Only Obsession (Rogue Security Book 3)

by Marissa Garner

  “Elle, the ER doctor said—”

  “I swear I wasn’t raped,” she interrupted and glared at him, daring him to continue.

  He held her gaze. “Okay.”

  “You don’t believe me. Just like Dr. Nelson didn’t.”

  He reached for her hand again, but she pulled it away. “I believe you, Elle. But we have to consider another possibility, which would still provide us with the DNA to nail his ass when we catch him.”

  She lifted her chin. “You can’t possibly think that I…I would…that I had sex with him willingly.”

  He shrugged. “It happens.”

  “Not with me, it didn’t. He never…touched me…sexually.” Oh God, she didn’t want to discuss this. Her stomach roiled, and she swallowed repeatedly to keep the bile from rising.

  “Did he do something sexual without touching you?”

  Her cheeks burned until she was sure they glowed. She coughed and cleared her throat. “Every night he’d come into the bedroom where I was tied to the bed, naked, blindfolded, and gagged. Every time, I was scared to death he was going to rape or kill me. My fear never lessened as night after night passed, even though my logical brain told me he would’ve done it already instead of waiting so long.”

  She paused, but Luke didn’t press her to continue. After taking a drink, she carefully set the can on the table and kept her eyes downcast.

  “I-I’d hear him unzip his pants…” She gulped. “And then he’d…he’d masturbate, standing right next to the bed. He would grunt and groan. And I could…smell…him. He always laughed after he came. Probably because of how freaked out I must’ve looked. Sometimes, I cried. It was torture. Pure and simple.” With the memory rekindling her fear, she blinked rapidly.

  She jumped when Luke crushed the beer can still in his fist. The intensity of the disgust and anger in his expression surprised her.

  “Damn, your kidnapper is a sick SOB. Did he ever say anything?”

  She gulped again. “He’d talk dirty. Like he was actually…you know.”

  “Sounds like some kind of sexual obsession, but there’s something off about it. Not that any obsession is normal, but his actions don’t exactly fit the norm for such perverts.”

  She felt ready to crumble, but she persevered. “You mean a normal action would’ve been to actually rape me?”

  “Yeah. That’s why it was hard for Dr. Nelson to believe he hadn’t. It must mean something. I just don’t know what…yet.” He took a deep breath and glanced at his notes. “Last night, you said he kept you gagged and blindfolded, but you didn’t mention being naked.”

  “Well, he kept me naked most of the time. I think he considered it insurance in case I ever managed to undo the restraints.”

  “Why were you wet when you escaped?”

  “I had been taking a shower.”

  “Tell me how you got away.”

  She swallowed another long drink of beer before she began. “After the first couple times he let me take a shower, I figured out his routine. He’d wait until I was in the shower before he’d fasten a chain lock on the outside of the bathroom door so I couldn’t get out. Then he’d go in the bedroom and close the door before making a call. Once I knew what to listen for, I held my breath every time, but he never forgot to lock me in. Until last night.” She closed her eyes and exhaled.

  “What was different last night?” Luke prompted.

  “I was in the shower, but I’d become so discouraged that I hadn’t bothered to listen. The bastard was shouting on the phone, which was unusual, and it suddenly hit me that I hadn’t heard the chain lock. I think he forgot because he was upset about something. I got out and tried the bathroom door. I almost cheered when it opened.” She smiled. “But I knew I didn’t have a moment to waste, so I didn’t grab a towel or anything. I went straight to the main RV door. I knew it squeaked badly because the sound was how I tracked him coming and going. I tried so hard to ease the door open silently, but the damn thing squeaked like it was screaming, ‘She’s escaping!’”

  Luke chuckled. “Bet it sounded like a prison escape siren in the quiet night.”

