“Thank you,” I told her, and I meant it.
She smiled and disappeared behind the curtain. Even though my arms were shaking with the effort of holding her for so long, I was hard pressed to put her down. I stood over the white bed for long minutes, debating, until I gently laid her out on the covers.
Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled. “Thanks.”
“You look like shit,” I told her tenderly and brushed a strand of damp hair off her face.
Her eyes widened and focused on my face. I opened my mouth to tell her I was teasing when she said, “There’s lights in here.”
Yeah. She hit her head too hard. “Yeah,” I drawled slowly.
“I can see you.” She said it like she was in awe.
“Well, I ain’t much to look at.” I started to pull away, but she grabbed my arm and yanked me back down so I was leaning over her body.
“Stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I wasn’t sure why I just said that, but it felt right.
Her eyes—a crystal-blue color—roamed over my face, taking in every feature, every scar I knew was there. I was probably unshaven, dirty, and looked like crap.
“You look…” she said, her voice trailing away as she looked me over again. I braced myself for some polite answer. But what she said surprised me. “Like a warrior.”
I lifted my eyebrow. “A warrior, huh?”
She nodded. “Strong. Capable. Rough.”
I grunted, not sure what to make of her words.
“I won’t tell your secret,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips.
“And what secret is that?” I asked, amused.
“That even though you look like a warrior and act like a warrior, underneath all that toughness is really a big mushy marshmallow.”
I snorted. “There is nothing on me that resembles a marshmallow.” I flexed my bicep for her to feast her eyes on.
She placed her palm over the center of my chest, right above my heart. All sense of joking totally left my body. I swallowed.
“It’s why you need all those muscles, isn’t it? To protect what’s in here.”
And those were the words that wrapped me right around her little finger.
19
Honor
I never thought I might actually enjoy being a patient at a hospital. Of course, when your options are that or death… being in a hospital scores a ten out of ten.
I didn’t even mind the ugly gown they put me in because it meant finally getting out of my muddy, wet clothes. The IV hurt like hell, but whatever meds they put in it sure were nice. Finally, I could draw a breath without feeling like someone was stabbing me with a butcher knife.
The silence of the room was welcome. I liked silence. I knew some people who kept themselves so busy—their lives so full of all this… crap—that they never had a spare moment. I always felt bad for those people. It was almost as if they couldn’t stand the thought of being at rest—of being alone with themselves.
Of course, even when I was alone and sitting in the silence of a room, I was never actually alone. The voices in my head—the characters that I put down on the page—they were always with me. It wasn’t something I went around telling other people because they would likely put me in a padded room, but other writers understood. It was probably the reason I liked the silence so much, because then there was no exterior noise competing with the constant activity that went on within the confines of my brain.
Or maybe the silence was just welcome because it meant no one was throwing oranges at my head and trying to kill me.
I laid there as long as I could, ignoring reality, until I knew I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I had to talk to the police. They needed to get that man off the streets. He could be doing to someone else what he’d just done to me.
My eyes sprang open.
I expected to see the curtain draped around the bed, but it wasn’t there. In fact, I was no longer in the tiny cubicle that Nathan carried me into.
Nathan.
I turned my head, looking for him, but he wasn’t there. I was in a room by myself, one of those generic hospital rooms that looked the same as every other in the building. White walls, cold tile floor, a rolling bedside table nearby, and a set of windows on the far end.
The curtains were drawn so I couldn’t see outside, but judging from the amount of light in the room, I knew the sun was up. How long of a break from reality did I take?
I stared at the IV taped to the back of my hand and scowled. Stupid thing. As I pondered ripping it out, the door to the room opened and Nathan stepped inside.
He was still wearing the same white T-shirt and jeans he wore when he brought me in. They looked dry now but were wrinkled and covered in mud. It was the first time I really got a good look at him because it wasn’t dark, it wasn’t raining, and we weren’t running from a madman.
Oh, and I guess the meds in the IV were making it easier to focus on him and not the pain.
I decided not to rip it out after all.
He was a big guy, over six feet tall, with a broad frame and very defined body. His biceps were large and hard. I probably wouldn’t even be able to wrap my hand around them and let my fingers touch. His chest was also solid looking and the white shirt stretched across his pecs and lay smoothly over his flat stomach. Even his neck was thick, and I knew this was a man who spent a lot of time at the gym.
He saw I was awake and he strode to the end of the bed and stood, looking down at me. Usually, I hated people looming over me. It was creepy.
Nathan was not creepy.
His nearly black hair was super short, a typical military cut, I suppose. It graduated from being practically bald on the sides and faded upward to short strands on the top that were sticking up like he’d been running his hands over the top of his head.
He was also unshaven; dark, coarse hair covered the lower half of his face. I knew he most likely was always shaven, but his hair was so dark that the time he spent running around in the woods with me caused it to already shadow his jaw.
