Hidden Away k-3

by Maya Banks

  She hurriedly dried and then pulled on her underwear and jeans over her still-damp skin. She struggled with her bra, and in her haste, she managed to put the damn thing on inside out. God, but she was a mess. With a laugh, she righted her bra and then yanked on her shirt. She wasn’t even going to bother with her hair. If he was so determined that she make it out in five minutes, then he’d just have to deal with her looking like a drowned rat. More like a horde of rats had taken up residence in her tangled tresses.

  She gave one last wipe to her hair so it wasn’t actually dripping and then gave up and opened the door. Garrett was leaning against the opposite wall and he raised an eyebrow.

  She frowned. “What? You gave me five minutes. This is what happens when you give a woman only five minutes in the bathroom.”

  “Whoa, I didn’t say a word.”

  “You didn’t have to. It was that look you gave me like you were staring at Medusa.”

  He chuckled and kicked off the wall. “I wasn’t looking at your hair.”

  “Then what the hell were you looking at?”

  “I’m a man. Shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.”

  She glanced downward and saw that her shirt was clinging very damply to her bra, which was also ... damp, which in turn gave him a pretty darn good glimpse of her breasts and the outline of her nipples.

  “Oh hell.” She turned and charged back into the bathroom to get another towel. “This is all your fault.”

  “What were you hollering about?” he asked from the doorway.

  She turned around, armed with a towel that she held strategically over her chest. “I turned the cold water on so I could wake up. You said you wanted to talk. I can’t talk if all I want to do is go back to sleep.”

  He stepped back into the hallway and gestured for her to precede him back into the bedroom. She plopped onto the bed and switched the towel for a pillow and held it to her chest as she made herself comfortable.

  Garrett loomed—there was no other word for it—over the end of the bed. He was a big man, and in such a small bedroom, he seemed to take up every available inch. He made her nervous.

  “For God’s sake, sit down or something. I can’t think with you hovering like that.”

  He made a sound of amusement but accommodated her by settling on the end of the bed. But that only brought him closer and made the entire setting feel decidedly intimate.

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  He studied her for a moment, his gaze moving over her face in a way that made her think he was peeling her skin back. “Why are you so nervous?”

  That was a stupid question. Something an oblivious man would totally ask. So she ignored him and stared pointedly, waiting for him to begin.

  “I’ve put my cards on the table. It’s time for you to deal yours.”

  Her eyes widened and then she narrowed them in irritation. “You haven’t done anything of the sort. I know your name and that my brother supposedly sent you—which, by the way, I plan to confirm.”

  Garrett shook his head and sighed. “You have no sense of self-preservation, Sarah. You and I have to work on that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “If I was the bad guy feeding you a line about your brother sending me, you just tipped your hand and put me on notice. If I was threatened by that, it would be awfully damn easy to make you sure you weren’t capable of checking in with Lattimer.”

  “Why are you telling me this then?”

  “Because I’m the good guy, and I want to teach you not to make mistakes that could get you killed.”

  He looked indulgent, like he was having to display a large degree of patience with her naïveté. Okay, she got it. She was a complete moron. But in her defense, there weren’t any classes where one learned the art of deception and cloak-and-dagger crap that was the hallmark of overwrought spy thriller movies.

  Much was said about common sense, but common sense was for the generalities of life. No one she knew had experience with murder and hiding from the law.

  “Cut me some slack,” she muttered. “I know I’m an idiot. I get it. I do.” She rubbed her hand over her forehead and a wave of hopelessness hit her like a tsunami. Who was she kidding? She was never going to survive on her own.

  “You’re not an idiot,” Garrett said in a low voice. “You’ve had your very normal life upended. You’ve made some bad choices, and you haven’t been as careful as you should, but that’s where I come in. I’m going to do my damndest to make sure nothing happens to you.”

  “If you only knew,” she murmured. Then she let out a dry laugh. “Bad decisions. If I could only go back.”

  “You can’t think that way. You play with the cards your dealt and you move on.”

  “You strike me as someone who lives with no regrets,” she said, intensely jealous of how grounded and confident he always appeared.

  He seemed surprised by her observation and he laughed, but the sound wasn’t one of amusement.

  “My attitude is born of necessity. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve made decisions I regretted. I know what it’s like to live with regret. I live with it every day. But if I let it take over, I’d never get out of bed in the morning.”

  The frank, raw note in his voice shook her. For a moment she got a glimpse of the man beyond the self-assured, steady exterior. For some reason it reassured her and put them on more of an equal footing.

  He stared back at her, neither of them speaking. She was unwilling to break the brief moment of connection—true connection—and she savored that he’d shared something beyond casual conversation. He hadn’t said much but it had been what he said. She wasn’t the only person to make mistakes—though hers seemed so much larger and the consequences so much more far-reaching, but how was she to know the true depth of his mistakes?

  “What happened in Boston, Sarah?”

  Garrett watched as the blood drained from Sarah’s face. She went as pale as the sheets rumpled around her. Her arms tightened around the pillow she held so close to her chest and she dug her chin into it until only her eyes shone over the top. Damn. He didn’t want to scare the hell out of her, but he had to pry the information out.

