For His Protection (10 page)

Every horrific last one of them.

Ty’s features contorted but he stayed still. Kept the few
feet of space between them open. “I thought this was about control. I thought
this is what gets you off. But it’s not, is it?”

She couldn’t answer, could only focus her energy on
breathing in and out.

“It’s about fear…you’re fucking terrified.” His voice
lowered and the pain in his voice mirrored the pain in her chest. “Why, Brooke?
Tell me why. Because I know there can’t be any place in your mind that doesn’t
know I’d fucking die before I ever hurt you.”

The walls of the room seemed to become concave. His
questions drew out a curtain of memories she couldn’t beat down. They flashed
in her vision, made her want to claw out her own eyes. There weren’t words, not
simple words that could sum up the answers to his questions. She deflated,
stumbling against the wall. All the strength she’d spent years mustering didn’t
amount to as much as she’d thought it had. Because looking at him, at the pain
in his eyes, she was still a coward. Too weak to speak of her own past.

Too afraid to say a word like
rape
. To admit that it
had been done to her. Not just rape—as if that weren’t enough to cripple—but
other horrors she couldn’t even put names to.

“What happened to you?” His gaze bored into her, sweeping
over her features, watching.

She knew he could see her fear. Fuck, she’d be surprised if
he couldn’t smell it. She must reek of it.

Silence buzzed between them so sharp and vibrant it could be
another kind of noise.

A chime rang through the apartment, shattering the quiet.
Brooke twitched, the sound dragging her out of the sinkhole of her mind.
The
doorbell.
Someone at the door.

She took one step sideways and just like that she was a
bodyguard again—back in control.

“I’ll get it,” she said, her voice as calm and cool as if
they’d just been discussing flavors of coffee.

If she’d thought his expression couldn’t be more hopeless,
he proved her wrong. She shut the picture out of her mind and scooped her dress
from the floor, pulled it over her head and walked out of the room.

She reached the front door and pressed her eye to the
peephole. Connor’s familiar profile filled the space on the other side.

What’s he doing here?

The place between her shoulder blades itched, a chill
sweeping between them. Ty’s footsteps sounded behind her. She slipped the chain
from its holder, undid the bolt and turned the handle. She halted, mid-swing of
the door. The look on her mentor’s face made
everything
stop. A look she
hadn’t seen since the first time she’d met him. That time they didn’t talk
about anymore, the time when he’d been the cop who’d saved her. Him and—

“Hi, Brooke,” the voice spoke from beside Connor and her
blood turned to stone, immobilizing her limbs. She could only gape at Detective
Mark. Her gaze flicked between Connor and Mark and her lungs solidified along
with her limbs. There was only one reason Mark would be here with Connor.

She knew what he was going to say before he could speak. If
she could have moved her arms, she would have covered her ears.

“He’s back, Brooke. We need your help.”

Mark and Connor stepped inside the apartment, the clip of
their boots dulling as they transitioned from the tiled entrance to carpet. Ty
moved in behind Brooke, wrapping his hand over her shoulder. She wanted to fall
back into him. Wanted to bury her face into his chest and let him hide her from
this. But her back stayed rigid as if her vertebrae had fused together.

“Is everything okay?” Ty asked.

Connor’s quick gaze flew to the hand on her shoulder and
then flicked between her and Ty. “I’m sorry to intrude at your home, Mr. Black,
but we need to have a word with Brooke. Would it be possible for us to have a
few moments alone with her?”

Ty stepped forward, lining the back of Brooke’s body with
his. She could feel the heat and strength behind her—his body’s silent
reassurance, its protectiveness. Somehow their roles reversed because now he
clearly guarded her.

“I don’t think so. You can do your talking in front of me.
I’m not going anywhere.”

Lines formed across Connor’s brow and he looked at Brooke.

“Brooke?”

She swallowed harshly. This conversation would be brutal,
the kind of brutal most people couldn’t wrap their minds around. Every cell in
her brain screamed at her not to let Ty hear. Every cell protested at the idea
of this man—this man who had begun to bring her back to life—hearing such
ugliness. It split her in two that he might see the stain on her.

But Ty
had
to hear. He needed to hear this. He needed
to because she’d never have the nerve to tell him herself. Because he needed to
know why anything more than what they’d already shared would never work between
them. He needed to understand why underneath the surface she was broken,
debilitated and ruined. Why she was no longer fit for anything good.

Not fit for a man like him.

Ty romanticized the girl who’d saved him and that knowledge
tethered him to her. The barren, closed-off place in her that had begun to
bloom again with things like affection, the place in her that could now care
for someone else knew that caring meant setting him free.

Free from the perfect image he’d created of her as if she
were some fucking angel. Her fall from grace would hurt—for both of them. But
shattering beliefs usually did.

“It’s okay; he can stay.”

The chest at her back expelled a long breath.

“Brooke,” Connor said, a warning note entering his tone.

“It’s not what you think. I know Ty, I mean prior to this
assignment.”

