by LR Potter
With her heart pounding, she scrambled to her feet and moved on unsteady legs into her bedroom. She struggled to breathe as she flipped on the light. What little oxygen she’d had was forced brutally from her lungs. Her room had been destroyed. Every drawer had been opened and their contents dumped out. She took a couple of stumbling steps further into the room. Her closet doors were flung open and clothes and shoes were thrown in every direction.
She fell to her knees at what next met her gaze. Lying scattered around her, were the massacred remains of all her paintings. The canvases had been slashed and the wooden structured frames destroyed. All the paintings she’d worked so tirelessly on, gone. Tears filled her eyes at their loss. Who would do this? What did they want? Her next thought made her blood run cold. What if they came back?
She crawled to the door and locked it. She had no illusion the lock would hold anyone out for long. She fumbled in her purse for her cellphone and dialed her father’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. She left him a message begging him to return her call. She struggled to remember Alex’s number, but her thoughts were too scattered. The only other number she knew by heart was Rush’s office number, but he wouldn’t be there. Would he? She dialed his direct line, but the phone rang and rang before it also went to voicemail. She clicked off without leaving a message.
As much as she didn’t want to, she knew she’d have to call the police. She’d begun to press the familiar 911 code when her phone buzzed with an incoming call. Her father!
“Thank God you returned my call!” she said frantically.
“What’s the matter? Where are you?” he demanded.
“I’m at home. Someone was here… in the house. They’ve destroyed my room. I don’t know about anything else. Please come home. Please, Daddy,” she whimpered like the little girl she felt like at the moment.
“Of course. Alex and I will leave immediately. You lock yourself in your in room and we’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Okay?”
“Will you stay on the phone with me?” she said through her fear.
“Of course, I will.”
Her father took her into his arms and emotions flooded her at his contact. She buried her face in his neck and sobbed. This was the second time someone had destroyed her space. What did they want from her? Her father led her down to his study and poured her a small tumbler of brandy to steady her nerves. They’d left Alex to secure the premises and check out the damage to her room.
Her father sat next to her on the arm of the chair and lightly stroked her hair in comfort as they waited on Alex to return.
“Why would someone ransack my room?” she asked her father.
“I don’t know. But it certainly has me worried.” He paused a moment before asking, “Why were you home?”
“Rush had an unexpected meeting.”
Her father rose from his perch on the chair. “Hmmm.”
She jerked her head up at his tone. “What?”
“Nothing,” he muttered.
“What?” she asked again.
“I just find it strange that you’ve been attacked twice since dating him. This time he cancelled his plans with you and then you’re attacked again.”
“What are you implying? That it was Rush? Why would he do this? What did he have to gain?”
“I’m not implying anything. I just find it curious is all.”
Alex’s return saved her from replying.
“Did you find anything?” her father asked him.
Alex glanced at Trinity then back to her father. “No, I didn’t,” he said in measured tones. “The house is secured. You’d do better to sleep in a different room until we get this sorted,” Alex directed at Trinity. “Was there anything about the attacker you noticed? Any clue to who he was?”
Trinity began to shake her head, “No, it all happened so fast…” she paused as a thought struck her, “he had a lightning bolt or something tattooed on his forearm. His sleeve was pushed up. Does that help?” she asked Alex Masters.
He stared at her silently for a long moment before clearing his throat. “I’ll look into it,” he replied.
“I would like to have a word with you in private, if I could,” he directed to her father.
“Of course. Trinity, why don’t you go up and shower. I’ll be up in a minute, okay?”
She eyed the two men before rising to her feet. She trudged exhaustedly up the stairs. As much as she didn’t want to, she had to go into her room for something to wear. The scene was just as devastating as it’d been before. The paintings she’d worked so hard on and hoped to one day hang on her own walls, lay like spent carcasses after being devoured by vultures. It was the worst possible violation. A shudder ran up her spine at the violence demonstrated. Quickly, she sifted through the room until she found the items she needed before departing swiftly.
She lay in bed that night missing Rush. Wanting more than anything the powerful feel of his arms wrapped tight around her… the feel of his warm breath against her cheek… the reassuring thudding of his heart against her back.
***
The next morning, she groggily made her way down the stairs. Her father was sitting at the dining room table reading a newspaper and eating breakfast.
He smiled gently when he saw her, and carefully folded his newspaper. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Fine,” she answered as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
“I hate to bring this up again…” he began.
“Then don’t,” she said, interrupting him, knowing he was about to bring up protection again.
He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. “Trinity, you’re being unreasonable,” he said in a tone normally reserved for those who were slow-witted.
“They weren’t after me, Father. They could have gotten me… or hurt me, if that had been their intention. But it looked like they only wanted to ransack my room. I’m not saying it makes any sense. But I don’t want my movements monitored.”
