Beautifully Damaged (41 page)

"Goodnight, Trace."

"Don't think of it, Ember. I'm here sweetheart so rest easy and have sweet dreams."

"I'll dream of you..." I looked up at him and smiled before I added, "...and cake-pops."

A few days after the attack I went to my old apartment building. I had a few days to stew on Lena and how her need to build herself up by putting me down put me on Dane's radar. Yes, Trace's humiliation of Dane fueled him but it was Lena who put that animal on my scent to begin with and that was not something I was going to forgive or forget. Trace was with me as we walked up the familiar stairway to my old apartment and knocked as we reached the door. Lena pulled it open and surprise crossed over her face before quickly being replaced with disgust and what looked like pity.

"I see your man has some anger-management issues." Lena sneered as she leaned up against the doorjamb. Trace tensed at my side as he realized that Lena thought he was to blame for my battered condition. I reached for his hand and squeezed never averting my eyes from Lena's.

"This is the handiwork of Dane Carmichael."

I could tell she didn't believe me so I continued on.

"He had some interesting things to say about you." I cocked my hip before I said, "Getting on your knees in a public restroom, Lena, my how you've hit rock bottom."

The sneer dropped from her expression as her face paled.

"Yes, Lena, I'm speaking the truth. It was your insecurity and spitefulness that put me in the crosshairs of a sociopath. I've only one thing to say about that."

I curled my hand into a fist and planted it right in the middle of her face, the sound of her nose breaking pulled a smile on mine. My hand hurt like a mother but, oh, it was good pain. Lena stumbled backwards before falling on her ass. She was holding her nose as the blood just poured out.

"You're bleeding everywhere, Lena."

It wasn't disgust but fear looking back at me just as Trace offered in admiration, "Nicely done, slugger."

I spared him a glance. "Thanks, love."

I hunched down in front of Lena and looked her right in the eyes."We done here?"

She averted her eyes as she nodded her head. I stood and started for the door but offered from over my shoulder, "I don't want to have this conversation again."

Trace took my throbbing hand and brushed his lips over it before he reached for my good hand as we started down the hall. We didn't get far before Trace looked down at me with a big grin on his face.

"What's that look for?"

"You've got style, Ember, and as far as exits -- that was pretty fucking awesome."

My grin was wicked and razor-sharp when I offered, "All those hours of movie watching does come in handy."

Trace's laughter echoed down the hallway.

That night, Trace, Lucien, Rafe and I sat in Trace's kitchen. I noticed that Lucien had a black eye so I asked, "Lucien what happened?"

He looked nervous as a slight blush tinted his cheeks.

"Are you blushing?"

Trace and Rafe were laughing as Lucien lifted his eyes to mine. "You got one in on one, Ember."

"What?" And then I had my revelation.

"...in the alley. Lucien I'm so sorry."

His eyes turned hard before he said, "Don't apologize, you thought you were fighting off that motherfucker."

I stood, walked over and wrapped my arms around him. He didn't hesitate to pull me close. Memories of Sabrina were no doubt swirling around his head and until Dane was in prison, or six feet under, he was going to be haunted by his past just as Trace had been.

"We won't stop, Lucien, until he is stopped."

He pulled back and touched my cheek with his finger before he whispered, "Agreed."

He led me back to my chair before my eyes turned to Trace who was leaning up against the counter.

"What are we going to do about Dane?"

"He's untouchable in New York, we have to change that. We need someone with enough political clout and money to really start putting pressure on the Carmichael family."

"Your uncle," I said.

"Yeah. Based on what we know of the exalted Carmichael clan the one characteristic they all have in common is self-preservation. Dane is a wild card at best, a liability at worst, and I don't see the family going down because of him. I think if enough pressure is applied, they'll cast him out and when he's no longer protected under the Carmichael name, he's fair game."

