Authors: Kaylea Cross
Nate sighed, which was never a good sign. “Something happened— ”
“Goddamn it Nate, you're freaking me out here. Just tell me already.”
“It's Christa.”
His whole body went rigid, as if tensing for a physical blow. “Is she all right?”
“No, she's not.”
He swallowed, hard. “What— ”
“Her stalker made his move, worked her over. The ambulance is transporting her to Memorial.”
Oh my God. Oh, Christa, sweet God, no...
“Is she— was she— ” Christ, he couldn't even speak.
“She's pretty spooked, and there was some blood, but she'll pull through.” He cleared his throat. “She asked for you.”
She'd asked for him, and he hadn't been there. Waves of nausea rolled inside him; he focused on breathing in and out.
There was some blood...
“Did they at least catch the bastard?” His hands were actually shaking.
A moment of awful silence lingered. “Negative. Not yet. I found his prints in the system, confirmed they belonged to a Thomas Sutherland, a suspect in a homicide two years ago. He's got a sealed juvie record as well. I called to warn her, but it was too late. I'd barely hung up when I got called to the crime scene. We've issued the APB and notified the border crossings. He won't be out there for long.”
“Christ, when did this happen?”
“Not long ago. I called you as soon as I got a chance. Her neighbor came by to check on her house or something and found her. Scared the bastard off.”
“So he didn't... ?” A sharp pain sliced his chest. He couldn't breathe. It took a minute before he could get a grip on himself. “For Chrissakes Nate, did the bastard rape her?”
“We don't know yet. They'll check it out.”
Please, not that
. “You heading to the hospital?” He tugged on a pair of jeans.
“Yup. We need to get a statement from her and... well, you know the drill. But not until I'm sure she's all right.”
“Okay. See you there.” He cut the connection, threw on a shirt and drove like a madman, praying he'd be strong enough to hold it together when he saw her.
“Rayne!”
The raw anguish in her cry ripped through him like a lightning bolt, nearly sending him to his knees. He steadied himself before answering. “I'm here, kiddo.” He put on his best game face, blotting out the sight of her lying on the examination table in a hospital gown, reeling as though someone had punched him in the gut.
Her face was black and blue, three butterfly bandages closing deep cuts around her mouth, and her left eye was swelling shut. She lifted a shaking hand toward him, bandages wrapped around both wrists. Bastard must have tied her and she'd cut herself up struggling to get loose. He wrapped his fingers around hers and bent to gather her close. “I'm here,” he repeated, not knowing what else to say. He felt privileged to be able to hold her, to know she wanted him there. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then rested his cheek against her silky hair.
“Keep holding my hand, sweetheart,” he murmured, wiping the tears from her face. “I'm not going anywhere, so squeeze my hand if you need to, all right?” He made sure he kept eye contact, sensing she needed him to focus her away from the pain. The fear and shock in her eyes tore him up inside and he had no way of lessening it.
The doctor cleared her throat. “Okay, Christa, I've got to check you inside now.”
She shook her head, paling. “But I t-told you, I don't need— ”
“I'm sorry, but it's necessary in a case like this.”
“Can't you at least give me a few m-minutes? Haven't I been thr-through enough?” Her voice was shrill, rising with growing hysteria.
The doctor looked up at him. “Maybe you should leave while I do the internal.”
“Want me to go, kiddo?” he asked her. “I'll come back in a few minutes.”
“N-no. No.” Her face was chalky white. “Stay, please.”
“Sure, honey.” He moved closer and turned to face her fully, giving her as much privacy as possible.
The doctor gathered her equipment. “Try to relax. I'll be as gentle and as quick as I can.”
She saw the speculum coming and went rigid, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her head away. Rayne's own body tensed as he stroked the hair from her face, leaning partly over her to shield her from the glare of the lighting. She sucked in a breath and he felt her struggle to hold it there.
Just when he thought he'd kill the doctor, Christa sagged and shuddered.
“Are you finished?” she asked hoarsely.
“Almost.” The doc tossed the speculum in the steel basin beside her with a clang.
“Is it over?” she breathed, resting her cheek in his palm.
