Hearts Awakened (8 page)

Oh man, she was dangerous to a guy’s sanity. She made him think about the stuff that scared him to death—trying to please her, getting close, making promises that involved forever. Maybe even doing the whole marriage and fatherhood route.

Hell, no. Never. No way would he go through that loss once more.

Look at Tick. Willing to risk his life because he couldn’t stand the thought of endangering Falconetti, because he knew without her life was nothing. Mark had ended up with nothing and he couldn’t chance that again. No matter how much Tori’s smile and the feel of her mouth under his made him want to.

Mark tried to straighten the knot in his tie. The lack of sleep lingered, making him feel like he slogged through mud. Biting back a frustrated growl, he tugged the tie loose and started over. He hated wearing a suit. Even moving to the next hole in his belt didn’t make up for this.

The buzz of a hair dryer next door filtered through the wall and he closed his eyes, gripping the ends of the tie. Wonder if she had one of those silky little robes? Or maybe did the hair and makeup thing in her undies. Oh God. He didn’t need this.

Opening his eyes, he attacked the tie again and finally subdued it into a neat knot. After securing his tie tack, he rapped on the connecting door.

The dryer stopped. “Yes?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m going to walk over to the office and get some coffee. When do you want me to meet you back here?”

“Um…I’m almost ready. I’ll just pick you up there. Okay?” A sleepy note husked her voice.

“You’re sure?”

“I can cross a parking lot by myself. I do it at Winn Dixie at least once a week, you know. Sheesh.” Irritation cleared the throaty tone.

He swallowed a laugh. “Sure. See you in a few.”

Outside, the morning remained still. San Marco Avenue held little traffic this early, foot or vehicle. A housekeeper pushed a cleaning cart along the second-story balcony. Mark eyed the sailboats bobbing in the bay. Now, that was the way to go. Tick could keep his bass boat.

If he lived long enough.

Mark shrugged off the thought. When he got home, he fully intended to knock some sense into Tick’s stubborn ass. He wasn’t waiting two weeks.

A different clerk manned the front desk this morning, a young blonde who smiled at him while she checked out an elderly couple. What the motel called a continental breakfast was laid out on a small table in the corner, next to a television playing the local morning news. He surveyed the selection of doughnuts, cinnamon rolls and mini-bagels. Shaking his head, he filled a foam cup with coffee and added artificial sweetener. He missed his creamer too.

Taking a cautious sip of the steaming liquid, he reached for a tiny whole-wheat bagel. A dry, probably stale bagel, with no cream cheese. Maybe he could pretend it was a breakfast sandwich from the Tank and Tummy, full of eggs, cheese, bacon and an artery-clogging amount of cholesterol.

“Is there any juice?” Tori asked behind him.

He clenched the bagel between his teeth and grabbed a sealed container of orange juice for her. When he turned to hand it to her, only his grip on the bagel kept his jaw from dropping. Oh, man.

“Thanks.” Tori took the plastic juice cup from his hand while he tried to catch his breath. He’d seen her dressed up before, for Tick’s wedding, but somehow the sea blue bridesmaid’s dress hadn’t done what this slim little black suit did. She’d pulled her hair up in a sleek knot and done something different to her eyes—a subtle makeup trick that made them bigger and darker. Tiny diamonds sparkled at her ears and the silvery white of her blouse shone against her skin.

Forget bagels and bacon sandwiches. She looked good enough to eat and he wanted her for breakfast.

She flicked a glance over the pastries and peeled the aluminum top off her juice. One bite of the bagel had been enough. Mark wrapped the remainder in a napkin and dropped it in the trashcan, all the while trying to stop staring. Her mouth glistened with a lush berry color, bottom lip looking a little fuller than usual. He glanced away and resisted the urge to loosen his tie.

Her soft laugh shivered over him. “This is worse than the first day of school. My stomach’s all in knots.”

He looked at her. Mouth pursed, she sipped her juice, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop at the corner of her lips. He cleared his throat. “You’ll do fine.”

“I’m addressing a roomful of cynical, bored cops. They’re gonna eat me alive.”

Probably every one of them would want to. “Trust me. They’ll hang on your every word.”

“Right.” She met his gaze and lifted her juice. “Ready?”

If she only knew. “When you are.”

He waved her ahead of him, as much from courtesy as to enjoy the view of her sweet rear end under the snug skirt. The bridesmaid’s dress hadn’t looked like that, either.

