by Stark, Cindy
“Everything okay here?”
Horror gripped her as she shifted her gaze to Sam. Dark anger burned in his eyes, and she sensed things were on the edge of disaster.
“What the fuck do you want? Paul spit his words at Sam.
Janie stepped between them. “We’re fine. Just leaving.” She sent Sam a pleading gaze, but he looked right past her.
She turned to Paul. “We should go now. I know you don’t want any trouble.” She gave him a meaningful look, hoping his aversion to cops would kick in.
Luckily, he wasn’t too wasted to pick up on it. He jerked Janie to him, leveling a hard, nasty look at Sam. “Fuck you.” He started walking.
Sam made a move to intervene.
“Please.” She begged the detective with her eyes to let them leave.
He held for a moment, his gaze warring with hers, and then he stepped aside. “This won’t be the last time we meet, Castell,” he said to Paul.
“I don’t give a shit who you think you are. You don’t scare me.”
“I should.”
There was something in the way Sam spoke that shot a shiver through her. Paul might not be scared, but she was.
She grabbed Paul’s arm, not giving either of the men another chance to escalate things beyond the current state of affairs. She didn’t bother saying goodbye to the newlyweds, wouldn’t be able to look Nicole in the eye knowing exactly what her friend would say.
Chapter Three
Janie and Paul reached the second floor of their apartment building, anger emanating off him in waves. He waited until she’d opened the door before he pushed her inside. The second after she turned on the lights, he shoved her over the back of the couch, forcing his knee between her legs. The sound of tearing fabric filled the quiet room as he jerked her skirt upward, baring most of her behind and making her wish she’d worn more substantial underwear. “This is a reminder to never let another man put his hands on you.” He slapped her hard. The sound of his hand hitting her bare skin echoed through the room.
She whimpered.
She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her, but she couldn’t help it.
Her vocalization fueled his enjoyment. He slammed his hips against her, crushing her between the couch and him.
“You want this? He ground his hardened cock against her. When she didn’t answer, he slammed into her again. “I said, do you want this? He grabbed the hair at the base of her skull and pulled until hot tears scorched her eyes.
“Yes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Never in her life had she wanted to hurt someone like she wanted to hurt him.
He released her head with a forward shove, causing a sharp pain to shoot down her neck.
“You’re going to have to shower first, and you know what kind of shower I’m talking about.”
She’d managed the pain he’d caused her so far. She knew she had a plan to leave, had been biding her time. But something in his voice truly frightened her this time. He wouldn’t actually burn her, would he?
“Okay.” Waiting for the perfect moment to leave him was now out of the question. They’d both crossed a line tonight, and there was no going back. The pretense of showering would buy her a few minutes. She still had her little bag wrapped around her wrist with her phone inside, and she could call for help.
She started toward the bathroom when he reached out and grabbed a handful of her skirt and yanked. The soft, silky fabric of her dress ripped with a muffled scream. Janie gasped as she turned toward him.
He shrugged. “It was already torn, anyway.”
Because he’d ripped it, she wanted to shriek.
He took another step forward, whipping his pocketknife from his pants. He opened it, held the blade inches from her nose. A terrible shiver erupted from deep inside. She froze as he slowly lowered the blade. She didn’t dare breathe for fear of what he might do to her. He’d knocked her around several times before, but he’d never been this sadistic. His dark eyes glittered as he slid the knife between a shoulder strap and her skin. “Don’t move now, or someone will get hurt.” He ran the edge of the blade across the fabric, splitting the strap in two. The bodice of her dress sagged forward, threatening to expose her right breast.
He laughed. “I always thought it would be kind of sexy to rip the clothes off a woman.” His words came out charming and sultry, the same voice he’d used to woo her in the beginning, but the look in his eye was pure evil. He sliced the second strap, leaving nothing but remnants of her dress to cover her.
He set the knife on a nearby table before he reached both hands into her bodice, his muscles bulging as he tugged on her dress. The fabric resisted, but ultimately failed as he tore her dress from her body. She stood with her tiny handbag, wearing nothing but a thong and her heels.
“There’s my sexy baby.” He rubbed his cock. “God, I’m hard for you. Let’s get you clean.” He started pushing her toward the bathroom, but a sharp panic forced her to fight back.
“I can shower by myself.” She tried to remove his hands from around her waist, but he wouldn’t budge. “Why don’t you get a beer and wait for me in bed? It won’t take me long.”
He pushed her into the bathroom. “Uh-uh. I think I want to watch this time. Besides, how am I going to know if you get the water hot enough? He forced her into the tiled area still holding her purse and wearing her shoes. He turned on the faucet, the cold water hitting her bare skin with a shock. A malicious glint flickered in his eyes as he turned the water temperature completely to hot.
Her pulse skyrocketed. This would not be a punishment she’d recover from in a couple of days. “Paul. No.” She reached for the faucet to adjust the temperature just as the water began to warm.
He grabbed her wrists, holding her in place. “You will wash that filth off you.”
Oh, God. She had to get out of there. The water grew uncomfortably hotter, to the point it felt like red hot needles piercing her breasts.
