Home Bound

by Samantha Chase

  Not that it was appreciated.

  With a weary sigh, I stood and pulled off my belt and tossed it. My hand was on my button fly when I heard a blood-curdling scream. Immediately I was running toward Evangeline’s room, but unfortunately the door was locked. Without hesitation, I kicked it down.

  And that hurt like a son of a bitch.

  “Evangeline!” I called out. She wasn’t in her room and nothing there looked out of place. The bathroom door wasn’t locked, and I quickly stepped inside and found her in the corner on the floor wrapped in a towel. She was soaking wet, and I couldn’t tell if she was crying or not. “Evangeline? What happened?” I kept my eyes on her face to try and keep her calm.

  She was pale. Too pale. And she was trembling.

  “Evangeline? Sweetheart? What’s going on?” I asked softly, my hands gently grasping her shoulders, looking for any signs of injury.

  One hand reached out and shakily pointed to the linen closet. Slowly I stood and turned toward the closet. I stopped and looked over my shoulder at her one more time. I thought she was shaking even more. Going back to her, I lifted her in my arms and carried her out to the bedroom and gently placed her on the bed before going back into the bathroom.

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered and stop at the open door.

  There, on a bed of white towels, were the heads of three decapitated rats.

  Seven

  Evangeline

  I’d been living with fear for weeks now, but I’d never in my life been as terrified as this.

  The stalker was in my apartment. My apartment. Despite all the security I had surrounding me, he was actually inside my bathroom—to put those horrible, sickening rats in my linen closet.

  Phone calls and messages were bad enough. They made you feel exposed, vulnerable, at the mercy of someone else’s will. But an intrusion like that was something worse, something more. This apartment wasn’t my home—it was just the place I was staying while I shot this film. But it still felt like my private space, and it was a horrible violation, as well as an obvious threat.

  If he could get into this place—despite Cole’s best efforts—then he could get to me anywhere, any time he wanted.

  Nowhere I went would be safe.

  I was huddled in a ball on my bed, still wearing nothing but a towel and wet hair, and I was trying to talk myself into pulling it together. But I couldn’t. I kept seeing those mutilated bodies on the white towels. Here. Where it was supposed to be safe.

  A wave of nausea slammed into me as Cole came back into the bedroom, looking as grim as anyone I’d ever seen.

  He would be beating himself up. I knew exactly how he was feeling. And ironically, despite everything, I felt a pull of empathy—recognizing how badly he’d feel about this failure and how much he would take it to heart.

  “Get up,” he said. “We’re getting out of here.”

  I blinked at him, uncomprehending. When he’d found me in the bathroom, he’d been protective, almost tender. He’d called me “sweetheart.” A little part of me had heard the words and liked them.

  But he was nothing like that now. He was cool and hard and professional, and it was like a slap in the face.

  “Get up,” he repeated. “We can’t stay here. The apartment has been compromised. I need to get you somewhere safe.”

  That did make sense, even through the fuzziness of my mind, but I couldn’t get my body to react immediately. “The rats...” I began, hit with more intense nausea as the picture of the bloody corpses revived in my mind.

  “I’ll have someone collect them for evidence,” he said, “but you’re not staying here a minute longer. Get up. Right now.”

  He wasn’t rude as much as coolly efficient, and it was almost a relief now. Something I could cling to, something sane and competent in a world that was nothing but sickening chaos. I tried to sit up and halfway managed it, and then Cole reached out to pull me to my feet.

  I swayed and my knees buckled briefly, but he kept me upright.

  I was starting to get my body under control when I saw that my top dresser drawer was partway opened.

  I never left drawers opened. They always bugged me if they weren’t closed all the way.

  I gripped Cole’s arm urgently and choked, “The drawer. He was in my...” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I felt the blood drain out of my face for the second time in less than five minutes.

  I kept my lingerie in my top dresser drawer. And this monster’s hands would have been all over them.

  All of it. Everything. Violated.

  The nausea hit again, and this time it was too much. I started to gag as my body violently rejected what my mind simply couldn’t accept. There was no way I could go into the master bath again, so I ran for the half-bath in the hallway, making it just in time to vomit into the toilet.

  I was on my knees on the floor, tears streaming down my face when I was done.

  Cole was there too, lifting me to my feet, wiping my face with a damp hand towel, letting me lean on him.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, one of his arms holding me against his body. I needed his warmth and his strength, so I couldn’t possible pull away yet. “You can’t stay here any longer.”

  “Okay.” My throat was raspy, and I was still shaking, but the idea of leaving this horrible place was such a relief that I managed to straighten up. “I need clothes.”

  Cole helped me to a chair in the hallway, and then went back into the bedroom. He returned with my phone and some clothes for me to put on.

  Millions had seen me mostly naked, so I wasn’t particularly bothered with modesty. I was too upset to worry about it now anyway. I dropped the towel and pulled on the underwear, leggings and oversized sweater he’d brought me, without making much effort to hide myself from Cole.

  He kept his head turned away from me—out of general civility, I assumed—but he didn’t turn his back, and he didn’t leave the hall.

