Clay grabbed her hand and replaced the ring on her finger. "We still have to appear we're married while I'm on the case."
"I can't even bear to look at you, Clay, let alone pretend we're married. And I'm not going to shack up with you in your apartment anymore. You only protected me because of your promise to Marcos."
Clay ran a ragged hand through his coarse hair and shook his head. "It started out that way, but I grew very attached to you. I can't bear the thought of anyone hurting you."
"Why? Because it would disappoint Marcos?"
"Stop it," he bit out, his black eyes piercing as he scowled at her. "If you won't believe I care for you and you insist on a strictly platonic relationship, then so be it. But I'm staying on the case until I arrest the stalker."
"Suit yourself." She turned away from him. "I'm moving out of your apartment anyway."
Clay ground his teeth and worked the muscles in his clamped jaw. "All right. I'll help you, but I'm not giving up."
Marisol whipped around to face him as indignation mushroomed inside her at his obstinate way. "You won't like the new me, Clay. I've been a trusting dope all my life, but not anymore—you've managed to destroy my trust," she said, clutching her keys and stomping to the door. "I want to start bringing my things back now. Has Marcos left already?"
"Yes." Clay exhaled a heavy sigh. "I told him I'd call tonight."
"Yes, do that. I don't want to talk to him for a very long time."
Clay waited for Marisol to change from her bathrobe and then followed her to his apartment.
"I understand how you feel and I'm sorry. I won't keep the truth from you again," he said, once they were inside his place. "I've been trying to explain why I had to, but you won't listen to me."
"I heard you, I just can't accept it."
Clay sat on the couch and braced his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together. "Marisol, your life is still in danger," he said grimly. "I'm the best man for the job. We have to stay married until I catch the stalker. After that, we'll get divorced."
Marisol joined him on the couch, her back ramrod stiff and her chin lifted. She was done with self-defeating tears."If I agree to this, you have to follow my ground rules."
Clay rubbed the back of his neck. "What are they?" he asked, his tone flat.
"First of all, we'll live in my apartment. I can't bear to live in yours playing the adoring wife." That seemed to cut him to the quick. "And you can't touch me anymore. Not even in public."
Clay looked ready to explode. "You're asking a lot," he said roughly. "But I'll agree to anything—just to keep you safe."
"The most important ground rule is that you don't attempt to seduce me."
Clay groaned. "That's understood. How can I seduce you if I can't even touch you?"
"Your dark eyes alone can seduce me," she muttered, before realizing it. The last thing she wanted was for Clay to know that she was still vulnerable to him.
"It's a deal." Clay shook her hand. "Oops, I forgot about not touching you," he said, dimples deepening into a slow grin.
Marisol looked away. One look at Clay's heart-stopping dimples could melt a stone. Even his smile seemed to mock her resolve, but she wouldn't let him back into her heart until he got down on his knees and pledged his love to her.
And not a moment before.
* * *
The ensuing days, Marisol took great pains to avoid Clay at all costs. She made sure not to eat breakfast or dinner with him and worked late hours at the salon, ignoring his car as he protectively followed her to and from work.
Nighttime was the worst. She had conceded that he could sleep next to her, but that was torture. She would lie awake staring at his sleeping face or get up and pace the living room until she could compose herself enough to return and resume her futile attempt at sleep.
Yet each time Marisol remembered Clay's motives for being with her, her resolve strengthened. The arrangement was wearing Clay down, too. He was often irritable and edgy, eating little and sleeping fitfully. They only conversed when necessary now. The blossoming friendship they had enjoyed during their intimacy was strained as they kept physically and emotionally alienated from each other.
The following week dragged until Saturday with no sign of the stalker. Marisol wondered if he had decided to give up on her since she was married to a police detective now. Clay no longer attempted small talk, withdrawing even more to brooding silence. Yet he stayed by her side relentlessly when he wasn't at work, preoccupied with the stalker and when he might strike again.
