The smooth seal was still intact. He sighed. At least this place was still uncompromised. He punched in the seven-digit code, then held open the door for Evelyn. She entered his apartment in front of him, still not speaking. He didn’t like the silence. He understood it, but he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He watched her move slowly, as if in a trance, through the door. She hadn’t even made it past the foyer when she stopped cold.
“Evelyn?” Marcus spoke her name softly, quickly stepping around her to look her in the face.
Her eyes had glazed over.
Not good. Not good at all.
“Evelyn, sweetheart, come back to me.”
Her eyes refocused. She looked down at her hands and a soft cry escaped her tightly pursed lips, almost like the meow of a newborn kitten.
Marcus cringed. He needed to get her clean. She was covered in blood—Ryan’s blood, Kate’s blood. She trembled.
Gently, without breaking eye contact, Marcus reached for her.
“Let’s get you cleaned up. Okay? You can take a warm shower. Then sleep.”
Still she didn’t say a word. Was she in shock? “Evelyn?”
She blinked, then nodded.
It wasn’t words, like he wanted, but it was something.
He took her elbow in one hand, letting his other hand rest on the small of her back as he steered her down the hall. He moved past the second bathroom just around the corner from the open kitchen. It was small, ordinary; not what she needed right now. Instead, he headed for the master bedroom. He’d move his stuff into the other bedroom later. His main focus was on getting her clean, getting the blood off of her body. The smell would linger in her nostrils, and the images of Ryan, Kate and Ava’s broken bodies would be forever seared into her mind. And as much as he wanted to take those things from her, rid her of the pain they would undoubtedly cause her, there was nothing he could do.
He hated that.
But at least the master bathroom would give her the space and privacy to clean the part of her that she could.
He directed her into the bathroom and, without letting go of her elbow, he pulled the shower door open. With one hand, he reached inside, careful to keep contact with her, and turned on the faucet. A strong stream of water poured from the showerhead. Steam rose, lazily filling the room.
“Take as long as you need. I’ll bring you something clean to wear, okay?” He didn’t want to, but he finally let her go.
She walked to the sink and leaned both hands against its ledge, head down. She stood that way for what seemed like an eternity.
He paused at the door. Maybe leaving her alone wasn’t the smartest thing. She was strong, but how strong? Had she hit her breaking point? If only he could get inside her head right now to find the correct thing to say, the precise thing to do. Did she need space, like so many of his buddies did when dealing with death on such a personal level? Did she need to talk it out like his oldest brother did after a grueling investigation? Or did she need human contact to remind her she wasn’t alone, that she was alive and loved? He felt lost and helpless—something he wasn’t used to feeling. More than ever, he wanted to do right by her, be there for her, whatever that looked like, however ugly it got. Because it could get ugly.
He would’ve been surprised if it didn’t.
“Evelyn?” he asked in a soft voice.
“Right, right. ’Course.” She nodded, wincing as she focused on her reflection in the mirror for the first time.
The woman in the mirror stared back at them, her blue eyes dark with panic, almost wild. Mascara and streaks of dried blood streamed down her face. She looked as if she’d just come from battle in a war-torn country and barely survived. Pieces of her jet-black hair clumped together. Evelyn tilted her head, gingerly reached up and touched a mass that had fallen in front of her eye. She brought the strands to her nose, jerked back and dropped them like a hot coal. Marcus’s heart heaved. He knew her hair smelled like blood.
She gripped the ledge. Her knuckles turned white as she dropped her head. He went to her and put his hands on her shoulders.
She pulled away from him. As she glanced at the bloody palm prints she’d left on the white countertop, a small wounded sound bubbled from her chest.
“Oh...no...no...no...” She held her hands out in front of her in horror, violent tremors shaking them.
Her breath came in shallow gulps as she bent over the sink, frantically grabbed the faucet and turned the hot water on. A tiny whimper escaped her as she viciously scrubbed her hands, pumping the soap dispenser, pushing her hands under the steaming water, repeating the motion over and over. He tried to touch her again, but she shied away from him.
She finally shut the water off and turned, shoving her hands behind her back. “I can’t... I need... Please—”
It wasn’t necessary for Evelyn to say anything more. Marcus leaned against the door and gave her space. “I’ll just be outside, if you need anything.”
He left the door slightly ajar, then sat on the edge of the massive, California king bed. Propping his elbows on his knees, he waited. He listened for the sound of the shower door opening and closing. And after what felt like a million years, the sounds he’d really waited for, hoped would come, drifted to his ears.
At first, the noise came out in tiny whimpers. Then it grew. And grew. Her deep, guttural sobs echoed in the stillness of the room, tearing at him, shredding his heart to pieces. But she needed the release. And as much as it hurt him to see her in this much pain, he had to allow her this time alone. He clenched his fists, got up, paced. He cast anxious glances at the small opening with each pass.
He reached for the door handle, then stopped. What the hell was he doing? He couldn’t walk in on her. No matter how innocent his intentions were, it would still be inappropriate, especially given her current state of hell. He rested his head against the door frame and listened to the gut-wrenching sobs that refused to let up.
