Shadows and Ruins

by Denise A. Agnew

  been good at noticing people, which she'd always supposed was a huge fault. Yet she'd cataloged

  this creep's face not long after she'd awakened tied to the chair. Long blond hair cascaded around

  his almost angelic features. His eyebrows arched over those diabolic eyes, his perfectly straight

  nose and well-carved lips belonged with his amazing jawline. Tall and muscular, she guessed

  him at somewhere just under twenty-five years old. His voice, when he bothered to speak, held a

  husky nuance most women would find sexy. Yet within the pretty packaging, his gaze flashed

  with insanity. Other than stark lunacy, one other thing detracted from his amazing looks. The

  man's stinking breath wafted over her face as he leaned toward her, and she choked around the

  gag stuffed in her mouth. She closed her eyes, afraid to see his craziness, then her eyes popped

  open as a deeper fear arose. Darkness. God, she couldn't take not knowing what he might do

  next. She must know what he planned.

  "You're mine," he whispered, his voice rasping, deep and melodious, yet as sibilant as a

  snake.

  Then he drew his fist back and prepared to deliver another crushing blow.

  Emma jerked out of sleep with a wail and a gasp, her heart hammering wildly in

  her chest. She sprang upright and fumbled for the light switch.

  Just as light illuminated the room, Shane sat up and slipped his arm around her.

  Concern filled his eyes as he cupped her face with his other hand. "Are you all right?"

  While relieved she was not back in time with the man who'd caused nightmares for

  years, she couldn't shake the fear.

  She took in deep breaths as her shoulders trembled and her eyes filled with tears.

  "I'll be fine."

  "Nightmare?"

  "Bad one."

  He kissed Emma's cheek and drew her into his arms, lying back on the bed and

  cuddling her close. She sank into his powerful arms with a sigh. "You want to talk

  about it?"

  She could say no. She could pretend it didn't matter. Yet it did. She made a decision

  then and there. "You've been so…forthcoming with me."

  He snorted a soft laugh. "Yeah, as much as I could be. I'm sorry there are things I

  can't tell you. But I've told you a lot."

  "You deserve to know everything."

  "I don't want you to tell me because you believe I deserve something." His voice

  went soft, husky with emotion. "Tell me because you feel safe, because you trust me."

  "Trust is important to you, I can see."

  "Yeah. It always has been."

  "Because you couldn't trust your father."

  He sighed. "Very perceptive. And very true."

  She snuggled into his shoulder and allowed her hand to drift down to his belly. She

  traced her fingers over the definite muscle ridges. "I'm sorry for all the grief I've given

  you."

  His hand flowed over her hair and he kissed the top of her head. Tears surged again

  as too many emotions assaulted her.

  "Hey, it's not that bad," he said tenderly.

  Her heart throbbed with happiness and fear all at once. "I know. But sometimes I

  forget."

  "You forget?"

  "I think I'm back…five years ago. In my dreams."

  "You dream about five years ago?"

  Yes." When she tilted her head up to look at him, all she could see was his chin.

  "Tell me. Tell me and then you can leave behind whatever is haunting you."

  Her fingers brushed over the hair on his belly, and he shivered a little and groaned.

  "Can I forget?" she asked. "I've wanted to. I've tried to."

  "Some people never let go of trauma. Many do when they realize that's what they

  need to move on. What's keeping you from moving forward, Emma?"

  Revelation rose inside her. "My bad dreams and memories."

  His arms tightened around her, and she decided she could tell him everything.

  Now.

  She cleared her throat. "Five years ago I was driving one night to my parents' house

  a week before Christmas. I never made it." She felt his arms tighten but she continued.

  Her hand rested over his pec and his heart beat firm and strong under her fingers. "My

  parents live in the country. It was snowing, but not enough to make it slick or

  particularly dangerous. A car came up on my butt, almost in my tail pipe. All it took

  was one tremendous ram and I went off the road."

  "Jesus." His voice went hoarse. "Were you hurt?"

  "The car went into a deep ditch. I was wearing my seat belt, but I was knocked

  unconscious for a couple of minutes. My head hit the driver's side window, so I had a

  mild concussion. A man pulled me out of the car as I woke up. My head hurt like hell. I

  didn't remember anything until I woke up tied to a chair."

  One of his hands threaded into her hair and caressed. "God, Emma."

  "He'd run me off the road, yanked me out of my car and tossed me in his truck.

  When I woke up I didn't have a clue where I was."

  He stayed silent, and she shifted out of his arms long enough to prop on one elbow.

  Barely concealed rage filled his eyes, turning them a stormy green. He shook his

  head. When his voice came, it held a genuine horror. "Tell me what happened next."

  She sighed. "I don't know where…" She shook her head and closed her eyes.

  His fingers drifted gently over her jaw, the tenderness unraveling her resistance one

  step at a time. "Tell me."

  She opened her eyes and locked her gaze with his. She saw nothing but a desire to

  understand what happened, his frown hard with aching understanding.

