by Petrova, Em
Ben reached out a slow, steady hand and touched his shoulder. “She’s strong; she can do this. Let her help us.”
Charlie gripped the window sill until his knuckles went white against his tanned skin. “Fine.”
“What else can you tell us?” Marsha turned back to Christine. “Go through it step by step.”
Christine took a moment to find control too. She had to do this without emotion, couldn’t let the need to comfort Charlie keep her from telling it all. “I stepped out into the yard, thinking about spring and the flower bulbs I’d planted last fall. Then I got slammed face first into the side of the house. Those moves you taught me in defense class? I tried them, and he grabbed my arm.”
Marsha nodded. “Wrenched your arm behind your back when you raised it? I taught you how to control it too.”
“I didn’t think. I couldn’t really. It happened so fast and my face hurt so badly.” Christine tucked one foot under the other and shifted a bit. “I guess I panicked.”
“He scared you.” Ben said in his quiet, even tone.
“Scared me?” Now she got angry too. “He freaking attacked me in my own yard in broad daylight. He hit, kicked, and blasted foul words at me. He cut me and trailed a knife over my skin.”
“What kind of knife?” Marsha asked. “Military, hunting, kitchen?”
“I didn’t take a damn picture.” Her calm made Christine angrier. “I didn’t feel anything but the blade slicing my clothes and skin, so it had to have been long enough his hands didn’t touch me. He laid it on my ribs, and it felt cold, sort of thick, maybe a couple of inches or so. Like those hunting knives Randy used to have.”
“The ones used for skinning or gutting?” Ben questioned.
“Skinning.” Christine shuddered. “He threw me on the ground. I remember the way the dirt smelled.” Plus the taste of blood as it filled my mouth and made me gag. “He kicked me, I rolled on my side, and then he started cutting me. My robe, my skin. He didn’t stab; he sawed at me.”
“Did you smell anything besides dirt?” Marsha’s fingers typed in the info.
“Cigars. I smelled cigars.” She had, Christine realized with an open mouth. Charlie made some sound so she swung her gaze to his. He shook his head and gestured for her to continue.
“I need you to focus.” Marsha snapped her fingers in front of her face. “Tell me about his hands. Scratchy, you said, rough. Is there anything else? Did he wear any rings? Did he have any scars? What about his body: tall, short, fat, thin?”
“His voice shouted above my head when he first grabbed me. I didn’t see the body type, but he had big hands. His fingers covered all of my breasts when he pinched. He didn’t mean to kill me, just leave me scared and hurt after I finally felt safe again.” With you, Charlie, I finally felt safe because of you.
Marsha nodded. “All right, good. Who wants to hurt you? We already checked all Randy’s family, especially his brother.”
“He’s in a rehab facility with full security and cameras. This couldn’t have been him. Not this time,” Ben added. “What about this situation at your workplace?”
She shouldn’t be surprised they were aware of the case against her; these two wrote the book on being thorough. “The embezzler already got rid of me at work. Why attack me?”
Marsha shrugged. “There’s no way to know yet. Anything else you can recall?”
Christine slowly shook her head and found it didn’t hurt as bad. “No, not right now.
Marsha set a business card on the table. “We have new numbers and new offices. If you think of anything else, no matter how small, call us.”
“I’m glad it’s you and Ben. Thanks for all you do.”
“It’s part of the job.” Marsha gripped her hand and held it for a moment. “We’ll be in touch. Very interesting to meet you, Mr. Jergens.”
“And you.” Charlie turned back to the window.
“Hang tough, darlin’.” Ben winked and followed Marsha out the door.
“Those are the detectives who investigated the brother-in-law who fired the gun at you and then broke into your house after your husband’s funeral before I left for my flight back to Hawaii.”
“Yes.” Christine took a deep breath. Oh no, he would not like this part. “They kept in daily contact when I received the threats from Earl, so we sort of became friends.”
He spun, eyes still hot but controlled. “You received more threats and didn’t tell me?”
