. Or not.
Maggie couldn’t shove the haze in her head away. She remembered Leo Knute serving her an iced cola, which she drank as he asked about her background and skills, if she had any family in Blanchefleur. It seemed an innocent thing to do, chatting with a client over a soft drink, getting him to relax and become comfortable with her. From the boat moored at the dock and the luxurious interiors of the house, the way he dressed, he seemed to have money and friends. A connection with wealthy friends who could—
Maggie’s stomach churned as the floor seemed to shift and the lush interior of his home became the varnished, plush cabin of a cruiser.
A powerful motor hummed, the night sliding by the windows, and Maggie couldn’t shake free of the fog in her head. She remembered the man helping her walk, his arm around her, easing her down the ladder. Dimmed fear of the water lapping against the boat had kept her moving to his command.
Now she was on a sprawling round bed, gripping one side as she eased upright. A wave of nausea hit her and she closed her eyes. Her head spun, trying to put the pieces together, and then the motors cut and she heard water slap against the boat.
Not even her fear of water could shove away the fog in her head, the heaviness of her body.
Summoning all her strength, Maggie eased to her feet and Leo opened the cabin door. His shirt was unbuttoned and he held a bottle of whiskey. “Hi, honey. Ready to play?” he asked, leering at her. “I knew you were fully packed and all woman. Now let’s see just how much.”
He moved toward her, and still Maggie couldn’t push herself into fast-forward. Her hand was too heavy to push him away. His hands were on her, hurting, his mouth wet and open on hers as he shoved her against the wall. “Let’s have a little action before the rest of the guys get here, honey. Let me see what you’ve got.”
“Get off me.” But she was too weak to push him away.
“I like a little fight. But not too much,” he warned roughly. Leo ground his body against hers. He smelled of alcohol, his eyes glazed as he held her hair painfully, his tongue licking at her cheek like an animal preparing to feast on its victim.
She knew how to defend herself, but now her body was too heavy, her moves were too slow.
“You’re fighting it, honey. You need a little drink with a little go-power in it—”
“No.” Her lips felt rubbery, her tongue swollen and dry.
“We’re going to have a party. You’d better warm up some. The rest aren’t as nice as me,” he warned roughly, gripping her upper arms painfully hard.
“Let…go.”
She’d fought a man before, managed to protect herself, but now she couldn’t. The burn at her throat and the sliding of the chain from her said she was losing Glenda’s locket. She couldn’t lose Glenda, not again.
Where was Scout? Where was she?
Nick, take care of Scout, please. She’s all I have of Glenda. And Beth. Please help Beth…
Tears burned her lids, not from pain, but from helplessness, watching herself become what Glenda had become, knowing now the realities and the shame from experience.
Leo cursed as he began pushing her toward the bed.
He was over her, and still her hands couldn’t rise to push him away.
Then a crash sounded in the foggy distance and Leo was torn from her, flying into the wall. Scout was barking and snarling, the sounds indistinct and primitive, then Nick’s face was over hers, his hand pushing away the hair on her damp face.
Men were growling, the primitive male sounds of threats served and returned. Dante asked, “Is she hurt?”
Nick was too silent, his face slashed by a brutal contrast of light and dark, his hair tangled as if by wind, his eyes burning down at her. It was a cruel face, wrapped in rage, capable of—“Yes, she’s been hurt.”
Then his expression softened; there was a tenderness in his touch as he cradled her cheek, inspecting her face and taking the pulse at her throat.
She was ashamed he could see her like this—helpless, tears oozing from her lids, trailing down her cheek, and she turned away from him. This was what Glenda had become, what she had experienced. “My locket—”
“What?” Nick demanded roughly and turned from her, leaving her with the need to hold her locket, to know that it was with her.
“You can’t just break in here and—” Leo was saying. His body hit the wall with a thud and he grunted.
“You put your hands on her,” Nick was saying in a low, uneven tone edged with violence.
Scout snarled, and the storm was in the cabin now, harsh and loud.
“Get that dog off me!” Leo screamed frantically.
“Nick, Maggie needs you. I’ll take care of this mess,” Dante warned, somewhere in the haze that floated outside her body.
“Scout,” she managed to whisper. Immediately, the bed dipped, the big dog coming to her, lying chest and front paws over her.
But the storm continued, terribly, frightfully, hard, abrupt, and then Nick was bending over her again, his expression savage. “Come on,” he said roughly, picking her up and carrying her easily.
“Mmm—” She couldn’t leave her locket, couldn’t lose Glenda.
“It’s in my pocket. Your locket is safe. Did he…?” Nick’s question slid into oblivion as Maggie gave herself to the beckoning darkness and the safety of his arms.
