The Tracker

by Leslie Georgeson

  What if he was too damaged to save? What if he was a lost cause?

  Don’t give up on him, Jess. He just gave you another glimpse into his soul. It might not have been what you wanted, but it was the truth.

  Gordon had told me that if I got close to Tracker, that I needed to stick around, good times or bad. Yet I’d fled at the first bad thing Tracker had told me, coward that I was. If I truly wanted to help Tracker, I needed to toughen up.

  Drawing helped him find peace, helped him deal with his pain. There was no reason why I should be afraid to let him draw me again. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already seen me naked anyway. If drawing helped him heal, then I shouldn’t be denying him that.

  I groaned. His words came back to me then: His screams still haunt me at night, just like the screams of all the others I tortured and killed.

  Oh God. Tracker was more messed up than I’d imagined. He was right. I was naïve. But I was developing genuine feelings for him. I cared about him. I liked him most of the time, but part of me still feared him. Could a man like him be transformed? Rehabilitated? Changed from bad to good?

  I straightened from the sink and drew in another deep breath. I didn’t know what to do about him. About my feelings for him. The thought of him touching me turned my insides to liquid and made me hot all over. I wanted to help him. I couldn’t abandon him just because he’d scared me with the truth.

  Be brave, Jess. Go talk to him.

  Gathering my courage, I returned to his room and paused in the doorway, watching him.

  He was drawing on the sketchpad. His face was set in concentration as he drew, his gaze never once flickering to me. Did he know I was there? Was he ignoring me? Or was he so intent in his task that he didn’t know I was there?

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to run away. I just…you shocked me.”

  He kept drawing. “I never pegged you as a coward, Jessica. You asked for the truth and I gave it to you.” He lifted his gaze to mine. “And then you ran.”

  I swallowed hard, my face heating. “I know. I said I was sorry. I’m…not like you. I’m not used to…so much violence.”

  He snorted and went back to his drawing. “Tell me, Jess, what was your life like as a kid? You said your mother killed herself and you had to raise your sister alone. That couldn’t have been easy for you. How old were you?”

  I leaned against the doorjamb, debating whether or not to answer. Finally, I admitted, “Seventeen.”

  He let out a soft grunt and went back to his drawing. “What about your father? Where was he?”

  “He died when I was ten. My mother was never herself after that. She started drinking, taking too much mediation…” I trailed off. Should I tell him all of it? That she’d been a prostitute and had allowed strangers into her bedroom night after night, and that I’d witnessed on more than one occasion the things they did to her?

  “So, you were basically taking care of your sister long before your mother died.”

  “Yes. Eliza is nine years younger than me. She was just a baby when our father died.” I’d been more of a mother to Eliza than our own mother ever had. A part of me resented my mother for that, for forcing me to grow up faster than I should have, for taking away my childhood and not letting me be a kid. And for forcing me to witness the things she allowed all those strange men to do to her. But I still missed my mother. Still wished she were here. “That’s why I have to find Eliza. She’s all I have left in this world.”

  He didn’t speak for a long moment, didn’t look at me, as he continued drawing.

  “You can come in, Jessica. I’m not going to tackle you and rip your fingernails off.”

  I let out a nervous laugh. Of course he wouldn’t. Still, I hesitated.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I care about you, Tracker and I want to help you.”

  He let out another snort. “Come see what I’m drawing.”

  I pushed away from the doorjamb and walked into the room. Pausing at the side of the bed, I glanced down. He turned the sketchpad toward me.

  It was me again, an entire body sketch, naked. My cheeks flamed as I stared. How did he know my body so well when he’d only seen me naked that one time? It was as if I was looking in the mirror…my arms, my legs, my breasts, my hips, my stomach, my collarbone, my neck…everything was so detailed it was like it was an actual photograph. How had he drawn that so fast? He must have been drawing that picture for a while now and had just finished it. Had he been imagining me naked for days? Heat spread throughout my entire body.

  “That’s…really good,” I murmured, my gaze downcast.

  He pulled the sketchpad back into his lap and added a few more lines here and there while I watched.

  “What do you see when you look at this drawing?” he asked, adding another scratch of the pencil here and a brush of the lead there.

  I shrugged. “A cool drawing by a talented artist.”

  He tsked and glanced up at me. “The model not the artist.”

  I glanced at the drawing again, this time paying more attention, and studying my face more closely. There was no denying the longing in my eyes, the wistfulness in my expression. The look on my face said I wanted him. Desperately. Dear God, were my emotions written so plainly across my face? Did I seriously stare at him like that? Did the man miss nothing?

  I cleared my throat and stepped away from the bed, embarrassed. His hand snaked out, wrapping around my wrist, keeping me from fleeing.

  “What do you see?” he repeated.

  “Um, a lot more than I want to. Do I really look at you like that, or is that just your imagination running wild?” Please let it be his imagination.

  He cocked a brow, then reached over to set the sketchpad and the pencil on the nightstand. “You tell me.”

  Heat washed into my face. I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me go.

