Authors: Kaylea Cross
Rayne stood to take the dishes to the sink, rinsed them and loaded them into the dishwasher. He seemed so comfortable in her home, as if he belonged there. “In fact, let's go see Nate right now.”
She'd rather he came over and kiss her senseless, but hey, as far as distractions went, she'd take whatever she could get. And spending the whole evening with Rayne would do nicely.
Rayne knew Nate took a shine to her immediately by the way he teased her, and he guessed the same applied to Christa because she dished it right back. She was a curious mixture of independence and vulnerability, and it drew him to her like a magnet.
Nate regarded him with knowing eyes. “So is this a social call, or for something specific?”
Leave it to Nate to get down to business. “Actually, Christa's been having a problem with this guy who keeps following her around at her softball games. Yesterday she got injured and he lost it right there in front of everyone. Now the girl who slid into her is in the hospital after a hit and run.”
Nate's chocolate-brown gaze darkened. “Was it him?”
“No evidence confirming that yet. But she had some roses delivered this morning, along with a note telling her everything was ‘taken care of'.”
“You should get a no contact order,” Nate told her.
“I tried to, but I don't know his last name.”
He drummed his fingers. “I don't like the feel of this at all. Seems to me he's escalating things every time. If he comes near you again, call 911. No reason to risk him getting close. Over ninety percent of rapes are committed by someone the victim knows, and it wouldn't surprise me if he'd already fixated on you sexually.”
Rayne saw her shiver and spare a nervous glance at him. “You think he's planning to
attack
me?” Her eyes were enormous.
Nate leaned back in his chair. “I think he's at least fantasized about it. That's what most stalkers are after. You need to be aware of the danger, because this guy is a potentially serious threat.”
Rayne slipped his hand onto her shoulder to rub the tension away.
“If, God forbid, he does come after you,” Nate continued, “do not under any circumstance go with him into a vehicle or secluded place. Even if he has a weapon, chances are he won't use it because it would draw attention to him, and if he did, the odds are he would only wound you.”
Rayne cringed. “Nate, maybe this is a little too much information— ”
“No, Rayne. She needs to know what to do. If it scares you, Christa, I apologize, but I see this kind of thing every day in my job, and I don't want it to happen to you if I can help it.”
“Okay,” she said in a small voice. “What else?”
“If you do somehow end up in a vehicle with him, you might have to crash it in order to get away. If he pulls a knife, you— ”
“Jesus, Nate.” He reached down to wrap his fingers around hers, finding them ice cold. “Can't we just reinforce that she should steer clear of the guy, keep her eyes open, and leave it at that?”
Nate sent him a weighted stare. “You so afraid of scaring her that you're willing to risk her life?”
“Trust me, you've already scared her.”
Nate's eyes softened. “If that's true, I'm sorry, but you do need to be aware of the risks involved with a stalker. Stay away from him and if you ever see him again, call the cops right away.”
She forced a smile. “Wow. Looks like I'll be toting my lucky bat around with me everywhere now. And maybe an air horn.”
They made an attempt at small talk after that, but soon Rayne ushered her out to his car. As he drove, he glanced over at her every so often. She stared out the window at the darkened street, chewing her lip.
“Nate's a great guy, but he's kind of a pessimist sometimes. Comes with his job description, I guess. Don't let what he said upset you, kiddo. You know to look out for yourself, and you'll be fine.”
“You know, I was thinking,” she mused, “about what I would do if I had to leave home for a while.” Her gaze remained on the road ahead of them. “I'd hate it, you know. Leaving. I love my home more than anything, it's like my safe haven. I'll only give it up if I have no other choice.”
“I understand.” No one could set foot in the place without feeling Christa in every square inch.
“During various counseling sessions after my last breakup,” she explained in a dry tone, “I learned I have a deep need for security and peace in my life. My house gives me those things, and I won't let him take it from me.”
Her breakup had sent her to a counselor? He filed that information away and reached over to squeeze her hand. “Let's not worry about that unless we have to, okay?”