NINE
In flashes of heat and power, Nick’s anger ricocheted off the tile walls of the shower; his dark mood trembled in his hands, reflecting his struggle to control it. Yet he handled Maggie carefully, firmly beneath the stinging shower. She tried to twist away but couldn’t.
She’d been in Nick’s pickup, held tight against him as he drove, and she remembered answering the questions he’d demanded. What were they?
She had weakly batted her hands at him as he slid away her wet clothing. “Let me look at you,” he said grimly.
With streams of water pouring down on her, Nick turned h
er head to one side, found the burn at her throat where her chain had been torn away, and cursed. “Your locket is safe, Maggie. Let me see about the rest of you.”
She wanted to crumple into a fetal position, to protect herself. Was this how Glenda felt, not only bruised but demeaned as well?
Nick’s big, callused hands ran lightly over her nude body, slick with soap, and paused over the bruises on her arms. His breath hissed by her in the steam, filled with rage she hadn’t suspected him capable of having. Nick had wanted to take her to the clinic, but she couldn’t stand anyone looking at her, touching her…no one but Nick.
“You’ve got to file charges, Maggie. Dante is holding Leo now, waiting for you to decide.”
She shook her head and covered her breasts with her arms. But fully understanding her sister’s shame overrode all pain.
Maggie gasped as Nick gently worked shampoo into her hair, rinsing just as carefully. She had kept her eyes closed, not wanting to face him with her shame, and now Nick cradled her jaw between his hands and whispered roughly, “Open your eyes, Maggie. Look at me.”
“No, I don’t want to.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong. Open.”
The stinging shower had flattened his hair to his head, water dripping from the waves, a veil of steam softening his harsh face. His thumb lightly crossed her jaw and his eyes burned through the steam, pinning her.
She recognized the silent question and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“I don’t either. You’re too aware of your own body and the changes in it. You would have known. Can I hold you?” he asked, smoothing her shoulders and her back. “Just hold you…I need that,” he added shakily.
He looked as if he’d been to hell and needed comfort, and Maggie couldn’t deny him. When she nodded, Nick slowly, gently, folded her against him and rocked her. “It’s going to be okay, Maggie. Everything is going to be okay.”
Nick was strong and naked against her, and careless of their bare bodies, all sensuality gone now, she needed his strength, his tenderness.
“It’s so awful,” she whispered against his throat, the raw reality of what had happened to Glenda making her ill.
“Yes,” Nick eased her closer, the shower steaming around them. “Yes, it is.”
Nick’s cold anger was almost terrifying, contrasting with his gentle treatment of her. But his set expression, the tight press of his lips, and that thunder and lightning flash of those black eyes spoke of a dark, dangerous storm within him.
He wouldn’t let Maggie go to sleep when all she wanted to do was to sink into oblivion and forget. He rolled up the cuffs of the shirt she wore and placed a cup in her hand. Sitting on the coffee table opposite her, Nick’s jeaned legs framed her own bare ones. The press of his legs against hers insisted and Maggie frowned at him. “I hate coffee.”
“Drink it,” he ordered, urging the cup up to her lips.
The sip of coffee was hot and fragrant, jolting her, and she handed the cup back to him. “That is pure mud.”
Violence ran beneath his soft tone, as if he wanted revenge, as if little kept him from returning to Leo. “Think of me as your mother, giving you cod liver oil. You’d take that, wouldn’t you? Think of coffee as a payback for not taking you to the clinic when I wanted. But oh, no, I let you talk me out of that, so you owe me. You should be watched for the drug’s effects, to see that it didn’t leave any lasting harm. But oh, no, you wouldn’t have that. So drink that coffee and shut up, or we can pack up and go to the clinic right now.”
“Boy, you’re in a bad mood,” she managed.
“I’ve got a right to be. I’m not a doctor, and what if something happens to you, stubborn woman. Now drink that coffee.”
Maggie took the cup he handed her and sipped the dark, fragrant brew.
Her ex-husband should have shown that much emotion, but instead he hadn’t believed her, that Brent Templeton had tried to rape her, that Brent had come into their home while she was in the tub bathing and had attacked her. Oh, no, Ryan hadn’t wanted to believe her—because Brent was an influential man and could ruin their business. She was just imagining the attack, maybe she’d fantasized about Brent, and so on, anything to save the lucrative business with Brent. She wasn’t worth her own husband supporting her, believing her. But then, after all, she had a prostitute and a drug addict for a sister, didn’t she?
Maggie moved the shirt’s hem over her bruised thighs, because after a glance at them, Nick’s scowl said his anger roamed too close to the surface.