Survival instinct took over.
She shoved herself at him, surprise giving her the upper hand. He toppled backward, taking her with him. She bashed her head against the corner of the counter as they landed on the tile floor.
Before he could react, she scrambled to escape his grasp. He reached for her, grabbing her calf, but her skin was wet enough he couldn’t keep his grip. She ran for the front door, her feet slipping in her strappy heels.
He caught her as she reached the couch. She grabbed the table lamp, swinging around as hard as she could, ripping the cord from the socket and slamming Paul in the head. He stumbled backward.
He was down, but he blocked her escape.
She ran for the darkened kitchen. Her favorite filet knife hissed as she slid it from the wooden block, the blade shaking in her hand like a remaining autumn leaf fighting a strong winter wind.
Paul appeared in the doorway, light from the living area haloing around him. Even in the dim light, she was certain he had blood dripping from his forehead. “I’m going to kill you, bitch.”
“Don’t come any closer, Paul. I’ll use this.” She held the knife higher to make certain he saw it. “I’m going to call the cops.” She prayed to God her phone still worked after being soaked by the shower. She could only hope the fabric of her purse had protected it. “If I were you, I’d get out now before they show.”
He paused for a moment as though deciding whether or not she told the truth. Then he started to advance.
A panicked cry escaped her lips, but she kept the blade in front of her.
“You don’t want to do this, baby.” Paul turned his voice all sweet, but she knew the devil that lay beneath.
“Don’t come any closer.” Her heart pounded so loud in her chest, she was sure it vibrated the walls.
He stopped when there was less than four feet between them. “Give me the knife, baby.”
She shook her head. If only she didn’t have to dig the phone out of her purse to make a call.
&nb
sp; “Give it to me, Janie.” His voice had transformed back to the pissed-off octave it had been moments before.
“Leave me alone.”
She recognized the shift in his stance a second before he lunged at her. In what she could only describe as some kind of subconscious self-preservation, she thrust the knife forward, and his eyes widened as it slid into his chest. He fell back in surprise, but it didn’t knock him completely down. He reached for her, and she did the only thing she could.
She grabbed a large pan hanging above the stove and hit him in the head. Fueled by adrenaline, her blow was enough to knock him out. Don’t come into my kitchen, she wanted to yell at him.
Massive shivers encompassed her body as she stared down at the bloody mess at her feet.
“Dear God,” she whispered as she took a few steps back.
Her fingers fumbled as she opened her purse and retrieved her phone. Thank God it still worked. When she heard the ringing coming through the receiver, tears flooded her eyes.
“Janie? Nicole sounded concerned as though she’d already been worried about her.
“I need help.” Her words came out as muffled sobs.
“Dear God. I knew it. Where are you? Are you okay?”
“No. I’m home.” She paused, needing a moment before she could speak again. “I think I killed Paul.”
“Oh, my God. What? Xander, stop the car,” she said to her new husband. “We’re almost to the airport, Janie, but we’ll turn around. Oh, God, Janie. What happened?”
She tried to pull in a shaky breath, but her lungs seemed to be made of iron. “He tried to hurt me.” In bits of memory and spurts of emotion, she tried to tell her what had happened. Even to her own ears, it sounded like a fractured account.
Nicole took a moment to explain to Xander. Janie sat in numb silence listening to his inaudible reply. “Xander’s calling Sam Holden,” Nicole said, coming back on the line. “He’s the man you danced with tonight. The detective, okay?”
Janie nodded, then remembered she had to speak for Nicole to hear her. “Yes.”
“He’s much closer than we are. He’s a friend, and he’ll help you.”
“Okay,” she whispered before she mindlessly set her phone on the bar. Her breaths came shallow and rapid, and it was all she could do not to hyperventilate.
She stood over Paul, watching for any sign of life, alternating between praying she hadn’t killed him and praying he’d never hurt her again.
* * *
Numerous lights illuminated the streets of Portland as Sam sped to the scene of the crime. He wished he’d been in his undercover unit so he could turn on the emergency lights. But he’d been called to help in an unofficial capacity, and he was more than a little hesitant to provide too many links between his professional and personal life.
As it was, traffic was light, and he made it to Janie’s apartment building in just under ten minutes. He parked in front of the three-story brick building as memories of the last time he’d been there jumped to the forefront of his mind. That was the day he’d first met Janie. It was also the rain-soaked day when he’d feared he might lose Xander to a gunshot wound.
Sam hoped he wouldn’t find a similar situation this time.
He exited his black Charger and rushed toward the entrance. Addictive adrenaline surged through his veins like it always did when he approached a scene where he wasn’t sure what he’d find. He took the stairs two at a time, slipping his gun from the hidden holster beneath his jacket as he approached her door.
He didn’t bother knocking, but tried the handle instead. It was unlocked.
Xander had said Janie had thought she’d killed her boyfriend, but even knowing this, he wasn’t prepared for the scene that greeted him.
