by Linda Mooney
Paul made good on his word she would never want or need anything again.
Everything, except for him.
Sherandar sighed and took a sip of her hot tea as she gazed out the window. The skies were an ugly slate gray color. It was below freezing outside, and the cold seeped through the casement that needed re-calking. But she wasn't complaining. Her jacket kept most of the chill at bay.
She debated whether or not to rent a slasher flick, seeing as it couldn't put her in a more dismal mood than she already was in, when her door buzzer went off. She glanced at the clock. Lunch had already come and gone, and it was too early for the therapist. Curious, she went over to the door and punched the speaker button.
"Unless you're selling chocolate, go away."
"Sher, it's Cheyenne. Cheyenne Cox. May I come up for a few minutes?"
She stared at the little box as if it had come alive and was doing a tap dance on the wall. "Uhh, yeah. Sure." She pressed the button to let the woman inside and waited in the open doorway for her to arrive via the elevator. She immediately recognized the tall brunette, but not the other woman who accompanied her. Together they exited the lift and came toward her.
"Hello, Sherry. I'm glad to finally meet you." Cheyenne broke the awkward silence, using Sherandar's real name. After pointedly noting the walker, she held out a hand, which Sherandar politely shook. Motioning to the woman next to her, the reporter added, "This is Deidre Mollinar. She's your new landlord."
Sherandar eyed the older woman. "You're Paul's agent," she corrected.
Deidre's pasted-on smile dropped slightly. "That's right. May we come in? We have a few things to discuss with you."
Stepping to the side, Sherandar waved them in, closing and locking the door behind them. "Can I offer you something to drink? I fix a mean hot water and tea bag."
Cheyenne shook her head as the two women parked themselves on the couch. "No, thanks, Sherry. Do you mind if we called you Sherry? Or would you rather we call you by...something else?" They were being courteous, raising Sherandar's level of curiosity as to the purpose of their visit.
"Sherry's okay. I don't mind."
She went to retrieve her own mug of tea from the window sill, but Cheyenne was right there, picking it up and taking it over to where they sat, placing it on the small table in front of the sofa. Sherandar thanked her and eased down onto the lone stuffed easy chair. "To what do I owe this visit?" she managed to inquire, although her first impulse was to ask them what the hell they wanted.
"You're looking well," Cheyenne remarked politely. "The reports we receive from the hospice facility tell us you're making remarkable progress."
"I think of it as a work in progress," Sherandar joked, trying to make light of her situation. She wasn't anywhere near one hundred percent, but she was getting there.
The women smiled politely. "Before we get into the reason why we're here, I need to ask you if there's anything you require? Is there anything we've failed to provide?" Deidre spoke up.
Sherandar opened her mouth to reply. To tell them that she had all the comforts of home she needed, except for one.
I want Paul. I need him. So where's the little sheet of paper where I can put a check next to his name and have him delivered?
"No. Thanks. I'm good. Thank Paul for me, if you would. For everything." She lifted the edge of her collar. "And for this." It hurt like hell to say his name out loud, and she took a sip of her lukewarm tea to keep the tears from giving her away. Even attempting to take a deep breath was impossible, although her ribs were nearly mended. "You have been most generous. I don't know how I can ever repay you for all you've—"
"Sherry, we're here because of Paul." The urgency in Cheyenne's voice alarmed her. Staring at them wide-eyed, Sherandar sat up straighter.
"Why? What's happened to him?"
Deidre glanced at her own hands resting in her lap. "Sherry, we need to hear the truth."
"The truth? What truth? I swear to God, I told Bob nothing. I took the most awful shit from him, but honest to Jesus, I never caved!" Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she swiped at them with the back of her hand. The memories of that day were still too fresh. Too horrific to forget. She needed time, more time, to at least tamp down the worst of it, before she could cope.
Her face felt hot, yet her body was as cold as ice. She started to bolt from her chair when a hand clasped her knee. "We know, Sherry," Cheyenne gently told her. "We know that monster didn't break you, and for that I am forever in your debt."
If they knew she hadn't told that maniac what he'd tortured her to discover, it meant Paul knew. He knows I never broke his trust. Is that why he's being so generous? To thank me?
"Then, what truth are you wanting from me?" Sherandar asked. Her voice trembled as she fought to keep her feelings masked.
"We want to know how you feel about Paul," his sister answered.
It was too much. Lifting herself to her feet, Sherandar went over to the kitchen window and looked out. Her eyes automatically sought the rooftop where she'd seen him fall months ago. The rooftop where he'd offered her a truce and a partnership. A temporary partnership.
"Why do you need to know? What difference would it make?" she asked them.
The women turned to face her, but remained on the couch. Sherandar caught them glancing at each other, then Cheyenne spoke.
"All right. I'll put it out on the table. Do you love my brother?"
Sherandar leaned into the walker and wrapped her arms around her chest. The tears threatened to flow harder, faster, disrupting her thoughts until there was nothing she could do but cry. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to look at them.
"Let me repeat myself. What difference would it make?"
"Because he's suffering, and there's not a damn thing Deidre or I can do about it."
Her breath hitched. "Suffering? How?"
"Haven't you figured it out by now? He loves you. What other reason can you think of to explain why you're being cared for like this?" Cheyenne waved her hand to include the apartment.
Sherandar shrugged one shoulder. "Out of pity? O-or to thank me for keeping his secret?"