The cold anger eased just that bit, and warmth curved his lips. “Stop pouting. I bet you were a difficult child and probably spoiled rotten. By the way, Celeste called the gym and your appointments and canceled them. Dante retrieved your bag and massage table from the Evans house, too. So all you have to do is be a good little girl.”
“I think I hate you,” she said darkly.
“Then you’re feeling better. I love it when you snarl. Finish drinking that.”
“You’re not the boss of me.” Admittedly, the remark was childish, but the only one she could summon.
That brought his grin. “I am for now.”
“Just wait,” she threatened. “I am not going to forget how you bullied me.”
He walked her then, his arm around her, Scout pacing at her side. And the more the haze cleared, the more she saw his silent anger, the determination for revenge. She couldn’t let him unleash that terrible rage. “Don’t leave me, Nick.”
His silence wasn’t reassuring. If she fell asleep now, he could return to Leo and Nick’s whole life could be ruined by a wealthy man set on revenge. The power of money and law sometimes wrapped together, and Nick was struggling to put his life right, to grow his business. “Stay with me, Nick,” she asked, turning to hold him. “Stay close.”
Whatever happened this night would set the wheels of her death in gear, Celeste acknowledged sadly as she packed her herbs and creams into a wicker basket. She looked at Maggie, curled beside Scout on the bed, and whispered, “It’s a natural sleep now, Nick. You’ve done a good job. She’s exhausted. Let her sleep and heal. Make certain to keep that salve on her throat—it won’t scar to remind her. If you have any questions about the herbs I’ve left, just call me any time.”
“I will.” In the shadowy bedroom, Nick’s hands were in his jeans pockets, his chest bare. With stubble on his jaw and angry lines cutting his face, Nick looked raw, like a man barely controlling himself and poised to spring into action. The hollows of his face seemed haunted and desperate, his lips pressed tightly together, the cords bunching in his jaw and down his throat to those powerful shoulders.
Then his fists were tightly knotted at his side, a big workman’s hands that could kill—Maggie had been right to make him promise to stay with her.
Leo wasn’t worth Nick’s life. Only the woman on the bed tethered him, her plea to stay with her. “I’m afraid to touch her. Put her locket on her, will you? She asked about it when he—Dammit, he tore that chain off her. It cut her throat.”
“The wound will heal well. Yarrow is amazing. I grabbed some fresh clothing from her camper—she’d already given me a key. Get rid of her other things. They’ll be a reminder.” Celeste bent to slide the repaired chain around Maggie’s throat, and as if sensing comfort, she turned and snuggled closer to the dog.
Nick’s gaze had never left Maggie. “She should have had an examination and a rape kit. Then, I was only interested in getting his touch off her, and waking her up. She didn’t think she had been raped, and she’s an athlete, pretty aware of her own body. I recognized the prescription bottle that was in Leo’s pocket as one for muscle relaxers. I had no idea how many he’d given her. What if they’d killed her? Or he’d put something stronger in the bottle? I should have taken her to the clinic, no matter what she wanted, but she was crying, begging me not to. That guy should be in jail right now.”
“You did the right thing. She didn’t want medical help, or the
questions that came with it—somewhere in her life, she’s had very bad experiences with that. He didn’t rape her, Nick.”
Those narrowed black eyes pinned her, staking her with the angry violence that Nick had leashed. “How do you know?”
Celeste didn’t often share her powers with someone else, but this was the exception. “I would know. I knew when I put my hands on her. Her pain is more from the journey she’s traveling now, blending with the past.”
The unexpected release of Nick’s violence went hissing, slithering around the room, startling and nipping at Celeste. She hadn’t expected the depth and the fury of his rage.
“He was set to give her other drugs to stimulate sex and he’d invited his friends. Maggie won’t prefer charges. She’s been through something like this before, Celeste. She told me she didn’t trust the law, and wouldn’t go to them. She tried legal charges once and they laughed at her, told her that she’d be slapped with harassment if she didn’t stop. No one believed that she’d been attacked in her own home, not even her own sister. They told her she was imagining it, that she had a ‘thing’ for the guy, and when he wasn’t playing ball, she charged him with attempted rape. She’s been attacked before and no one believed her. No one helped her.”
There was one more piece to the puzzle that had been missing. Maggie had been attacked before—by whom? Why? The questions circled Celeste, the bits she knew of Maggie leading her on like a bird following a trail of seed. But the trail ended abruptly, because Celeste didn’t sense that Maggie had been abused—at least not physically. “She told you this?”
“She told me—she doesn’t know…on the way coming home. Her sister was a prostitute and now Maggie knows how she felt. I think she cried more for her sister—Glenda was her name—than for herself. Glenda left two kids—boys—and Maggie can’t stand to look at them because they remind her of her sister. I never want to hear a woman cry like that again—like her soul was being torn from her.”