by Lora Leigh
“Let me know when I can come through the front door, Cami,” he bit out furiously. “Until then, you damned well better remember every word of warning I just gave you.”
Before she could protest or argue, he was gone. Sliding through the shadows and disappearing, leaving her feeling suddenly deflated, lost.
She sat down slowly on the lovers’ bench behind her and covered her face with her hands.
She should have told him why.
She should have told him about the phone calls and that the last threat wasn’t just against her. The last time the caller had contacted her, he had threatened Rafe as well.
“You’re not being a good girl, Cambria. Don’t you know I’ll punish you even more than I did your sister? This time, your lover will feel my anger as well.
You’re not being a good girl.
In other words she wasn’t staying away from Rafe or keeping him away from her.
Maybe she should have told him—
CHAPTER 15
Cami forced herself to go home that night.
The streets, as she suspected, were far from empty, which would make it much easier for anyone to follow her.
She walked back to the house with friends she worked with who had parked farther down the street and gave her a reliable excuse for walking with someone. She didn’t have to ask anyone to walk with her, which would have required explanations.
But once she reach her home and stepped inside it, she almost wished she had stayed just a little longer at the outdoor party. Perhaps until daylight.
Because the house was too quiet.
It was too lonely.
The home she had grown up in, the one she had bought from her father when he and her mother made the decision to move to Aspen, seemed to close in on Cami. For the first time in her life she didn’t feel comfortable, warm, and protected, and she wondered that she ever had.
There had been something about her mother’s presence in it, Cami admitted. Her mother had made the difference. Before Cami’s parents had sold the house and moved to Aspen, it had been a warm, inviting home. Sometimes. If her father wasn’t there.
But still, it was the home she had been raised in. It was the home where she had gotten to know her older sister until Cami had turned eight and Jaymi had moved out.
And even then, Jaymi hadn’t forgotten about her. Jaymi had taken Cami to her new home regularly, and when her husband had been killed in the military it had been Cami who Jaymi had wanted to stay with her for a while.
And her father had never seemed to understand why Jaymi wanted Cami with her. He had never understood why her older sister seemed to love her. If her mother had felt the same way, Cami had never sensed it. But neither could she discount the suspicion. Because there was no way her father could have resented her and her mother not know it.
There were times Cami and Jaymi swore Margaret Flannigan had eyes in the back of her head, because they couldn’t seem to get anything past her when they were children. She would have known, despite the sedatives she took. Margaret would have seen that her husband cared nothing for his younger daughter.
So why hadn’t Margaret Flannery done something about it? Why hadn’t her mother left Mark Flannigan, or at least made the effort to let Cami know that she accepted her?
Was she so unlovable to the father she had adored as a child that loving her was impossible? She wondered as she stared around the house for long minutes. Was she truly so bad that as her father said, he had been forced to take her mother away to Aspen to alleviate Cami’s influence?
Or had he simply found the only way to punish her for not being the daughter who had died? Because taking her mother away from Cami truly was the only way he could have hurt her at that point.
She stood silently for a moment, staring around the shadowed house, feeling the loneliness that wrapped around her. That sense of suddenly having nothing to hold on to and no one to warm her. There were no parents, no siblings, where once there had at least been a sister and a mother.
Now there was simply no one but her aunt and uncle.
And Rafe.
When Cami allowed herself to have him.
Yet even he hadn’t come back to the house with her. He hadn’t followed her, and he wasn’t at her back door now.
He had given her a choice, and now he was sticking to it. She could call him. She could come to him. But he wasn’t going to allow her to excuse her choice with the excuse that he hadn’t given her a choice.
With a hard jerk of her head she forced that thought, that need, back. Moving through the house, she checked the locks on the doors, checked the windows, and double-checked the alarm.
She felt restless, on edge. As though a foreboding followed her, an instinctive warning to beware that she couldn’t seem to shake. The feeling had begun at the social, tingled around her on her way home, and now it had settled into her senses like a subtle scent she couldn’t shake and yet couldn’t identify.
She wished she hadn’t danced with Rafe. Wished she had asked him to follow her home. She wished he were there with her, and she should know by now the folly of wishing for things that weren’t meant to be hers.
Rafe hadn’t followed her home, though; he hadn’t spoken to her after he had left her back in that little grotto. And he hadn’t mentioned that claim on her.
Even though Cami knew he had made it.
Even though Rafe was very well aware of the fact that he had a claim on her and they both knew it it was a claim she couldn’t shake or deny.
And as his gaze had followed her throughout the night, she had felt that knowledge. Just as everyone else at the dance had. Even Emma had been reticent to say anything about it, or to tease Cami over it. And normally, Emma was the one to joke about anything.
She had felt his eyes on her nearly every second, especially if another man had dared to approach her.
As though Rafe’s warning had kept her from dancing with anyone else. That had nothing to do with her decision, because she realized he wouldn’t have really made a scene.
He would be madder than hell. He would hate every second of it. He would have most likely waylaid her in private again at first chance. But there wouldn’t have been a confrontation. Rafer Callahan had more pride than that.
