She nodded, seeing he was committed to the cause. And it wouldn’t hurt, having someone in her corner. In fact, it felt pretty damn good.
“How did you find out about this? Was there anything in your email today?”
Raine blinked. “Duane left a note on my desk that he had to talk to me—that’s how I found out. I haven’t even checked my email, I completely forgot.”
Jack nodded, and guided her to the seat. “Do it now, let’s see if there are any more nasty little surprises there.”
Raine nodded, sitting at the laptop and tapping in her login information. She swallowed hard when she saw the long list of emails pop up, all from a strange-looking account, all with the same subject heading:
Whore!
The word streamed down the screen in an endless parade of slurs, hundreds of lines all the same, filling screen after screen after screen.
She heard Jack swear, and he leaned over her shoulder, opening one of the emails, and found no message. Tapping away at the keys, and cursing mightily, he finally slammed the laptop shut.
“There’s no trace. At least at this level. I’m going to have to dig deeper. This slime won’t keep breaking in, I can guarantee you that.”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?” Her voice was hushed, as she felt the crushing wave of blues set in. “I won’t be here. And I am not going to send one single email from home. I am not even going to hook up at all. No more internet for me.”
Jack rubbed her shoulders, digging his fingers into her neck, where the muscles were so tense they were hard as a rock. He wanted to comfort—he wanted to do something—this whole situation was making him feel ineffectual, and now he couldn’t even make sure she was okay here at work. With him. He inhaled the scent of her hair, and continued massaging until he felt her loosen up.
“Feel better?”
“My neck does. Thanks. You probably just helped me avoid a killer headache.”
Although his hands on her had inspired aches in other regions of her body, which surprised her, given the circumstances. Suddenly the softly lit office seemed close and intimate, and she realized his hands hadn’t left her shoulders, but rested there, rubbing the hollows of her shoulder blades. Funny, she had never before thought of that as such an erotic spot. But it was now.
“Raine.”
“Hmm?” His hands were melting her stress into a light buzz.
“Why do you think the sudden change in attitude? This guy seemed to want to impress you, sent you expensive roses, cleared up your bills—he wants you to know how skillful he is, how much control he has, how much he likes you—but he seemed to be trying to do good things for you, perverse as they were. But now, well, now he sounds pissed off.”
Raine nodded slowly. “Well, it’s not exactly a stable person who does this kind of thing in the first place. Maybe he is angry that I haven’t acknowledged his gifts, or that you changed my email login.”
Jack nodded. Possible. There was another possibility, too. That he had seen them. Perhaps last night, in the parking lot. Perhaps earlier in the day, holding hands at the police station, when Jack had followed her home, or when they had been talking in the café. This guy could be watching. He could be jealous. Jack didn’t want to let Raine know that—she had enough to deal with; he didn’t want to scare her with suppositions, but he had a bad feeling.
The stalker had somehow figured out that she had a man—him—in her life. He was angry. That made him dangerous. And for Jack, it made it even more personal. He couldn’t share this with anyone, not when it was just speculation, and not when he had to send her home, alone. He felt anger rise again, bitter in his mouth; oh, he would be talking to Duane about this. The magazine wasn’t just going to abandon her. And neither was he.
Raine wasn’t looking at him but felt his hands go still on her shoulders, and she could almost feel him thinking. She wondered about what.
“Raine. I want you to move out of your house, and maybe move in with Gwen.”
“I already told you, Jack, I am not going to do that....”
“Listen, I don’t think sex with Neal is so all-consuming to her that she would put you at risk. It’s nice of you to be thoughtful, but you need to consider the idea more carefully.”
“No. I’m not letting this maniac drive me out of my home or endanger my friends.”
“Then move in with me.”
He said it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that she almost thought she’d imagined it.
She stood, facing him. “I can’t do that, Jack. I am not leaving my house. It’s bad enough I’m being booted out of here.”
Jack’s eyes sparked, and he realized hers did, too, her jaw set as stubbornly as his own.
“Then we’ll talk to Duane and have the magazine pick up the expense of some sort of protection. The cheap bastards are going to do something.”
Raine nodded, not opposed to that idea, and feeling a little disconcerted that she had won that argument so easily. And a little disappointed—did this mean that Jack was opting out?
She had gotten used to the idea of him being her self-appointed protector, but she guessed she couldn’t just expect him to go on being her bodyguard. He had work to do, and he had been spending a lot of time watching over her. Without really thinking too much about it, she had let herself get a bit dependent on him, and that wasn’t like her at all. Usually she just depended on herself. But he had insinuated himself into her life. He was her…well, her lover. Or maybe it was just those two times? She felt a sinking sense of loss, and the issue added even more confusion to everything she was already feeling.
Jack watched the emotions play over her face. She didn’t realize what an open book those green eyes were. Surprise, fear, anger, sadness and something else—despair? Loss?
He was struggling with his own demons. This situation allowed him to see her differently, to look a little deeper than he had before. He was losing emotional ground, and fast. While he didn’t want her in this dangerous position, he had to admit a certain male pull of satisfaction at being her protector.