  “I need to know what you saw, Sarah,” he said gently. “I need to know what kind of danger you’re in.”

  If possible, she went even whiter. For a moment she closed her eyes and when she reopened them he saw a vulnerability so deep that he wanted to reach out and hold her.

  “It was best that I left,” she finally said. “I can’t go back. I’ve resigned myself to that.”

  “So you’ll spend the rest of your life running? That’s no way to live, Sarah. It doesn’t have to be that way. I need ...” He ran his hand through his hair back and forth in agitation. He hated the hypocrisy in what he was about to say to her. He hated that would ask her to give him something he had no right to given his deception. “I need for you to trust me.”

  She looked up, her eyes dull. “I don’t trust anyone.”

  So starkly said, the words hit him hard. There was a wealth of emotion even when her expression was so dim and lifeless.

  “Sarah.”

  She refocused on him, blinking as their gazes met.

  “You can trust me.”

  And she could. With her life. Her well-being. He’d do whatever necessary to keep her safe. He wasn’t being honest with her, and that was something he’d have to live with. But she could damn well trust that he’d never let anyone hurt her.

  Somehow he would separate what he had to do in order to bring down her brother and shield her in the process. She would see it as a betrayal. She was too loyal, too loving and giving to accept what he had to do. But it was the right thing to do and somehow, someway, even if it took forever, he’d make her understand that. He didn’t have a choice.

  Her struggle was vivid, played across her face and awash in her eyes. He saw an intense desire to be able to trust him. She was so wary but she longed for someone to
lean on. And damn it, he wanted to be that person.

  “Sarah.”

  She locked gazes with him again.

  “You can trust me.”

  The lie that wasn’t a lie. Was anything ever straightforward? Life was a study in shades of gray. As black and white as he tended to view the world, here and now he understood the pull between right and wrong. Between what he had to do and what he wanted. He didn’t like it. Not at all.

  “Now tell me what happened the day you walked into the building where Allen Cross was murdered.”

  He watched her battle the tears, but she blinked them back and swallowed, her jaw tightening. “I saw Allen Cross die. I wasn’t in time. I wasn’t in time,” she repeated helplessly.

  Garrett’s frowned and leaned forward. “Wasn’t in time for what?”

  “I could have prevented it. Oh God, I could have stopped it.”

  A spasm of grief crossed her face. It was uncomfortable to witness, and for a moment he wanted to pull her into his arms and drop the entire subject. It was a stupid, emotional reaction—one he couldn’t afford to consider. Too much was at stake here.

  “How could you have prevented it, Sarah? Did your brother threaten Cross?”

  “Marcus doesn’t make threats. He doesn’t posture. He acts.”

  It was hard to tell by the inflection of her voice whether her statement was a criticism or a bleak statement of fact. There was no pride in the words.

  “Then how could you have prevented it?” Garrett asked again.

  He might not be that intuitive when it came to women, but his gut was starting to scream. Some of the puzzle pieces were coming together. He didn’t know why it hadn’t clicked for him before. But now the facts were there, laid out in front of him and he had a very bad feeling he knew exactly what had prompted Marcus Lattimer to go to Allen Cross’s office and shoot him in cold blood.

  He met her gaze, saw so much more than he had even five minutes ago. “Who hurt you, Sarah?”

  Her face lost all color again and her eyes went blank, like a deep freeze or a white-out.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The words stuttered out, utterly unconvincing.

  He reached over to take her hand. She tried to retreat, but he held firm and gently rubbed his thumb up and down her fingers. “You’re as skittish as an abused animal. Someone hurt you. I think I finally understand what happened and why.”

  “Then why ask if you already know everything? You have it all figured out. You don’t need me to spill my insides.”

  He wasn’t put off by the bitterness is her voice. He may have lied about Lattimer, but there was one thing he planned to be blindingly honest with her about.

  “I need to know,” he said simply. “And I need to know because I can’t live every minute wanting to kiss you and touch you, all the while knowing that someone made you afraid. Not just of me but all men.”

  Her eyes widened and her lips parted in a gasp of surprise.

  “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Sarah. More than anything, I want you to trust me. I want you to be able to feel my touch and know that I’m never going to hurt you. I want you to touch me.”

  He hadn’t realized how much he wanted her to touch him until he’d said the words. He wanted to feel those soft hands on his skin. His groin ached and throbbed. He wanted her fingers wrapped around his dick, stroking with her featherlight caress and then firmer. He wanted her on every inch of his body. He wanted to see the contrast of her paleness against his darker skin.

  He wanted to taste her and for her to taste him. Sweat beaded his forehead and his breaths had shallowed until it embarrassed him. He was panting after her like a moron, but she flipped every one of his switches, and some he hadn’t even known he had.

  He wanted to make love to her. He wanted her to trust him enough to take that step. He wanted to show her that he’d never hurt her.

  Her surprise turned to hurt, her gaze growing dim. He hated the sadness that was deep seated there. It was like watching day turn to night as some of the light went out and shadows stretched like storm clouds through her eyes. She pulled her hand away and he let her this time.