The truth was, she hadn’t wanted to dance with anyone else. She hadn’t danced with another man, slept with another man, or engaged in a serious flirtation with another man since the first night she had slept with Rafer. Well, they hadn’t done much sleeping that night.
The most she had done in the past was to go out to dinner a few times with other men, hoping each time that there would be at least the faintest spark of attraction.
But there hadn’t been.
Breathing out roughly, she trailed her fingers over the banister of the stairs as she moved to the the master suite.
The room that somehow hadn’t had even the faintest mark of her parents on it when she had bought it.
She’d redecorated after buying the house from her parents anyway.
She almost smiled at the thought of that purchase. Her father had actually priced the house at the highest appraisal given, and that was the price she had had to pay for it. At twenty two, that hadn’t been easy.
Thankfully, tourism hadn’t really kicked off in Sweetrock yet, so housing prices weren’t as high as they could have been otherwise. And her uncle had co-signed
She had bought the house the week after she had lost their child.
She hadn’t been prepared for such loss, in more ways than one. When her period had been late, she had been certain — and she had been wrong.
Perhaps she had made her mistake in attempting to forget that night and every other time she had met him or deliberately run into him over the years until the miscarriage. It hadn’t been hard to learn where he would be or when until his uncle Clyde Ramsey had died.
After that, Cami hadn’t heard anything else about Rafer until his arrival in town more than three years la
ter.
Reaching the second floor, she turned at the landing and took the several steps to the suite she’d completely redecorated. Merging the master bedroom with the guest room, she’d created a sanctuary within her home.
All of the rooms, in some ways, were an oasis, a sanctuary that fulfilled whatever varied mood she could have without reminding her of her father in any way.
But tonight, tonight her mood was unlike any she had had before.
It was interesting.
Stepping into her bedroom, she closed the door behind her, her hand still gripping the doorknob as she leaned back against the door. Staring up at the ceiling, she inhaled slowly, deeply, and blinked back the tears.
She didn’t want to be here alone—
A shadow moved in the corner of the room. Quick, fast, like a blur of darkness it barreled toward her.
“Oh God!” Terror washed through her at the sight, at the instinctive knowledge of what it was.
Dressed in black from head to toe, a dark hood pulled over his face, nothing showing but dark, malevolent eyes.
Screaming, Cami jerked open the door and raced out of it, thanking God she had taken off the high heels, as she tore down the stairs to the front door and the security alarm control.
She knew she didn’t have a chance of releasing the locks before her attacker caught her. She couldn’t chance the back door, where there was no alarm control.
She was just there. Her hand slapped it, her fingers reaching for the panic button, when a hard, violent blow was delivered to the side of her head.
Her cheek slammed into the wall. Bells seemed to clamor in her head as her stomach pitched sickeningly with the pain and dizziness that suddenly attacked her.
Vicious, hard fingers suddenly caught at her hair, jerking her back and throwing her into the stairs. As though in slow motion, she felt herself hurtling across the space, unable to stop the fall she knew was coming.
She caught herself against the banister as she stumbled back, hitting a step with her hip as her head cracked against the banister railing. For a second, dizziness washed over her as a wave of raw pain swept through her head again.
Another blow cracked the side of her face.
His fist?
The agony was like nothing she had ever known before. It resounded through her skull, sliced through her brain, and seemed to rip her senses from their moorings. She was trying to scream, but she didn’t know if she was. The wailing clash of sound in her head was so loud.
“You fucking whore!” Snarling, furious, the harsh male voice cracked around her a second before he jerked her up by the hair on her head.
Her hands pulled his wrists, her nails digging at them, searching for bare flesh as she fought to be free.
A second later he threw her against the door as she screamed again, her fingers curling into claws as she aimed for his face.
She was inches from his eyes when harsh hands grabbed her wrists, jerked them over her head, and ripped her gown down the front.
Bucking, her screams mixing with the piercing wail of the siren echoing through the head, Cami fought desperately to be free. Hard, cruel fingers wrapped around the mound of one breast, squeezing harshly as she felt the screaming pain of merciless fingers twisting her nipple.
“I’ll fuck you first, then cut your fucking throat like I should have cut your diseased sister’s.”
Low, vicious laughter sounded at Cami’s ear as she fought, kicking, screaming, until finally her knee struck its target and slammed into the vulnerable balls between his thighs as he moved to shift his weight.
The high, piercing cry tore from him. His suddenly lax grip gave her the chance she needed to throw herself away from him, reaching for the umbrella holder and jerking one of the folded instruments from the opening.
As a weapon it was pitiful, but her dazed mind could only comprehend the point, the curved handle, and the distance it would put between her and her attacker.
She whirled around in just enough time to see the front door jerking open and the black-clad figure disappearing as she heard the sounds of something crashing, yelling, cursing, and the pounding of feet running through her hall like a stampede of elephants.