  My gaze downcast, I whispered, “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not stupid. I know I’m not beautiful. Men don’t glance twice at me. Yet you draw me like I am beautiful. Why?” I swallowed hard, emotion clogging my throat. Did he think I was beautiful? Truly? My breath caught. My head spun with dizzy pleasure. My legs trembled.

  “Talk to me, Jess,” he whispered. “I can tell you have more to say. So get it all out. I’m listening.”

  I drew in a deep breath, then forced myself to meet his gaze. Bolstered by his words, I admitted, “I didn’t want to like you. You scare the crap out of me. But you make me feel things I’ve never felt before. You make me want things I didn’t think were possible, at least not for me. I’ve never been a sexual person—how could I be after what I witnessed with my mother? But I can’t stop thinking about you in a way that is–” I broke off abruptly, snapping my mouth shut in horror at what I’d almost admitted. I pulled on my arm again, needing to escape. This time he released me, either from shock or pity, I wasn’t sure which. I stumbled backward several steps, then halted.

  Silence descended.

  I wanted to flee, but I was afraid to move. I stood there, immobile, waiting for him to say something. To do something. Because it would be his response that either sent me fleeing or convinced me to stay.

  Finally, he spoke, his words soft, though Tracker’s voice was deep enough that I don’t think he could ever speak “softly”.

  “I can see we have a difference of opinion,” he murmured. “I just drew you the way I see you. And I wanted you to see yourself the way I do.” He turned his head, his gaze direct as it held mine. “You are beautiful, Jessica. Can’t you see that?” He reached over and smacked the sketchpad. “This is how I see you. You’re fucking gorgeous. You’re sweet and caring and gentle and kind and you saved my life.” He turned away for a moment, drawing in a deep breath, before puffing it back out. “It’s exactly how you look at me. I didn’t imagine that. Only you can tell me what it means. Do you want me? I don’t know. You’ve got me swimming in turmoil here. I don’t know what you’re doing to me, b
ut you’re changing me. You’re making me do things I don’t normally do.” He hissed out a breath. “Do you have any idea how much I want you? It’s all I can think about. I’m no good for you. I don’t deserve you. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting you. I want to corrupt you in so many different ways. I want to make you mine in every way possible.” His eyes blazed as they bored into mine.

  Heat swept through me, settling into my core, a hot, fierce ache that made me yearn for his touch. My legs trembled again. Oh God. I couldn’t look away from the desire in his eyes. A part of me wanted him to corrupt me. The other part of me was scared to death of surrendering, of giving in.

  “What were you talking about with your mother?”

  My face heated. I’d slipped up. I hadn’t meant to mention my mother.

  Just tell him, Jess. If he judges you for it, that’s his own problem.

  “Just that she was a prostitute and I had to witness what men did to her. It…made me afraid of men for a long time.”

  Pain flickered in his eyes. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.” He waited a beat, his gaze gentle as he looked deeply into my eyes. “You said earlier that you weren’t that experienced. Does that mean you’ve never been intimate with a man?”

  My face grew hotter. I stared at the floor. Was I really having this conversation with him? I drew in a deep breath and decided to tell him the truth. “No. I’m not a virgin. But it was only once. He was just a boy, actually—and that was so long ago.” I glanced up at him.

  “How long?” His gaze bored into mine.

  I couldn’t hold his stare and looked away. “I was sixteen. It was prom night. You know. Two teenagers fumbling around in a dark car. I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t like my mother, that I would be in control, but I was wrong. I was exactly like her.”

  A moment of silence passed where I felt his intense scrutiny. “What does that mean?”

  I snorted softly, avoiding his gaze. “It was awkward. Uncomfortable. I couldn’t wait for him to get off me. I wasn’t in control at all. I’d let him use me the way my mother let all those men use her.”

  Silence stretched. I glanced up at him. Sadness filled his eyes. “And you’ve never been with another man since?”

  I stared at his chest as my face grew hot all over again. “No. I never…really wanted to after that.”

  He sighed, causing me to glance up into his face. “I’m sorry that happened to you. You deserved better. If that boy used you, it was his own fault, not yours. A man should take more care when he’s intimate with a woman. I will make you a promise, Jessica, that if you ever decide you want me, I will do everything in my power to make it good for you.”

  I will do everything in my power to make it good for you.

  I swallowed hard. I’d just told him I’d only had sex once before, and that I’d hated it. Yet it hadn’t scared him away.

  “What about you?” I blurted. If I was going to tell all, then dammit, so was he. “How many women have you been with? Hundreds?”

  He snorted out a laugh. “Hardly. Only two, believe it or not. I’m kind of particular about who shares my bed.” He paused, his gaze heating. “I’d really like you to be the third.” That last sentence was spoken with a soft huskiness that made heat spread throughout my entire body and desire coil in my belly.

  I’m kind of particular about who shares my bed. I’d really like you to be the third.

  I teetered in place, part of me wanting to rush into his arms, while the other part of me wanted to flee. Fear battled with desire inside me. I wanted that, too. So much. But God, I was scared. Being intimate with Tracker…he was so big and…what if it was horrible like before?

  “I meant what I said in the beginning, Jessica. I want you in my bed. But only if you’re willing. What happens next is up to you.”