Settled in the passenger seat of the tiny car, he fastened his seatbelt and fought down the compulsion to brace against the dash. They were only going a few blocks. How dangerous could that be?

“What’s your presentation about?” He caught a whiff of her perfume, a blend of florals with some kind of spice, as she latched her own seatbelt.

She fired the engine. “The psychological importance of the first officer responding to a victim.”

Her voice didn’t change with the words. His chest tight, he darted a look at her. He’d been the first responding officer the night of her attack. It had been bad enough when he didn’t recognize her at first, even worse when he realized who the battered, bloody young woman was. She’d been hysterical and hyperventilating and his presence had made things worse. Finally, he’d called in a female officer.

She swung the Miata into the light morning traffic trickling down San Marco Avenue. Mark stared out the window, the sailboats and Bridge of Lions passing in a blur. He’d been no good for her then and the same was true now. So he needed to quit thinking about how she looked in that suit, how she smelled, how incredibly sweet it had been to kiss her.

“I never forgot that, you know,” she said, her voice soft and a little shaky. “You being there.”

He couldn’t look at her. Nothing about that memory could be good, and right now, he wasn’t sure he was capable of handling her pain, not when he was tied to it, however indirectly. He didn’t want to be associated with that night in her head.

They remained wrapped in silence until they reached the conference center.

“Okay, this is it.” She fussed with her keys and purse as she spoke, the words too bright.

“Yeah.” Mark unfolded himself from the car. She glanced at the contemporary building, adjusted her suit and smiled at him, the corners of her mouth trembling. “You sure you want to do this?”

She shook her head, but the tremulous smile remained in place. “I have to, though.”

Damn, she was brave. He followed her up the brick walkway and around a fountain into the conference center. She touched his arm briefly. “I’m going to see the director. You probably need to check in.”

He watched her walk away, muscles flexing in her calves above stylish heels. A couple of young uniformed officers glanced her way and exchanged male looks. He turned away. Yeah, once that particular sleeping beauty woke up, she wouldn’t have any trouble finding a real prince.

Bothered more by that thought than he wanted to admit, he headed for the registration table. It shouldn’t get to him—he was a frog, plain and simple, and that one kiss sure hadn’t transformed him into prince material.

He checked in, collected a name tag and packet of brochures, and wandered into the main conference room. Half the tables were full already, but he managed to claim a seat near the back, almost hidden in a corner. During the next fifteen minutes, the rest of the seats filled. He doodled on the corner of his conference folder, drawing three-dimensional cubes and placing his initials inside.

The lights dimmed once and brightened again, the chatter in the room dying. The conference director took center stage and the microphone to offer a welcome and opening remarks. Mark tossed his pen down and leaned back in his chair, trying to quell the nerves jumping under his skin. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to hear Tori delve into the demons of her past in front of a room full of strangers.

“Our first presenter is Victoria Calvert, director of the Chandler County Women’s Crisis Center in Coney, Georgia.”

Polite applause greeted Tori’s presence at the microphone. She smiled, appearing poised and serene. “Thank you. Studies have shown that the initial handling of a rape case directly impacts the victim’s recovery…”

With that opening, she launched into a review of statistics and research. The guy next to Mark yawned and several people in his vicinity shifted. Mark frowned. She’d done her homework and God knew her topic was important. But she was losing them.

“C’mon, Tori,” he whispered. She was capable of so much more than this dry recitation of facts.

In the middle of a sentence, she paused, glanced down at the note cards she held and shook her head. “You know what? Let’s get rid of these.”

The cards landed with a small thud on the front table. The officers there sat up a little straighter. Tori shrugged out of her suit jacket, laying it across the back of a vacant chair onstage.

“That’s better.” She removed the microphone from the stand. “I’m just going to start over. I’m Tori Calvert and seven years ago I was raped.”

The room rippled with murmurs and the shifting of people coming to attention. Mark’s gut clenched.

“Let me tell you what I remember. I remember the dark and the mud. I remember my rapist’s sweat hitting my face, and his knife slipping and cutting me.” She ran a finger over the slight scar below her jaw. Mark wanted to look away, but he was as drawn in as everyone else in the suddenly silent room. “I remember the pain and the terror, being afraid to die and wanting to die so it would be over, all at the same time.”

