* * * *
Christian worried her lip as she paced her room. For the last few days she and Brayden had hardly spoken. She didn’t realize how much she had come to rely on him. The sound of his voice, the quiet smile he’d send her, just sitting on the balcony watching the sunset. Him simply being there was something she’d come to count on.
The words he’d lashed at her had made her angry. He didn’t understand. She was right about that, but then the guy could hardly understand when he didn’t have a clue what was going on. His words had haunted her for days while he’d dragged her around various sites in the city.
"At me, at you, at this nameless, faceless monster who has you believing you’re protecting Tori and me, hell the whole damn family with your silence!"
"You’re helping no one but him, Christian. No one but him by keeping quiet."
Like annoying song lyrics they echoed in her thoughts, kept her up at night, and mocked her during the day. At first she’d been angry, simply angry. But then reason peeked through and part of her wondered if he wasn’t right.
Terror messed with your mind. She knew that. She’d been in victim groups before where some were so scared they completely shut down. Hell, she’d been one of them. Lack of control, lack of hope, lack of help--they were all sharp points on the mace of fear. And the hand wielding that weapon was power.
Terror was about power.
Abuse was about power.
Rape was about power.
Richard had the power.
She stopped, the truth slamming her in the chest.
Richard had the power and she was as good as handing it to him on a platter.
And he’d expected it.
God.
She covered her face with her hands and took several deep breaths.
At least she wasn’t completely stupid. She had started to gather her resources before the attack. After the arrival of the first batch of photos, she’d begun researching DNA, and had sent letters to two people; one to a doctor in a small clinic in Arizona and the other to a forgotten man in San Francisco. She needed evidence. Now more than ever. And who knew if the two could help her.
She stood by the bed, tired and wanting to sit. Just as she connected to the mattress, she all but leapt up.
The revelations were one thing to deal with.
Resolutions were another.
Something small, yet meaningful. Something to let her, herself, know that she wanted the power back.
Wanted. No, demanded.
But first, small steps.
She stared at the bed with its neatly folded blankets and fluffed pillows. There was nothing wrong with it.
She could sit on the bed. She should force herself to. Or try to sleep on it. The thought coated her stomach with a greasy film.
No. Too big. Her hands were shaking as images flashed in her mind and tears burned her eyes.
Okay, something else. Something else. The room suddenly seemed too small, too confining.
"I want the power," she whispered. "I want my life. I want the power."
Sad, it was very sad. God, she was pathetic. What good were revelations if you couldn’t even act on them?
At least she’d started to. In the last two nights she started looking up websites when Brayden was in bed. She’d located the Justice Department in Oregon and a list of Statue of Limitation bills that had been passed. She’d found that the first night she began looking and the elation she’d felt still thrummed through her blood. Since she’d been under eighteen when the crime was committed and if she could prove DNA evidence, Richard could still stand trial and be convicted for what he did then. Not to mention what he’d done now.
She’d searched other sites as well, whose mottos and themes are all the same. Report crime. Silence only gives the violence power. Break the cycle of abuse.
Sighing, she shrugged off the thought. She had something she might look up tonight if Brayden’s laptop was still out on the coffee table. She leaned down, started to grab a pillow and blanket, but caught her breath at the pull in her ribs.
Stupid. That was her own fault. She should have been paying attention. Carefully, she picked up what she needed and straightened, carrying her linens with her.
The living room was dark save for the moonlight streaming through the windows. With a place this size, she could have chosen one of many rooms, but Brayden wanted her close, so they shared these rooms and the little breakfast room downstairs for the most part. And that was fine with her. Security was a nice thing, even if it was a fleeting thought.
Holding the blankets to her, she stared at his door. Yeah, it was nice knowing his was right there if she needed him.
So why did she keep pushing him away?
A smile caught her completely off guard. Brayden was Brayden. It didn’t matter how much she pushed, or how hard. He was still right there.
Right where she needed him.
"What are you smiling about?"
The soft words jolted her and she spun around, dropping the bedding.
"Damn it, I wish you wouldn’t do that. You’re too big to be that quiet," she told Brayden. Her chest squeezed at the panic that raced through her. Idiot. "Where the hell are you? You scared me." She searched the darkness and tried to breathe past the looming attack.
Brayden watched her rub her breastbone. "Sorry, I’m on the couch. I didn’t mean to frighten you." He should’ve turned a damn lamp on.
"I know that," she answered, annoyance clear in her voice.
He stood and walked to her, bending down to pick up the blanket and pillow.
He’d gotten off the phone with Aiden who was sending him a file via email. He’d sat here in the dark wondering what the hell to do, wondering how to fix things, when she’d stepped out of her room and into the moonlight.
All he could do was watch her.
