Having her close was harder. He could see her. Those eyes. There was a look of agony in them.
Something was eating her up. And he was still sitting there.
“I warned you to leave me alone.”
Not really. She’d told him she didn’t date. “I’ll go now. Just say the word.”
She didn’t say any words at all. She took a sip of her wine. He’d noticed that their wine was still cool. The night air? Maybe the air they were creating between them, too.
“Why do you volunteer at The Lemonade Stand?” The question was an obvious one. He’d been avoiding it.
He didn’t really want to know.
He didn’t want to lead her on, didn’t want her to assume he was the type of guy who’d be there for her if she confided in him. He’d rather not put that kind of pressure on himself.
If he was even half as decent as he liked to think, he’d get up and leave. With a knock on her brother’s door to tell Colin his sister needed him.
“Same reason I sit on boards of charities. I’ve dedicated my life to helping others. Especially children.”
He believed her. And knew he’d received the keeping-up-appearances version of her life. That was where he lived, too.
“How did you become associated with them?” What was it with his mouth? His foot was bobbing so fast he was going to get a cramp. A sure sign he was ready to go.
“Through Chantel.”
At least she wasn’t crying. Or sounding like she was about to.
“Chantel? Worked a victim case, I guess, huh?”
“Sort of.” Julie nodded. Then shook her head. “Yes, she worked a case. Actually, we both did.”
“You were a cop?” Shouldn’t he have heard something about that before now?
When Julie shook her head again, he knew he was in trouble. Her mouth started to crumple at the sides, and there was no one here but him.
He’d had too much wine for this, even though he hadn’t even finished a full glass.
Okay, so he hadn’t had nearly enough.
What the hell had he expected? Hanging around. Asking questions. He never did that. And this was why.
He’d created a situation with both of them on the losing end. She was putting herself out there—and she was going to need something from him.
Her mouth moved. She was about to speak. He saw it all happening in slow motion. Saw himself getting up to leave, to make it stop.
And heard a tremulous voice say, “No, Hunter. I wasn’t a cop. I was the victim.”
* * *
JULIE HAD THOUGHT the night she’d attended the Santa Raquel library’s fund-raiser the year before, the first time she’d gone out at night in ten years, knowing that David Smyth was going to be present, had been the hardest thing she’d ever done.
But as she sat there at her pool—always a haven for her—locked securely in her backyard with the beauty her grandfather and parents had created, she realized that night, while hard, had been just a beginning.
She wasn’t ever going to change what David had done to her. She’d never be the girl she’d been before she went to that party with him so long ago. But she had to be able to feel fully alive outside her studio.
She had to embrace life as the woman she was today.
She had to tell Hunter why she couldn’t have a relationship with him, no matter how superficial it might be. Because she’d let things go too far not to.
He’d nearly been assaulted by her brother.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, thinking of the second she’d heard her brother’s voice and feared he was going to hit Hunter.
“Would you please quit saying that?”
She nodded. Wanting to give him anything he asked for, but knowing that wasn’t right, either. She could feel herself slipping back into victim mode. Shrinking.
Just from saying those words.
She wasn’t a victim. Yes, she’d been one, for far too long.
But no more.
She was a survivor.
“I was raped, Hunter.”
The words were bald. Ugly. And they seemed to hang there. In her haven. She didn’t want them.
But couldn’t hide them, either.
Victims hid.
Survivors stood.
If her haven was going to be true, it had to include what had happened to her, had to include the ways she’d changed, had to allow them in in order to heal them.
His mouth was half-open. He stared at her.
And yet, looking him in the eye, she didn’t feel like a freak.
She was a strong, competent woman who lived with emotions that made it impossible for her to do certain things.
Like date.
Or...other things.
Not all rape victims were the same. While many of the emotions they shared were similar, they all dealt with them in different ways. Some of the scars they carried were the same; some were different. Even with a crime as horrible as rape, they were all individuals.
Hunter was still staring.
Then it hit her. He had no idea what to do. Or say. He was like the proverbial deer in the headlights. And her heart opened. Not wide. But enough. Some vestiges of strength dripped through.
They were only going to do this once. She might only ever do this once, so it had to be complete.
“Not just one time,” she admitted to him. It was something Colin didn’t even know. “In an hour he raped me three times. He was my date. We were at a party, and he put some kind of drug, probably Rohypnol, in my drink. Pushed me into a room. Locked the door.”
She was back there for a second. In the opulent home with its soundproof walls. The silk-covered down bedding and five-thousand-dollar mattress.
She’d revisited that place, that night, many times in her memory. She was through with trying to push it away because it didn’t leave. It only lingered in the dark, to batter her down. So she’d learned to light up that room. To look at it.