  She laughed, too. “Yes, I definitely felt like an escapee. My heart was pounding so hard that my chest hurt. Anyway, once I was outside, I ran. Just ran. I had no idea where I was or where I was going. But the trees looked like good cover, so I headed in that direction. I could hear the guy cursing and yelling by the time I reached them. But I kept running, stumbling over stuff in the dark, powered by the primal drive to survive and fueled by adrenaline.” When she stopped talking, she was panting as if she’d been running. She rubbed her fingers across her forehead and discovered her hairline was damp. “I didn’t know the road was there until I dashed out of the trees and your headlights blinded me. I was so shocked…I just froze.”

  He nodded. “I was shocked, too. It’s not every day a beautiful, naked woman darts in front of my patrol car.”

  Chapter 8

  Elle looked exhausted, and he was starving. Maybe the combination created a good time to take a break for dinner. But cooking wasn’t his thing, and his food supplies were limited. Normally, he would’ve stopped for groceries on the way home from work, but today, the thought had never crossed his mind. Obviously, he had been focused on more pressing issues.

  “I’m hungry. How ’bout you?” he asked.

  “Sure. Your sister fixed me a wonderful salad for lunch, but I guess I should try to eat more to get my strength back. What do you have in mind?”

  “Well, there’s a slight problem. I eat most dinners with Karla or while I’m out on patrol.” He shrugged. “I mean, my pantry isn’t bare; I do have some food. I’m pretty sure I have bread, lunchmeat, cheese, peanut butter, eggs, cereal, mac ’n cheese, and canned soup.” He grimaced as he rattled off the sorry list.

  “Are you suggesting we eat all those delicious items in one meal?” She grinned.

  He appreciated her good-natured reaction. “Probably not.”

  “Soup and a sandwich would be fine. Let me help.”

  In no time, they’d fixed a simple dinner of turkey sandwiches and tomato soup. He even found a bag of potato chips and a jar of dill pickles. Not bad for a bachelor on short notice.

  “All we’ve been doing is talking about me,” Elle said after they had eaten for a few minutes. “I’d love to know more about you.”

  “Why? For the human-interest angle of your article?” Her pained expression made him immediately regret his words. But hell, he and the Sheriff’s Department had been burned enough times by the media to make him suspicious. In fact, last night he’d seriously questioned the reality of the entire scenario with Elle.

  “No. I doubt if you’ll even make it into my story,” she said tightly. “I don’t really give a damn about your personal life. I was just being polite.” She bit into her sandwich as if it were a tough, roasted turkey leg instead of soft bread and lunchmeat.

  Guess I deserved that. Luke had never met a reporter he liked. Actually, he deeply despised them all. But that wasn’t Elle’s fault. Was it fair to judge her by what others had done? Maybe she could even change his opinion of that ilk. He blew out a frustrated breath. “I apologize.”

  “Accepted.” She shrugged. “Bad experience?”

  “Several.”

  “Personal or job?”

  He set his sandwich down and drank a long, long swig of cold beer, hoping to avoid the memories, which would churn up old anger and deep aches. He didn’t want to reopen the wounds, but he finally answered. “Both.”

  She studied him for several moments. “Since you’re in law enforcement, I can imagine the job-related run-ins with the media, but how did we earn your disdain on the personal level?”

  Damn, that’s exactly where I don’t want to go. “Long story. Want another beer?”

  The look she gave him said she would let him slide this time, but her question wasn’t going away. “Better make it a Coke or I’ll be asleep before dinner’s over.”


  He delayed the inevitable a little longer by pouring her soda over ice. Still, she was ready with her next question as soon as he sat down with their drinks.

  “So, have you and Karla lived in Ramona long?” she asked.

  He relaxed at the change of subject. “Most of our lives.”

  “You like small-town living?”

  “Yeah. A lot. Do you?”

  “I’ve never had a chance to find out. Spent my entire life in large cities on the East Coast. I’m a city girl through and through. When I read about living in a small town, it sounds idyllic, but I’m sure it’s not.”

  “Idyllic? No. We have our share of problems. Just ask Karla or Sean Burke’s wife. But Ramona has a lot more pros than cons.”