Head bent, she paused. Nobody moved. She lifted her head and scanned the room in a slow movement. Her gaze caught Mark’s and held. “I remember the first cop on scene, the one who did everything he could to help me.”

His eyes burned, but he couldn’t look away for anything. She moistened her lips and a swallow moved the muscles in her throat. “A rape victim has had everything—her control, her safety, her privacy—ripped away. If you’re the first officer on scene, you become the first one to help her begin regaining those precious things. Your actions and demeanor are crucial to her recovery. As I said earlier, studies have shown…”

Her voice washed over him, and for the next hour, every person in the room hung on her every word. The question-and-answer session lasted another forty-five minutes, and when that was over, individual officers waited to speak with her. Mark leaned against the wall at the back of the room. He felt exposed and raw, as if every nerve in his body had been laid bare.

Finally, she made her way toward him. She didn’t smile, her gaze clinging to his. Pride tightened his chest and he wanted to wrap her close, whisper against her hair how wonderful she’d been.

Whoa, hold up, Cook. That’s not your place. It won’t ever be. Remember that. She is not for you.

He didn’t push away from the wall, kept his hands in his pockets as she reached him. “Great job up there.”

She faltered, confusion darkening her eyes. “Thank you.”

He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got a few minutes before the next session begins. You want a drink or something?”

Still bearing that lost expression, she shook her head. “No, but—”

“Mark? Is that you?” The gruff voice was too familiar. Mark stiffened. No, not now. Deal with this after listening to Tori’s account?

She glanced to his left, polite expectancy replacing the confusion. He was trapped; there would be no getting out of this. Straightening, Mark turned to face the demons of his own past.

Mark didn’t look any more comfortable—his eyes glinting with an inner tempest, the skin around the tight line of his mouth white. Tori frowned as the older man stepped back. Her recollections wouldn’t have given Mark that haunted look.

“It sure is good to see you, son.” The man slapped Mark on the back. “I know I haven’t called this year, but—”

“There’s nothing new to say,” Mark finished for him with a too-nonchalant shrug.

Discomfort flashed over the distinguished features. “Afraid so.” He glanced in Tori’s direction. “Young lady, that was a fine presentation. Gutsy too.”

“Thank you.” She fiddled with the opal ring gracing her right hand and flicked a glance at Mark. He stared over her shoulder, his face a pale mask. She extended her hand to the older man. “Tori Calvert.”

His tanned fingers, with neatly trimmed nails, engulfed hers. “Glenn Rigsby, Preston PD.”

Mark cleared his throat, seeming to regain his senses. His eyes resumed their sharp focus, but the line of his mouth remained tight. “I worked for Glenn when I first went into law enforcement. He’s the chief.”

“Really?” She smiled. “I bet you could tell some interesting stories, Chief Rigsby.”

“Call me Glenn. Everyone does.” His grin widened, a mischievous twinkle lighting his blue eyes. “Except my wife when she’s put out with me.”

Tori laughed. “I bet that’s not often, sir.”

“I like her, Mark. You should keep this one.”

Her breath caught and her gaze tangled with Mark’s. He shook his head. “She’s not mine, Chief. I’m just standing in for her brother.”

She looked away. Glenn harrumphed. “Anyway, you should come out to the house tonight. Myra wants to cook up a low country boil and she’d love to see you.”

Arms folded over her waist, Tori eyed the milling officers rather than look at Mark’s face as he tried to dodge the invitation. He was so closed to her, to any thoughts of them together. Who could blame him? She’d just laid bare all the baggage she came with. Every time he looked at her, he had to see her as she’d been that night, huddling under a rough blanket, unable to control the sobbing screams.

No matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t normal anymore. She had formed some sense of normalcy in her life, but she simply couldn’t approach a relationship the way Layla or Autry or any of her other friends did. What man wanted to take that on?

She’d better start looking for that cat.

“Well, at least come for a drink, then. I swear, son, if Myra finds out you were down here and you don’t come by, it’ll break her heart.”

Genuine affection lit Mark’s eyes. “We’ll see.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. Six o’clock tonight. Don’t be late.” Glenn nodded at Tori once more. “Nice to meet you, Miss Calvert.”

“You too.” After Glenn had disappeared into the crowd, she dared a glance at Mark. A frown darkened his face and her fake smile disappeared completely. “Don’t feel you have to not go on my account. I can hang out at the motel, order pizza and watch a movie or something.”