  “You were right, Garrett,” she said in a brave voice that trembled with the effort it took her to make the admission. “Someone did hurt me. More than that, he took something away that I’m not sure I’ll ever get back.”

  It was hard to control the rage that mounted with every breath he took. He willed himself to remain still and not to outwardly react. She seemed so hesitant—and vulnerable—almost as if she expected him to back away as though she had the plague.

  But he knew. Goddamn it, he knew that Cross had been the one who raped her. Everything clicked together at light speed. Her quitting her job with Cross and not taking one since.

  It even made sense why Lattimer had killed the son of a bitch, and as much as Garrett loathed Lattimer, he understood why. There was plenty to condemn Lattimer for, but not this.

  Sarah turned her haunted gaze to Garrett, and he saw her visibly withdraw. The walls went up, almost as if bracing herself for his rejection.

  Instead, he eased forward, moving inch by inch until he slid his hand over hers again, cupping it protectively in his palm. “You’ll get it back.”

  “He raped me,” she blurted. “I trusted him and he raped me.”

  He wished he was one of these guys who always knew the right thing to say at the right time, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t subtle. He didn’t know how to be sensitive and he sucked at words. He acted. That was who he was.

  He reached out and tenderly nudged her chin with his free hand until their gazes met again. Tears shimmered in her beautiful eyes and he remembered all the times before when she’d been so stalwart, on the verge of tears but never letting them fall. Had she ever cried for herself? Had she ever given herself permission to grieve?

  “Honey, you gave him your trust. He shit on that. That’s on him. Not you. Never you. I’d like to find the bastard and cut his nuts off, but I know that doesn’t help you now.”

  She gave a shaky laugh and a single tear slipped down her cheek. He caught it with his thumb and whisked it away but continued to stroke her cheek.

  “He’s dead,” she whispered. “Marcus killed him.”

  “I know,” he said gently. “But it was a nice image, wasn’t it?”

  This time her laughter was stronger and some of the light flooded back into her eyes. And damn if he didn’t want to pull her into his arms and tell her it would be okay. But he had no way of knowing that. It was just words, and she didn’t need platitudes.

  And just as quickly, her face crumpled and she took her hand from his and wiped at her eyes. “Oh God, I’m laughing and a man died because of me. Because I didn’t stand up for myself.”

  “He deserved to die,” Garrett said fiercely. “Any man who preys on a woman deserves a long, painful death. He doesn’t deserve your regret or your guilt.”

  “It’s not just him. My brother killed him for me. When he found out what Cross had done, he was so furious. I shouldn’t have told him. But he knew. He knew something horrible had happened.”

  She was babbling now, talking fast, the words tumbling over each other, but he remained silent and let her get it out.

  “I was so devastated. I couldn’t even go out of my apartment. Isn’t that ridiculous? I was afraid to go out because it would mean unlocking my door. I didn’t want to chance seeing him even though the odds of our paths crossing when I no longer worked for him were nil. I didn’t go to the police because I heard Allen telling me over and over that no one would ever believe me. It’s so stupid. Why did I believe him? Why did I allow him control even after it was over?”

  “Not stupid,” he said.

  Her eyes were glassy, and she was lost in another time and place. Locked in her past. Reliving it with each breath. He’d asked for her trust, but he hadn’t realized what it would cost her. And he hadn’t realized how painful
it would be for him to hear. Even though he’d strongly suspected what had happened to her.

  “Marcus doesn’t visit. I mean, not often. I’m sure you know he ...” She shook her head. “He doesn’t spend much time in the States. But we email often. He always looks out for me. Wants to know if there’s anything I need.

  “He’d been trying to get in touch with me and was worried when he couldn’t reach me so he came to my apartment. It had been months. Months. And for me, it was like it had just happened the week before. At first I refused to tell Marcus, but he wouldn’t relent. He was so worried. He wanted to take me to a doctor. He thought I was ill. When I finally told him, he went crazy. I thought it was all talk. People say things in the heat of the moment all the time but they don’t mean it.”

  “He meant it.”

  “He meant it,” she repeated bleakly. “He spent so much time with me that it slid away, his threats, the words he said when he was so angry. He took me places. Bullied me to eat. Made me laugh again. I don’t know what I would have done without him. He saved my life. I know that sounds so dramatic, and I know you think I’m probably still a mess and I’m this scared little mouse, but it was so much worse then. It felt like something broke inside me and I didn’t know how to fix it. I’ve always been naïve. I know that about myself. I’ve been called a Goody Two-shoes. Miss See the Best in Everyone. He took that from me. I never imagined in a million years that he would have done something like that.

  “I’ve always considered myself a good person. I’ve never done anything to purposely hurt anyone. I was in shock that this happened to me, and because it did, I turned into this vengeful person. I’ve never truly hated anyone, but I was glad when I saw him lying there on the floor.”

  Garrett could stand it no longer. The ache in her voice, the absolute devastation was tangible. He pulled her into his arms and pressed her cheek to his chest. She didn’t resist as he stroked his hand through her hair. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

  When she spoke again, her voice was muffled by his shirt. He shifted and pulled her more firmly against him, but turning so that he could hear.