Out Of Her League (16 page)

Rayne took it from him, stared at it. Him and Christa at her surprise party a few days ago. He had his arm around her shoulders, and they were gazing at each other, laughing. Teryl had taken it. He'd bought her the frame for her birthday gift. And her neighbor had given her a yellow raincoat for Jake. That's what they were laughing at in the photo. She'd put it in the frame he'd given her and set it next to her bed. The implications squeezed his heart, reminding him of Teryl's warning about not hurting her.

He shrugged. “Never seen it before.”

“Might be nothing. Seemed odd that it was displayed like that, though. Everything else around the bed was trashed.”

Rayne clenched his fists. Bad enough that she had been attacked in her own bed, in the house she loved more than anything. A hundred times worse to know that she may have looked at that photo picture and seen him, to imagine how helpless she'd been while she stared into his eyes in the picture. His skin crawled.

“Have them get rid of that mattress. I'll buy a new one for her. New sheets, all of that.” He wanted it all gone before she came home. If she ever came home. He wouldn't blame her for never setting foot here again.

“Sure thing. Tell her we're doing everything we can, okay?”

Whatever they were doing, it would never be enough. For him, or for her. On rubbery legs he headed for his car, was halfway down her driveway when an elderly man flagged him down. Patrick, Christa's neighbor. They'd met at her birthday party.

“Will she be all right, lad?”

“I think so. I saw her at the hospital, but— ”

“When they catch the bastard, I hope he never sees the light of day again.” His voice caught. “Who would do such a thing to her? She's such a lovely lass, never has a harsh word for anybody. The kindest person we've ever known, the wife and me.”

The hot, quick rage swept through him again and he fought it down, had to get control. She needed him to be her rock.

“You'll watch over her for us, won't you? Let us know how she is.”

“Sure will. And thanks for... for what you did.”

He couldn't think about what might have happened had Patrick not shown up. Right now all he wanted was to see Christa again. What should he say to her? What
could
he say to her? His imagination kept conjuring up all sorts of images. He had to get a grip on himself so he could be there to soothe her, comfort her. The memory of her big blue eyes formed in his head, haunted eyes filled with pain. He wanted to kill that goddamned animal with his bare hands.

Christa awoke stiff and sore. Where was she? In the hospital? It hit her like a Mack truck, each detail flashing through her brain like a movie. Shock held her immobile. Had it really happened to her?

She curled into a fetal position, wincing at the throbbing from the rope burns on her wrists and ankles, the sting on her cheek where he'd hit her. Between her legs was only a tender, bruised feeling. It made her feel sick when she thought of it.

The TV was tuned to a local newscast, the newscaster reporting an aggravated assault, asking the public for information that might lead to the whereabouts of a dangerous sexual predator, possibly armed, described as medium build, gray-eyed and bald. Watching it felt surreal, as if it had happened to someone else.

Well, at least they were trying hard to find him. She huddled deeper under the blankets. Cold, she was so cold.

A knock sounded and Rayne opened the door.

“Hi,” she said, sitting up straighter as he came toward her.

“Hey kiddo.” He bent down to hug her gently.

“You didn't have to come back,” she breathed, pressing close to him. The instant their bodies had touched she'd felt safer.
He
would never hurt her.

“Of course I did. I'm only sorry I couldn't get here sooner.” He lifted a hand to touch her face but she recoiled, hiding it from his view. “Let me see, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his eyes full of concern as he tilted her chin and studied her. She felt so self-conscious, hated that he could see the ugly bruises forming on her cheeks and jaw. He pressed a kiss to her temple and tightened his arms around her with a heavy sigh. “I can't stand it that the sick bastard did this to you.”

She tensed, trying to absorb the security of his arms, the warmth from his body that seeped into her, his scent. He was familiar, trustworthy— the only person she welcomed such close physical contact with. She laid her head on his wide chest and breathed him in, savoring his strength. All too soon he pulled away.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No thanks.” She made room for him beside her on the bed and tugged at her sleeves, trying to hide the bandages circling her wrists.