He had a strong nose with a little bump in the center (had it been broken?), dark thick eyebrows, and blue eyes. His skin wasn’t as pale as mine, and he had a scar underneath his right eye. It ran jaggedly across his cheekbone. His lips were full, but there was also another scar right beneath his bottom lip, and it interrupted the curved line that his lips would have formed.
A black tattoo peaked out from under the sleeve on his left arm, and I began to daydream about what the entire tattoo looked like and if he had any more in places that were covered by his clothes.
“You’re still here,” I said, still not taking away my eyes.
“I told you I wouldn’t leave.”
He did say that, but I guess part of me thought he was only saying what he thought I wanted to hear. After all, I wasn’t his responsibility. I mean, he barely knew me.
“How long was I out?”
He walked around the side of bed. I couldn’t help but notice the way his hips swiveled as he moved. He dropped into a chair sitting right beside the bed and reclined against the back. “A couple hours.”
“What time is it?”
“About ten a.m.”
I felt my eyes widen. I’d been out more than a couple hours. He’d been here this whole time? “Aren’t you exhausted?”
“Nah. I caught a couple hours of sleep.”
“Where?”
“Right here.”
He slept in the chair beside my bed? Damn if that didn’t make my heart turn over.
“I should talk to the police.” I started to push myself up.
He moved quickly, gently pressing me back down. “I already talked to them.”
“You did?”
He nodded. “Yes. I gave them a description, his name, and his address.”
Relief made me weak, and I leaned back against the pillow. “Did they arrest him?”
The area around Nathan’s eyes became pinched. “Not yet.�
�
Well, this wasn’t good. “Why not?”
“They’re still looking for him.”
“Where is he?” I demanded.
“We aren’t sure. They’ve got men out in the woods where you were. He’s just… gone.”
“They believe us, right?” I worried. What if they thought I was lying? What if no one believed us? He would just get away with what he did.
“Yes, Honor, they believe us. They found the hole you were in.”
My stomach tightened at the thought of that nasty hole. I had another thought that had me sitting up quickly. My head swam, but I ignored it. “The necklace!”
“I gave it to them.” He reassured me. “I showed them the picture you texted me too.”
“What was her name?” I whispered. I needed to know the name of the girl who wasn’t as lucky as I was.
He frowned. “Honor—”
“Her name,” I said firmly, cutting off whatever protest he was about to spew.
“Mary.”
I was silent while the name sank in. The horrors she must have experienced in her final hours of life were things no woman should ever have to endure. Memories of the truck, of my kidnapper pinning me down and putting his… his… parts in my face assaulted me.
I squeezed my eyes closed, willing away the images.
“Hey,” Nathan said, and I felt the bed dip beneath his weight. “What’s going on in there?” I felt his finger tap my forehead.
I opened my eyes and stared into his blue irises. “How do you forget?” I whispered.
He knew what I meant. I could see it on his face. It was the kind of understanding that told me he too had experienced things that would forever leave a mark on his soul.
He trailed the backs of his knuckles over my cheek and then tucked my hair behind my ear. “You don’t,” he said gently. “You just have to find a way to live with it and go on.”
“Will it get easier?”
I saw the war wage in his eyes. He wanted to tell me yes. He wanted to take away some of what I was feeling. But Nathan was no liar; that much I knew to the deepest places within me. He wasn’t the kind of man to sugarcoat something that couldn’t be sweetened.
“I don’t know, baby,” he said gently. “I sure hope so.”
My chest felt tight and my stomach was jittery. Hearing such tenderness out of this large and steely man did things—very good things—to my body.
It was the stuff I wrote about.
The stuff I never really thought existed outside of those pages.
My fingers itched; they longed to touch him. He was so close, and he watched me so carefully that I couldn’t resist slowly reaching out to trace along the jagged scar that stretched across his cheekbone. He didn’t flinch or pull away. He sat there completely still while my fingers caressed him.
“What happened to you?” I whispered.
He caught my fingers and pulled them away, wrapping his around mine, dwarfing my hand in his, and pulled it close to his chest. I waited for his answer, curious and patient at the same time. I knew whatever answer he would give would not come easy, and I didn’t mind waiting. Nathan was a man worth waiting for.
The door made a loud scraping sound as it opened and dragged across the floor. Irritation skittered through me because someone dared to interrupt this moment. I didn’t want anyone else in here. I only wanted Nathan.
Get a grip, I told myself. This isn’t some cheesy soap opera. This is real life. You got shit to do.
But even my thoughts couldn’t keep my eyes from straying from him.
“Miss Calhoun,” an older doctor in a white coat said. “Glad to see you’re awake.” He carried a clipboard (didn’t they always?) and had the traditional stethoscope hung around his neck.
“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked as Nathan released my hand and returned to his chair beside the bed.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“The police are here. They would like to take your statement.”
Nathan sat up a little higher in his chair but said nothing. I nodded. “That’s fine. I’m sorry I slept so long.”
