Her Hero in Hiding

by Rachel Lee

  She finally found a well-thumbed sci-fi novel, A Canticle for Leibowitz. Clearly Clint had read it a good many times, and for some reason the post-apocalyptic setting appealed to her. Distraction, maybe leading to some interesting thinking, especially since Clint seemed to have read it so often.

  She returned to the living room to find him absorbed once again in his own book. There was an easy, non-threatening companionship in being able to sit across from him and read. She needed the break.

  Most especially she needed the break from her own thoughts. She couldn’t bear to remember how much she had wanted to be held by Clint, as if his desire could wash away the stains she felt all over her soul. Stains that had prevented her from taking what he offered. She couldn’t bear to think about how broken she was.

  But she also couldn’t bear to think about the fact that Clint seemed convinced that Kevin would try to get at her here. If Kevin had an ounce of sense, he would have fled far and fast, awaiting some later opportunity to get at her. Keeping her forever living on the edge of fear and always looking over her shoulder.

  But Clint didn’t seem to think Kevin was going to do that. And Clint knew a lot more about these things, and he had enough confidence in his knowledge to seem certain. In this, she was inclined to trust Clint more than herself. After all, with all Kevin had put her through, she had never, ever thought he would kidnap her.

  What was more, when she thought about it, at long last she admitted Kevin might be insane, clinically insane, not just garden-variety crazy. After all, a sane man, someone with even a partial hold on reality, would have left her alone after that prison stint, wouldn’t he?

  And while it terrified her to think Kevin might come after her again in the next few days, it terrified her less than spending a week here, then moving on to a new place only to discover he’d found her again.

  Because despite what Clint said about getting her a new identity, she couldn’t believe Kevin wouldn’t find her no matter what.

  Staring blindly at the page in front of her, she realized that she’d endowed Kevin with both omniscience and omnipotence. Logically, that was ridiculous, but experience insisted otherwise. No matter how carefully she tried to cover her tracks, sooner or later he showed up again. Like some kind of inhuman demon who could track her by scent or something. Was she losing her grip on reality? Did she really think Kevin was something more than just another ordinary, albeit mean, human being?

  Horrifyingly enough, that seemed to be exactly the place she’d reached. And logic was a poor answer to experience.

  She didn’t realize she’d made a sound until Clint spoke. “Something wrong?” he asked.

  She hesitated. How much did she want to reveal to this man, who was still basically a stranger she was trusting only because she had to? On the other hand, running around in the circle of her own thoughts wasn’t getting her anywhere.

  “I just realized that I’m thinking of Kevin as something more than human.”

  He tilted his head a little. “How so?”

  “I’ve begun to think of him as omniscient. As in, I’ll never escape him for long, even with a new identity.”

  He nodded slowly. “I can understand that.”

  “No, it’s crazy.”

  He put his book aside. “It’s not crazy, Kay. Do you know the best way to learn something?”

  “How?”

  “Through experience. And the more emotionally charged the experience is, the better and more indelibly we learn it.” He gave her a smile that was almost bitter. “You’re talking to the expert in learning lessons that way.”

  She bit her lip, fighting back an inexplicable need to soothe him somehow. She knew she wasn’t capable of that, but she wished she could anyway.

  “So he’s followed you from town to town, what? Three times now?” She nodded.

  “I’d begin to wonder if I had a demon on my tail, too.”

  A relieved sigh escaped her. “That’s how it feels.”

  “Of course that’s how it feels. How could it not?”

  She couldn’t answer, just looked at him, waiting, hoping that somewhere in his educated mind and broadly experienced life he might find an answer for her.

  But he surprised her by taking another tack. “I know Kevin,” he said.

  She gasped and started to curl inward as terror began to wash over her. No, he couldn’t! Was this a trap?

  “Wait,” he said harshly. “I don’t mean I know him personally. I mean, I know his type.”

  She closed her eyes and fought to get her breath back, to still her madly beating heart.

  “I’m sorry,” Clint said. “Poor choice of words.”

  “It’s okay,” she managed. Finally she could breathe again, and her heart rate settled to something approximating normal.

  “I’m too used to being alone,” he muttered. “I don’t put a guard on my thoughts, and now they’re spilling out my mouth without due consideration.”

  “It’s okay,” she said again. “Damn, Clint, you beat yourself up more than I do.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “Maybe.”

  She released another long breath, stabilizing emotionally. “You were saying?”

  “That I know his type. He’s obsessed. That’s all it is. He’s obsessed enough with you that he wants to control you completely. You got away once when he went to jail. But he found you, only then you got away again. And again.”

  She nodded. Her eyes felt hot, though she wasn’t sure why. God, she was a mess.

  “Anyway, he discovered that he enjoyed chasing you. There was fun in finding you after you thought you were safe and then tearing your safety away from you. What he was teaching you was that he did control you. No matter how far you ran, or how often.”