The moonlight washed her face white and he studied her while she stared at his door. The intense frown on her face as she nibbled the inside of her cheek, as she had a habit of doing when involved and concentrating, was familiar and heartening to him. Then her face had softened and a small smiled had lifted one corner of her mouth. The smile had eased something in him.
"Couldn’t sleep?" he ventured, standing back up with the bedding.
"No."
"How come?" he asked as he walked to the couch and dropped the linens. He flipped the blanket open and settled it over the back of the cushions and tossed the pillow on the armrest.
"Just thinking."
Answered but vague. She had the concept down to an art.
He sat down and Christian did as well.
"What are you doing up?" she asked. "I thought you’d be asleep."
He tried to read her eyes, but couldn’t in the low light. Something was different. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
"No, I called home earlier. Everyone sends their love. Mom wants to talk to you," he told her.
Brayden watched her as she eased down on her side, settling the quilt over her. He thought about the email he’d received from Rob Roy. Ian wanted to meet them here in Venice. Some schedule break.
He’d send the details later.
"What are you smiling about?" she asked, turning his words on him. He shook the thoughts of his brother off and concentrated back on Christian. Time to gamble.
"Our trip," he told her.
"What trip?" she asked.
"Oh...." He purposefully trailed off. He moved, giving her more room to stretch out. His hip was beside hers, his arm on the back of the couch as he leaned over her.
"Did I forget to mention that?" he asked her as he caught the slight scent of her shampoo and lotion she used.
She nodded. "I think so, yes. Unless you told me while I was conked on my pain killers."
He grinned at her, saw the curious look on her face washed in moonlight.
She didn’t seem as tense, and if he wasn’t mistaken some of the fear was gone.
"Trip?" she prodded with a raise of eyebrows.
He smoothed the discolored arches of her brows, ran a hand over her hair, sighing. He hated this stupid color. Shrugging off the thought, he leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. As he rose, he whispered in her face. "Venice is an awesome city. I want to see it with you, experience it with you."
"We’ve been here before."
"On business or with the family."
She stared at him and stared some more, her eyes black and dark silver in the moonlight. Then she frowned.
Was he making a mistake? "We’re going on a tour tomorrow if I have to drag you. Then we’re going to eat gelatos."
"I do love Venice," she whispered on a heavy sigh.
She reached up and touched his face, a small smile at the corner of her mouth. It was the first time she’d reached out and touched him. The simple contact squeezed his chest, made the muscle bunch in his jaw.
He placed his hand on top of hers on his cheek, turned his face slightly and kissed the inside of her wrist.
"I know," he whispered back.
"I want to tour the bridges."
"If that’s what you want," he kept his voice as low as hers.
He loved to see her smile. Taking a chance, he kissed her again on her cheek. "Good night, Baby. I’ll see you in the morning."
He straightened and walked across the living room to his door.
She, without a thought, had reached up and touched him.
He sighed.
"Brayden?" she asked.
He stopped and turned back. "What?"
"Thank you."
"For?"
A slight chuckle danced in the air. "Not coddling. Goodnight."
He stood there staring into the darkened living room, heard her shuffling around on the couch. A smile creased his face as he turned and went to his room, cutting off the light, but keeping the door open.
She might need him during the night.
* * * *
For a man who didn’t think he could coddle, Brayden was doing a damn good job.
In the last week, she’d become more relaxed, or maybe it was her revelation and the decision she’d made. Either way, the days here were becoming a warm comforting dream. During the day they toured the city and at night they would either sit and talk about work and the shop, about Tori, or just watch the nightlife from their balcony while sipping wine.
She breathed deeply and leaned her forehead against the cool pane of glass.
They’d been here for weeks, though the first was still a blur to her, either because of the shock or the pain medication or both. The bruises were fading and with them some of the terror, but not the resolve.
Yesterday she talked to Kaitlyn and Tori on the computer. She missed Tori, horribly. And she was ashamed to admit she felt as if she’d somehow failed the little girl. Not that Tori said or acted that way.
Conversations with Tori Kinncaid were always the same, like a burst of rainbowed sunshine through a cloudy day.
The thought made her smile.
And sly child that Tori was, she asked if Christian and Daddy were having fun yet. Christian hadn’t answered, but instead asked what Tori wanted for Christmas. Tori informed her that since they were away together maybe they could just get married and come home and be a family. That was what she wanted for Christmas.
Kid didn’t ask for much.
Once upon a time...
Christian sighed. Ironic, when she’d dreamed of him, wanted him and would have done anything for the man, Brayden hadn’t seen her, at least not like he did now.
And now that her life was chaotic, to put a nice neat term on it, Brayden was all she ever dreamed he would be.
The times when he reached for her hand, the way he held her when she was scared and lost. The way something in her sighed when he kissed her hair.
She picked up her coffee cup. Time to get ready. She wanted to visit a church today. One with a priest.