"As far as the family, I agree with Lucien, they should be held accountable for allowing that animal loose. I do believe your friend Caroline would just love to sink her teeth into a story like this, not to mention your contacts at
The New York Times
. The power of the media to sway popular opinion, to reach out and touch the masses, it's extraordinary I think."

"We get a few women to step forward about their abuse, about what they remember and it could be the beginning of the end for the Carmichael empire."

"The women, how will we learn who they are?"

"Heidi for one and maybe she knows someone and so on. To break the silence it only takes one."

"I'll speak up," I said.

He walked over and hunched down in front of me, taking my hands into his, before he said, "I know and I'll be standing right at your side."

Lucien's voice was soft but determined when he added, "We all will."

Later, after everyone went home I took a shower and when I stepped in front of the mirror I couldn't help inspecting myself. There was a nasty bruise over my kidney, one along my ribs and a splash of purple along my jaw.

I was reaching for my robe when I saw Trace standing in the doorway but his eyes were staring at my back and, even from my distance, I saw the fury burning there.

"It looks worse than it feels."

"When I saw the bastard touching you, knowing what he intended to do to you, I lost it. You were right, Ember, I was going to kill him. As I was re-arranging his face my nightmares about losing you, that I wasn't going to be able to save you, flashed through my mind but I realized something. I don't need to save you because you, Ember Walsh, are a force of nature. You went up against that bastard and held your own. I don't want to sound condescending but I am so proud of you..." He started towards me before he whispered. "...in awe of you" he stopped just behind me as his hand lightly brushed down my arm before moving around my side to rest against my stomach "...so fucking in love with you."

I turned then and held his tender gaze. "I love you."

Trace studied me for a minute before he asked, "What are you thinking?"

"Why didn't I see it, Trace? How could I not have seen Lena for what she was?"

"Because you, like your mom, can be very trusting. I don't think that's a bad thing, Ember, as long as you have others in your life that are watching your back."

A smile touched my lips because my avenging angel was a very wise man. "Wise you are, Master Yoda." I wrapped my arms around his neck before I whispered, "Love me, Trace, I need you to touch me, hold me..." I didn't realize how much I needed his gentle, and tender touch, to obliterate the ugly memories of Dane. He understood what I was thinking, understood far better than anyone else could, as he gently pulled me closer.

"I wasn't sure that you wanted me to."

I reached up and framed his face in my hands. "I will always want you to touch me."

He gently lifted me into his arms and walked us into the bedroom. He placed me on the bed before he undressed, my eyes falling on the tattoo that rested over his heart, and then he moved, caging my body with his own, just as his mouth moved to cover mine.

Since I was ordered to rest, I found myself with an abundant amount of time on my hands. I asked Trace and my uncle for copies of the police reports for both Trace's parents' murders and my mom's accident because I was going a bit loony playing Wii and watching television all day.

We still didn't know with certainty who killed Trace's parents and I still questioned who killed my mom so I decided to use my downtime to read everything the police had gathered on both cases.

As I settled down at the desk, I flipped open the folder on Trace's parents' murders. The pictures were really gruesome: the subjects practically unrecognizable. The bodies were found in the living room, on the sofa, which was where Trace remembered his mom to have been that night when he begged her for help.

Another shot was of the kitchen. There were dirty dishes on the counter and used pans on the stove but it was the bottle of wine that caught my eye: more specifically the two glasses sitting near it. I sat for a good long time staring at that bottle and those glasses. Who the hell was Douglas drinking with because I'd bet the farm it wasn't Victoria? Was there someone else in the house that night; someone else who witnessed Douglas' depravity?

Was it Vivian and was it possible that she was the murderer? I flipped through the pages reading the notes from the lead detective, a one Vincent Gowen, and found the statements from both Charles and Vivian. They both had alibis for the night of the murders: a charity function where dozens of people had seen them. Okay, so if it wasn't Vivian in the house, and the likelihood that Douglas was sharing a romantic evening with the woman he was drugging was unlikely, then who the hell was in that house?