And she’d learned that while the sight still stopped her breath, it wasn’t killing her anymore.
“I screamed, but the music was too loud.” Both in the room and outside it. Not that it would have mattered. She’d screamed until her throat was burning and raw. He’d laughed and stripped off her underwear anyway. Done what he was going to do.
When he was finished, her skirt had fallen over her hips, covering everything. She remembered noticing that her shirt was still tucked in. David hadn’t bothered much with breasts.
At least not with hers.
“There’s nothing I can say that’s going to make this better for you.” Hunter’s first words in minutes didn’t tell her much. They spoke to her, though.
“I know.”
“I’m an ass for pushing you on this.”
“You had no idea.”
“You tried to warn me.”
“I invited you over for a glass of wine.”
“Yeah. Why did you do that?”
She was the one without an answer now. Hunter leaned forward and reached out a hand. “May I hold your hand?” he asked. He was close enough to take hers, but he didn’t.
Not until she gave it to him.
Then he held on, passing the warmth from his body to hers.
“There’s more,” she told him. “I’m okay if you need to leave now. If you’ve done all you can here. For the rest, I have a support system.”
He nodded. She didn’t know if that meant he wanted to hear more or was confirming that he’d done all he could. Taken all he was equipped to take.
She knew differently. Hunter was the most empathetic man she’d ever met. But he had to see that for himself, just as she’d had to accept certain things about herself.
“We aren’t
doing this again,” she said. And then, when she heard her own words, was afraid he’d think she meant they weren’t going to talk alone again, or share a glass of wine at her pool. Maybe they weren’t. Probably they weren’t. But she didn’t want to make that decision right now. “Talking about it, I mean.” She stumbled a bit over the clarification. Aware of her hand still held between both of his. Liking it there.
Wanting it there.
“So...if you want to know the rest, now’s the time.”
Prepared for his rejection—actually kind of hoping for it—Julie was surprised when her heartbeat accelerated as Hunter said, “I think I need to know the rest.”
She met his gaze. Wondered what they were doing. And why.
But she didn’t want to hold that thought long enough to find an answer.
One thing at a time. One step at a time. That was the way to climb mountains.
She thought about Colin inside with Chantel. For so long, she and her brother had held their secret, only the two of them. And then Chantel had burst into their lives, and Julie had seen how her life, her secrets, had kept her brother in prison, too.
No more. She had to set Colin completely free.
By owning her life.
Why it hit her just then, she didn’t know. But once she’d gained the awareness, there was no going back.
Hunter was a moment in her life. But he was there for a reason.
And maybe she was in his for a reason, too.
With that in mind, she found her voice.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I THINK I need to know the rest? What the hell was that about? I think I need to know the rest?
He was playing with fire, and he wasn’t the only one who’d get burned. What was the matter with him? He didn’t lead women on.
Didn’t promise things he couldn’t do. Or provide.
The noise in his brain was so loud he almost missed her first word. He caught the second. And was locked in place by the third.
“You know them.”
He did?
Not for long he wouldn’t.
He’d kill them.
Them?
When she’d talked about the rape she’d said he. “There was more than one of them?” Hunter wasn’t a violent man. He avoided fights, walked away. Turned his back.
Which was why when his mother had accused his father of domestic violence, almost killing him and his career, Hunter had been unable to testify, unequivocally, that his father had never lifted a hand to his mother.
He’d never seen him do it. Had never seen bruises or been witness to more than a raised voice. And he’d certainly never been on the receiving end of anything but respect from the elder Rafferty.
He hadn’t stuck around. When the fights started, he got out. And according to his mother, that was when the hitting began. In places he wouldn’t have seen any bruises, she’d said. And now he was thinking he’d go after “more than one of them”? If what she was saying was that he knew her rapist and “he” was a “them”...
He wasn’t himself. And yet he still felt a heavy anger brewing inside him.
“You know the family,” Julie said. She was choosing her words carefully. That much was obvious. It was taking her a long time to get them out.
Too much time. Giving his mind a chance to ramble unrestrained all over the place...
Messing him up.
Beautiful, kind, sweet Julie had been raped? As a teenager? By someone she knew and trusted. Someone he knew.
The next question waited for him. He was avoiding it. What was he going to do with the answer?
But he had to know.
“Who?”
Her gaze met his, and Hunter’s mind raced, thinking of everyone he knew among Santa Raquel’s elite. Not one of them came across as even partially criminal to him. They were decent people. Pretty people. The ones he associated with anyway. They gave generously to charities.
He couldn’t imagine wanting any of them dead.
His foot began to tap. He still held her hand. Both hands now. He wanted his wine, but couldn’t let go of her.