Now she just had to inform Brayden.
* * * *
The church was quiet and dark. Out of the way. Why she’d chosen this one to visit was beyond him.
She told him she liked these forgotten chapels on dead end streets. They’d toured dozens yesterday, but she’d wanted to see them again. So they stopped at this one. Christian even told him he could go take a walk.
The woman went into a confessional.
Brayden stood at the back of the chapel. What the hell did she have to confess?
He knew something was up as soon as she wanted him to take a walk. She never said anything, but he was aware of the way she was always within hand’s reach of him. The only time they were really apart was at night when she slept on that stupid little couch and he in the bed. But if it worked for her, he wasn’t about to make an issue of it. He’d noticed the ease in her the last few days, the genuine smile and occasional laughter. All of it loosened the noose that had been ready to hang his heart.
Brayden sat in one of the back pews. A woman to his left lit a candle and crossed herself.
He realized then, he hadn’t been to mass since last Christmas. Gammie would be so disappointed, strong Irish Catholic that she was. He’d known Christian was Catholic, one of the few things he actually knew about her. She’d told him once when he’d asked her.
The woman who had lit the candle was gone, an old man taking her place.
Why did people do that? Did it really help them? Christian had lit one. He turned and looked at the front of the chapel, the large crucifix hanging from the ceiling.
The pew creaked as the old man sat beside him. He looked at the stooped man out of the corner of his eye as he heard a chuckle.
That was odd.
"So serious, Brayden," the man said.
Brayden looked at him, but his face was hidden behind a weathered and tattered fedora.
"Excuse me?" he asked.
The man turned to him then, a wooden cane in his hand, but Brayden didn’t know him. No, wait something ... something about the man was familiar. White scraggled hair stuck out under the hat, his weathered face creased with deep wrinkles.
"I don’t have all damn day here. Who knows how long she’ll be confessing whatever sins she thinks she has." The man nodded to the confessional.
Brayden knew that voice.
"Ian?" he whispered.
His brother shook his head. "And I always thought you were the smart twin."
"Good God," he muttered. He’d looked directly at the man, watched as he’d lit the candle, sat right, right beside him and had not recognized his own brother.
Even now, if he hadn’t spoken so clearly, there was no way Brayden would have known who it was.
"That’s downright creepy," he told Ian.
A gravelly chuckle answered him. "I told you I was meeting you sometime today."
"I was thinking more along the lines of the hotel, the Rialto, Piazza San Marco."
It was incredible. Brayden reached out and touched a weathered hand.
"How ... why ... what did..."
"Still so articulate, too." Ian shook his head. "Don’t. It’s not important, but it is necessary. That’s all you need to know."
Brayden sighed and sat back, still looking at this brother of his he could have passed ten times on the street and not even known it. Passed? Hell, he could have shaken his disguised old hand and not known he was touching related flesh.
"If you keep staring someone could notice." Though the smile softened the features, the words were hardly misted with amusement.
"Sorry," Brayden muttered and looked back to the little door Christian had gone into.
"How is she doing?" Ian asked quietly.
"Better." He clasped his hands between his knees, leaning forwards. "Better."
Ian also leaned forward so that the pew in front of them shielded them somewhat.
"What have you found out?" Ian asked him.
"Not much more than what I’ve already emailed you."
Ian gave some incoherent guttural reply. "Nothing else?"
"I think something...." He looked back to the confessional and lowered his voice. "She’s been looking up stuff on the computer for the last week. Usually when I’m in the shower or after I’ve gone to bed."
"Very inconspicuous, isn’t she?"
"Anyway, I wanted to know what was so important," he admitted.
"For shame, brother dear," Ian retorted.
"There’s a bunch of Justice Department websites. One in Louisiana and the other in Oregon."
"Oregon?" Ian asked, his eyes lost behind make up and fake lenses.
Even after he’d taken the hat off and gray nuzzled hair stood up on a bald head, Brayden still couldn’t discern the color of Ian’s eyes. Realizing he was staring, he glanced away.
"Yeah, Oregon." He raked a hand over his hair. "It was a Statute of Limitations website."
"What all was on it?"
"Sexual assault and murder. For the most part."
Ian scratched his deceptively wrinkled throat and wiped the makeup from his nails, off with his thumb.
"That was the Oregon site?" Ian whispered.
"Yes."
"What about Louisiana?"
"I have no idea, that one is all over the place."
"What else has she been browsing?"
Brayden rolled his neck and bit down, the constant taste of anger filling his mouth. "Rape and sexual assault websites. Women help groups."
Ian grunted. "I hope they help."
They both looked to the confessional.
"Hire her a personal trainer to teach her some self-defense moves," Ian advised.
Brayden immediately thought it was the best idea he’d heard in awhile and could all but hear the silence that would greet him if he told her.