Her words seemed to shake him out of some faraway world. He looked at her, his gaze sharp. “It’s not you. Myra would love you.”

“Then what’s the problem?” She bit her lip. Again, she was pushing. She couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone with him—she wanted to know everything. More than anything, she wanted that haunted look out of his eyes, wanted the same, old easygoing Mark back.

“No problem.”

Yes, she’d aggravated him again, his voice short and terse. She fidgeted with the hem of her jacket. Obviously, she couldn’t do anything right where he was concerned. She glanced at her watch. “If you change your mind about going, just say so. I’ve got to get moving, though. The workshop I’m attending starts in a couple of minutes. Oh, and go to lunch without me. I want to talk to the director here and I’ll grab some crackers or something.”

Without waiting for a reply, she hurried away.

Eyes closed, Tori lay on the hard motel bed. The hot shower hadn’t eased the tension any. The memories lurked beneath the surface, pulsing, alive. Tears clogged her throat. Usually, she could face the remembrance of what had happened head-on, but this evening, she just wanted it all to go away.

You ever had one like that? One that big? Huh? You like it, don’t you?

Billy Reese’s voice, harsh and grunting, echoed in her head, his words underscored with her own torn whimpers. Her stomach pitched and she clapped her hands over her ears, one part of her mind cringing at the childish gesture. Nothing could make that voice disappear. Sometimes it went away for days at a time, but it always came back. Even locked up for life, Reese still spoke to her. The bars at the state prison in Reidsville couldn’t keep him out of her head.

The tears spilled over.

She pulled the edges of her terry cloth robe closer and cried. With a pillow muffling her sobs, she struggled against the searing hurt in her chest. She’d tried so hard to rebuild her life, to be
normal
again, and with a handful of sentences that afternoon, she was right back where she’d started.

A soft knock on the connecting door broke into her misery. “Tori?”

Gulping in air, she sat up and fought for an ordinary voice. “Yes?”

A long pause stretched. “Glenn called. He and Myra are pretty insistent about us coming to dinner. How do you feel about low country boil?”

She rubbed at her wet, burning eyes. Let anyone see her like this? With her stomach trembling, she pulled her knees to her chest. “You go. I have a headache and I think I’ll stay in.”

“Tori, open the door please. I feel stupid talking through a slab of wood.” His voice gentled and took on a soothing note.

He didn’t have to. They’d left the darn thing unlocked, but obviously he wouldn’t open it without permission. After a weary moment of indecision, she dragged herself from the bed and pushed damp hair away from her face. Clutching the lapels of her robe closed, she swung the door open and stared up at him, biting her bottom lip to stop its trembling. He did a double take, but his gaze never left her face. His own features softened.

He lifted one hand, as if to stroke her cheek, but gripped the doorframe instead. When he didn’t touch her, an achy disappointment settled in her.

“Some fresh air would probably do you good,” he said, his voice quiet. “And some food. You didn’t eat lunch, did you?”

She’d tried, but hadn’t been able to touch the chicken salad sandwich. Clutching the lapels tighter, she shook her head.

“Listen, you’ll like Myra and Glenn. If you stay here, the memories will drive you nuts. Come on. Toss something on and come with me.”

“I don’t—”

“Tori.” He tapped his fingers against the doorframe in a fluid motion. “You don’t need to hide tonight. Come with me.”

She stared at him a long time. Really, how much worse could it be? He was right. If she stayed in, she’d spend the evening wrapped in memories that would only hurt her. She tunneled a hand through her hair. “Okay. Just give me a few minutes to pull myself together.”

This whole idea had probably been a major mistake.

Mark slanted a surreptitious look at Tori in the driver’s seat. The entire drive out to Glenn and Myra’s, she’d clutched the steering wheel in an unyielding grip, her shoulders shaken by tremulous, intermittent exhales. Maybe he should have let her stay in, after all.

Except the idea of leaving her alone with the recollections he knew were stampeding through her head didn’t sit well. With her face wet with pained tears, he couldn’t abandon her to the past like that.

Her cell phone rang, for the third time since they’d left the hotel, and her body went even tighter. The first two calls had been from Falconetti and Layla, respectively, checking in on her after the day’s presentation. Their intentions were good, Mark was sure, but they were only making things worse.