Getting to her feet, the woman walked toward her. "Ever since that day he found you on that boat, ever since that day you almost died, he hasn't been the same. Paul was always so upbeat and entertaining. But all that changed while you were lying in the hospital. He became dejected. Morose. Nothing pleased him anymore, and then he grew despondent and more depressed. He went by the hospital every day to look in on you, although you probably don't know that."
Sherandar shook her head. "No, I didn't. No one told me I'd had visitors. I just remember that one time, when I first came out of that drug-induced coma."
Deidre stood and joined them. "He holes up in that basement of his now. He only leaves it when there's something the police need for him to handle. Or to cook something to have delivered to you."
That last little bit made Sherandar smile, having suspected as much.
Cheyenne tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder. "We've... I've always wanted to believe the reason you didn't break was because you love my brother, as much as he loves you. Tell me if I'm wrong to think that."
A sob escaped her, regardless of her determination. Slowly, Sherandar nodded, averting her face so they wouldn't see her misery. "Y-yes. I do love him. I've loved him for a l-long, long time. I just couldn't tell him."
And, just like that, the burden she'd been carrying all these months disappeared at the sound of her confession.
Paul loved her. And he was in emotional pain because...because...
"He doesn't know I love him, does he?" she whispered.
"No, he doesn't. But he wants to believe you do," Cheyenne answered. "I keep telling him that's the reason why you endured. Why you're still alive. It was because you love him so much, you were willing to give your life to protect his."
A tissue was thrust at her. Sherandar took it, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose. She
eyed Cheyenne. "If he loves me, then why hasn't he come by to tell me himself?"
That got a snort from Deidre. "Because he's a bone-headed male, that's why. He believes what he wants to believe, regardless of what Chey and I tell him. If I had a nickel for every time we've bumped heads, I'd be a millionaire several times over."
Sherandar gave a little chuckle. Maybe his two personas weren't always so black and white. Maybe sometimes the Quazar side of him bled over into his Paul side, and vice versa. She could see it happening.
There was another knock at her door. Sherandar glanced at the clock. "That's probably the PT, ready to hand out some therapeutic torture of her own devising." She clasped Cheyenne's hand. "Thank you for coming by. And thank you for telling me...everything. I really appreciate it."
The knock came again, and she frowned. "Geesh, impatient little bugger, isn't she? Must have a hot date after she gets finished with me," she remarked. Excusing herself, she made her way over to the door and threw it open, about to ream out the therapist, when she froze.
Paul stood there, a wobbly grin on his unshaven face. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked thinner. More gaunt, and a little ragged around the edges. He held his cell phone up where she could see the screen, showing a call from Chey. A call that was still activated.
He'd been listening in. He'd heard everything.
"Okay. So now you know," she snapped, trying to conceal the rapid hammering in her chest. "You look like shit. Now who hasn't been eating properly?" When he didn't move or answer, she raised an eyebrow at him. "Well? Are you going to come inside? Or do you plan to remain standing there all day, dropping snow all over my welcome mat, or do I have to—"
She never got the chance to finish, when he pulled her into his arms and brought his mouth down over hers. Holding her firmly yet carefully against him, as if he would never let her go. He cupped her face, his lips tenderly tasting hers between soft whispers.
"Ma cher. Ma belle chérie."
She had no idea when the other women left. She didn't care. Paul had come for her. He loved her. And no matter what might happen from this day forward, she would never leave his side, even if she had to nail herself to his uniform.
He would help her defeat the demons in her head. The nightmares and terrors that continued to haunt her. And during that time she would soothe his troubled spirit. It might take years, but it didn't matter.
She'd found her final refuge. The place where she truly belonged.
It was with him. Within his arms. Within his heart.
Because his heart was her home.
About the Author:
Linda loves to write sensuously erotic romance with a fantasy, paranormal, or science fiction flair. Her technique is often described as being as visual as a motion picture or graphic novel.
A wife, mother, and retired Kindergarten and music teacher, she lives in a small south Texas town near the Gulf coast where she delves into other worlds filled with daring exploits, adventure, and intense love.
She has numerous best sellers, including 10 consecutive #1s. In 2009, she was named Whiskey Creek Press Torrid's Author of the Year, and her book MY STRENGTH, MY POWER, MY LOVE was named the 2009 WCPT Book of the Year. In 2011, her book LORD OF THUNDER was named the Epic Ebook "Eppie" Award Winner for Best Erotic Sci-Fi Romance.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One - Blackout
Chapter Two - Detail
Chapter Three - Sherandar
Chapter Four - Clues
Chapter Five - Bolt
Chapter Six - Strike
Chapter Seven - Caged
Chapter Eight - Steps
Chapter Nine - Escape
Chapter Ten - Hidden
Chapter Eleven - Help
Chapter Twelve - Awake
Chapter Thirteen - Intimacy
Chapter Fourteen - Passion
Chapter Fifteen - Pleasure
Chapter Sixteen - Addicted
Chapter Seventeen - Purpose
Chapter Eighteen - Confronted
Chapter Nineteen - Prisoner
Chapter Twenty - Confession
Chapter Twenty-One - Challenged
Chapter Twenty-Two - Search
Chapter Twenty-Three - Proof
Chapter Twenty-Four - Dared
Chapter Twenty-Five - Plotting
Chapter Twenty-Six - Showdown
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Conflict
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Visitor
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Home
About the Author