  “Do your parents live here, too?” Elle asked after taking another bite of her sandwich.

  His throat tightened. Well damn, she had managed to reach the touchy subject again by an alternate route. Of course, she couldn’t have known the troubling destination, which made her finding it circuitously even more frustrating. “No…not for a long time.”

  Something in his voice must’ve given him away because her head tilted slightly and her eyebrows drew together. Unfortunately, her obvious concern didn’t make her back down.

  “Where are they?” she asked quietly.

  Goddamn reporters. They just keep snooping and digging until they get what they want, even if you don’t want them to have it. Why the hell did I think Elle might be different? He glared at his sandwich, his appetite suddenly gone. He set it on his plate, and his hands clenched into fists. Even after all these years, the memories hurt. The disbelief, the rage, the agony, the grief, all rose from the ashes, and he was a bitter, overwhelmed teenager again.

  “Dead,” was the single syllable he managed to say.

  * * *

  Well, that’s what you get for assuming, Miss Smarty-pants. Elle’s reporter brain had leaped ahead to all sorts of scenarios where a cop’s parents would pose an embarrassment or problem for him. Being in prison held first place. Being drug addicts ranked high also. Being dead didn’t even make her list. How had she read Luke’s reluctance so wrong?

  “What happened?” she asked gently. She reached across the table and covered his fist with her hand.

  He continued to stare at his sandwich.

  When he didn’t respond to her question or her touch, she removed her hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. If you don’t want to talk about it, no problem.”

  He shrugged as if it were no big deal, but she already knew it was. His jaw remained clenched as well as his hands. His expression was stony and his eyes glacial.

  “My folks were killed by a drunk driver,” he said softly.

  “Oh, how awful. Luke, I’m so sorry.”

  Another unconvincing shrug did nothing to relax his body language.

  She remembered his earlier comment: not for a long time. “How old were you and Karla?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed a couple times. “I was nineteen, away at my first year in college, majoring in computer science,” he said wistfully. “Karla was seventeen, a high school senior.”

  “Just teenagers. You must’ve been devastated. Did you move in with relatives here?”

  He finally met her gaze, his eyes sparking with anger. “No. Neither of my parents had siblings, so we had no aunts or uncles, and all our grandparents were already gone. There was a great aunt, whom we’d never met. I think she was actually relieved when we said no thanks to her obligatory offer to take us in. Child Welfare Services wanted to put Karla in foster care even though she would turn eighteen in a few months and could age-out of the system.” He sighed. “But I couldn’t let them do that to her. My sister was already suffering from the shock and heartbreak of losing Mom and Dad.”

  Elle frowned. “What’d you do?”

  “I quit school. Found two part-time jobs while I looked for something better. We couldn’t afford the house, so we sold it a couple months later and rented an apartment. Karla got a job at the high school where she could do her homework while answering the phone. We counted every penny. We saved the money from the sale of the house and Dad’s small life insurance policy. We didn’t touch it because I figured it was the only way I’d ever be able to eventually put us through college. Life was hard. Damn hard.”

  “Jesus, Luke, you became a parent at nineteen.”

  “It’s not like my sister was a baby or in elementary school or something. Karla took our situation as seriously as I did. In fact, she had more to lose if she ended up in foster care. I figure we both became adults the day our parents died.”

  “After she graduated from high school, did you both go away to college?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head dejectedly. “It didn’t turn out like I hoped.”

  “Why not?”

  “After losing our folks, Karla had significant insecurity issues, and she didn’t want us to be separated. The whole male-protectiveness thing kicked in, and I just couldn’t leave her to go back to school. We agreed to stay in Ramona and take courses at the local community colleges. She completed all three programs offered by the Cosmetology Department at San Diego City College and got a job at the salon here in town.”

  “And you?”

  “I earned dual associate degrees in law enforcement at San Diego Miramar College before applying to the Sheriff’s Department and attending its Law Enforcement Academy.”