Her words solidified everything he already knew about her, since her need for security matched the calm, steady persona she projected to the world. It was the other more secret side of her, the soft, sweetly vulnerable and insecure part that brought his protective male instincts to blazing life. He'd never met anyone like her. She kept up her place by herself, gardens and all, and ran her own small landscaping business. He'd seen her happily and adeptly at work in her kitchen, watched her acting as tough as his ex-drill sergeant on the ball field, putting her body on the line to stop a run from scoring.
According to Teryl and Drew she was a devoted and loyal friend who would do anything for those she cared about. And, she was
real
. With Christa, what you saw was what you got, without any pretense. No manipulation, no head games. Wrap that up in an attractive feminine package and he couldn't help but be interested in her, couldn't understand why she put up that force field instead of making the most of the male attention. A piece must be missing from the puzzle, because it didn't add up. Hey, look at him, the confirmed bachelor— he had no trouble picturing her running a house full of kids, driving back and forth to their soccer games in a minivan, and he wasn't running in the opposite direction. What the hell did that mean, anyway?
It meant he was losing his freaking mind, that's what.
He turned down her driveway and when he cut the engine, she sat there gazing up at the turreted outline of her house.
“It'll be okay, darlin'.”
“Yeah.” Trying to smile, she let herself out of the car, unlocked the back door and he followed her inside. “Were you serious about staying over again tonight?”
“Dead serious.” Please just let her buckle under and agree.
She tilted her head at him. “I can look after myself, you know. I'm used to it, and my head's feeling much better now. If I need to, I guess I could stay with Teryl for a few days.”
“You could,” he agreed, “but you just said you didn't want to let him force you to leave. If you go, in a sense he's won. He'd know he's gotten to you.”
“True,” she hedged. “I'd much rather stay here... ”
He hated seeing her so torn. All he wanted to do was protect her from that maniac. “Look, I don't want to force my presence on you but I know you're worried about the situation. Who wouldn't be?” He ran a hand through his hair. How could he persuade her? “After that note he left this morning, and our visit with Nate— which in hindsight I kind of regret putting you through— can you honestly tell me you'd feel safe all alone?” She didn't react. No sigh of resignation, no flicker of relief on her face. What, did she need him to beg?
But then she flashed him that sweet smile, her big blue eyes gazing up at him with complete trust, and every protective instinct he had roared to life. Another few seconds of her staring at him that way and he'd start sprouting fur on the backs of his hands, then drag her away and lock her up someplace where no one could touch her. Like some caveman.
“I hate to lean on you so much. It's not in my nature.”
“That's not leaning, it's being smart. And it's in
my
nature to protect people. Especially you.”
“I guess I would feel better if you stuck around.”
“Good.” He hung his jacket on the antique coat rack and pulled off his boots. “So, do you want to stay up and watch a movie or something? Take your mind off everything?”
She stifled a yawn. “Thanks but I'm beat. Will I see you in the morning?”
Evasion tactics? Disappointment filled him. “Not unless you're up by oh-five-hundred.”
She grimaced. “Oh. No, then.”
She shifted on the bottom stair, sent a skittish glance around the house. “Come here, kiddo.” He held out his arms to her.
She stared at him for a moment before moving forward and he gathered her against him, despite her tension. She felt so small and fragile in his embrace, he practically surrounded her. He hugged her close, running his hands over the thick, shiny hair spilling down her back until she relaxed. He'd always wanted to find out if her hair was as soft as it looked. It was, and it smelled like green apples. “Don't be scared,” he said quietly against the crown of her head. She swallowed and stayed where she was, her cheek pressed against his shoulder.
“I'm not.” She didn't sound convincing.
“I won't let anything happen to you.” His hands kept up their soothing motion until she was completely resting against him, then he kissed the top of her head and leaned away to gaze down at her. “Sleep well.”
“I will, with you here.” She put on a bright smile, and he figured his innocent kiss was responsible for the color in her cheeks. Fighting the temptation to kiss her properly, he let her go. On the third tread, she paused. “Rayne?”
“Yeah?”
“Just so you know, I'm a lot tougher than I look.”