There was the beginning of something between them. He had felt it with her online, as Rider and Nilla, and at her house that one passionate night, and last night. God, though they hadn’t spoken of it, last night she’d blown him away. He didn’t know what was next.
He needed to know she was safe, and now he wouldn’t be able to have any control over that. He was sure he could push the magazine into anteing up for some protection. After all, all he had to do was mention a lawsuit if something happened to her and they would be held responsible. But even if they got the best protection in the country, he wouldn’t sleep easy with it. Not unless it was him. Because he was starting to care. And that meant he had more investment in protecting her than some stranger being paid a high fee.
But he wasn’t exactly in a position to do too much for her now. He eyed the computer; perhaps the best way he could really be of help would be to track down this psycho. Then they could just forget it. Having focused on this purpose, he felt more steady.
Raine had been lost in her own thoughts, and as if someone flipped a switch, they both came back to the present, and found they had been staring wordlessly at each other. Fire caught in her cheeks, and she looked away. She must be losing it, she had never behaved this way with any man; Jack was definitely a different experience for her. And he had been great, there was no denying it. But now she was on her own. She sucked up a breath.
“Well, I have some stuff to do here, and I guess I will head home. On my vacation.” She drew out the word, ended on a sigh, and Jack reached out to touch her hair lightly with his fingers.
“Hey, not a bad deal if you can get it, having extra time off and getting paid for it. Make good use of the time.”
She shrugged. “I suppose. I can get ahead on some story ideas and work for when I get back, get ahead of the game.”
“Relax a little, Raine. This has been a tough week.” He kept his hand
in her hair. “Would you mind if I dropped by?”
Her heart skipped a little and she smiled. “That would be great. I don’t think I have all that much on my calendar.”
He smiled at the light comment, and felt his own tension ease as he backed away and nodded.
“Good, then don’t be surprised to see me on your doorstep. Probably in a few hours.”
She nodded, and turned to leave, stopping by the door for a moment to turn and look at him again. He wanted to go with her, to hold her, to make things easier, but instead his eyes sent her a silent promise that she wouldn’t be facing this alone.
* * *
RAINE SAT IN HER CAR out in front of her home. In the backseat she had a briefcase full of work and a box of papers she had brought from her file cabinet. A few people had wondered why she was clearing out, and she had managed to smile blithely and keep her voice normal as she chatted briefly about taking a working vacation, and listened to comments about her luck and how they wished they could have it.
Yeah, right.
She couldn’t seem to get out of the car. She should feel free, right? Unfettered. All this spare time, paid leave, she could get work done, sleep, exercise, read and clean her house. She had plenty to do, and now she was free to do it. But she didn’t feel free. She felt…exposed. Abandoned.
She grabbed the handle and opened the door, forcing herself to move and haul her work up the walk and into the house, finally getting it all inside and put away where she wanted it.
She had to keep moving, to keep busy, and not let herself mope or dwell on the situation. Hopefully, Duane was right and whoever was bothering her would just go away. Maybe he would figure she had been fired from the magazine and be satisfied after his mischief with the reader emails. Maybe it was someone trying to get back at her for something, though she couldn’t imagine what.
She sat down at her desk and spent a few hours writing out personal letters to each reader who had been affected, letting them know that there had been a problem on the computer network, and that she had not sent the emails they had received. She dearly hoped they would accept her apologies and continue to read the magazine and her column.
When she was finished, she decided to walk to the mailbox to stretch her stiff legs. The sun was still up. It had been a bright winter day, and there was no biting cold at the moment—a perfect time for a walk. Closing the door behind her, she felt more cheerful, and set out down the steps.
* * *
HE COULDN’T CONCENTRATE. He wondered what Raine was doing, if she was okay. He had hacked open those emails that were sent to her as far as he could, and he couldn’t trace anything. Everything led back to dummy accounts piled on to more dummy accounts, and finally he realized it was just useless.
They weren’t going to find this guy electronically. He was either going to disappear, or they would find him when he tried something more aggressive. He hoped it was the former, but something in his gut told him it wouldn’t go away that easily. He looked at the clock. He could still get some work done, but his heart wasn’t in it.
He wanted to see her; it was as simple as that.
He couldn’t remember any other time he had missed a woman after just a few hours, or anyone he had worried about as much, except for his own family. But he would let her be for now, let her settle in, get used to the situation before he went knocking at her door. After all, it had only been a few hours. For now, he would go home, and try to relax and get Raine off his mind for a little while. Good luck, he thought as he grabbed his jacket and left for home.
* * *
RAINE HAD RELAXED considerably by the end of the day. The walk had been pleasant, and she had come back and made herself a delicious salad and pasta, taking her time and making herself the kind of dinner she rarely had the chance to enjoy during the week. She called Gwen and filled her in on the recent happenings, and then spent a half hour convincing her friend that she was okay on her own, for now. It was nice to know that Gwen wanted her to come stay, but she didn’t intend to lead danger—if there was any real danger—to her friend’s door.