Marisol felt anxious to resume her normal lifestyle. It pained her to admit that there was no future with Clay. As much as she loved him, if they didn't have the same life goals, it would never work.
Every day she was obliged to wear his mother's ring was one more reminder that it was on loan. The wonderful wedding night they'd spent at the Delano Hotel had become a bittersweet memory that Marisol didn't allow herself to dwell on anymore. She admitted that Clay was an honorable man. His strong sense of integrity must have compelled him to uphold his promise to Marcos. Clay would have said or done anything to complete his pledge.
Even make beautiful love to her to keep her beside him, she thought with a surge of sadness.
* * *
Sunday morning, Clay got an urgent phone call from Jimmy. He walked into the bedroom and found Marisol asleep in her T-shirt and panties and clutching a pillow to her side. He envied the pillow its proximity to her lithe, tanned legs as they curved around it.
"Wake up," Clay said, leaning forward to speak in her ear.
Marisol sleepily swatted at the source of noise. "Go 'way," she mumbled.
"No. Wake up," he insisted in a louder voice.
"Leave me alone." She opened one eye and glared at him. "Caramba, it's Sunday. Let me sleep!"
Clay gently lifted Marisol's upper body to a semi-sitting position and said, "I have to go to Jimmy. He's sick."
"Hunh?" she said, trying to focus on Clay's face. She'd spent another sleepless night, finally falling asleep at three o'clock in the morning, but her slumber had been interrupted by recurring nightmares about the stalker. "What's wrong?" she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"Jimmy is having a bout with asthma. I have to make sure he has the medicine he needs."
"I'm sorry to hear it. Tell Jimmy I hope he feels better," she said drowsily.
"I will. Call my cell if you need to reach me." Clay leveled a stern look at Marisol and pointed his finger at her. "Keep your little butt glued to this apartment and don't open the door to anyone."
"Don't tell me what to do," she fumed.
"The last time I told you to stay put, you went for a little drive," Clay reminded her.
"You said you weren't going to bring that up again!"
"If Jimmy wasn't sick, I'd stay here with you," Clay said, ignoring her protest. He walked to the door. "Don't let your guard down. I'll be back around noon."
In a huff, Marisol turned her back on him. "Just go," she said, her words mumbled in her pillow.
Chapter 11
The echo of heavy footsteps pounded in Marisol's ears and her heart thudded in her chest as her feet sank into wet sand. She propelled herself forward, but her leg muscles kept cramping painfully.
The stalker was closing in on her at the deserted beach. She stole a glance over her shoulder to gauge the distance between them. Less than ten yards away, she still couldn't make out his features in the black night. Fear and fatigue made her clumsy.
Marisol screamed when her foot stepped into a hole and she tripped, toppling forward in agonizing slow motion. Her pursuer fell upon her, his hot body pressed against her back lengthwise. She pushed back with all her might, but his heavy weight forced her deeper in the sinking sand. She tried to call for help, but got a mouthful of seawater and gravel.
Brutal hands flung her over. Marisol spewed the sand muck in the man's face, but he wiped his face and laughed, the sound sickeningly demented.
His erection savagely ground against her as he covered her mouth with a meaty hand.
Marisol frantically blinked back the stinging salt water, and then she saw his face. A primeval shriek ripped through her lungs at the raw mass of flesh that made up his cruel features as he slapped her hard. Her throat felt raw, but she couldn't stop screaming when he tore her clothes off. From a distance, she heard a ringing sound that grew closer and closer.
Marisol bolted up from her prone position in bed, her quaking body drenched in cold sweat, her pounding heart painfully battering her constricted chest. Another nightmare, she thought, terrified, but glad to be awake. This one had been the worst so far.
The ringing bell of her dreams turned out to be the doorbell. She wondered why Clay wasn't answering the door, and then remembered that he'd left to see Jimmy.
It was probably Marcos, come to make amends. Marisol pushed herself out of her lethargy, put on shorts and sandals, and headed to the door.
* * *
Clay returned to the apartment at noon. "Marisol," he called out. "I'm back." When she didn't answer, he ran into the bedroom and found Trini collapsed on the bed, weeping.