She sank onto the table, trembling. The doctor and nurses fussed with her some more, but she barely noticed them, she was so lost in her own shock. They gave her an injection in her hip, and her eyelids drooped. “Rayne,” she cried, fighting the sedative. “Please don't go.”
He cradled her head against his chest. “I won't leave you, Christa. You need to rest now, okay? Don't fight it, just let go and sleep. I'm not going anywhere.”
Teryl perched beside her friend's bed, tracking the slow rise and fall of her chest, the hushed, even whisper of her breath. Christa looked so damned fragile lying there, all cut and bruised, torn emotionally. She glanced over at Rayne, seated at the foot of the hospital bed. His eyes were haunted, one hand buried in his dark hair. It galled her a little that Christa had wanted him there when she'd first been admitted. She could be setting herself up for a big fall. Could she survive a relationship with Rayne, especially after this?
To his credit he'd been here all night, with Christa every second, holding her hand and stroking her hair, revealing a tender side of him Teryl had never seen before. Her heart softened toward him. “You look tired. Maybe you should go home.”
“I'm fine.”
He didn't look fine. He looked exhausted, with heavy shadows under his eyes. “At least she's peaceful right now.”
“Yeah.”
“Should I take her home with me when she's discharged?” She stared at Christa's beaten face. “I'd hoped it was as safe a place as any, but he still got to her. We both assumed Jake was barking at that raccoon, and by the time Drew went down to check it out... ” Her voice was fraught with guilt. Had she been awake she would never have let Christa go outside alone. “As soon as we realized she was gone I called the police and Drew went to find Jake. Said the dog had crawled halfway down the alley, trying to go after her.” She wiped her damp cheeks with her hand. “The vet said he'll be okay, so if she wakes up and I'm not here make sure you tell her, because I know she'll be worried. And tell her I talked to Michael. She should probably call him herself when she wakes up, before he hops a red-eye flight.”
Rayne came over and gave her a hug and she leaned into him with a sigh. She already felt miserable enough, the guilt and fatigue fueling her nausea. She'd thrown up twice since arriving at the hospital.
“It wasn't your fault. You and Drew did all you could to help keep her safe. Problem is, she's probably not safe anywhere right now. But we need to figure something out, because the doc told me she can leave here later today.”
“What about your sting operation?” Teryl remembered.
“I've called in and they're handling it without me.”
“So why don't you go home and get some sleep? I'll stay as long as she needs me.”
Rayne shook his head. “I told her I'd be here.”
“I'm pretty sure she'll sleep awhile yet.” She'd barely twitched for hours.
He grunted.
“She'll be fine with it. I'll tell her I kicked you out. She wouldn't doubt it for a second.”
After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. “Okay, but call me if you need anything, and tell her I'll be back later.” He moved toward the door.
“Hutch.”
He stopped, glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
Her lips thinned. There was so much she wanted to say to him, and she was too upset to mince words. “Please promise me you'll be careful with her.”
He frowned. “Of course I will.”
“That's not what— ” She gave him a narrowed look. “I mean, be careful with her heart. Don't break it, okay?”
He towered over her, arms folded across his chest. “What's that supposed to mean?”
Her chin jutted outward. If he thought his size intimidated her... she was exhausted, worried, pregnant and puking, not to be messed with. “You weren't there after she broke up with Cameron the Shithead, so you wouldn't understand. It wasn't pretty, and it took her about a year to smile again. So let me ask you this, Hutch— ” She fixed him with a hard look. “How does it feel to be the most important person in the universe?”
His brows rose, betraying his otherwise guarded expression. “Did she tell you that?”
“She didn't have to tell me because I can read her like a book. I'm her best friend and I'm begging you, be careful with her.”
“I see. And you assume I'll hurt her because that's the kind of guy I am?”
“Come on, Hutch. You know I adore you, and I know you wouldn't hurt her on purpose. It's you hurting her by accident that scares the hell out of me.” That's why she'd gone looking for Christa the night before, and she'd gotten there just in time, too. The way she saw it, preventing that kiss had staved off disaster. Well, for the moment at least.
Had she said too much? Christa would be horrified, but Teryl felt it was her duty to protect her when she was clearly unable to protect herself. And no matter if Christa thought she was ready for a relationship, she was way out of her depth with a man like Rayne Hutchinson.