“Only one or two, then they just stopped after I filed the protective order.” Christine pleated the sheet. “I guess I understand why now, since he’s in the rehab place or whatever it is. He must have been admitted after the insurance company settled. I haven’t had contact with any of them since Randy’s funeral and neither have Adam or Anna. Only our attorneys contact each other. The restraining order is still in effect.”
Charlie huffed out a breath. “I shouldn’t have left you.”
“When? Then? Why?” Christine raised her head to gaze at him. “There’s been nothing but peace for months. How could anyone guess this would happen?”
His gaze roamed her face and body, not with passion but concern. Would he ever look at her with desire again? “I didn’t protect you as I should. Can you ever forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. Please, Charlie—Kale—will you just come hold me?”
A knock and then the door opened. “Ms. Howell? I’m Doctor Daniels. I took over for Doctor Bell.” The Doctor smiled as he walked in followed by Eva. “Let’s check you over.”
“You have to wait outside a few minutes, handsome.” Eva winked at Charlie. “Doc will update you both once he finishes his assessment.”
Charlie shot like a bullet from the window as if he couldn’t wait to get away. “I’ll go grab some air.”
Christine watched him leave as the Doctor began to check her over. Whoever attacked her accomplished the goal. She felt insecure, scared, and alone once again.
Chapter Thirteen
Christine leaned back against her pillows, the complete darkness broken by the tiny night light under the window highlighting the faded lei and throwing shadows on the wall. Silence reigned. Even the night insects and birds had fallen quiet. The air still smelled like the pasta Charlie had made for dinner.
The rich sauce and noodles were a surprise; he could cook as well as any five star chef. He cooked, cleaned, and watched over her since she’d been discharged three days ago. The bruises were fading, her shoulder was better, and yet he wouldn’t touch her. She saw desire in his face every now and then, but something held him back. What?
She’d come to terms with the attack. Christine shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. Okay, so she still had a way to go with therapy sessions, but Christine realized she did nothing wrong and wanted to get on with her life.
“I want to make love with you, Charlie, feel connected again. But you won’t touch me.” She smacked at the pillow. “Maybe you should come to therapy with me and see I’m still the same person. We were insatiable and now nothing?”
Pushing from the bed and struggling to her feet, Christine moved with years of familiarity through the darkness to the guest room. The dim bedside light cast a warm glow over Charlie as he slept. So, sleep together and then make love in the morning. Perfect plan. She eased in bed beside him and watched as his breath stirred the pillowcase. His hair dark stood out against the sheets and his face relaxed in a way she rarely saw. It surged through her, the tide of emotion she’d fought so long. She was in love with him and needed to show him.
Somehow Christine tugged the thin silk night shirt over her head, tossed it aside, and snuggled next to Charlie, smiling as he murmured her name. She breathed him in, his unique fragrance and pure man. Kissing his eyelids, cheeks, and nose, she trailed feathery licks down his neck, moaning softly as he grew thick and hard. One leg atop his hips, she shifted, her breasts aching for his hands, fingers, and lips as she straddled him, ready to draw him inside.
An oath crossed his lips before he glared up at her. “What the hell is this?”
Christine swallowed at the fury in his face and voice. “I want you, and you want me.”
Charlie ran a hand through his hair and pushed away, making her tumble to the side as he sat on the edge of the bed, the sheet draped over his lower body. “Christine.”
“Make love to me.” Beyond caring that his glare drilled holes into her, Christine held out her hand. “Please.”
“No.”
She caught her breath at the blunt rejection. He grabbed his robe from the floor, stood, and pulled it on. “Go back to your room.” Walking to the attached bathroom, Charlie shut the door with a finality that shattered something inside her.
Christine choked back tears. He wanted her, damn it. She’d seen it, felt it. How could she talk to him when he had closed more than the door between them? Anger tore through her pride. Christine heard the shower as she walked away. He’d rather resort to the age old method of quenching desire than be with her? “I hope to hell the water is ice cold. I ought to go turn off the hot tap.”