She didn’t need concern. She needed to forget for a while.

On a hitching sigh, she lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

He cringed as she swerved. Man, she shouldn’t be allowed to have a cell in her car at all.

“It went okay.” She drifted a little over the center line as they went into the curve. “I’m fine. Really. Autry, I said I was fine. Mark and I are…what? Yes. To dinner with some friends of his. Listen, I’ll talk to you later. Kiss Gabby for me. Bye.”

She dropped the phone in the console and resumed her silent, double-handed death grip on the wheel. Less than a mile later, the pink rectangle rang again.

“Good Lord.” She fished it out of the console, glanced at it and let it drop once more. She didn’t glance in Mark’s direction. “Tick. I can’t talk to him right now.”

He got that. As close as the siblings were, faced with Tick’s gentle concern, she’d probably fall apart within seconds.

Clearing his throat, he pointed at the familiar turnoff with the brick mailbox. “This is it, on the left.”

On something that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle, she swung into the concrete drive. The weathered Cracker-style house with its cedar siding and tin roof sat back from the road, sheltered by moss-laden oaks. Beyond the dwelling, he caught glimpses of the salt marshes and on the deck, he could see Glenn tending a huge pot atop the outdoor stove. A sense of coming home flooded him and lodged a knot of emotion in his throat. Damn, he’d missed this place, missed Glenn and Myra. Funny how he hadn’t realized it until now.

Tori parked and killed the engine. She flexed her fingers on the wheel. “Great house.”

“Yeah. Glenn built it himself.”

“Wow.” She tugged the keys from the ignition and tossed them in her bag. “He seems like a nice man.”

“The best.” There it was again, the melancholy impression that he’d lied when he told Tori he didn’t have family here anymore.

She puffed out a breath and smoothed her hair from her face with both hands, still edgy and rattled. He hooked his hand around her nape and pulled her slightly toward him. He rubbed soothing circles over the silky skin under her hair.

“Hey, relax.” He met her startled gaze, and realization of what he was doing set in. Even so, he didn’t move his hand but continued trying to relieve the strain tautening her neck. “Myra and Glenn are the most easygoing people you’d ever want to meet. It’ll be all right, I promise.”

“You said the same thing, that night.” The words seemed torn from her. Her throat moved in a hard swallow. “I didn’t have anything else to hold on to, I couldn’t get myself together, so I kept replaying those words in my head, that you’d promised me it would be all right.”

“Hell, Tori.” He let his hand fall away, gripped his knees hard. Being tied up with that night in her head made him sick. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything. It’s me…it’s talking about it today.” She touched her forehead with a pair of fingers. “I’m having partial flashbacks and all the details are in my head. I can deal. I just need some time to compartmentalize it again.”

Damn it all, what was he supposed to say? To do? There existed absolutely no words to make this better for her.

She lowered her hand. “We should go up to the house. Sitting here in the driveway probably looks kind of weird.”

“Yeah.” Her voice had been small, uncertain, and it ate at him. He caught her chin in a gentle grip. “Tori, I’m sorry.”

It was the best he could come up with and it was woefully inadequate. Sorry for what? Reese’s brutality? Her pain today? His own inefficacy? Hell if he even knew anymore.

“I know.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist in a light circle. “Thank you.”

She stared at him and the air thickened around them. Intense awareness spread out from the feathery contact of her fingertips on his skin. His gaze fell to her mouth, the bottom lip quivering almost imperceptibly. Her hold on his arm tightened; he leaned forward, his heart thundering into his throat.

Movement and color flashed beyond the windshield and Tori startled with a muffled yelp. She pressed against the door, a palm spread over her heart, her face pale. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

“No, it’s just Myra.” In a bright pink sweater, she hurried across the yard, her face lit with welcome and joy. His own heart lifted, but he shot a concerned look at Tori’s pallor and wide eyes.

A sound that was more snort than laugh emerged from her lips. He squeezed her hand and released her. “Come on. Let’s go.”

He opened his door and unfolded from the car, intending to get Tori’s door as well. Instead, he found himself catching Myra close as she launched herself at him.

“Oh, Mark. We’ve missed you.” She hugged him hard, her face pressed to his shoulder.

The lump was back in his throat, whether from the sweetness of this reunion, his exchange with Tori, or both, he wasn’t sure. He tightened his arms. “You too.”