Connor frowned, his dark-blue eyes narrowing. “You should
have told me. I would have reassigned you.”

“I told her I wouldn’t have anyone else.” Ty spoke up from
behind her.

Connor’s attention shifted to Ty. “Well I’m sorry. That’s
not how we do things at Crowe. Personal connections create risk.”

Mark cleared his throat and Connor glanced over his shoulder
at the detective then back to Brooke. The same grave expression he’d been
wearing when she opened the door slipped over his face.

“Are you sure about this, Brooke?”

She nodded, although her shaking voice betrayed her lie.
“I’m sure. I want Ty to hear this.”

Brooke led them to the couches and sat on the edge of the
one closest to the door. Connor and Mark took the one opposite her. The couch sank
next to her but she didn’t look at Ty. It was a good thing he’d sat beside her
because she wouldn’t survive seeing his face when he heard what would soon be
said.

“We found a body this morning.” Mark pulled a folder from
his briefcase. “Everything fits. College student, missing for four days. Lived
alone.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and scanned the information. “Almost
identical to your case—extensive internal and external injures, strangled.
Except this time the victim’s common carotid artery was punctured.” Mark lifted
his gaze to hers. “It appears he’s taking no chances in repeating the mistake
he made with you, Brooke.”

Brooke rubbed her throat, for a moment still feeling the
ache of crushed muscle. The couch shifted beside her. The tension radiating
from the man next to her could have cracked her in half.

She swallowed, wishing she had a glass of water. “You know I
would do anything—” Her gaze flicked to Connor. “
Anything
to help. But I
don’t know what more I can do. I told you everything.”

“I know you did, Brooke. But sometimes it just takes the
smallest missed detail to make a case.” Connor’s eyes wrinkled in the corners.
“We need to go over everything again.”

Brooke shut her eyes.
No
. Once had been enough. She
put a hand to her stomach, feeling as though she’d been riding on a speedboat
backward.

“I’m not a cop anymore, Brooke. I’m not here for Mark. I’m
here for you,” Connor said.

Brooke opened her eyes and looked at Connor. He’d always
been the one who understood. Who didn’t care for the rules—he’d cared for the
victim. He’d cared for her. Quit the police force because he couldn’t handle
the red tape. Because he wanted to protect people. And here he was again,
protecting her. Except this time she couldn’t let him shelter her.

“Let’s start with what you remember before you disappeared.”
Mark drew another file out of his briefcase. Her name flashed in blank ink.

She looked away from it, knowing the gruesome things that
file contained. “I told you before. I don’t remember being taken or much else.
My first clear memory is of waking up in a Dumpster with Connor reviving me.”

“What about the unclear memories? There’s a difference
between not remembering and not remembering well,” Mark said. “We know you were
drugged but you do have some memories, don’t you?”

Brooke shuddered.
Memories
. No, not memories.
Nightmares
.
The kind of nightmares where you wake up screaming, sobbing, sweating—but all
you can remember are flashes of images that send terror into your marrow.

“Just start with the very last thing you recall,” Connor
said.

She shut her eyes.
Before,
she could try to do. The
during
would be hard. “Going to bed,” she said. “I remember laying out underwear, tank
top and gym pants for my morning run.”

“But you don’t remember going for a run?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t remember waking up the
next morning.”

Mark scanned a transcript from her file. “But you did notice
when you eventually returned home that the clothes you’d laid out were no
longer in your apartment?”

“Yes, I must have gone for the run. There’s a lot I don’t
remember.”

“So no forced entry, your jogging gear and sneakers were
missing.” Mark set down the file, concentrating on the papers. “And you jogged
the same route everyday without fail?”

“Yes, always. Same streets, lots of people around.”

“Before you went to bed did you plan on changing anything
about your morning routine?”

“No.” She pictured her apartment as it had been and scanned
her memory for anything out of the usual. “Only—for some reason my old sneakers
beside the door were the ones missing. I didn’t usually jog in those.”

“You didn’t? You wouldn’t have used them for any reason that
morning?” Connor asked, glancing at Mark.

“No, I had a new pair in the wardrobe that I wore when I
jogged.”

Mark leaned forward. “And you’re sure, absolutely sure, that
there were no open windows, that your door was locked when you went to bed?”

“Positive. I always locked up carefully.”

Just not as carefully as now.

“And you never left a spare key anywhere or with anyone?”
Mark asked.

“No, besides me, the only people with access were the super
and my landlord.”

Mark and Connor exchanged glances.

“Fernando wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s an amazing super,
sweetest guy ever. Besides he had an alibi. I remember you saying so.” Brooke
frowned. “And do you even remember my landlord, Mr. Cosh? He can barely hold
himself upright let alone drag my five-foot-ten ass out of an apartment.”

“We’re just asking questions, Brooke,” Connor said.

Mark pulled a pencil out of his pocket and scrawled on the
back of the page then glanced up at her slowly. “Details matter. That’s all I’m
looking for.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry I have to ask you this again.” His mouth
tugged to the side. “What can you remember about the time you were gone?”

