Layla stood from the couch and joined the two at the entrance. "What makes you think that you being here is going to stop him?" she asked.
He answered without looking away from Rayne. "Just call it a hunch."
It was starting to aggravate her, how he was so calm and collected about everything. Didn't he understand that they were playing with her life? She threw her hands up in frustration. "Fine, whatever." She pointed to her friend. "You are sleeping with me. Let's go." She turned toward the hall, but paused and came back to Camden.
"If you insist on being here, then you are on the couch. But if you so much as sneeze the wrong way, I will bludgeon you to death with whatever I can get my hands on." She pointed at him and narrowed her eyes. "Are we clear on that?"
Camden gave a devilish grin that made her heart skip a beat. "Is that a promise?"
She stepped closer. "Oh, no...That is most definitely a threat." With that, she turned and retreated to her bedroom with Layla.
Chapter 4
Camden stood in the darkness of Rayne's living room, nothing but his blue jeans clinging to his lean body. He pulled the blinds back and watched out the window as the tall man standing at the corner disappeared around a building. He released a sigh and stepped away, running his hands through his short black hair. He crossed the small room to the couch and let himself fall back on the cushions.
How am I going to do this?
He'd known Martin Slade for years, since a certain series of events had bought them together. The story of his dying granddaughter and what he did to save her had tugged at his heart, and he agreed to come on and work for the man in hiding in exchange for certain privileges.
It hadn’t taken him long to begin seeing Martin as more than an employer. His kind personality and caring demeanor had made him a very close friend.
He stared up at the ceiling, taking a moment to let eyes to adjust to the darkness. For nearly three weeks now, he'd been in Ridgeton, Washington, keeping an eye on Rayne at the request of her grandfather. Somehow, the old man had known that something was going to happen and asked that Camden watch over her from afar. He wasn't to contact her in any way, just observe.
Camden had questioned him on his sudden motives, but Martin had waved them off, said that he only wanted to know how she was doing. In trusting him as he always had, Camden had packed a bag and flown to Washington on a whim.
He had been expecting a normal twenty-five-year-old partygoer, like most young people these days, someone who was more interested in what she looked like than how she acted, and in a financial rut that she couldn't dig herself out of. Just another immature girl who was looking for someone to take care of her, instead of taking care of herself.
That's not at all what she was. He never foresaw the young, mature Rayne that he’d found. In public, she seemed calm and collected, courteous to everyone she met. She cared more about spending her mornings watching the news instead of putting on makeup. She was simple and had a natural beauty about her that he hadn't seen in quite a while. Behind closed doors, she was carefree and even somewhat spontaneous. He'd seen her dancing around the kitchen with a mop and singing to the radio as she cleaned. She smiled even when no one was around. She read and laughed and was just happy.
Also, she had a stubbornness to her unlike anything he had ever seen. In just two short weeks, he’d seen her put her mind to something and not back down. When tall, dark, and creepy at the corner had broken in, she refused to just roll over and let that rule her life. Sure, she was more cautious and a little frightened. He noticed that she left more lights on than was necessary, or went back several times to make sure the door actually was locked. She tossed and turned in her sleep, but she was determined. She wouldn't accept her friend’s offer to become roommates or take a vacation for a few days to de-stress. She wouldn't do it. She pushed herself and smiled through it all.
He shook his head and rubbed his hands over his face, inhaling deeply. He could only imagine how hard the last few days had been on her. She wasn't that happy-go-lucky girl anymore. She was tired, confused, and angry. She spent her time alone at home in fear instead of laughter, jumping at every creak and pop the building made. He hadn't liked seeing her that way.
When he reported the second break-in and her emotional state to Martin, he insisted that Camden bring her to meet him. He didn't know what purpose it served, but he rarely questioned him. It never did any good, anyway.
So, there he was, on her couch in the dark. He hoped he could convince her to come with him. Martin was determined to see his granddaughter again, and it didn't matter how dangerous it was. If he had to come to Washington himself, he would.
Rayne sat in the backseat of her mother's run-down old station wagon, a pink suitcase on the seat beside her and the back end full of boxes. It was nearly dark outside, but with the help of the car's headlights, she clearly could see her mother and grandfather on the front steps of his log-cabin-style house, yelling at each other.
She didn't know what they were fighting about, but she knew it had to be something big. Was grandpa mad because they were moving out?
She inhaled deeply and coughed a few times. There was still a terrible rattle in her chest, but it was actually better than it was a week ago. In fact, she was feeling better, too. It was a little easier to breathe, and her bones didn't seem to hurt as much, either.
She looked out the window at the stars that were beginning to twinkle into view one at a time and smiled. They were so pretty, especially out there with nothing but trees surrounding them. The shouting grew louder, and she was able to hear bits and pieces of the conversation.
"Why am I so mad?" her petite mother yelled from the bottom of the steps. "You could have killed her!"
Her grandfather descended the first two steps. "But it didn't! She is still alive, Madelyn. She may not have made it this long if I hadn't given it to her."