The clock read nearly five, not as early as she’d thought but still apparently too late. Christine dressed and cursed under her breath as she struggled with the sling. The damn thing came off next week, not soon enough. Charlie could fly back to Hawaii and go his merry way. No, he could book his flight today; she’d even make the arrangements for him. Searching through the closet, she found a pair of flats and slid them on. Why did he stay anyway? She didn’t need his help or his damn rejections. The sooner he left, the sooner she could fall completely apart then put herself back together. She stopped by the kitchen to switch on the coffee maker and then gathered purse and keys. She could handle this all on her own.
***
The damn cold pounded over his body and made Charlie grit his teeth, his body still raging, pulsing, and demanding hers. He could feel Christine’s skin and see her beautiful dark eyes as she shifted to join their bodies. He moaned. This didn’t help, recalling how she felt, her scent, her touch, or the unbearable pain in her face when he pushed her away. But damn it, what else could he do? She had been physically hurt because he’d failed to protect her again, abused in this very house minutes after he left for a stupid jog. Charlie wanted to break the bastard in half, needed to slam his head into a wall the way he had Christine’s. But Charlie hadn’t been there.
“Don’t touch me! You bastard, you killed my baby, you killed me! I hate you!” Charlie heard those words over and over. Monica never forgave him; how could she? He didn’t protect her or their child. He loved and felt more connected to Christine than he’d ever been to Monica. Charlie muttered curse after curse. He couldn’t stay under this same roof without wanting her and neither could she apparently. But what if he touched Christine and all she could see or feel reminded her of the attacker?
“God, what a tangle.” Charlie couldn’t stay, but he couldn’t leave Christine alone and vulnerable to attack again. She’d been through so much. She was the most giving person he knew. He had failed her and didn’t protect her. How could she forgive him?
Charlie turned off the water and dried his skin. He had to make some sort of amends, explain why, if he could, to Christine. The first touches of dawn were breaking through the blinds, a new day, a new start, already scented with coffee. He’d make breakfast, those waffles she liked so much, and they would talk, return to the friends they once were. Always friends, if nothing else. Charlie tugged on a shirt and sighed.
“I can’t promise to never disappoint you. I can’t always protect you. But God help me, I’ll always love you. So friendship is the only way.” He tugged on jeans, smoothed back his wet hair, and chuckled. Yeah, right, friends. When he recalled the feel of her skin or the way she smiled, his damn dick rose, stiff and ready. “Who am I fooling? I don’t want to just be friends. I want a life with you in my arms. Pure and simple and damned complicated.” What the hell were they going to do?
Pasting a smile on his face, Charlie strolled into the kitchen. “So, how about some breakfast?” His words echoed in the empty room. He moved past the table where they’d made love, where he felt completion as their bodies joined. He wanted, needed, more memories if they could somehow find a way past the attack, his guilt, and their different worlds. He walked down the hall and knocked on her closed door. No answer. Christine would draw deep back inside like a turtle in a shell, but she would never sulk. Asleep, maybe? Charlie eased the door open and glanced around the empty room. “Where are you?” He searched the house and yard, his heart racing, until he opened the garage. She left her own house, drove with a sling, just to get away from him, yet she made coffee before she left. What the hell had he done?
His cell rang. Charlie grabbed it from his pocket and cursed as he saw the number. “Hello, Peg.”
“What in hell are you doing?” Her voice harsh and angry, Peg wasted no time with greetings.
Charlie walked back to the kitchen and poured a deep mug of coffee. “I’m having coffee. Awful early for you there, isn’t it?”
“Damn it, Charlie. I’m not in Hawaii anymore.” Peg sighed, and he imagined her shoving at her black framed glasses. “It’s all over the board and dozens of the offices. Do you realize what you’ve done?”