  When I was dressed, we collected what he needed and my bag, and we left. Cole made sure I was safely in the chauffeured car before he started to contact people and make a plan.

  I sure wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of the tone he was using with everyone he talked to. Of course, I actually had been on the receiving end of a similar tone from him, and it had only made me angry. But he was different now. Like there was a dangerous coldness to his anger that he’d never shown to me.

  He made arrangements for the police to come and for the rats to be collected as evidence. “Should we wait for the police?” I asked, when he hung up on one of his calls. “Won’t they want to talk to us?”

  “Yes, but you’re not going to hang around here. You can talk to the police tomorrow.”

  I opened my mouth to ask another question, but he was already on a different call. I listened to a blistering interrogation about the security of the apartment building until he got out of the car to have the phone conversations right outside the car.

  He didn’t leave me alone, even though he was no longer in the car. Someone would still have to get through him to get to me.

  It made me feel a little better—even his anger did—knowing that the stalker would have to face that anger if he made a move on me directly.

  I was at loose ends and wanted to do something, so I dialed up Sebastian’s number without thinking.

  He wouldn’t be able to help me—since he was far away—but he was my friend and I needed all I could get right now.

  “Hey,” Sebastian said, picking up on the fourth ring, “What’s the matter?”

  It was kind of late. He probably hadn’t expected to be interrupted. So I told him about the rats without preamble.

  “Shit,” Sebastian breathed, when I was finished. There was a pause, as he obviously tried to take it in. Then, “Shit.”

  “It’s...horrible.”

  “Where’s Cole?”

  “He’s working on it. He’s right outside the car.”

  “How the hell could he
have gotten into the apartment?”

  “That’s what Cole is trying to figure out.”

  “Where are you going now?”

  “I don’t know. Cole said he needed to get me out of the apartment, and I couldn’t possibly stay there now anyway. He said he was going to take me to somewhere safe, but I don’t know where could be safe enough.”

  “My family has a place in D.C. with security like Fort Knox. It’s usually used for visiting executives, but it’s empty a lot of time. No one is in it this week. You can go stay there, if you don’t mind the drive.”

  “I don’t mind the drive. I just want to be somewhere safe.”

  “It’s safe. I promise. We’ve used it before for a couple of our security jobs. Cole will know where it is.”

  “That sounds good,” I said, startled when the car door opened without warning and Cole crawled in beside me.

  “What sounds good?” he demanded, frowning intensely at seeing me on the phone. “Who is that?”

  “Sebastian. He has an idea about where we can go.”

  I’d barely gotten the sentence out when Cole was taking the phone from my hands and talking to Sebastian himself. He didn’t sound very friendly. He didn’t sound anything like friends.

  I wondered if he was annoyed with Sebastian for some reason or if he was always this way. He definitely wasn’t the warm-fuzzy type.

  Cole evidently agreed with staying in the Maxwell place, and he handed me the phone back when he was done.

  “Why did you call Sebastian?” he demanded in clip tones.

  I blinked, distracted from the fear that was starting to make me shiver again. “What do you mean?”

  “I assume you called him and he didn’t call you.”

  “No, he didn’t call me. I called him. Why shouldn’t I? This whole thing is appalling.”

  “I know it’s appalling. What I don’t know is what he could do about it.”

  “What’s the matter with you?” I snapped, the surge of annoyance almost a relief, since it was familiar and controllable. “He’s your partner, and he had a good idea about where we could stay. He’s also a friend of mine.”

  “I know he is.”

  I peered at his face, realizing that he was offended or hurt or something about my asking Sebastian for help, rather than relying completely on him. From the time we’d spent together already, I knew how independent and self-sufficient and unbreakably proud he was. Maybe he saw the innocuous call as a slight on his abilities.

  It wasn’t, of course. Despite what I’d said to Cole over the last week, I didn’t think anyone could have done a better job than he’d done. There were forces at work here that were beyond the scope of one man to get a handle on, but if anyone could do it, Cole could.

  I didn’t call Sebastian because I didn’t trust Cole to keep me safe, but maybe Cole thought I had.

  “Have you always been this way?” I asked, genuinely wanting the answer, even though the reflections had all been in my mind, so the question was out of the blue.

  “What way?” Cole’s eyes searched my face.

  “Like you have to conquer the world single-handedly.”

  He looked briefly surprised, but not offended as I’d half-expected. “That’s pretty much the way it’s always worked.”

  “Maybe because you refuse to accept help when it’s offered.”

  “Help usually comes with strings.”

  His expression was slightly closed-off, but I could tell he meant it. His experiences had taught him not to rely on anyone but himself.

  “Even from friends?” I asked softly. He wasn’t completely alone. He had real friends. Close friends. Surely that would make a difference.

  Something broke on his face very briefly and his lips parted, like he might speak. But he didn’t. He gave his head a little shake and turned away from me.

  ***

  We didn’t talk much on the drive to D.C., and unfortunately that left me too much time to brood over what had just happened.

  Every way I looked at it, it was a nightmare. The stalker had access to my apartment, which meant he was incredibly talented at breaking and entering or he was using someone I trusted.