The sight of Janie standing in the doorway to the kitchen, naked except a pair of panties and her shoes, with blood running from a gash on her forehead kicked him in the gut harder than a crazed assailant high on meth. Ruined mascara ran beneath her huge, terrified eyes and down her cheeks like black rivers. Something in her broke when she met his gaze and more tears trickled down her face.
Fuck. The sight brought back haunted memories of his sister.
He rushed forward, trying to keep his expression calm, knowing Janie would take clues from him.
He snagged a blanket from the back of the couch and made it to her side in a few short strides. “Oh…Janie,” he whispered. Despair radiated from her and into him. He crushed her against him, wrapping the quilt around her to warm her. She sagged into him, her legs finally giving out. He scooped her up and placed her on the couch.
Her sobs came without warning, like a rushing river after a rainstorm. Violent shivers wracked her body.
“I need to check on Paul,” he said gently, nudging aside a broken lamp that lay on the floor near their feet.
Her gaze slipped toward the kitchen, but she didn’t respond.
He cursed as he reached the doorway. Her attacker lay in a crumpled heap near the fridge, his body in silent repose. The handle from a thin, slender knife protruded from his chest, leaving a big, red stain on the man’s white shirt. A large pan rested near his head. He tried to picture what it must have been like to live through what brought Janie to this point, and the thought sickened him.
Sam knelt next to the lifeless man and placed his fingers on his neck, searching for a pulse. A faint beat registered against his skin.
He was alive.
They didn’t have any time to lose or that statistic would change. As much as he would like to see the bastard dead, it would make things much harder on Janie.
Sam stood and strode into the other room. He kneeled by the couch, lifting Janie’s chin, forcing her to look at him. Her fearful eyes locked with his as though he was her lifeline. “I need you to listen to me, Janie.”
She stared at him for a moment and then nodded.
“You need to call the cops.”
Her eyes widened.
“Tell them to send an ambulance.”
“He’s not dead? Her voice was a hopeful whisper.
“No, not yet.” He pushed aside her bangs, checking the wound on her forehead. An inch gash above her right eyebrow had swollen around the edges and oozed blood. She needed medical attention as well. “But you can’t wait, okay?”
“Could you call them for me?”
He shook his head. He really didn’t want to leave her, but he couldn’t risk the questions that would follow. Questions like, how did he know about the stabbing? How was he connected to Janie? And why didn’t he radio for backup the moment he received the distress call? He needed to avoid anything that would draw suspicion to him or Xander. “I need to leave.”
Her features contorted into a mask of panic. “No,” she whispered.
“It’s going to be okay, Janie.” He took her by the shoulders, looking her squarely in the eyes. “You’re going to call, and they’ll come. They’ll help Paul and look after your cut, too. The EMTs are better at this than I am.”
She shook her head before she reached out and gripped his hand.
“Yes,” he said in the calmest voice he could muster. “Then they’re going to take you to the station. Don’t say anything until you have a lawyer present. I’ll make sure Xander has someone lined up for you.”
“Oh, God.” She started to cry again.
“I’ll be there, Janie, waiting for you. Okay? If they find me here, I won’t be able to help you from the other side. They’ll consider me biased.” He ignored the ethics warning firing in his head. He’d seen what Paul was capable of and currently didn’t give a shit if this investigation tilted toward Janie’s side. “Make the call, and then I’ll meet you at the station. But you can’t say that I was here, okay?”
She blinked several times before releasing a shuddering breath. “I don’t know where my phone is.”
“I’ll get it.” He rushed to the kitchen, noting the shallow breaths in Paul’s chest. He snagged a tissue to keep his fingerprints from p
lanting on her phone before rushing back to her. He doubted anyone would take prints because it wasn’t a murder investigation, but that status could change at any minute.
With shaking fingers, she pressed the numbers that put her through to the emergency line. He held her hand as she spoke in short, jerky sentences, trying to explain to the dispatcher what had happened.
“No…I don’t know. I don’t want to touch him.” Her questioning gaze jumped to Sam, and he shook his head.
“It’s okay,” he mouthed and then pointed toward the exit. He stood, giving her a reassuring look as he walked toward the door.
Her terrified eyes grew larger as he drew farther away. The urge to stay at her side multiplied, but he knew he had to leave. It was the best for both of them.
As he closed the door and wiped his prints from the knob, a sick feeling slithered over him. She needed him. He wanted to be there for her.
Knowing that officers were on the way and that he’d see her soon was the only thing that propelled him down the stairs and out to his car.
* * *
Janie couldn’t say how much time passed before she heard the sirens wailing toward her. The sound reminded her she could breathe again.
After Sam had left, she’d stationed herself next to the front door, prepared to make a run for it should Paul regain consciousness. If he hadn’t died. God, what if he had during the past few minutes?
What if she’d killed a man?
Bile rose from her stomach. She tried to swallow it, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. She ripped flowers from a vase near the door and vomited inside.
Again and again, her stomach heaved, relieving her of everything she’d eaten during the past few hours. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand.
A knock sounded on the door, followed by someone announcing, “Police.”
She reached for the knob and opened the door, still hugging her vase.
A slender, male officer addressed her, his hand hovering near his weapon. “We received a domestic violence call along with a stabbing victim.”