After thirty minutes, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He turned and left the room, careful to keep the door open. In the hall, he pulled out his phone and dialed.
“You okay?” His brother answered on the second ring, voice groggy from the three-hour time difference.
“Derek, I need you—”
“What happened?” His voice switched to full alert mode.
“There’s been an accident.” Marcus’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, then walked down the hall, away from the sobs still coming from the bathroom. He entered the kitchen before continuing. “Scrap that. There hasn’t been an accident. There’s been a development on the case.”
He stopped again. What was he even saying? Accident. Development. He took a deep breath to regain his focus. “Evelyn’s partner and his family were found murdered in their home tonight. We were second on the scene.”
Derek whistled softly into the phone.
“That’s not all, as if that weren’t enough.” His voice grew hard, fresh anger springing up inside of him. “The prick left a note for Evelyn. We’re on lockdown with her. She’s here with me and isn’t going anywhere until we’ve got a better handle on this situation, but I could really use a pair of fresh eyes.”
“Say no more. I’ll be on the next plane.”
Marcus rubbed his face with one hand. The tension in his shoulders diminished. His pulse calmed. Maybe with his brother here, they could finally get the upper hand on this guy. “Thanks, man.”
“Marcus,” Derek said. “I know this goes without saying, but keep a close eye on her. She may be strong—I’m not discounting that—but most people couldn’t handle what’s she’s been through once, let alone twice. Everyone has a tipping point.”
“What are you saying?” Marcus barely breathed the question as he glanced down the hallway, listening until he heard her sobs.
“Nothing, no
thing,” Derek said. “I’m not saying she’ll do anything to herself. I’m only saying that sometimes the brain, in order to protect itself, will go into its own sort of lockdown. Just keep an eye out for that.”
“I will.” If he had his way, he wouldn’t leave her side until this whole disaster was over. He didn’t scare easily, but the idea of anything happening to Evelyn scared the shit out of him.
Marcus hung up and pocketed his phone. Stillness greeted him. He stood motionless in the kitchen, barely breathing, only listening. Silence was not good, not good at all. He sprinted down the hallway and burst into the bedroom. The sound of running water floated out of the bathroom. But nothing more. He scanned the room. The oversize shirt he’d pulled out for Evelyn was still neatly folded on the edge of the bed where he’d left it.
He moved toward the door, then stopped. He wanted to respect her privacy and give her whatever space she needed, but he’d also promised the chief, Derek and—most importantly—himself that he’d keep her safe at all costs. And as hard as it was to imagine, if that meant keeping her safe from herself, so be it. Screw the line.
He took a deep breath, then inched the bathroom door until it stood wide-open. Steamed rolled out in huge waves. The mirror and shower-stall door were fogged up. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust and see past the steam. Evelyn sat in the middle of the massive shower, her back scarlet from the scalding water pounding down on her. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her ankles crossed. She was shivering in the still-steaming water. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, and her right cheek rested on top of her knees as she stared into the air in front of her, focused on nothing.
Marcus’s heart lodged itself in his throat. He reached for a plush oversize towel and tentatively walked toward her.
“Ev...” His low voice sounded loud, even to his own ears. “Evelyn, sweetheart. Let me help you get dried off and into bed.”
She made no move to cover herself.
“I can’t,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes again, making them look aqua.
He crouched just outside the glass door. “Yes, baby girl, you can.”
She shook her head slightly. Dark strands of soaked hair fell into her face.
“But I can’t. I don’t know how to...how can I possibly...” Her voice trembled. “How can I come back from this? It hurts, Marcus. Everything hurts. I can’t see how I can.”
“I know you can.”
“I don’t... I can’t...not this time...” She started to cry again. Big teardrops mixed with the warm water showering down on her. “Not this time...”
He was angry at himself for not seeing this coming, for not realizing how incredibly fragile she was before this very moment—and for leaving her alone, despite his instincts telling him not to. He was pissed at the bastard who had taunted her for weeks before delivering such a heart-wrenching blow, and at her for not fighting back. She could fight back. She’d proven that once already, hadn’t she?
He needed her to fight back. Now.
“Yes, you can, Evelyn. You radiate life and strength as if it were a life force. Tap in to that. Believe in yourself. Trust yourself. You can. And you will. I promise.”
She shook her head again. “How can I, if moving from this very spot feels impossible?”
And then she rested her cheek on her knees again and closed her eyes.
Marcus’s pulse went into overdrive. He could see her giving up, giving in. Like hell. Not on my watch.
“If you don’t come out right now, I’ll come in and get you.” His tone, though still warm, held a tiny warning.
Her eyes popped open. “You wouldn’t.”
His answer to that small challenge was to move toward her. With a sigh and a silent prayer that this wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass later, he opened the door and, towel in hand, walked into the shower.