Now she was stretched out on the sofa with a blanket, a glass of wine and a novel. The novel may not have been the best choice—a hot romance, the kind she secretly read and had boxfuls of in her attic.
Ever since she was young, she’d loved escaping into romances for hours at a time, losing herself in the world of emotions and experiences she never had. She enjoyed seeing the heroines and heroes grow over the years as she herself had grown; the story lines became more daring, the women more independent, the men more sexy and complex.
How was it that the men in these novels were so amazingly clued-in to the needs and feelings of the heroines? She smiled to herself—because women created them, of course. But maybe there were one or two out there who really were like that in real life. Or maybe just one.
She averted her thoughts, took a sip of wine, her eyes glued back to the page as the hero seduced the heroine for the first time, and she felt her own blood heat as the two lovers experienced the ultimate pleasure together. She smiled, squirming a little on the sofa, feeling a tickle down low.
For once in her life, she could relate—she knew what a man could do for a woman—thanks to Jack. It seemed like aeons ago that they had made love, even though it was just last night, but her body remembered every single sensation vividly.
She felt heat move up her face; she was incredibly warm from the book, the wine and the blanket. Fanning her face with the book, she decided it was time for a break, or sleep would not come easy tonight. Apparently, she couldn’t keep Jack out of her head for more than five minutes, though she had to admit that her reading material wasn’t helping matters.
She looked at the phone. It was late, but he would be home. She could call. But what would she say? Their relationship was changing, but maybe not so much that she could feel comfortable calling him at this time of the evening. She had no idea how to handle these things.
She wished she was brazen enough to call him as she had done that first time, to hear his voice on the phone, to seduce him with her words.
But that was Nilla—it wasn’t really her. Was it? Her body was humming, she missed him, and she felt very alone in the house. It was late, but it wasn’t that late. Maybe she could just call to let him know she was okay, and they could talk, and that was all.
Jack’s number. Where had she left it? Yes—the nightstand—she’d put it there. Running to the bedroom, she let out a small cry of dismay when she didn’t see the paper on the table, and got down on her hands and knees to find it. There it was! It had gotten knocked down under the bed. Thank God she hadn’t sucked it up in the vacuum, though in her mood, she might have gone digging through the dusty bag to find it.
She reached for the phone, her hands trembling slightly. It was just a phone call, for goodness’ sake. She shook herself mentally, and grabbed the receiver, lifting it to her ear, and heard nothing. She dialed the number, but there was no sound. Her phone was dead.
She clicked the hook a few times, held the phone back to her ear, and nothing happened. But she’d paid her bill.... She set the receiver back down in the cradle, and fear seeped through her, chilling her to the bone.
Had someone messed with her phone? She felt panic skitter down her spine, and she tried to control her breathing. It was late, and she was afraid. She had her cell phone.... Frantically, she ran to her desk and dug through her bag, finding the small phone she only used for work. She had almost forgotten that she had it.
Hands shaking, she dialed the number. She only got his office message. Dammit! Damn! She felt tears squeeze against the back of her eyes; this was his cell phone number, too, not his home number. She sat on the floor, wedged tightly to the wall, and tried to calm down.
She called back, and left a message. Hopefully he would check. She willed herself to think. She could call the police, but if her phone was just dead and her lines not actually cut, she would look like a fool
. What if this was another billing mess-up?
She needed to take control. Running into her bedroom, she pulled on jeans and a sweater, put on her jacket and headed for the kitchen door. She grabbed a flashlight, keys and a sharp nail file. She would go see if her lines were cut herself, and if they were, she would call the police from the safety of her car—she wouldn’t go back in the house, just in case. All the women in the movies always went back in the house; it was always a mistake.
Armed with her plan, she went out the back door, and kept the flashlight off until she got to the side where she knew the phone hookup was. She kept close to the house, looking all around her. The snow made it almost as light as day outside, and she took comfort from the fact that she could see clearly that no one was there but her. Her neighbor’s windows, only a few yards away, were lit. There was help nearby if she called out.
She turned the flashlight on and searched the side of the house, and saw the phone connection—the wire was indeed cut. Swallowing down her fear, she forced herself to follow her plan—she walked quickly to the front of the house, her breath coming raggedly. In a wave of panic she realized that she had left her cell phone on the bed. Stupid!
Now she would have to go back in. She turned around and headed for the door, when she felt a hand grab her from behind. She screamed, reaching for the nail file in her pocket and spinning around, struggling away from whoever had hold of her arm, flailing the file in front of her.
“Raine! Stop it! It’s me, Jack—you’re okay.... Stop!”
Jack managed to get hold of both wrists, and held them tight, as her eyes, wide and blank with fear, finally focused in on him. Her face was deathly white, and he saw recognition dawn; she let the nail file fall from her fingers. It glittered in the light as it fell to the ground.
Her teeth were chattering, and she stood, frozen, staring at him wordlessly. He released her wrists from his tight grip and pulled her close, walking her to the door. “It’s okay. I was on my way home and got your message. I tried to call back, but no one answered. Scared the hell out of me, Raine. Where’s your cell?”
Yours for the Night Page 31