  I flushed and lowered my gaze. “I don’t…I’m not…” I trailed off, unable to finish, unsure what I was trying to say. I’m scared. I don’t know how to make the first move.

  Something flickered in his eyes. “What are you afraid of, Jessica? Do you think I’m going to hurt you?”

  I drew in a deep breath. “I don’t…want to be used like that. Abused and discarded, treated like trash. Like a whore.” I lowered my gaze. “I’m not my mother.” I wasn’t sure if I was trying convince him of that or myself.

  He sighed. “Do you really think that with the care I take in selecting my bedmates that I’m going to abuse them?” He lowered his voice. “I guarantee that you will find nothing but pleasure in my bed.”

  I swallowed hard and glanced up into his face. His gaze smoldered with promise. My pulse raced. What would happen if I said yes? Would I like it?

  With a promise like that, how could it be anything but good?

  I cleared my throat and took a step back. This was too much all at once. He was too much. The very idea of his large hands on me made me weak in the knees.

  “I…need to wash the dishes now.” I backed up another step.

  Disappointment flickered in his eyes. “I scared you.” He waved toward the door. “Go ahead, then. Run away.”

  My breath hitched. Had I upset him?

  “I need…time to think about this.” I drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  I turned and fled.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Tracker

  She ran. Of course she did. I’d scared her. What did I expect? Telling her the truth about my past, and then telling her I wanted to make her mine in every way possible? While I didn’t regret telling her any of that, I wish she hadn’t run away. I wanted her to be the brave girl she’d been when I’d first met her. But she was afraid of me and I didn’t blame her. Yet she’d admitted she had feelings for me, and I’d felt compelled to admit I wanted her, too.

  I groaned in frustration, wanting to race after her and drag her back. Lay her down on the bed and make love to her slowly, thoroughly. Worship every inch of her beautiful body. Show her how good it could be between us. I wanted to erase from her mind that rutting teenage boy who had ruined it for her. I wanted to make it so good for Jess that she never thought of another man but me. But I had my work cut out for me. She seemed to associate sex with being used and abused, and who could blame her after what she’d witnessed with her mother and then experienced for herself?

  My wound was healing pretty well now. I could probably catch her if I tried. But I wasn’t sure if I was capable of the physical exertion that would be required to do the things I wanted to do to her. And if I got my hands on her, I’d have to make her mine. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.

  I sighed and picked up the sketchpad and pencil again. I wouldn’t touch her, not unless she asked me to. Even though my desire for her was becoming too strong to ignore. She was going to be my downfall if I didn’t get a grip on my feelings for her.

  Feelings. Yeah. What the fuck? I wasn’t sure what she was doing to me, but she made me feel. She made me want. She made me ache with every fiber of my being. It was foreign—these feelings—and I didn’t know what to do about them. Being bedridden, being forced to sit here and do nothing but think, made it worse. That day after I’d awakened, bedridden from my injury, and she’d held my hand—so tenderly, so caringly—had awakened longings in me that I hadn’t known existed. I’d been in denial ever since, fighting the feelings back. But the truth was I wanted her tenderness to rub off on me. I wanted to revel in her goodness. I wanted to own her, every single inch of her. It was wrong—this obsession. I was a beast, plain and simple. A cold-hearted killer. I would only hurt her. And that made me wonder—did I want to change for her? I wanted to be good enough for her. But could I ever be good enough for a woman like Jessica? My future was bleak, at best. I had a large bounty on my head. I had nothing to offer Jessica. A woman like her deserved the world.

  But I’d promised I’d find her sister. And I would. She’d taken care of me these past four days, nursing me back to health. I owed her.

  Would I survive
—would Jessica survive—if I embarked on the hunt for her sister once again? Was it too late to find her sister? The trail had likely gone cold by now. I may never find her sister.

  But I wanted to do it. For Jessica. If I found her sister, it would show her—hopefully—that I was worth something. It would show her—God willing—that maybe I was good enough for her. That maybe I was worth taking a chance on. That I could offer her something.

  Bolstered by my conviction to find her sister, by my desire to make myself worthy of her, I began to plan the immediate future. I was going to heal more quickly. I was going to get out of this bed.

  I was going to find a way to be good enough for Jessica.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jessica

  Tracker was up out of the bed by ten o’clock that night. He didn’t limp as he walked out of his bedroom, so I imagined his leg wasn’t bothering him too much. And his bullet wound in his abdomen must be better, because he didn’t act like it hurt as he strolled into the living room.

  He paused as he spied me sitting in his recliner. I jumped up and set the book I’d been reading onto the end table.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  He nodded and headed for the door.

  “Wait!” I raced after him. “Where are you going?”

  “To find your sister.”

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  He halted. “No. You’re staying here where it’s safe.”

  I lifted my chin and met his gaze. “She’s my sister. I need to help find her.”

  He scowled. “You could be hurt. Or killed. I can’t protect you and search for her at the same time.”

  I nodded. “You don’t have to protect me. I can take care of myself. If you don’t let me go with you, then I’ll just follow you like last time.”

  He let out a long sigh. “Fuck. Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?”