Madelyn held up a finger at her father. "You don't know that!" She turned toward the car and stopped within a few steps, turning back to glare at him. "I can't even begin to express to you how incredibly angry I am. That is my only little girl." She pointed at the car. "I have no idea how long I have left with her, but I am going to cherish every single moment of it. You could have ripped that away from me!"
She tangled her fingers in her hair and tears streamed down her cheeks as she paced back and forth in front of the car. "My baby is already being taken away from me, and you're trying to expedite it!" Uncontrollable sobs erupted as she continued to pace.
"Madelyn, that was never my intention, and you know it!" he snapped back. "I love you and Rayne more than anything else in this world!" He inhaled deeply and rested his hand on the mahogany banister, staring down instead of looking at his daughter. "Without it, she was going to die anyway. I didn't know what would happen when I gave it her, but I had to try, Madelyn. I had no choice!"
She threw her hands up in the air and backed towards the car, her auburn hair a tangled mess. "It doesn't matter." She turned and grabbed the handle of the car door. "We can't stay here any longer. I can't risk what precious time we have left."
She opened the door and put one leg inside, pausing and looking at him over the door. "You may or may not hear from hear us again."
She crawled inside the car and slammed the door, taking only a second to wipe the tears from her face and give Rayne a somewhat pitiful smile before erratically backing out of the driveway.
She watched her grandfather lower himself onto the top step and bury his face in his hands before they turned a curve and the trees blocked her view.
Rayne’s eyes slowly fluttered open, squinting against the sun that filtered in through the sheer curtains. Something heavy was draped over her chest, and she had to blink her vision clear before she realized it was Layla's arm. She tried to wriggle away, her friend’s legs were tangled around her own and prevented her from escape.
What else could be expected when two full-grown adults shared a twin-size bed? She sho
ved the arm off, eliciting a groan from the lump in the covers.
Staring at the ceiling, she tried to recall the dream she’d had. Surprisingly, it hadn't been the beast this time. It was the memory from the last time she’d seen her grandfather. It must have been brought on by the revelation that he was alive and the anticipation of possibly seeing him again.
She sighed and untangled herself from Layla and the blankets. She laughed when she sat up and saw her large wooden dresser pushed in front of the door, barricading them in. It was a last minute decision for a little extra peace of mind, and it had worked.
Groggily, she stood and stretched. It took a second for her to realize that she sun was already up and shining brightly through the window treatments. She glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was after seven AM. Wow. I must have slept well.
She made her way to the massive piece of furniture blocking the door, and tried to move it. Holy crap! How did we manage to move this thing in the first place?
She pushed and wiggled and shoved until she made just enough space for her slim frame to slip through. How Layla was still sleeping with all the grunting and huffing was beyond her. That girl could sleep through anything!
As she stepped out into her narrow hallway, the smell of food hit her, and immediately her stomach began to growl. She peeked around the corner into the kitchen and found Camden standing in front of the stove with nothing but his jeans on.
She froze. She'd thought he was hot before, but that was nothing compared to what she was seeing now. The hard lines of his back were covered in smooth, ivory skin and marked with tribal tattoos on his sides and shoulders. Sinew and muscle flexed and rippled as he moved, cooking what smelled like eggs.
Her mouth went dry, and she inhaled suddenly, as if she had just remembered to breathe.
His muscles tensed as he spun around, holding a plate of scrambled eggs.
Rayne jerked her head in the other direction, looking anywhere but at him, desperately hoping she hadn't been caught admiring his profile.
Camden smiled and brought the plate over to the counter. "Breakfast is ready," he said in a deep rumble that sent a chill down her spine. "Hope you don't mind I used some of your groceries."
She shook her head, coming back to reality, and suddenly felt extremely underdressed in her flannel pajamas. She ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to smooth the auburn waves. Rayne leaned against the counter and grabbed a piece of toast, trying to act as normal as possible. She nibbled it nonchalantly, even though her insides were trembling with electricity just from being near him.
"Sleep well?" he asked.
She laughed. "I don't think that's even possible when you share a bed with Layla Cummings."
Camden chuckled and crossed his muscular arms over his chest. For the first time that morning, Rayne let their eyes meet. For a split-second, she could have sworn she saw a flicker of something, hunger, maybe even desire. Then it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.
A few awkward moments later, she was searching for something, anything to break the silence. "So I take it nothing exciting happened last night." She used her head to gesture to the front door. "With creeper, I mean."
He shook his head. "He left shortly after you went to bed and turned out the lights."
She nodded. "So when do I get to meet my grandfather, who is dead, mind you," she said sarcastically and used her fingers to make air quotes.
He pointed toward the living room at a brown luggage set with the tags still on them on the floor near the couch. "Our flight leaves in four hours."
Rayne choked on the toast she was eating, coughing and reaching for a glass of orange juice. She greedily gulped it down and panted for air as she looked at him in disbelief.
"Our flight?" She sat the glass down. "I assumed it would be a local trip. Maybe overnight, but not far enough to fly!" She frustratedly ran her hands through her hair. "I can't go across the country with you; I don't even know you!"