He nodded. “I know you are, kiddo.” She had a backbone of steel to go with that tender heart, and it made him want her even more.
His eyes followed her all the way up the stairs.
Someone was moving around on the front porch.
Christa lay frozen in her bed peering into the inky darkness. Another faint shuffling broke the silence.
Heart pounding, she threw back the covers and ran to find Rayne. His car was parked out front, so whoever was sneaking about had to know she wasn't alone. Would her stalker be crazy enough to break in while she had company?
“Rayne?” She whispered as loudly as she dared, moving down the dim hallway to the landing, her clammy bare feet sticking to the hardwood. The guest room door was open, revealing darkness, so presumably he was still watching TV in the family room. She started down the stairs, her bare footsteps muffled by the carpet runner, and nearly leapt out of her skin when he appeared holding Jake by the collar.
He cut off her exclamation with an upraised hand, then held his finger to his lips. When he pushed Jake toward her she grabbed hold of him, his entire furry body quivering.
“Stay there,” Rayne commanded in a whisper, turning his head toward the front door, listening, primed for action.
She stood rooted on the third step as he sank into a crouch and crept to one of the windows flanking the door. Weak light from the streetlamps at the end of the driveway filtered through the glass, casting a dim glow. Without disturbing the sheer curtains he peered out at the porch, careful to stay in the shadows below the window ledge.
Jake let out a whine, straining to get free.
“Jake, no,” she hissed, tugging his collar. He trembled against her, staring at the front entrance with the single-minded intensity only a border collie could display.
A muffled thump hit the floor and she struggled to hold Jake still as Rayne ducked lower. Head swiveling to face her, he jabbed a finger upwards, ordering her back upstairs. For a second she lingered, reluctant to leave either him or herself alone, but then the adrenaline kicked in and she dragged her struggling dog to her room, grabbing the cordless phone from the nightstand. Breath coming in shallow pants, she edged back to the landing, peering down into the dark hallway. Rayne had moved to the other window in the foyer, still hunkered down and poised.
The grandfather clock chimed quarter to the hour, echoing in the awful stillness. She swallowed, the reflex almost impossible past the lump in her throat. Should she call 911? Rayne hadn't indicated she should, and he had his own cell phone with him so maybe he'd already called it in. Her finger hovered over the first number on the touchpad, ready to dial at the slightest hint of trouble. Her skin prickled, moisture damp on her palms.
Jake growled low in his throat, and she yanked him close and wrapped her hand around his muzzle before it could become a full-fledged snarl. “Shhh,” she warned, eyes glued to the man who stood between her and whoever was on her verandah. More shuffling sounded outside, then stilled. She held her breath. What if the stalker had a weapon? Her blood ran cold.
“Shit,” Rayne muttered, stood and flipped on the light, then threw open the door and yelled, “Get!”
Christa jumped. Her heart thundered in her ears.
Letting out a rush of breath, he shut the door and threw the deadbolt, then looked up at her with a rueful expression. “Raccoon,” he said in disgust. “Sorry about that.”
She stared at him, speechless under the numbing effect of the adrenaline crash. Jake tore free from her limp fingers and flew down the stairs to the window, jumping up to rest his front paws on the sill and barking hysterically, his black and white tail wagging hard enough to make the sheers billow. Rayne ushered him to the back door and the dog raced out, his frantic barks fading into the distance.
Not a weapon-toting, would-be rapist stalker at all, but a raccoon, for God's sake.
If her legs would have held her up, she would have chased down the stupid animal herself. But since her knees had taken on the consistency of unset Jell-O, her only option was to stand there and gape at Rayne, who was having a hard time not laughing.
Well, pardon her for not being amused. Hand pressed over her chest, she closed her eyes and leaned against the banister while her heart began its journey south from her tonsils.
“Hey.” His warm fingers brushed her cheek before he sat both of them on the top stair, the pressure of his hip comforting. She didn't dare open her eyes in case he saw the tears she was fighting. “You okay?”
Lips pressed together until she could get a grip on herself, she could only nod.