She let out a tiny squeak of surprise, but didn’t move. As she stared up at him, he realized that although her eyes were wide, they weren’t frightened. That gave him some relief as he moved closer to her, reached through the warm spray and shut the water off. He bent low and, in one fluid motion, wrapped her in the towel and swung her into his arms.
“I told you I would,” he all but growled into her ear as he carried her into the bedroom. “You aren’t alone in this, Evelyn. I’m not going anywhere.”
Evelyn flung her arms around his neck, buried her face in his shoulder and wept.
He sat on the bed and cradled her on his lap, holding her to him. Without releasing her death grip, she wept and wept, giant sobs wracking her body. He held her until the weeping subsided.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again, Marcus,” she whispered into his chest.
“We both know that’s not true. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
“I may have been. But I’m not anymore. That bastard took that from me.”
“Look at me.”
She raised startled eyes to him.
“You’re still the same powerful, intelligent, feisty, stubborn, incredible, sexy woman you were the first time I met you.”
Her lip trembled, and it took all his willpower not to kiss her right now.
He cleared his throat. “We’ll find this guy. He’ll make a mistake. And when he does, we will get him. You and me. We’ll take this guy out.”
“There was so much blood.” She squeezed her eyes tight.
“No more talk tonight. You need your sleep, Ev.” He shifted her off his lap.
She curled her legs underneath her and pulled the towel tightly around her.
Looking at her sitting there, so small and fragile, made his heart break. He’d never seen her this vulnerable before, and it worried him. He grabbed the shirt he’d laid out for her. “Put this on.”
He turned to give her privacy while she slipped into the shirt.
“Stay with me tonight.”
As much as he’d wanted to hear those words before, he wouldn’t let his mind go there. She wasn’t asking him to sleep with her. She wanted his companionship, the comfort of his arms around her as she fell asleep. And that he could give.
“You aren’t alone, Evelyn. You sleep under the cover, and I’ll sleep on top of the sheets.”
Despite the fatigue and sorrow, a tiny laugh bubbled out from her as she crawled beneath the heavy down comforter. “What? Are you frightened I might try to take advantage of you and that smoking hot body of yours?”
He couldn’t believe it. He was trying to be a gentleman, and she was laughing at him. Well, better to laugh than be consumed by grief. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth as he looked at her snuggled under the covers. Just like his shirt, the bed swallowed her.
“Something like that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
MARCUS AWOKE WITH Evelyn’s face nuzzled into his neck and one of her arms thrown over his chest. She’d hooked her leg around his. The edge of her shirt was hiked up past the top of her thigh, exposing her mile-long legs. At some point during the night, he’d managed to get under the covers. He rubbed his free hand over his face. Right. Managed. He sighed. He needed to put some distance between the two of them.
Without waking her, he unhooked their legs and slipped from the bed. As he stared at the sleeping beauty in his bed, his heart filled. The anguish, the fatigue and the pain from last night lay hidden beneath the veil of sleep. She looked so peaceful, but he knew it was only a facade. When she awoke, the horror of the past twenty-four hours would come crashing in, and he wasn’t sure how she would handle it. He wanted nothing more than to protect her. But would she let him?
* * *
FILES, HANDWRITTEN NOTES, photos and lab reports were tossed everywhere. He’d been working on the case since early morning, juggling the items in front of him w
ith the endless calls that flooded in. Two soft knocks at the door interrupted him. He grabbed his .45 and unhooked the safety before moving to the door.
He tapped back: tap tap-tap tap tap. With the single tap in return he relaxed.
Derek.
He swung open the door and smiled at his big brother. Derek’s friendly face set him at ease. “Hey, man, thanks for coming.”
Derek pulled his brother into a bear hug. When he released him, Derek glanced at the weapon and raised an eyebrow. “What’s with the piece?”
“What’s with not calling first?” Marcus flipped the safety and tucked the gun into his waistband.
“Oh. Good point.” Derek laughed. “Sorry. Well, thanks for not shooting me. Mom would’ve been pissed.”
Marcus locked the door behind Derek.
“Where’s Evelyn? I expected her to be up.”
“She locked herself in the bedroom.” Marcus ran his hand through his hair.
Derek looked down the hallway. “When?”
“This morning. She came out and asked if they had found Liam yet. When I told her they hadn’t, she went back in and shut and bolted the door. She’s been in there the rest of the day.”
Marcus’s phone chirped. “Sorry, it’s been nonstop today.”
“Rightfully so.”
“Moretti,” he said into the phone.
“Agent Moretti, this is Officer Sanchez.”
“What have you got?” he asked quietly, running his free hand through his tousled hair.
“Two things. We haven’t found Liam yet. Nor are there any current leads.”
“You sure...” Marcus’s stomach rolled. He knew the odds: time was not on their side. They needed to find that child. Fast.
“Sorry, sir.” Sanchez sighed. “I wish I had better news.”
“Not your fault. And the second thing?” Marcus asked, already back to pacing.
“CSI found a partial print on the banister that doesn’t match any of the O’Neils.”
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