"Where's Marisol?" he demanded, grabbing her shoulders and lifting her to a sitting position. Her face was red and swollen as if she'd been slapped several times and her eyes were dazed as if she was on drugs.
She clutched the sides of her mottled face with trembling hands. "Ray forced me to do it. I never thought he would go this far!"
He shook her and thundered in her face, "Where is she?"
"Ray took her down the stairway," Trini wailed.
"Stay there until the police arrive," he ordered, his blood boiling with rage. "If you cooperate, we won't prosecute you."
Trini tearfully nodded. "I'll stay."
Clay bolted out of the apartment, his skin crawling with the dread that he wouldn't get to her in time to save her. His heart constricted and nearly stopped when he considered he might lose Marisol—the warm and vibrant light of his life.
She had been his reason to get up in the morning. Clay had never smiled so much in his life, nor loved so deeply. What a stupid, stubborn jackass he'd been! Why hadn't he told her this before? he wondered, tormented by a sharp pang of remorse.
Marisol had once told him,"I would love any child of ours. I have enough love in my heart for all types of children."
Her endearing words made him physically ill with regret. Why, God? Why had he doubted her sincerity?
* * *
Gruesomely contorted, Ray Campbell's fleshy mouth sent a spray of spittle on Marisol's face. "Shut up or I'll kill you," he snarled.
Ray's fetid breath reeked of beer and salami and Marisol fought the bile rising in her throat. Her eyes bulged as she desperately tried to bite his hand, but it was cupped over her mouth.
"Are you going to be quiet," he asked in a menacing voice as he showed her the gun in his other hand.
Marisol froze and nodded frantically.
When he removed his hand, Marisol took shuddering, gulping breaths. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought she was going to die of a heart attack. Electric shocks ran up and down her limbs.
"One peep out of you and you're dead," he warned. He pressed the cold tip of his revolver against her rib cage and prodded her down the stairway.
Marisol moved like a zombie as she silently prayed for survival. Ray's gun was cocked and loaded and if she didn't reason with him soon, he'd rape and kill her! He was capable of it, she thought recalling how he'd abused Trini.
"Ray, please don't do this. You'll get caught and go to jail," she said quietly, in as calm a voice as she could muster.
Ray ignored her and shoved her forward with his gun jammed in her ribs. "I won't go to jail," he said with a demented laugh. "I'm too smart for the police. I can fool anybody."
Marisol's stomach lurched when he pressed the gun harder against her rib cage. She stumbled when her heel caught in the step. "Stop, please, my heel is caught."
"Ditch the sandals. Soon you'll take it all off and I'll have fun marking up your tits," he sneered, licking his blubbery lips.
Marisol almost lost the contents of her stomach. Her chest felt close to imploding with terror as she asked him, "Why are you doing this? Don't you love Trini?"
"That slut? She's knocked up and scrambling to please me," he jeered. "I'm surprised you didn't realize she made the satin handcuffs and the Barbie dress."
"I can't believe Trini would want to hurt me," she said, trying to draw him into conversation.
Ray scoffed. "Why not? Your business was ruining mine and she needs my money. After the last beating I gave her, Trini sweetly agreed to help me run you out of town."
He weaved on the stairwell, snickering. "You stuck-up whore. Wearing skirts that barely cover your ass," he said, squeezing her bottom hard. "Flirting with all the guys, but me. You always looked at me with disgust. Fucking bitch."
"That's not true. I... I thought you were nice," she lied as hysteria rose inside of her making her gag on the words.
His expression turned deadly. "You're lying. You never gave me the time of day!"
"I couldn't," she said in a placating tone. "Trini wanted to date you, and even though I was attracted to you, Ray, I was already involved with Clay."
"Shaddup! You convinced Trini to get the restraining order," he snarled drunkenly.
Marisol scrambled for something to say to appease him as Ray continued ranting.