“So, is there anything new to report?”

“Not yet. Nate's working your case, so he'll be right on it. A description's been issued throughout Canada and the western U.S.” Her eyelids flinched. “Sweetheart, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

She stared down at her hands. “I shouldn't have even gone outside, but I thought... well, I guess I wasn't really thinking at all, was I?”

He took her hand in his. “This was
not
your fault, Christa. None of it was.” He rubbed her arm in silent sympathy. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“Rayne?” She fought the wave of shyness, tentatively meeting the concern in his eyes. The words did not come easily for her, and she doubted they ever would again. “Would you hold me?” When his brows rose, her confidence faltered. “Just for a little while.”

But Rayne was already moving. He scooped her up, blankets and all, went dead still when she gasped and stiffened. “Sorry. I'm fine.” As if she was made of porcelain, he lifted her out of the little nest she'd created in her hospital bed and set her on his lap. Giving the impression he needed the comfort of holding her as much as she did, he enveloped her, cradling her against him.

Christa sighed in relief at the sense of instant security, even though it was only a temporary illusion. Rayne was so warm, her mythological knight in shining armor. She snuggled closer, reveling in the way his muscles moved as he shifted to hold her more tightly, surrounding her body with his. She couldn't remember being held so wonderfully before. Her head rested in the hollow of his shoulder, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady under her cheek. It soothed her. Her eyes closed in reverence. “I tried to fight him,” she whispered, battling the shame crawling over her. Rayne's muscles went rigid under her cheek.

She should have fought harder. She should have tried something else. “I did some of the things you taught me, but he was... he was too strong.” She swallowed as she thought about it. Only a little taller than her, and he'd overpowered her with laughable ease. “And then I was too scared to fight anymore. I thought maybe I was making it better for him by struggling, so I stopped. Tried to play dead.” But then he'd—

Rayne's troubled sigh cut off the terrible memory. He hugged her tighter. “You couldn't have done anything to stop it, sweetheart. Don't blame yourself.” Gentle fingers caressed the curve of her cheekbone. “When you're discharged I'm taking you home with me,” he informed her. “It's the safest place for you right now. But nowhere around here is safe enough, so if you're up to it we could drive down to the beach house in Lincoln City in the morning.”

“Nate's place, in Oregon?”

“You got it. I think taking you away for a while's the best thing. Just for a few days, until they catch him.”

Just for a few days, he says, as if it's nothing. Only the two of them. Alone. She swallowed. “I called Michael this morning. He wants me to fly back east and stay with him.”

“Up to you. That's an option.”

But even though she loved Michael to pieces, she'd prefer he didn't see her like this. She'd rather be with Rayne, although she had no idea how she was supposed to be alone with him and pretend she only wanted to be his friend. “I thought Nate has to take my statement and all that.”

“He said he'll come and do it at my place when you're ready.”

What else was there to say? She refused to put Teryl and Drew in danger again by returning to their place, and no way could she go home, even if she wanted to. She wouldn't be in control of her life anytime soon, so she'd better get used to it. “I guess... Lincoln City sounds okay to me.”

He tightened his arms and drew her head back down, as if willing her to draw comfort from his strength. She sighed and burrowed into his chest like a lost kitten in need of affection. Curling as close as she could, she found the courage to ask the question that frightened her the most. “Do you think they'll catch him?” The fear she tried to conceal in her voice made it unsteady.

“Oh, yeah. They'll catch him, sweetheart, and soon.”

His assurance left a hollow feeling in her stomach. If he was prepared to drive her all the way down to Oregon in an attempt to keep her safe, he must consider her stalker a major threat. Which meant he was putting himself at risk for her sake, and she would never forgive herself if something happened to Rayne because of her. Battling nerves and fatigue, she made herself take a calming breath and focus on the man holding her, trusting him to keep vigil, and let herself drift off to sleep.