“Your body needed the rest, Miss Calhoun. We gave you something to help you sleep. From here on out, you will be getting Naproxen, which is similar to a strong Motrin.”
I nodded.
“Are you in pain?”
“A little,” I admitted. “But it’s not as bad as before.”
The doctor glanced at the clipboard. “Most of your injuries are superficial and will heal quickly. You have a lot of bruising, some swelling, and a bump on your head. It doesn’t appear that you have a concussion. We put three stitches in your hand and removed the glass that was beneath the skin.”
I glanced down at my hand, which was bandaged. How had I not realized I had stitches until he pointed it out? It must have been from the glass in the truck.
“Our biggest concern is your ribs.” The doctor continued.
“They’re broken,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. Several of them. You appear to have suffered blunt force trauma to your torso area.”
“He kicked me,” I reiterated.
The doctor cleared his throat. “You have heavy bruising, swelling, and mild tissue damage. Have you ever had a broken rib before?”
“No.” I’d never had a broken bone at all.
“It’s quite painful. There really is no treatment for a broken rib, just pain management, which is what the Naproxen is for. Years ago, doctors used compression bandages to treat broken ribs, but its since been deemed unsafe. You see, the risks of having broken ribs is that you’re at a high risk for pneumonia.”
Pneumonia? That was weird.
“She was out in the rain, in the cold, all night,” Nathan said.
“I’m aware,” the doctor replied. “So far, you show no signs of becoming ill.”
“But why pneumonia?” I asked.
“Because when you suffer that kind of trauma, it prevents you from taking deep breaths. This increases your risk. If you begin to run a fever, feel weak or dizzy, or experience any other worrisome symptoms, you need to seek medical treatment immediately.”
“Okay, I will.”
“I’ll send the police in now,” he said after a few more moments of talking. When he finally left, I blew out a breath.
“Doctor’s are so serious,” I mumbled.
Nathan chuckled. “Would you rather he be unserious?”
“I want to go home,” I griped.
He grinned.
Two police officers shuffled into the room, wearing pressed uniforms with badges clipped to their black belts. Resigned, I submitted to their questions and prying eyes. Because Nathan filled them in so thoroughly, their questions turned personal fast.
“Did Lex Sullman rape you, ma’am?”
I recoiled like I smelled something foul.
“What the hell kind of question is that?” Nathan said, jerking up from his chair and taking up position beside the bed.
“A necessary one,” the police replied, gauging Nathan, no doubt taking in his rough appearance and scars. His eyes slid to me. “How do you know this man?”
“I already told you that,” he said, and I knew he was restraining his temper. Nathan seemed to have a bit of a short fuse.
Before things could escalate, I explained quickly about how Nathan and I met.
“So you are friends with the man suspected of kidnapping women?”
“No,” Nathan said slowly, like he was talking to an idiot. “Like I told you before, we play a weekly poker game together. He’s an acquaintance.”
“You provided us with his home address.” The other officer spoke up.
Nathan shrugged. “I’ve played poker at his house.”
“Will other men testify to this?”
Nathan rattled off about four names and a phone number of some guy named Patton. When he was done, the muscle in the side of his jaw was ticking. It reminded me of a time bomb ready t
o explode.
“No,” I said quietly.
All eyes turned toward me.
“No?” the officer asked.
“He didn’t rape me.”
Nathan dropped onto the bed beside me. It was as if he was so relieved he couldn’t stand. I gave him a watery smile.
The police officer looked at his partner. “We’re not looking for a rapist.” The other partner nodded and wrote something in a no-nonsense black notebook.
They said it like it somehow made everything I’d gone through okay. Like what I suffered was somehow less now because my body wasn’t violated like they assumed.
It really, really made me angry.
This wasn’t just about me. It was also about Mary and whoever else came before us. “He was going to,” I said, and once again all eyes turned to me.
“How do you know that?”
“He made his intent pretty clear,” I hedged.
Nathan was sitting very still and staring at the floor. I glanced at him, feeling unease curling through my limbs.
“Maybe you should wait outside, Mr. Reed.”
“No,” I said, reaching for his hand. I didn’t want him to go. This was hard enough to say out loud. Knowing Nathan was here and that he somehow understood something about pain made it easier.
Before the officers could insist, I opened my mouth and let it pour out. “He held me down,” I said. “He… um… he took himself out.” I paused, looking at the officers, hoping they would understand. Both of them wore a disgusted look so I knew they understood perfectly. “And he tried to shove it in my mouth.”
Nathan glanced at me. “The truck?” he whispered, harsh.
I nodded.
He ripped his hand from mine and hooked it around the back of my head, pulling me into his chest. He still smelled like pine trees, and I let it fill my senses.
“Is that all?” one of the officers asked.
I lifted my head, anger on my face. “Well, aside from being kicked, slapped, punched, shot at, groped, and thrown into a thirty-foot hole in the ground, I guess that about covers it.”
“We meant no disrespect,” the second officer spoke.
“Yeah, I know.” I relented.
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