With Every Breath (15 page)

Once, after a late shift at the diner, she'd left at two in the morning to walk to the home of the elderly woman she sat for during the day and had been blocked by two potheads, high as a kite and looking to score with an easy target. They'd already reserved a room at the seedy motel and had been waiting in the shadows for her to cross their path.

Thomas, who'd been courting Eliza for several weeks, had materialized out of nowhere and quickly put the fear of God in the two drug addicts, threatening to tear them apart if they so much as looked at Eliza again.

Thomas had a mild manner about him. He didn't appear to be a badass capable of taking down one, much less two, drug users strung out on God only knew what, but there was something in the way he carried himself, the absolute confidence and determination that made others steer clear of him. The men that is.

Women were utterly charmed by him, and Eliza had been no exception. She'd found it wildly romantic and sweet that he would defend her so veraciously and then sweep her into his protection, vowing that no harm would ever come to her. And so he'd eaten supper at the diner most nights and sat in the corner until Eliza got off and then he'd walk her back to the house of the woman she sat for, with stern instructions to rest and be careful.

Oh how easy a target she'd been. Even without his psychic abilities, he would have manipulated her with ease. It wasn't difficult for a young girl who had nothing and came from nothing to be overwhelmed by a handsome older man who genuinely seemed to care about her and respect her. He embodied everything she'd never had, never hoped to have, but wanted with everything in her young romantic heart.

He'd been the consummate gentleman, never acting inappropriately, but then he had the benefit of knowing her thoughts, her cynicism and her doubts and so he knew exactly what not to do in order not to lose her faith in him. She'd never had a chance once he'd targeted her. Every action, movement, thought or gesture carefully orchestrated by plucking what she feared most and longed for most right out of her head.

If only she'd known then that when it seemed too good to be true, too perfect, then it very likely was. The woman she was now would never be so coerced or manipulated. She'd call bullshit before a man like Thomas even opened his mouth.

She despised smooth, polished men as a result and avoided them above all else. It was why it had taken her considerable time—and effort—to let her guard down with Dane and allow herself to trust someone—a man—again. Because for all his brusque mannerisms and abrupt speech and nature, Dane screamed wealth, power and polish. And an air of confidence that was tangible to anyone around him.

Just like . . .
Wade Sterling
. Goddamn it, she had to stop allowing him into her thoughts! Her lip curled just thinking of the cretin and his blatant blackmail and then the stunt he'd pulled at her apartment. Pretending he gave a damn. For one infinitesimal moment she'd actually been convinced that he
was
concerned about her and that he
was
furious at her for not taking better care of herself.

She snorted. Never again was she falling for that crap. Some lessons were simply learned only to be forgotten. Others were branded so deep that they were etched on your soul, never to be dismissed and damn sure never to be repeated.

She didn't doubt he was attracted to her or at least had a healthy dose of lust but maybe he got off on being turned down flat. Who the hell knew with a man like him. But sex and actual caring were not even in the same stratosphere.

Like Dane, Sterling exuded the same wealth, power and polish, only with a . . . rougher edge. She'd never been able to put her finger on it until right now, but she realized it wasn't practiced polish. He simply didn't give a fuck. He was just that confident, and so much arrogance made Eliza want to stab something. Preferably him. Dane was similar in attitude as far as not giving a fuck about what people thought about him, but he'd go to the wall for the few people he cared about. She had no idea what Sterling's agenda was nor did she care to find out.

Both men were dangerous and anyone would be a fool to ever think otherwise. Her brow furrowed because in all honesty, they were, in fact, very similar.

So why the hell did she trust Dane with her life, love him like a brother and have his back, no questions asked—ever—and yet the mere sight of Sterling immediately got her hackles up?

In the beginning, she'd found irritating him a great source of amusement but then he'd started turning it back around on her and she couldn't back off quickly enough. She'd questioned herself a thousand times. Had she unwittingly encouraged him? Did he think that hurling insults and taking him down a notch or two was her way of flirting? Did he think she was coming on to him? Worse, did he think she was interested because of his wealth and obvious connections?

The last thing she wanted was to become involved with a man. Especially a man like Wade. She'd been no match for Thomas and time and distance had given her a lot of perspective and it wasn't that Thomas was that skilled. She'd just been lonely and starved for human contact. She'd wanted love. Were it not for Thomas's psychic abilities, he would have been an epic failure at seducing her—or so she insisted, as a way to console herself. And if she was walking, drenched in the rain, admitting that she had been no match for Thomas, then what the hell did that say about her chances against Sterling?

He'd eat her alive and spit her out in pieces, with or without psychic abilities. He'd certainly called her out on a hell of a lot during his tantrum days earlier, so the man was intuitive and underestimating him would be the height of stupidity. But those weren't things she hadn't already known. She'd just made it a regular practice to never be in the same vicinity as him so she could exist in blissful ignorance. Wow, apparently some lessons
weren't
learned.

She shook her head, pissed that even now, thousands of miles away, Sterling was fucking with her head every bit as much as Thomas had. Obviously men weren't the problem.
She
was. She was a head case around them and clearly she must have a neon stamp on her forehead that flashed
gullible
in bold letters, because she always attracted the deviants and assholes, Sterling fitting the latter description. Or maybe the former too. How the hell would she know? It was already established her taste in men was deplorable.

As she neared the small, one-bedroom house where downtown faded to nothing but county roads, open fields and houses and trailers scattered haphazardly across the landscape, her stomach cramped and she automatically rubbed her hand over her chest in an effort to quell the panic and anxiety that screamed to be let loose and had become harder each day to keep restrained as she neared the beginning of the end.