Ray's lower lip began to tremble. "I'm not a psychopath. Vanessa used to call me a psychopath. She said I was a pig and no girl would ever marry me."
"Who's Vanessa?" Marisol said, stalling for time.
"The girl I loved. But she hated me," he said, his voice quivering. "I can make you love me."
"What about Trini? She loves you."
"I don't want her. I want you." Ray startled Marisol when tears slid down his face. "You look like Vanessa with your blond hair and slutty curves," he said, licking away the tears. "I'm gonna take you far away and punish you. When I finish teaching you a lesson you won't be able to move."
"Please don't do this," she begged.
"That's right beg. I'm gonna enjoy breaking you like I did Trini. You'll be obedient, even if I have to drug you."
"I'm not Vanessa or Trini. Someday, someone will love you and marry you!" she cried.
"You're a lying bitch! I don't want anyone else. I want you," he said, slapping her face. "Now move it," Ray said, his gun spurring her with another cruel jab. His breathing was labored as he promised, "You're not getting away from me this time."
* * *
Clay heard voices from the stairway. He slipped off his shoes and opened the door, careful not to make a single noise. He clutched his Beretta and began a silent, mental chant: stillness precedes motion, slowness precedes speed, softness precedes strength—the Tai Chi basic foundations of motion, speed, and strength he'd learned as a child. They had calmly carried him through many life-threatening situations before.
Moving closer with silent, deliberate steps, Clay heard Marisol pleading, "Please, Ray! Don't do this. Let me go!"
He could just make out their shapes as he crept stealthily down the stairs toward them. He figured that Ray was holding a gun to Marisol as he coerced her down the stairwell. He could hear Ray's demented ramblings and profanity toward Marisiol. Clay's body shook with rage and terror for her safety, but he had to concentrate solely on overtaking Ray's gun.
He attempted to cleanse his mind by chanting again: stillness precedes motion, slowness precedes speed, softness precedes strength.
With precise, phantom steps, he crept up behind Ray and performed a precise sweep-the-lotus kick aimed at Ray's funny bone, successfully knocking the gun from his hand down the length of the stairs.
Ray grunted and fell back against the railing. Clay chopped him on the back of the neck and knocked him unconscious. When Ray began to slide down the stairs, Clay yanked him by the back of his shirt and held
him upright as he urged Marisol, "Go! Wait for me outside my apartment."
Paralyzed with fear, Marisol couldn't move when she saw Ray regain consciousness and try to ram his burly body against Clay. Clay retaliated by slamming his gun against Ray's back and shoving him down the stairwell. He turned his head briefly and when he saw Marisol still standing there, he thundered. "Go! I'll meet you there."
Downstairs, he handed Ray over to Alan. "Keep him in handcuffs until the police arrive."
Like a madman, Clay tore inside the building, rode up the elevator, and sprinted toward his apartment in search of Marisol. When he found the woman he loved in the hall waiting for him, he gave a shout of triumph.
Marisol ran toward him and fell into his arms, sobbing and telling him how much she loved him. They stood locked in each other's embrace, neither moving for several moments.
Finally, Clay disengaged Marisol's tightly woven arms from around his neck and examined her for any trauma at Ray's hands. His heart clenched painfully thinking he could have lost her forever. When he saw she was disheveled, but unharmed, he folded her precious body in his arms and kissed her like a starved man.
"Marisol, Marisol," he chanted, overcome by grief as he cradled her against his heart. "I almost lost you."
Marisol whimpered, "Oh, God, Clay, I need you so much!"
Suddenly all the sweet words Marisol needed to hear, the ones Clay had been reluctant and unsure of how to say, came rushing out of his mouth with tormented sincerity.
"I love you, baby," he whispered roughly, his pulse roaring in his ears as he gazed into Marisol's beautiful amber eyes. He kissed her with savage urgency. "You're my own heart and soul and I love you more than life itself," he growled between kisses.
Marisol clung to Clay as tears rolled down her cheeks and she rained kisses on his face. "I love you, too, mi amor. I never stopped loving you."
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