“Canceled my corporation’s bonuses for the year?” Charlie took a long swallow of caffeine. Damn. Word did indeed spread like wildfire.
“Be serious, Charles Jergens.” A slam as if she’d dropped something heavy on a desktop resounded in his ear. “For God’s sake, you’ve thrown away your future for one piece of ass.”
“Don’t, Margaret. Not even you can go there with me.” He downed more liquid while silence descended on the other end of the phone. So it all came to this. “I’m fully aware what I’m doing.”
“I don’t think so.” Peg must have sunk into a chair from the whoosh of sound. “The two main suspects are living together. What does that say?”
“We’re in love and engaged to be married.” Charlie glanced around Christine’s sunny kitchen and easily pictured making breakfast, lunch, and dinner in this room. Another choice made.
“Are you?”
“I am.” And Christine would be moments after she returned, hopefully.
Peg huffed out a breath. “Charles, the board is scheduled to meet this afternoon to discuss your termination. The ‘your’ is plural. Expect the police soon after.”
“You realize someone attacked Christine days ago?” Charlie drummed his fingers on the counter. “She’s been hospitalized with serious injuries.”
“Random attacks in today’s world happen all too often.” Peg dismissed it.
“You don’t find anything the least coincidental?” Charlie paced then halted in front of the wall of family photos. “Have I ever struck you as a dumb person?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because it would be utter stupidity if I stole thousands of dollars from the corporation then moved in with my partner in crime and openly flaunted it.” He paused for a moment to let the simple truth sink in. “I’m smarter and so are you. Make the board smarter too.”
“Exactly what are you asking me to do?”
“Stall them. I’ll find the real embezzlers for you. After I do, the board will have my resignation.” Charlie stroked a photo of Christine standing beside a waterfall. The camera caught her just as she glanced from the falling water to the photographer. Joy radiated in her face with the sun highlighting the reddish tint in her hair, Christine at her most natural, beautiful and so very worth it.
“She means that much? You believe in her enough to throw away a career you’ve worked years to achieve?” Peg’s voice raised an octave before she finished.
“Yeah. She means everything. More than anything else.”
Silence. After a few seconds, Peg sighed and cursed. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks.” Charlie disconnected and ran a hand through his ha
ir as he stared at the photo. “Have I made the correct decision, Ku`u Lei, my beloved?”
***
“So.” Christine shoved at her hair. Poor Tom had the patience of the biblical Job. “When I send the orders anywhere, LA, Hawaii, et cetera, you guys track the data over the computer through the routers, right?”
“They come through network, not routers.” Tom sipped his third, maybe his fourth, cup of coffee.
“Network.” Christine felt beyond stupid. “You guys track the data over the network.”
Tom nodded. “Yes. Think of it as regular pickups you send UPS or Fed Ex. You take the package. It gets a number and can be tracked wherever it is. They have your signature on the shipping receipt so they know you sent it and exactly where the package is at all times because its number is logged into the computer.”
“So this is the electronic way.” Christine took a sip of water, having switched after four cups of coffee.
“It’s the same principal. We can track exactly where a file or email came from, where it’s going, what time, the date, all of it.” Tom swept a hand to indicate the notes he’d also drawn to explain the process to her.
“So you can locate the exact computer?” Christine stared at the lines and boxes, seeing the logic and grasping the concept.
“Yes.” Tom yawned. It was past seven in the local coffee shop. He’d been there a bit over an hour explaining things to Christine. “The computers in New York will have their own. The ones in Houston have theirs, et cetera. Each corporate location is a separate network address.”
“It’s like telephone numbers.”
Tom laughed. One day, as Maddy would say, he’d be a nine. “The lines are separate, but you could see it the same way. The IP addresses are the area code and numbers of telephones. Your home number, for instance, has the area code, local suffix, and then numbers unique to your phone.”
“So if my telephone number is 123-456-7890, the trace shows it’s my telephone, no matter what.” Christine finally understood all this. “And my work computer is the same way.”