He sat in quiet contemplation for a long moment. “Would you at least consider two things? Think about what your relationship with Drayton has brought into your life, and then think about what might happen the next time someone gets close enough to hurt you. You might not be so lucky.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said as she rose from the table without eating.
Needing to get away from the oppressiveness of her father’s house, she changed into jeans and slipped out through the kitchen’s entry. She walked down to the Hot Spot, grabbed a coffee, and once again called for a taxi to pick her up.
She had the taxi take her to downtown Savannah and drop her off there. She walked around the historical district for a couple hours before finally making her way to Forsyth Park. As the weather was becoming warmer, and more people were beginning to venture outside, the park was littered with several groupings of people. She sat on a bench closest to the cast iron fountain for which the park had been named. She wondered if those who’d sculpted the fountain in 1858 would have ever guessed that it would eventually become one of the most popular attractions in Savannah… or if they’d even have cared about that. She’d walked the 30-acre park many times, and from where she sat, she could see the monuments erected to the Confederate Soldier, the Marine Corps Monument, and the Fragrant Garden for the Blind.
Being here soothed her. It reminded her that time marches on and things that seemed so difficult today would eventually just fade away, just as surely as the vibrant blooms on the Azalea bushes fell away. Her father’s words about Rush came back to her. Rush made her happy… made her complete. She liked what he’d brought to her life. She would admit her father had a point about not being so lucky a third time.
Restlessness settled over her. She knew she was going to have to agree to a security detail and she hated it. She ran a tired hand over her face. She looked around at the others in the park and wondered if their lives were as complicated as hers. She wished Rush was with her. She always felt safer with
him… less alone. She rose from the bench and began walking the grounds of the park. The day was beautiful and the sun beat down, warming her chilled body. Her stomach grumbled and she remembered she’d not eaten breakfast. She turned down a side street to cut through to the food district located on the other side of the park.
She walked with her head bowed as she thought about her paintings once more. They would have meant little to anyone but her. It was if they’d been destroyed to deliberately hurt her. But who would do that? She was almost halfway down the side street when she heard movement behind her. A group of three men dressed in biker gear seemed to appear from out of nowhere. She sucked in a deep breath and turned back quickly only to find her path blocked by three more men dressed similarly to those behind her. She swung back around and those behind her were moving towards her quickly. She whirled around in a circle trying to find a way out, but didn’t see anything.
“What do you want?” she screamed at them.
Before she could say another word, one man with a long, scruffy beard reached out and punched her solidly in the face. Pain as she’d never experience before exploded in her head at the punch and a warm trickle of blood began to pour from her nose. She blinked frantically as her eyes watered involuntarily against the intense pain. She raised a hand to swipe at the tears.
“Why?” she began as the same man threw another punch which this time connected to her jaw. She stumbled against the blow and fell hard. She saw a swift thrust of a boot, and stars exploded in her head as the boot made contact. Her head lolled as darkness claimed her.
She woke to a blinding light being flashed into her eyes. She tried to close her eyes shut against the pain which seem to encompass her entire body. But the pain in her head was the worst.
Fear flooded her body and she forced her eyes open. She was marginally comforted to see the familiar uniform of an EMT sitting above her.
“What happened?” she asked groggily.
“You were attacked. Do you know your name?” the EMT asked.
“Trinity Grace,” she whispered.
“Is there anyone you want us to contact?”
“My father. Arthur Grace. His number is on my cellphone in my purse,” she mumbled.
The EMT looked around. “I don’t see a purse, ma’am,” he said.
A robbery? Really? That’s what she needed. Could things get any worse? “My father is Judge Grace,” she said as she recited their home number.
She groaned as the stretcher she’d been placed on bumped towards the waiting ambulance. Once loaded into the vehicle, the EMT began asking a series of questions: Where is the pain? Can you follow my fingers? Can you take a deep breath?
Chapter 8
Her father, of course, completely freaked about her attack. While she’d refused to have armed guards at her door, she did relent to accepting protection from Alex and his team. She’d finally begged her father to leave. She just couldn’t take any more. Her injuries weren’t as severe as they could have been and mainly consisted of severe bruising and a minor concussion. Her nose had been broken but was now reset. Her doctor promised her she’d wake with what he termed ‘raccoon eyes’. Great, she’d thought. He’d given her pills for the pain, but she’d put off taking them until she’d had an opportunity to talk with Rush. As it was the weekend, and she didn’t know his cellphone number, as it had been programmed into her stolen cellphone, she had no way to reach him. She just had to wait until he tried to contact her. A nurse came in to set up an intravenous drip, which, despite her intentions, soon had Trinity drifting off to sleep.
She woke confused at first to where she was until the aches and pains of her body brought it back to her. She sat up slowly in the now near-dark room, and winced at the sharp stabs of pain which seemed to explode in her head.
She was reaching towards the water pitcher on the small rolling table, when a warm masculine voice said, “Here, let me.”