  Or maybe he was someone I trusted.

  That thought was the worst thing of all, and I kept rehearsing the faces of everyone I knew and liked and trusted. Could one of them be working against me?

  I couldn’t stand the idea of it, and by the time we got to the gated street and the expensive townhouse owned by the prestigious Maxwell family, I was almost sick again at the thought of such a betrayal.

  The townhouse was as safe as we could want it to be—complete with neighborhood security, top-of-the-line alarms, limited access to the outside, and even a panic room.

  If I was going to feel safe anywhere, it would be here.

  I was still trembling as Cole showed me to a bedroom. It was obviously the master, since the panic room was attached. It was decorated with big antiques and lush colors, but I hardly noticed the décor.

  “Are you okay?” Cole asked. He’d been watching me a lot, but I had no idea what he was thinking.

  “Yes.” I wasn’t sure I was okay, but what else was I to say to that question. I put my bag down on the bed and felt strangely tiny next to the high mattress and huge walnut posters.

  “Do you want anything to eat?”

  “No. It’s late.” I swallowed and toed off my shoes. “I think I’ll just go to bed.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.” Cole nodded toward the chaise under the large window. “I’m going to sleep there. I’m not going to leave you alone. Not even to sleep.”

  I wasn’t annoyed by this high-handedness. It was a relief. I didn’t want to be alone. It terrified me. “Okay.”

  I went to the bathroom and got ready for bed, sleeping in my panties and the t-shirt I wore under the sweater. Cole went into the bathroom while I was crawling under the covers, and he returned wearing his pants but no shirt and no shoes.

  He might look like he was ready for bed, but I didn’t really think he was going to sleep.

  I was damned sure I wasn’t going to sleep tonight.

  I’d fallen into a strange, blank daze by going through the motions of everyday routines, but the fear hit me again when Cole turned off the overhead light, leaving the big room lit by only the bedside light

  “You’ll be safe here,” he said, his eyes searching my face again, as if looking for signs of an impending collapse.

  I wasn’t entirely confident the collapse was at bay. It could hit me at any minute.

  “If you keeping acting all nice with me, I’ll know for sure the situation is desperate.” I managed a ghost of a smile, although I could still feel chills rippling through my spine.

  He gave a soft huff of amusement. “You call this nice?”

  “Well, relatively speaking, since you’re usually all mean and snappish.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve snapped my fair share this evening.” He’d stepped over close to me, and I reached to hold onto his arm, needing stability, needing something.

  “Yeah. But it feels like it’s in a nicer way.”

  He smiled faintly, that intensity still holding his gaze with mine, like neither of us could look away. “That’s me. Snappishly nice.”

  I couldn’t hold back a little giggle, but even as I was laughing, the vision of those decapitated rats hit me again, and the giggle transformed into a gurgle, that turned into a choked sob.

  Embarrassed by the sudden breakdown, I turned away from Cole so he wouldn’t see my changed expression.

  “Shit,” he muttered, turning me back around and pulling me against him. “You’re safe here, Evangeline. I promise.”

  I clung to him, feeling small and weak and too scared. “I don’t feel safe.”

  His arms tightened around me. “What can I do to make you feel safer?”

  “Stay with me,” I whispered, stroking his hard back and feeling the strength of him in the lines and mus
cles. “Stay with me tonight.”

  “I already told you I would.” His voice was slightly hoarse, and his body was feeling tense.

  It was a tension that spoke to me, though—that I wanted to feel even more, that seemed to hold the nightmare at bay.

  “No.” I pulled back enough to look up at his face and deep eyes. “I want you stay with me. All the way.”

  He couldn’t fail to know what I was talking about. It was obvious in the way I was touching him, in the way I was gazing up at him. And I knew he wanted it too. That tension was arousal, as much as anything else.

  For a moment, a flicker of conflict was visible on his face, but then it disappeared in a wave of passion. He reached down to take my face in both of his hands the way he had before, and he released a soft groan as he leaned down into a kiss.

  The kiss was just as hungry as the first one had been, but it felt even needier, more desperate this time. He seemed to need me as much as I needed him.

  Our lips and tongues tangled as I pressed my body against his, wanting to feel how big and hard and capable he was by the feel of his body.

  I was already turned on, despite the trauma of earlier in the evening, but my need was as much emotional as physical—as if Cole and his strength was the only thing holding off the darkness.

  His hands had slid down to cup my bottom, and he pressed me against his groin, which had hardened in an obvious way.

  He broke the kiss briefly to mutter, “Sometimes trauma can lead to this sort of thing. It might just be the trauma that’s making you think you want this.”

  I groaned in frustration because I wanted to kiss him again. My hands were sliding over the firm skin of his bare back and my fingers squeezed under his waistband to reach even lower. “What the hell does it matter why I want this? I want this. So much. Right now.” I rubbed myself against his arousal until he groaned. “Don’t you?”

  “You know damned well I do.”

  “So take what you want.”

  He groaned again, differently this time, and kissed me again. This time, the kiss took us into the bed, and I wrapped my legs around him as he buried his face against my neck, nibbling and kissing in a way that made me squirm.