Black and white flickered behind her eyes.
Black and
white, black and white.
Like a swinging light. Her skin burned. “Nothing.
Just murky flashes. I don’t even know what’s real.”

“Try, Brooke. Anything, doesn’t matter how insignificant it
might seem,” Mark said.

Ty shifted beside her, inching closer. She blocked him out
and focused on a single moment she’d pushed out and smothered all these years.

“Close your eyes. Anything. Sounds, what was around you?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Walls slammed around her. Black,
pitch black. And a cold like frozen metal. It shouldn’t be possible. How clear
this picture was. How pure the darkness, how sharp the chill.

“Cold and dark,” she whispered. She rubbed her arms, her
skin sticky.

Sticky
.

“And damp.”

“What else, Brooke? What else can you see? Hear?”

She jerked in the dark. Hear
?
The only sound was the
metallic clink of a bolt.
Something coming
. Something bad coming. Her
sluggish heart racing in response to a sound that became familiar even through
the fog of her mind. Drawing her out of one nightmare into another. The roll of
the door. A rush of rancid air on her bare skin. It came—the bad thing. She
rocked herself, feeling the strain of her arms above her, pulling joints out of
sockets, the scrape of her toes on cement. Painful suspension. Another sound, a
familiar rattle before the door banged shut. A click—light. A sickening,
swinging light.

Her chest heaved.

“Stop.” A voice growled. Far away, that voice, so far away.
“She’s had enough.”

Salty moisture ran down her face, penetrating the cloth
jammed between her lips. The soggy fibers sucked the moisture out of her
tongue.

“Brooke, it’s okay.” That voice called through the fog.

A hand clamped on her arm.

She screamed and vaulted away from the touch. Her eyes
snapped open and pure light cleansed her vision. Ty stared at her, face tight
and pale.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” She spat the words like curses.

If it were possible to see someone’s heart break, she saw Ty’s
shatter. Mark and Connor leaped to standing. The folder fell from Mark’s lap
onto the coffee table with a flutter of paper. Pictures spilled out. Brooke
covered her mouth. Ty’s gaze moved from her to the coffee table. His expression
clicked, muscle by muscle, into a mask of rage.

Ty rose to his feet as if his joints had gone brittle then
stalked to the door, an almost indistinguishable limp in his step. He opened
the door and stalked out. The door frame shook when he closed it behind him.

Brooke stared at the closed door and swiped her cheeks then
fell back against the couch. Connor sat and Mark scooped up the papers. She
breathed deep and pulled herself together—layer by layer, locking those images
and memories somewhere deep and inaccessible until they truly seemed like a
dream.

It was done.

She’d pushed hard enough to knock him over. No more fantasy.
Just brutal, ugly truth. He’d be done with her now. Repulsed. Good for him.
He’d been saved.

“You okay, Brooke?”

She glanced up at Connor and nodded, tasting the salt on her
lips. Shit, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually cried.

“Train tracks, Connor.” She cleared her throat. “Train
tracks and a smell like death.”

* * * * *

Ty drove his fist into the brick wall of his private garage.
His skin shredded and pain burst from his knuckles, radiating into his elbow.
It did nothing to override the tightness in his chest. He grasped the edge of
the wooden shelf above him and tore it down. Cans, tins and boxes crashed to
the floor. The sounds, sharp and explosive in the silence of the garage, dulled
in his adrenaline-hazed ears. He kicked tins, picked them up and smashed them
against brick, stomped on boxes, splintered wood, broke anything that could be
broken and gave it even harder to the things that wouldn’t.

Wreckage covered the floor of the garage like the aftermath
of an explosion. Ty sank against the wall, panting. He hadn’t cried since he
was a kid. Not even when he’d woken up with a leg he had to fight the doctors
to keep. But now his panting chest felt like more than his body catching
breath. His lungs burned, squeezed, gasped. He leaned his face into his palms.

Images of a helpless Brooke assaulted his mind and bile rose
in the back of his throat. He pushed them back. Thinking about
that,
letting
himself imagine too closely what had happened to her, would drive him mad. He
wanted to kill, destroy, go back in time so he could save her.

Ty ran his hands through his hair. He’d learned early in
life he could beat anything, achieve anything he put his mind to and worked
hard enough for. Yet when it came to saving the person who’d saved him—he was
useless.

He couldn’t save her from the past. He couldn’t undo what
had been done.

His breathing slowed. He might not be able to take away the
pain of the past but he’d damn well do his best to save her from the demons
that haunted her now.

She would fight him, she had always fought him.

Now that he knew why, nothing could stop him from setting
her free.

Ty stood, crunching on rubbish as he left the garage and
took the lift back up to his apartment. He opened the door and slipped inside.
She walked the living room, stalking the same path back and forth across the
carpet. She paused when she saw him. Her gaze swept over his face then drifted
over his rumpled shirt then to his closed fist.