Camden rolled his eyes as if he had known this was coming.
Rayne put her hands on her hips and turned to face him head-on. She squared her shoulders and set her jaw. "Don't you dare roll your eyes at me!" she spat. "In case you have forgotten what an incredible mess this all is," she used her hands to gesture all around, "let me remind you."
Camden turned toward her as well, and the two stood face-to-face in her kitchen, bare chest to pink flannel, electric blue to emerald green. The air was so thick between the two, you could almost see the static crackling as their gazes connected.
"I have a stalker who has turned my life upside down in all of two weeks. I'm scared to stay in my house alone, I don't sleep at all anymore, I'm afraid to go out by myself, and you, a complete stranger, shows up at my house, claiming you're here to help me but I don't really know that. For all I know, you could be the one that's after me. And now you want me to get on a plane with you and go meet my dead grandfather!" She threw her hands up in the air. "Sounds crazy, right?"
Camden shook his head and lost the battle to suppress a smile. "It does sound a little odd." He uncrossed his arms and leaned closer to her, revealing his beautifully sculpted chest.
Try as she might, Rayne couldn't stop her eyes from darting across the smooth, taut skin, to the black tribal art starting from somewhere below the waistline of his pants and twisting up his body, across his ribcage and continuing over his shoulder to connect with the one she saw on his back earlier. She bit her lip hard enough to remind herself that he was trouble. When she finally managed to drag her eyes back to his, his face contorted in a cocky smirk.
Dammit. He'd caught her staring. Well, admiring, really.
His expression softened slightly. "What other choice do you have, Rayne?" he asked quietly.
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the ugly cream tile of her kitchen floor in thought. Before she knew it, he'd leaned even closer and his mouth was a few inches from her ear. She froze, immediately aware of his proximity. His warm breath on her neck sent shivers down her spine and his masculine scent assaulted her senses in the best way possible. Her heart pounded in her chest and she was afraid to move. She wasn't sure if it was because he was so close, or because she was afraid he might back away.
"You're just going to have to trust me." His husky voice came out just above a whisper and the moist air bombarding her already tingling skin was more than she could take.
Quickly, she jerked away from him and took a few steps to ball her fists at her sides. She growled in frustration before stomping off down the hall and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Leaning over the porcelain sink, one hand on each side supporting most of her weight, she took a few deep breaths and tried to steady her pounding heart. What is wrong with me? How could I let a complete stranger affect me so much?
She looked in the mirror. Auburn curls hung around her face and cascaded over her shoulders in a wave of ringlets. At least the dark circles that had been plaguing her were mostly, if not all gone. Last night's sleep must have been better than she thought.
She shook her head and forcefully pushed herself away from the lavatory. She knew it was absurd, but he was right. She had to trust him. She didn't know what was going on and was tired of hiding in her house like a dog with its tail between its legs. If Camden was the only way to solve this, then she would just have to go with it.
Turning the faucet on, she ran her hands under the warm water and splashed it on her face, hoping it would help clear her mind, but it was useless. Her mind rambled through her earliest memories, searching for anything that would shed some light.
It had been just her and her mother for as long as she could remember. She never met her father. Hell, she never even knew his name. She was born in Seattle, Washington, and the two of them had lived with her grandfather. He was an accountant or something for some big pharmaceutical company, so he worked a lot and was gone quite a bit. What memories she had of him were fond: playin
g outside the house with him, walking through the trees, but that was all before she had gotten sick.
At five years old, she was diagnosed with leukemia. Medicine in the early nineties was good, but for her particular case, there was nothing they could do. Every doctor who looked at her had said that it was hopeless. Even if she could survive the harshness of the treatments, there was an eighty-five percent chance that it wouldn't work. Her disease was too far progressed, and irreversible damage had been done. At that point, everyone had given up hope.
Both her mother and grandfather had taken the news badly. Her mother slipped into depression and spent her days caring for her sick child. Her grandfather? Most nights he wouldn't even come home after that. No one knew what he was doing, but they all assumed it was just too hard for him.
She did have one distinct memory of him reading to her, though: The Trojan Horse. He loved classic writings and often shared them with her, but that time had been different. She remembered him kneeling and patting her hand.
"Hold still, Rayne, this is only going to sting a little."
She remembered the needle, but not the sting he was talking about. After that, it all seemed to go black. It must have been a sedative to help her relax.
Shortly after, a fight broke out, and Rayne and her mother had packed their things and moved to Oregon. She was still sick, but beginning to show some improvement. A few months later, she felt as though nothing had ever been wrong at all. Her mother took her back to the doctor and something miraculous had happened: Her leukemia was gone, all of it! There was not a trace of the disease to be found.
No one could believe or understand it. This little girl had been knocking on death's door just a short while ago, and then all of her bloodwork was one hundred percent normal. Doctors across the state were dumbfounded and amazed.
A few weeks passed, and her mother received a call stating that her grandfather's house had burned to the ground with him inside.
Dying To Be Heard (Book 1): Outcry Page 4