  She shivered, and he reached up to thread his fingers through her hair in a

  caressing motion.

  "He'd taken me to a cabin in the woods. I didn't have a clue where I was. I wasn't

  even sure if it was his place or a summer place he'd broken into. He'd hauled me into

  the basement." Emma's throat tightened. Tears threatened and she hastily wiped at

  them. "Damn it."

  "Take it slow." He sat up and so did she. The covers fell away from her naked

  breasts. He scooted up to the headboard and then drew her into his arms again.

  She swallowed hard around the huge lump in her throat that seemed to grow larger

  by the minute. She closed her eyes to help her recall. "The room was semi-dark. There

  was a gag in my mouth. Ironically, the guy was one of the most handsome I'd seen."

  She described him in detail, from his golden blond hair, to the evil green of his eyes.

  "For hours he abused me."

  With soft attention his big palm caressed her upper arm. "Abused how?"

  She heard the thick anger in his voice, and part of her wanted to reassure him. Yet

  the comfort of his arms provided her with everything she needed right this minute.

  "He beat me methodically for several hours into the night." She kept her eyes

  closed and allowed that night's pain to return. It couldn't be helped. No matter what, if

  she wanted to acknowledge what happened and tell him, the harsh pain would be

  there. "Unfortunately, I'd run across a serial rapist passing through the state. I was his

  twelfth victim."

  With a slow movement, he turned her face toward him and tilted her chin up so he

  could look in her eyes. Vulnerability and undeniable pain carved his expression and

  mixed with simmering rage. "He raped you?"

  "No. He didn't get the chance. I complained about the ropes around my wrists
and

  ankles being too tight. He actually took them almost all the way off, which really

  surprised me. I guess since he'd cracked a rib by that time, and I was dizzy, he figured I

  was acquiescent enough. It was around four in the morning by that time. Maybe he

  thought he'd sleep and then come back to me fresh. After he'd rambled on and on about

  how juicy I was going to taste and how I was going to…going to love his cock inside

  me, he flopped over on this cot in the corner and slept.

  She shuddered and turned away from Shane's assessing look. After a short pause,

  she continued. "I was so pissed that I wanted to hit him with something. I knew that

  could be fatal. I hurried to the basement door and found it unlocked. I crept out of the

  house." Shane's arms tightened, and she pressed her face against his shoulder. After a

  deep sigh, she went on. "I ran into the woods. It was so damned cold…somewhere in

  the fifties. That doesn't sound too bad but I was wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Since I

  had no idea where I was, my rib was cracked, and my head hurt, I wasn't doing too

  well. I just knew I had to run as far and as fast as I could."

  "You ran with a cracked rib?"

  "Yeah. I didn't feel it much at first. It felt more like a stitch in my side, if you can

  believe that. As the sun came up, I had a better understanding of direction. I decided to

  let intuition take me where it would. It probably saved my life. I stumbled around for

  hours. I worried that the man who'd kidnapped me would somehow find me, and that

  pushed me forward. I found a paved road and a trucker was coming down this pass. I

  flagged him down and he called 911." Again a shiver passed through her frame, and

  she realized Shane brushed his hands continually along her shoulder and back. "I was

  in the hospital for a few days after it happened. Based on the information I gave them,

  they caught the bastard. That's when I found out he'd raped women up and down the

  Western states for a four-month period. I was lucky as hell he didn't decide to rape me

  first."

  She pulled out of Shane's arms and watched his expressive face. Darkness filled his

  eyes and turned down his mouth. "Son of a fucking bitch." He clutched his hands into

  fists. "I'd like to kill the asshole."

  She gave a half-smile. "Believe me, so would I. It didn't go to trial though."

  His gaze sharpened and his brows lowered. "What?"

  "The genius died of a weird genetic blood disorder. He'd always had weird violent

  tendencies since he was young, but apparently finding out he was going to die pushed

  him toward worse behavior."

  "Christ. That's not an excuse for him to rape and beat women."

  "No, of course not. That's the excuse his family gave for his behavior. Authorities

  found him dead of the disease one morning when the guards checked his cell."

  "The motherfucker deserved it," Shane said with sharp syllables. He lifted her hand

  and pressed a kiss to it then kept it tucked into his big hand. "I can't imagine what

  you've gone through."

  "I sometimes remind myself the women who didn't escape him fared worse. And

  all of them came out of the situation alive just like me. If he'd been a serial killer it could

  have turned out deadly. I was lucky overall." She pushed one hand through her hair.

  Concern lingered on his face. He traced patterns over the back of her hand, and the

  gentle touch sent reminders of lingering passion winging through her system. "What

  did your parents do when they found out you'd been attacked?"

  "They'd already called the police when I didn't show up at their house, and the

  police had found my car. It was one of the few times they showed me much concern.

  But even after that…they didn't act how you'd expect parents to do. When they came to

  the hospital, they didn't hug me or cry or express what they always called excessive

  emotion." Two more tears found their way out and rolled down her cheeks. "I guess

  they'd cried all they could when my brother died. They had nothing left for me."