Rayne had never felt so protective of anyone as he gazed down at her battered face, cradling her as tightly as he dared. He knew he eventually had to let her go, but hated like hell to do it. He'd feel like he was deserting her.

What had she gone through? The devastation in her bedroom had chilled his soul. At least the doc had confirmed that she hadn't been raped, so he wouldn't have to think of her being violated that way.

In her quiet manner she was strong, probably stronger than anyone else he knew. How did that saying go? ‘Still waters run deep.’ He didn't question whether or not she'd recover from her ordeal. Christa was a survivor. From what she'd confided to him so far, she'd lived through an emotionally traumatic childhood and a devastating breakup, and despite everything had triumphed. She would overcome this as well. It would be tough as hell but they'd take it day by day, and he'd be right there with her.

When he was sure she wouldn't wake up, he eased her back onto the bed and covered her carefully with the blankets, wondering if his words had comforted her at all. He'd tried to reassure her without giving her unrealistic promises. He could only hope they would catch her attacker before he got to her again. Because sure as hell, he was going to try. Stalkers always did.

He'd made the news. Seated on the sofa in his immaculate living room pressing an ice pack to his face, Seth watched transfixed as the pretty newscaster gave vague details of the attack while his name and picture filled the screen. She described him as a dangerous sexual predator. The slow-witted cops were finally on to him. The rush hit him like a heroin fix.

No wonder people became infatuated with their own fame, obsessed with replicating their crimes, striving for unattainable perfection. But fame was addictive, a drug that would lead to his capture if he let it. He debated risking upping the stakes and drawing more attention to himself.

Maybe he wouldn't need to. They must have finally found a smidgen of a fingerprint and run it through their fossil of a computer system. Carelessness on his part, but it had taken them long enough. How much more did they know? Did they have DNA evidence on him, despite all his precautions? She'd clawed him across the cheek, so maybe they'd found a sample under her fingernails. And when her elbow had smashed into his face his nose had bled enough to leave a good sample, so maybe they'd already made a match. Were they finally putting the pieces together?

No matter. He loved taunting them. They'd come closer than they knew to catching him two years ago, and here he was, still a free man. Fucking idiots, all of them.

He needed to lie low now— that was the smart thing to do. But his fantasy had been interrupted. He didn't take the failure lightly.

Christa was still out there. Did she savor each sweet breath she took, knowing how precious life was? Did the sky look bluer and the air feel fresher now that she'd had a glimpse of her fate? It wasn't over. He couldn't abide leaving loose threads. They had a way of tripping you up.

“This is all yours?” Christa glanced around Rayne's penthouse suite.

“Yep.” He took her jacket and laid it over a chair in the black granite and stainless steel kitchen. She peeked into the family room and found the requisite big-screen TV in the corner, surrounded by black leather couches and a matching La-Z-Boy chair. A glass-topped coffee table with stainless steel legs stood in the middle of the carpet.
See
? her brain chimed in.
Yet another reason why we're completely incompatible
. She did her best to repress a shudder at the décor. What was it with men and black leather furniture, anyway?

“You hungry?”

More than anything she was dead tired and wanted to go to sleep, but Nate was coming over to take her statement. With nerves jumping in her stomach, she doubted if anything would sit well. “No, thanks.”

“Let's get you settled then, and we'll watch a ballgame until Nate gets here.”

“Okay.” She followed him down the cream Berber-carpeted hallway to what must have been the spare room. He placed her bag next to the queen-sized bed covered in an emerald duvet, smiling at her in the mirrored closet on the far wall.

“This all right?”

“Great.”

“Bathroom's across the hall, and I'm right next door.”

Yeah, like she needed to be reminded of that. Despite everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, she still would have loved to snuggle up in bed beside him, purely for the physical reassurance of being protected. Not that she could get much safer than she was now, in a secure condominium with a cop to protect her.

“You seem like you've got something on your mind.”

She opened her mouth, closed it. “I was just... ” Thinking about things she ought not to be thinking about. “I'm still a little dazed, I guess. Sorry.”