She'd purposely turned off her cell phone for two reasons. One, she wasn't stupid, and just because the Devereauxs or Dane didn't announce that the cell phones provided by the company were equipped with sophisticated tracking devices, didn't mean they weren't, and if she used it, she may as well stand in the town square with a bullhorn and announce to the world she was here.

The second was that once Gracie received Eliza's letter—if she hadn't already—all bets were off and her phone would be blowing the hell up around the clock. Dane's request to stay in touch with only him bought her the necessary few days to make her escape before Gracie got the letter. In the meantime, she was supposed to be getting herself back together.

She almost laughed, an incongruous feeling when her heart literally felt like it was splintering apart because she'd
never
been together. She was who she was out of necessity and because of that promise she'd made all those years ago. She lived with that reminder every single day. Not a night went by that she didn't think about taking Thomas out for good, but she always stopped there, because what happened afterward was out of her control and all that mattered was that the world would be rid of one more monster.

She trudged up to the dilapidated cottage the owner had been only too happy to rent to Eliza by the week. At most, two weeks was all she needed because she was now only two days from Thomas's release, and he'd come for her.

As she unlocked her door to quietly slip inside, a sound snapped her from the oppressive weight of her thoughts and she reacted sluggishly, acknowledging helplessly that she was useless like this. She possessed none of the skills and instincts she'd spent years honing to perfection. How could she expect to face Thomas and ruthlessly kill him in cold blood when she was a walking zombie?

She reached for the knife tucked inside the sleeve of her jacket. It was the only weapon she could take into the small downtown area without drawing attention to herself and that wasn't on the agenda . . . yet.

Before she had it opened and assumed a defensive stance, familiar strong arms wrapped around her body, effectively rendering her immobile.

Sterling?

His strength was a thing of awe. She wasn't huge in stature, but she was strong for her size and she was quick—usually. But power coiled and simmered from his large frame, as did the seething heat of his fury.

And then the unthinkable registered, creeping through the sluggish mush of her mind. Sterling. Here. In Calvary. Not just in the town, but in the house she'd rented.
Seen
and
associated
with her.

A low moan of anguish tore from her throat because now, if she failed, one more person would be added to the list of those Thomas would kill for the unpardonable sin of being in Eliza's life, regardless of the capacity.

Her knees buckled and she plunged downward only to be hauled up and held firmly against the muscled wall of his chest. She pressed her hands over her face, feeling the hot tears already leaking from her eyes. No, no, no! She couldn't lose it now. She couldn't break. Not when she was so close to the end game. She had to keep it together!

“You have to go,” she said, grief heavy in her voice. “
Hurry!
Get out before anyone knows you've been here and then he'll never know you have any connection to me.”

She looked him straight in the eyes, lifting her chin, uncaring of her obvious vulnerability or the humiliation of tears flooding her eyes and this time she was fully aware of the name she used.

“God,
please
, Wade. I'm begging you. Save yourself and
get out!”

NINE

WADE
was so stunned that all he could do was haul Eliza's shaking body against his own, anchoring himself so they both didn't end up on the floor. Any and all thoughts of giving her a blistering outburst of just what he thought of her disappearance instantly fled, because she looked as though she was on the verge of completely shattering.

If she hadn't already. And judging by what he'd just witnessed, he'd say she was already beyond
shattered
. She was
broken
. Something painful and vicious twisted in his gut, tightening his chest as fury rolled over him like a tidal wave. Not at her but at whatever the fuck had done this to the strongest, most infuriating, solid,
selfless
woman he'd ever known.

Sudden guilt—another unfamiliar emotion—hit him hard as he remembered hurling accusations at Eliza. Selfish. Bitch. Ungrateful. Hurting Gracie by distancing herself. He should have known—he had known—that she wasn't capable of those things. He should have known that her acting so out of character meant something was
very
wrong.

She was huddled in his arms curling into the smallest possible ball, as if she wanted to disappear all together, but what threatened to totally unhinge him was the fact that tears were streaking down her face as her body heaved with violent, silent sobs. She was shaking so hard that it took all his strength just to maintain his already rock hard hold on her.

He thought he'd been prepared this time. After the shock of their last meeting when he'd seen panic and vulnerability and lastly
fear
in her eyes, he hadn't thought it could get any worse. But Eliza curled into his arms, her fragility broadcasting in intense waves and tears running in never-ending streams, soaking his shirt, depriving him of all rational thought. Even his pulse stuttered, pain shooting through his chest as he witnessed the heartbreaking sight of this beautiful, strong woman in fragmented shards of utter despair.

Nostrils flaring, his head came up, his eyes narrowed in rage. He kicked the door shut and then swept Eliza into the only room in the house that didn't have a window. He needed to get her to a secure location immediately, but his first priority had to be . . .

Fuck! He'd never felt so helpless in his life. He couldn't deny that he'd savored the thought of, and had fantasized about how it would feel, when she was finally in his arms, her softness melded to his body, but never at this high a price. Not this way.

Broken
. Fucking broken and in so many pieces that he feared he couldn't put her back together.

Eyes so dull and a look of hopelessness he'd never imagined seeing on Eliza's face.

He wanted her in his goddamn arms because she
wanted
to be there and because the fierce battle of wills between them erupted and desire they
both
felt was acted on.
Not
because there was nowhere else for her to go and because he happened to be present at the precise moment she fell apart.

In no way could he remain aloof and purposely antagonize her and act the part he'd played for the last months. He sank down on the small sofa that lined an inside wall and tenderly enfolded her once more into his embrace, but even taking care to be gentle, his grip was fierce and unyielding, giving her no choice of escaping.