As I reviewed the file, there was one noticeably absent document and that was the autopsy report. In fact, there was nothing in the file that definitively identified the victims. That seemed odd to me but since the bulk of my knowledge came from crime dramas I decided to call my uncle. I reached for my cell phone and hit three; Uncle Josh answered on the second ring.

"Hello, Ember."

"Hi. You and dad are still coming up on Friday, right?"

"Absolutely." His tone changed, grew a bit harder, before he asked, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good."

His response was almost inaudible, almost. "Bastard."

"I'm really okay."

"Doesn't make me any less angry, Ember."

"I love you, Uncle Josh."

"Ah, sweetie, I love you, too."

"I'm calling because I'm reading over the Stanwyck file and there doesn't seem to be an autopsy report. Is that odd?"

"That is odd."

"In fact, I haven't read anything that positively identifies the victims. Even though the bodies were found in the Stanwyck home, it wouldn't just be assumed it was them, would it?"

There was silence over the line for moment before he offered, "No."

I knew, based on his reply, that the wheels were turning. "What are you thinking?"

"That's a pretty blatant exclusion so it was either shoddy police work or..."

"...or what?"

"...or intentional."

"A cover up?"

"Maybe. I'd like to review that file while I'm visiting."

I knew my uncle was thinking more than he was saying, and planned to interrogate him in person, but at that moment I simply replied, "Okay."

After I hung up with my uncle I reviewed my mom's file but, if the Stanwyck file seemed light, this file was almost nonexistent. My mom was walking home from the bus stop, something anyone who knew her would know was her routine, when a car came out of nowhere. It's believed that she was dead on impact. There were eyewitness accounts but it happened so quickly that no one got a good look at the driver and only a passing glance at the car, a car Trace believed was his dad's.

I suppose what I didn't understand was why a man would keep the proof that could link him to a hit and run? Wouldn't the motivation be to put as much distance between himself and the crime as possible and not horde proof that could tie him to it? Unless of course, he wasn't hording proof but collecting it?

And it was right on the cusp of that revelation that I made another more glaring one. The cases were believed to be linked through Douglas but there was another, a person who was still alive, that tied the cases together. We were going to need to have a sit-down with Vivian.

I found Trace in the kitchen making dinner. He was standing at the counter chopping onions in that way of his that I found both incredibly skilled and wickedly sexy. How flipping out of my head was I for this man to actually find the sight of him chopping vegetables to be a turn on? He knew I was there which was evident when he looked at me from over his shoulder and smiled.

"Hello, sweetheart."

"Hi. What are you making?"

"Curried chicken."

"Something you learned to make from Mrs. Fletcher?"

It was surprise that flashed across his face before he answered, "Yes, you remember that?"

I walked to him and pressed a kiss on his back before I answered, "I remember everything when it comes to you."

His one hand snaked out and wrapped around my neck to pull me in for a kiss and then I heard as the knife hit the counter right before Trace's other hand reached around my waist and pulled me closer. Chelsea entered the kitchen just as I was about to wrap my arms around his neck.

"Hi."

Trace's lips lingered on mine before he pulled back so that I could see everything I was feeling looking back at me. I smiled, he grinned, before he pressed a kiss on my forehead and then he turned to Chelsea and offered, "Hi."

I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my face into his chest. God, I love this man.

Dinner was delicious. I never had Indian food before but I really loved the spices and the heat.

"Trace, this is delicious. Do you think I could learn how to make this or is it too complicated for my limited skills." I asked before I scooped up another mouthful.

"Yes, Ember, you could make this and you have more than a passing skill at cooking."

I looked up at him and grinned. "Will you teach me?"

He didn't answer right away as his expression turned tender and then he whispered, "I would love to."

"Me, too, I want to learn to cook, too."

Trace held my gaze a moment longer before he looked over at Chelsea. "Okay."

"Can I get my own apron and chef hat, maybe with my name on them?" Chelsea asked.

I smiled at her before I replied, "I think we can arrange that."