“The Smyths.”
Hunter stared at her. She couldn’t be serious. The businessman was one of the richest men Hunter knew. And the most private. He didn’t involve himself in gossip. He and his wife kept to themselves in their lovely home.
Hunter had been there for dinner several times in the past year because they preferred to donate privately. He’d only recently had some success in cajoling them into joining some of his parties.
“It was kept out of the news.” Julie was speaking again. “They pretty much own the media around here.”
Yeah, he’d had luck getting good press through someone Smyth knew. But...
“This doesn’t make sense.”
She pulled her hand away, and he had to let her go. No one was ever going to use physical force of any kind on Julie again, not if he had anything to do with it.
Yeah, and what would he have to do with it?
Hunter took a sip of wine. A small sip. He needed his faculties completely clear.
“The Smyths only have one son,” he said. “He’s married and has kids and lives on the East Coast.”
Her eyes filled with tears. He wanted to wipe them away. To get up and take her surfing.
“His wife took their kids and moved home with her folks,” she told him. “She’s from New York. He’s also on the East Coast. Part of his plea agreement. So that they can visit him if they ever decide they want to. But he’s in prison. He was charged with kidnapping, among other things, and for holding his victims hostage. I was underage, too, so those are federal crimes, which means he can serve his time in any federal prison the judge deems appropriate. From what I understand, he’s in one of those minimum security places for the rich and famous.”
So Hunter wasn’t needed. The man had already been put away. No killing necessary.
His thoughts were growing increasingly bizarre. Still, he sat there. So that was it. The “more” she’d had to tell him.
His mouth fell open. He stared at her. What an idiot he was!
“So when I was asking you to go with me to the roast...”
Smyth Sr. had been there. She must’ve realized he could be. And she’d gone anyway. For Joy. To help him. His incredible respect for her grew.
The woman had courage. Backbone. Strength.
More than any woman he’d ever known, his own mother included.
Not that David Smyth Sr. had been her rapist. On the contrary, the man had obviously stood aside while his son was prosecuted. Someone with his kind of money could have covered up the crime, could have conspired in making it look consensual. They’d been on a date, at a party. She’d gone there willingly. Not that he doubted Julie for one second. But he knew what money could do. How the system worked.
He’d lived in California his whole life. He read the news. And...
“Wait. He’s married. Has kids...” That didn’t fit with a high school girl on a date. “When was this?”
Julie stood. Wineglass in hand, she moved back to the fireplace. Hunter followed her again. He took her hand and sat on the hearth to the right of the fire. Looked up at her.
She could go. Tell him to go. She’d already said they were never going to speak about this again after tonight. She sat, too.
“The rape was ten years ago.”
He realized it had to be about that. She’d moved on with her life. Graduated from college. Held charity board positions.
And she’d never dated.
Things dawned on him slowly sometimes.
This was why she wouldn’t go out with him. She didn’t go out with anyone.
“I came home to Colin right afterward. Told him what
happened. He called the police, took me to the hospital. They did a rape kit. And they called the police, as well.”
Right. He was aware of the general process. TV and all.
“Next thing we knew Colin was called into the police commissioner’s office. He was barely out of law school, just taking over the family firm due to our father’s unexpected and very premature death.”
He was getting the picture more quickly now. Definitely wanted to take her surfing. And wanted to barf up every bite of food he’d ever eaten at the Smyth home.
But their son was in prison, so...
“David Smyth Sr. and Commissioner Reynolds had known each other all their lives. They also knew just about every lucrative client the law firm had. They said they could easily paint a picture of consensual sex. That I liked it rough, so the rape kit would only appear to confirm their theory. That they weren’t even sure the rape kit had ever made it into evidence. Or if it had, that it was still there. They insinuated that it wouldn’t be. They said they’d ruin my reputation and that Colin’s clients would leave him.” She paused, took a breath. “Everyone knew I’d been after David, that I’d had a crush on him all through high school. When he started asking me out, that was all I could talk about.”
He got the picture. Had bile in his mouth. What he didn’t grasp was how they got from there to now. With Smyth in jail.
“You said you and Chantel worked a case. And that’s how you became associated with The Lemonade Stand.”
He was in way over his head, and not for the first time, either.
But he wouldn’t listen to his better judgment and leave.
Not until this was done.
And where he went after? Physically or emotionally? He’d figure that one out later.
“Chantel was new to the force, working undercover, posing as a member of an elite East Coast family. She was at an art auction and met Colin. He asked her out. She saw that as her way in to our crowd and accepted. Except that she fell in love with him.”
Nice. But it had nothing to do with what he had to know.
“She was there to investigate allegations of domestic violence against a member of our social group.”
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