  She gave a jerky nod.

  “But this abduction is a new thing, Kay. It means the obsession is changing.”

  Her heart stopped, then resumed a more rapid beat. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s tiring of the chase. He’s getting bored with the way it was. So this time he took you with him, intending to teach you that he was not only in control of your life, but also your death. He’s at a point where he wants to trade you for a new obsession. He’s tired of his sport.”

  “God.” She barely breathed the word.

  “But he can’t get rid of the obsession until he proves his ultimate control and gets rid of you.”

  “I knew he was going to kill me!” The words burst from her.

  “That would be my guess,” Clint agreed.

  The expression on his face would have terrified her if she hadn’t realized by now that it wasn’t meant for her. “So he’ll come?”

  “He’ll come. His sickness will drive him to it. He’s not going to let you escape. Unfortunately for him, I have other plans.”

  Chapter 9

  The power came back on while they were eating dinner. Kay looked up as she heard the refrigerator compressor kick on.

  “Well, that’s a good sign,” Clint said. But he made no move to turn on the lights, just left the candles they had been using burning.

  “Yes,” she said. He was probably eager to get back to work. Eager to return to his escape from the world. She couldn’t blame him, even though the thought that he might spend hours locked away at his computer while she sat alone in the living room made her feel depressed. Surely she couldn’t have become emotionally dependent on him so quickly?

  But maybe she had. Once it was clear Kevin would never stop hunting her down, she’d stopped making even loose connections with other people, because she knew that would only add to the pain when she had to run again.

  This man had taken her in and offered her safety. Moreover, in more ways than one, he was promising long-term safety. Of course she had started to make a place for him in her heart.

  And that was foolish, because she would have to move on again. Even if Clint did manage things so that Kevin could never threaten her again, she couldn’t stay here
any longer than necessary. Clint wouldn’t want it; he was a hermit.

  “This chicken is great,” he said. “I have to remember your recipe.”

  “Thanks. It’s easy.”

  He smiled. “Easy is great. And it doesn’t make the recipe less worthwhile in the least.”

  She bit her lower lip, realizing she was doing it again: devaluing herself and her abilities. An overwhelming sense of despair washed over her. Was there any way in which she wasn’t broken? And would she ever find the energy or will to put herself back together again? Was it even worth it?

  Clint paused, setting his knife and fork down. She looked at him, wondering if he’d heard something, but his ghost-filled gaze was centered on her. Had she made a sound of some kind?

  “Was it awful being a foster kid?” he asked out of nowhere.

  She sighed. “Sometimes. Not always.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, I never felt like I belonged. Being a full-time guest is wearing.”

  “Did the families make you feel that way?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes they tried really hard to get past that. I was probably a big part of the problem.”

  “How so?”

  “I couldn’t feel permanence. Maybe that was because after my grandmother died I was…difficult. Angry, bitter, striking out. So I went through a couple of families fast.”

  “They didn’t expect that kind of stuff? I mean, what were they thinking? You can’t take in a kid who’s been through the things you have and not expect some adjustment problems.”

  She shrugged, then winced a little as muscles twinged. “I think some families get into it because if you take in enough kids, you can get a decent chunk of change from the state. Especially if you’re careful about how much of that money you actually spend on the kids.”

  “Ugly,” he said flatly.

  “People are people. Some better than others.” Which was a far more philosophical attitude than she usually had. “So anyway, I was difficult. I admit it. I wasn’t suitably grateful, or quiet or willing to accept the way those families thought things should be. I went through three homes in rapid succession because my foster parents couldn’t handle me. Or didn’t want to. I honestly don’t know. I was too young to have any perspective on it.”

  “Of course you were, which placed a bigger burden on them, and they should have known it.”

  “I don’t know, Clint. For all I know, I was more difficult than most. Anyway, by the time I got to my fourth foster home, I knew I was a trespasser, and that it was just a way station.”

  “That’s sad.”

  She shrugged again. “It just was. I got to the point of existing only to reach adulthood so I could get away and have my own place. It was like suspended animation. I didn’t even make friends, because I knew I could be changing schools in just a couple of months.”

  “That stinks.” He said it so harshly that she blinked and stiffened. No, he wasn’t mad at her, she realized. She was learning that, finally. About Clint Ardmore, anyway, even if not about the rest of the world.

  Something made her continue. “I thought that once I was on my own I could put down some kind of roots. I thought I could be normal.” She shook her head and looked away. “It didn’t happen.”

  “Tell me.” His voice was almost gentle.

  “Call it ‘child interrupted.’ I don’t know. I kept trying, but I couldn’t believe it. I rented a place, but I barely unpacked. I couldn’t even bring myself to hang a picture. I made friends at work, I always had friends. I’d hang out with them, but even so, I look back now and realize there was a part of me I never shared. I never let them really know me, even though when I had to give them up, it hurt. But it didn’t hurt as much as it might have if I had let them really close. I was still in suspended animation.”