She turned her head too quickly and couldn’t suppress the moan. Rush was standing by her bed looking down at her with concerned eyes.
“Hi, baby,” he said softly as he brushed hair out of her face.
Tear sprang into her eyes at seeing him. She attempted to smile but the movement made her nose hurt.
“Oh, baby. Please be still. What can I get you? Do you need a nurse? Water? Medication?”
“Just the medication and water, please,” she mumbled.
He moved around the bed and poured the water into a cup with a straw. He shook the two pills into his palm from the cup on her tray. He moved back to where he’d been and helped her take them. He pulled his chair up close to the bed and held her hand between his.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine. It looks worse than it is,” she assured him.
“Do you know what happened?”
She told him about walking through the side street and being attacked by the men.
“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry,” he murmured.
“Do I look hideous?” she asked.
He smiled tenderly. “No, you look beautiful.”
She wanted to roll her eyes, but found they were growing heavy from the medication.
Mumbling, she said, “Someone destroyed my paintings.”
He blinked rapidly at her words trying to understand. “You were carrying your paintings?”
She struggled to keep her eyes open. “No at home, in my room. They slashed them… last night.”
He rose swiftly and moved to the only window in the room.
“Don’t leave me,” she slurred.
He immediately came back to sit beside her and stroked her hair. “I won’t, baby. I’ll stay. Get some rest. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said as she began to fade out.
“I’ll protect you. I promise you’ll be safe…,” he whispered.
She drifted asleep to his strange words.
She was forced to stay in the hospital for two more days. During which time, her father was her only visitor outside of the police and Alex and his team. By the second day, she was getting frantic that Rush seemed to have drop off the face of the planet. She tried to contact him at his office, but his direct line went straight to voicemail. His secretary told her he was tied up in meetings all day, but she’d surely give him the message she’d called.
It was late on the second day when she finally talked her doctor into letting her go. She had to find out what had happened to Rush. She was panicked, and not sure why. But she had a very bad feeling. Ringo was standing outside her room when she’d finally dressed, called for a taxi, and signed the necessary release paperwork.
They were descending in the elevator when she said, “I won’t need you anymore today.”
Ringo’s shaved head didn’t so much as flinch at her words. “Sorry, ma’am. You don’t get to make that decision. I don’t work for you.”
“Well, here’s the thing, Ringo. I am an adult, and if you attempt to follow me, I’ll call the police. You have no legal right to refuse my request. Am I clear?”
“Yes. I hear you. But let me be clear. The moment I step through those doors, my first call will be to your father, who is in charge.”
“I don’t care who you call,” she said angrily.
The elevator doors opened and Trinity stepped swiftly to the waiting cab. She knew the cabbie must have found it odd for someone to be wearing sunglasses at nine o’clock at night, but she didn’t care. She gave him Rush’s address and sat back wearily in the seat. Why had Rush just vanished? Had her father gotten to him? She’d never forgive him… never!
Her heart began to pound in her chest as she neared Rush’s house. What if he turned her away? She was thankful her father had left her money for incidentals during her stay in the hospital or she’d have no way to pay for the taxi. At least this way, she could send the taxi away. She’d make Rush deal with her. She’d just given leave of the taxi when a thought occurred to her – what if he wasn’t alone? She swallowed hard at the pain of the
thought.
With trembling hands, she rang his doorbell and waited. After what seemed an excruciating amount of time, the light in the entry sprang on. She blinked behind her sunglasses. Slowly, the door opened and there he stood, beautiful as ever. Her heart twisted in her chest at the sight of him. Now that she was here, she didn’t know what to say.
“Trinity? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?” he asked.
“May I come in?” she asked.
He seemed to hesitate and again her heart squeezed brutally in her chest. “Of course.”
He moved aside and allowed her to enter. She took a quick glance around the room, relieved not to see anyone there… at least not in the living room.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
“Well, I guess if Mohammad won’t come to the mountain…” she trailed off.
He exhaled heavily and walked past her as he rubbed a hand across his face. “Please have a seat. Do you want something to drink… to eat?”
“A glass of wine would be good.”
“Can you mix wine with your meds?” he asked.
“I’m not taking any. I felt I needed a straight head.”
“Why? What’s going on?” he asked.
“I think that should be my question.”
Instead of answering, he moved to the kitchen and reappeared after a minute with two glasses of wine. He handed her one before moving to sit a little ways down the couch from her. The gulf between them seemed vast. She swallowed against the pain. She took a fortifying drink of the wine before setting the glass on the table. She moved close enough to him on the couch to reach out a shaky hand and place it on his arm. He flinched at her touch and she jerked her hand away as if she’d been burned. His rejection of her touch injured her far worse than any attacker ever could.
More emotional than she intended, she said, “Please tell me what’s going on?”
He stared down at his glass for a long time. With a decisive thrust of his jaw, he met her gaze straight on. “I can’t see you anymore.”