  Shane's head tipped back as he closed his eyes. "Fuck."

  "Yes." She smiled and laughed.

  His eyes snapped open. "What's so funny?"

  "I don't think I've ever heard you curse so much in a short time."

  His mouth turned up at one corner in a crooked smile. "You weren't around me

  when I first worked for the agency. I had trouble with `potty mouth' as my mother

  called it. She was always trying to train me out of it."

  Emma allowed the hand that wasn't trapped within his to drop to his thigh, where

  she traced his muscles through the sheet that covered him to the waist. He opened his

  eyes and pinned her with a sorrowful look.

  "I've had trouble with men and dating since the attack. It's just been a little hard

  learning to trust again," she said. "I knew after the first month of waking up afraid of

  the dark and with nightmares that I needed help. I went to a therapist and she helped

  me get a grip on things."

  He opened his eyes. "No wonder you were twitchy with me at first. Did I remind

  you of that asshole who attacked you?"

  She shook her head. "Not you specifically. You're just an intense man, very strong

  and somewhat intimidating. It made me cautious."

  "It didn't help that I growled at you more than once, I'll bet. Forgive me?"

  "I'm the one that should apologize to you. I shouldn't have let my past mark my

  future by accusing you or getting defensive. I should have looked at you as an

  individual." As she slipped back into his arms again, she smiled softly and whispered,

  "I'm here with you and there's no place I'd rather be. I'm done with nightmares. I want

  to start fresh."

  "Then start fresh with me, right this minute," he said huskily.

  And he drew her into a ravenous kiss.

  * * * * *

  Shane listened to night sounds as he trudged back toward the house, flashlight in

  hand. An owl hooted somewhere in the pine trees, and he thought he heard the howl of

  a coyote in the distance. The night air felt crisp against his shirtsleeves. Even in the

  summer the mountain nights could be cold.

  He'd awakened with the urge to check the immediate area around the house.

  Everything appeared secure, and he sensed no danger. His instincts had never failed

  him before. As an SIA agent he'd lived by intelligence, wits and determination.

  Intuition reinforced these qualities and gave him the stamina he needed to survive a life

  of skullduggery.

  He didn't want that anymore.

  He'd found something more precious than he'd ever imagined with Emma, and he

  determined that once Wilder's killers had been apprehended, he would leave the SIA

  again and see if he could restart the life he'd found before the Shadow Realm invaded

  again.

  Back at the house, Shane paused. He took in a deep breath of the cool, thin air. He

  leaned against the side of the house next to the front door and wished he'd brought out

  a lawn chair. Too content to worry about something so inconsequential, he ignored the

  idea. Instead he gazed at the stars in the inky sky, and part of him wished he'd left the

  ranch days ago and had taken Emma with him.

  Earlier that evening the phone had wakened him from a deep sleep. The SIA had

  pulled information on Hank Reddins. N
othing indicated the man was anything other

  than what he appeared. He'd been an officer with the Gambit Creek Police Department

  for a year and a half and before that, an officer in Detroit for fifteen years. He'd served

  in the army as a mail clerk for four years. He'd been born and raised in Victor,

  Colorado. Nothing extraordinary about the man.

  After that information, Shane had resisted the idea of returning to the bedroom and

  lying next to Emma. He smiled. Fuck, he was horny. If he climbed back into the bed

  with her, he'd wake her up and fuck her for a fifth time. They'd been like freaking

  rabbits, coming after each other again and again.

  So he found himself on the porch, absorbing the night, with his Glock at the ready.

  After Emma had revealed her painful secret to him, he'd realized that more than

  ever, she was all that mattered to him. If anyone had told him a few short weeks ago

  that he'd be making love with a beautiful woman and falling for her in a week, he

  would have laughed.

  His armor had been strong then. Tough. Impenetrable. Somehow, with her

  combination of gentleness and strength, Emma had destroyed his barriers.

  Yes, he needed her, but she needed him too. Not just as a protector, but as her lover.

  His heart ached and he admitted one mind-blowing fact to himself.

  If anything ever happened to him, she had to know. He loved her.

  He stiffened when some branches rustled in the wind.

  A prickle of cold ran across his skin as he scanned the area. Immediately a spike of

  unease rolled up his spine and covered his body.

  It was all the warning he got.

  The gunshot whizzed by, barely missing his ear. Shane ducked, crouching down,

  realizing the porch had no cover. He returned fire. Shane thought he heard a gasp of

  pain but couldn't say for certain.

  Another gun blast came from the darkness. He had a millisecond to react, but he

  felt the slap of the bullet in his right shoulder. Impact lifted him off his feet and

  slammed him without mercy against the side of the house. He fell unceremoniously

  onto his left side. For a few seconds he felt no pain, nothing other than a numbness in

  his shoulder and arm, and anger rushing through his system. Then agony rushed

  through his arm and his breath left him, lungs paralyzed by pain.