  He nodded, his mouth set. “Then Kevin.”

  “Yeah, then Kevin. The answer to all my prayers.” She shook her head and swore softly. “God, I was an idiot.”

  “Will you please stop saying that?”

  “It’s true!”

  “It’s not. It actually makes a ton of sense. So…Kevin. Let me guess. He was warm and friendly and caring, and he made you feel safe. At first.”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “He made you feel as if you’d found an anchor you could really cling to.”

  “Yes.” She dared to open her eyes and look at him.

  “And he flattered you, because he was intensely interested in you. In everything about you. He chipped at your walls, and you let him in, because like everyone else on this planet, you were desperate to be cared for.”

  She nodded, feeling unshed tears burn her eyes.

  “You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. You were conned.”

  “Clint…”

  “No, you were conned,” he repeated. “He could have done the same thing to just about anyone, but you were easier prey than most because of your background. Don’t you dare take responsibility for anything Kevin did, because Kevin and his kind are born predators. He used you. That’s all on him, and it wouldn’t have made any difference who you’d been.”

  “But…”

  He shook his head. “No buts.” His eyes grew narrow. “There are people in this world who are born with a gift. They inspire trust, they always seem to know the right thing to say. Some of them use it for good. Others use it to take advantage. And the bad ones…well, their victims are blameless. Don’t you see? There’s no crime in trusting people to be who and what they say they are. There’s no stupidity in that. Most of us start from a position of trust until we find out there’s a reason not to trust. This world couldn’t function otherwise.”

  He gave a short, bitter laugh. “I’m probably one of the least trusting people you’ll ever meet, but I still trust you. I trust you’re telling me the truth. If I didn’t, you would have been out of here already.”

  Her mouth sagged open a bit. “Really?”

  “Really. So does that make me an idiot?”

  She shook her head slowly.

  “See?” He picked up his fork again. “So along comes Kevin, and with a predator’s instinct he senses easy prey. Being easy for him doesn’t make you stupid, it just makes him meaner.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he could have picked on somebody his size. But he’s a freaking coward. Take it from me, lowlifes like him are all cowards. He plays a con game against easy targets, not difficult ones. And he gets his kicks out of it.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that. It was certainly something she was going to think about.

  “So he knew you were already wounded, and he was mean enough to take advantage. Creep.”

  Almost in spite of herself, she felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “He is a creep,” she admitted.

  “And that’s the most printable word I can find for him.” He paused, then said, “I rarely make promises, but I’m going to make one now.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That I won’t rest until Kevin is out of your life for good. Whatever it takes. Prison, a new identity. Hell, I’d probably grin as I was breaking his neck.”

  Once again she faced the deep well of violence in this man, a well that seemed so contradictory when she thought of how he’d cared for her. She should have been frightened, but apparently some part of her hadn’t been totally broken, because she discovered, strangely enough, that she could still trust. One man at least. “Clint?”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t want you to do anything that will make you feel worse about yourself.”

  “Like I’d even notice.”

  It hurt to hear him say that. “You’re a good man.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I know who you are now. Who you’ve been for the past couple of days. You’re a good man. I know you feel bad about things you’ve done, but they don’t define who you are now.”

  He snorted. “You’re o
ne to talk.”

  “Exactly.”

  He went perfectly still for a half-minute, then surprised her with a faint smile. “Hoist on my own petard, huh?”

  “Maybe. But all the things you’ve told me to make me feel better about myself? Maybe you should listen to them, too.”

  He insisted on cleaning up after dinner, telling her to rest.

  She sat on the couch, watching him ferry dishes back and forth, then listening to the sound of running water and the clatter as he washed up. He was a good man, she thought. Most emphatically. Bad men didn’t feel troubled by conscience. Kevin certainly didn’t. She wished there was some way she could make Clint believe that. Psychological mess that she was, though, there was no reason he should listen to her.

  She sighed. Then she noticed something else. As the evening deepened, Clint seemed to be coiling tighter in some way. Even when he finished the dishes and returned to his armchair to read, she sensed he was strung as tight as a bow.

  “What are you waiting for?” she finally asked him.

  “Kevin.”

  Her heart sputtered, then resumed beating, only faster. “Tonight?” she asked hoarsely.

  “Probably not. A predator with an ounce of decent hunting instinct will want to case the place for a couple of days.”

  “You talk about him as if he’s an animal.”

  “He’s worse than an animal. Animals, by and large, hunt because they need to eat, not because they get a charge out of it.”

  She really couldn’t argue with that. “I guess you’d know better about these things than I would.”

  His gaze darkened. Even in the lamplight she could see the ghosts in his eyes again. She wished she knew a way to exorcise them.

  But she couldn’t even exorcise her own.

  He set his book aside. “Listen, I want to warn you about something.”