  “You gave up the computer science major?”

  He sighed. “Yeah.”

  “And you were supporting yourselves all that time?”

  He nodded. “Depending on our classes each semester, we worked either full or part time. And we used the saved money to fill in the gaps. It took longer for both of us to finish, but no way was I going to let either of us end up buried under a mountain of student loans. We even had some savings left, so we split it equally. My share became the down payment on this place.”

  “Very impressive. No wonder Karla adores you.” Elle swore she saw a hint of pink beneath Luke’s gorgeous tan. The tough guy had trouble accepting compliments. Not as full of himself as some men—like Richard. She smiled to herself; she liked a little humility in a man. “You should be proud of what you accomplished, Luke.” She paused. “Help me out here. I’m missing the connection between your family’s tragedy and your personal dislike for the media.”

  “Ah, right.” He closed his eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath before continuing. “There was this female—I refuse to call her a lady—reporter who got wind of our fight with Child Welfare Services. I heard a rumor that she had a grudge against the agency. Anyway, she kept pushing them to ‘protect’ Karla by putting her in foster care. The story mushroomed locally and then got picked up by some LA news outlets. We were still living in the house, and before we knew it, there were vans full of media piranha parked out front twenty-four seven.”

  “How awful for you.”

  “Yeah. If it hadn’t been for a great lawyer who offered us his services pro bono, Karla and I wouldn’t have been able to fight it. He kept the process tied up until Karla turned eighteen, and it became a moot point. But I’ve never forgiven the media for hounding us like they did and for trying to influence the process when it was none of their goddamn business.”

  “Okay, I can’t blame you for how you feel, but not all reporters are like that. Me, for one.”

  “If you say so.”

  She bristled. “I most certainly do.”

  They were saved from the awkward moment by Luke’s cell. He checked the screen, slapped the phone to his ear, and listened for half a minute.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s not our case, and I didn’t hear anything from you.” His gaze cut to Elle for a moment, and he arched his eyebrows. “Seriously?” He frowned and looked away. “What the hell?”

  What’s going on? Had there been a break in her case?

  “Thanks for keeping me in the loop,” Luke said and disconnected.

 
; “What? Is there news about my kidnapper?” she asked eagerly.

  “Yes and no.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Yes, your kidnapper’s aim was way off. And no, we don’t know why.”

  Luke’s explanation took a moment to register. “Couldn’t he just be a lousy shot?” she asked.

  “Hard to imagine anyone that lousy. They had a hell of a time finding the bullets because they were so far away from where you were.”

  “Maybe he was startled when he saw your patrol car,” she suggested.

  “Maybe.”

  She leaned forward. “Do you have a better theory?”

  “Yeah. He wasn’t really trying to shoot you.”

  “Then why fire the gun at all?”

  “To create the illusion that he was trying to stop you.”

  “I must be even more tired than I thought because I am not following you. Shooting at someone is a pretty serious way to play pretend.”

  Luke slouched back in his chair, an odd expression on his face. “I don’t think he was aiming at you.”

  The gears in her brain turned slowly. “He just wanted me to believe he was trying to shoot me—the illusion—so I’d stop running, and he could catch me. I get it.”

  Luke shook his head. “Nope. You’re not the person he was trying to fool.”

  Her reasoning ground to a halt, and she frowned. “You were the only other person there. What illusion would he be creating for you?”

  Chapter 9

  Luke’s suspicions wouldn’t go away even though he hated them. How could they disappear when information like the location of the bullets kept bringing him back to the same possibility: Elle’s escape or the entire kidnapping had been staged?

  If his suspicions were correct, then Ms. Elle Bradley deserved an Oscar for her performance as a kidnap victim because the woman had appeared totally terrorized last night, just as she now seemed completely befuddled. She had also perfected the appearance of someone genuinely frustrated by her inability to understand what he was suggesting. Yeah, Best Actress in a Drama or some such award would be fitting.