“You bastard!” she sobbed, her legs collapsing, throwing her to the hardwood floor as she braced herself against the side of the steps. Cami felt her legs folding beneath her as the blows to her head, the terror, and the sudden, overwhelming relief stole her last bit of strength.
With one hand braced around the spindle of the banister, her fingers locked desperately around the smooth wooden support as she laid her head against her arm and screamed out in rage.
Tears filled her eyes, and one even escaped before she could battle it back. Breathing harshly and fighting back what could easily turn into desperate, agonizing cries, she whispered Rafe’s name.
Her dress was ruined. The silk underslip was still intact; her stockings were probably ruined. And if she had just told Rafer about that call during the afternoon, then she wouldn’t have been alone. And no one would have ever gotten the jump on Rafer as he had on her.
Oh God, where was Rafe?
She was cold and so scared. The entire world was spinning much too fast, and all she wanted to do was make the twisting, spinning motions cease before she began retching all over her pristine wooden floor.
“Cambria?” She heard Archer’s yell as he rushed through the opened front door.
She tried to lift her head as he came to a hard, shocked stop. It wobbled on her shoulders, though, causing her sight to careen wildly once again, dragging a moan from her lips. Instantly he was kneeling in front of her, his hands and his gaze going over her quickly.
“Are you okay?” He touched her forehead. The brief touch sent a wave of pain tearing through her, causing her to flinch and jerk her head back a second before she began gagging from the revolving room.
She could taste blood in her mouth. The taste of it added to the sickening, retching sensation gripping her stomach. If everything would just slow down. If it would just stop spinning for more than a second or two, then she could find her balance.
Dizziness rushed over her again, forcing her to put her head down, to swallow desperately and fight the sickness threatening to overwhelm her.
“Did you get him?” she finally gasped weakly when she could lift her head to try to focus on Archer. He looked like he was wavering, slithering from side to side like a cobra attempting to mesmerize her.
Rather than mesmerizing her, it only made her feel sicker, more confused.
Frowning, she knew something was wrong but was having a hell of a time concentrating on what. She knew she was ill, that the blows to her head hadn’t been a good thing.
“How many, Cami?” he was yelling at her, holding up his hand. Or something. He was holding something up in front of her face.
She tried to focus, blinking, almost whimpering at the disorientation and the pain surging through her head once again.
Oh God, she hated not being able to concentrate, unable to think or to rationalize.
“How many?” Archer yelled at her again.
How many?
“Two Archers,” she whispered, dazed as she laid her head against her arm once again, wondering why she kept seeing two of him when she knew there was only one. Archer didn’t even have a brother, let alone a twin.
“Archer, I don’t feel well,” she whispered, suddenly terribly frightened of the disorientation she couldn’t seem to shake.
“Ambulance is on its way, Cami.” His hands clasped her face, forcing her to tilt her head back as the room swam around her and pure agony raced through her temples, her eyes, shooting to the back of her neck.
She tried to swat at his hand, to scream, but all that came out was a weak whimper. “Rafer.”
“It’s Archer, Cami. Fuck, where is that ambulance?”
Who was he talking to? Please, not Martin Eisner. Martin would tell her uncle, and her uncle and Aunt Ella would rush ov
er.
Ella would fuss over her.
Her mother used to fuss over her.
Uncle Eddy would threaten to kill the bastard, and he would mean it.
She needed Rafer.
“Archer.” She couldn’t hold her head up, could barely breathe enough to force out a single word: “Rafer.”
She could see the darkness edging in on her vision.
“Did Rafer do this, Cami?” Shock, fury, it all filled his voice.
Why was he so angry? Rafer had slipped into her bedroom. She had tried to tell him they couldn’t do this. They couldn’t slip around, and he didn’t listen to her any more than her own body did.
She could hear someone else beyond her vision, yelling about Rafer.
She tried to shake her head.
“Get Rafer,” she whispered. “Have to tell—”
She had to tell Rafer. She had to warn him.
“Cami, answer me, damn you!” Archer was yelling at her. Archer had never yelled at her. “Cami, did Rafer do this?”
She needed Rafer. There were too many voices screaming in her head. Or was that around her head?
The darkness was coming closer, closer. And she had to warn Rafer.
“Warn Rafer—,” she could barely whisper. It was a breath of a sound, the last of her energy before she faced nothingness.
Oh God, was this how Jaymi had felt when she died? Could Cami feel that complete absence of being before she left the world? She sobbed, crying out for the hell her sister must have endured and terrified of facing it herself. Of being unable to avoid it and unable to force herself away from it.
That dark, icy nothingness closed over her, like a freezing, merciless veil of ice. There was nothing comforting, nothing gentle, about it. It was terribly frightening, dragging her into it as she fought helplessly to retain consciousness, to warn Rafer.
Someone needed to warn Rafer.
* * *
Dawn was rolling over the mountains when Rafer finally gave up the battle to sleep, rose, showered, and dressed for the day. He was putting on coffee when Logan and Crowe made their way from their rooms, their distinctly irritated looks directed straight at him.