He stared down at Christa's inert form for a moment before meeting her gaze. “I would never do anything to hurt her,” he said, his voice husky.
The heat and tenderness in his eyes left her speechless, which was saying something. When he walked out, she stared at the closed door through eyes blurred with tears.
All that had stopped the scathing comeback on his tongue was the strain on Teryl's face. How could she think he would hurt Christa? It had been hard enough to leave her in that hospital bed, for Chrissake. As it was, he battled with his conscience all the way out of the hospital to the parking lot.
By the time he got home his hands were shaking on the steering wheel. Imagining what that bastard had done to her made fury pour through him in a crimson haze. Blood pounding in his head, he tore up to the workout room, wrapped tape around his knuckles and slammed his fist into the heavy boxing bag so hard the impact jarred all the way up to his shoulder. Then he threw himself at it as if it were Christa's attacker, swinging mindlessly, holding nothing back, and exorcising his rage with every bit of power he could muster.
Over and over his fists exploded into it until his knuckles split and bled, until he was blinded by his own sweat, until he gasped for breath. Only then did he stop, staggering back as weariness took over in the wake of the tumult that had drained out of him. Chest heaving, he bent forward at the waist and unwrapped his hands, inspecting the damage he'd inflicted. They were starting to hurt like a sonofabitch. Swearing, he headed to his condo for a shower.
A couple hours later, he parked next to Nate's vehicle in front of Christa's house, steeling himself for what he was about to see. He hadn't been able to sleep after all, despite his exhaustion. He needed to see the crime scene for himself, find out what the forensic team had uncovered. After tossing restlessly he'd called Nate, who'd told him to meet him at Christa's.
In a daze he pushed through the crowd on the porch and entered the house, feeling as if he was watching a movie. He passed through the homey kitchen and family room, the cozy décor at odds with the heinous crime carried out within the walls. At the top of the stairs he moved toward Christa's bedroom, following the murmuring voices and the click of a camera's shutter, the flashes illuminating the hallway. Nate stood at the door, waiting for him.
“You all right?”
Rayne merely nodded, forcing back the dread gathering inside.
“Forensics are almost done,” Nate continued, gauging his emotional state. “No semen or pubic hair, but she did have some of his skin under her fingernails. Some of the bloodstains don't match her blood type, so we're testing for a match with his.”
Well, at least she'd managed to claw the bastard. Good for her. “Are you going to let me in or not?” Enough with the bullshit already. Nate held his stare, then stepped aside.
Bracing himself, Rayne took a deep breath and entered the room, bile rising up his throat. His eyes riveted to the bed, to the four pieces of rope tied to the brass frame, coated with blood. Her blood.
He forced air into his lungs, willed his heart to slow down. He looked up at Nate with tortured eyes. “What the hell did he do to her?”
Nate gazed down at him. “You know I can't tell you that,” he said sympathetically. “If you want to know what happened, you'll have to ask her.”
A member of the forensics team walked past carrying a plastic evidence bag. He sucked in a sharp breath. “A knife?” he demanded, grabbing Nate. “He used a fucking
knife
on her?”
Nate pried the clenched fists from his shirt. “Rayne, calm down.”
“Don't tell me to calm down—
did he use a knife on her
?” He was ready to explode, recognized it in some distant part of his brain that was still miraculously functioning.
“She said he used it to strip her, but didn't actually cut her with it,” Nate answered carefully.
Rage swamped him until he thought he'd lose his mind. “I need some air,” he muttered, and hurried downstairs to the porch, sucking in oxygen, sinking onto the top step. He couldn't bear to imagine what she'd gone through.
After a while Nate's footsteps sounded behind him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” The anger and shock were wearing away, replaced by an awful helplessness that felt a whole lot worse. “I can't believe anyone would hurt her like that.” He looked up at him. “Honest to God, Nate, she's a sweetheart. The nicest girl I've ever known. How in hell could someone do that to her?”
“I wish I knew.” He came and sat next to him. “I need to ask you about something.” He held out a framed picture. “Does this mean anything to you? It was sitting on the nightstand, right next to the bed.”