Anna Leigh Keaton & Madison Layle - Incognito 04 - Healing Heather Page 8

  “My goodness,” Beth said with a knowing grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move so fast. Got a hot date tonight?”

  Heather stuck her tongue out at her friend. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. He’s cooking me dinner tonight. At my house.” Her cheeks heated in a blush, knowing what she’d get for dessert. Hell, she’d like to skip the grilled steaks he promised and go straight for the double dip.

  Beth tipped her head. “He’s special, isn’t he?”

  With a smile, Heather nodded. “Too special.” She hated to admit it, but she’d fallen. Hard. And now it was time to make all the precious memories she could before it ended. She was damaged goods and, as much as Paul wanted to protect and care for her, she couldn’t see it lasting. She couldn’t give him what he craved. She could never go back to being a complete submissive.

  “No man is too special for you. Don’t you ever think that. And you tell him if he hurts you, I’ll personally rip his heart out.”

  Heather smiled and gave her friend a quick hug. Aside from her boss, Bethany had been the only person who knew about Harold’s initial attack, but Heather hadn’t revealed any of the details about where it happened or who had done it. She’d used the same line she’d tried foisting on Paul in the hospital—that she’d been mugged—and for her fib, received a front-row seat to Beth-on-a-soap-box complaining about the apparent rise in the crime rate. Fortunately, her boss had kept mum about the second incident at her home, telling others that she was just out sick. So Beth hadn’t probed too much.

  “Paul won’t hurt me,” Heather said with complete confidence. Not physically, anyway. And if her heart was a bit tattered when the affair ended, she had no one to blame but herself.

  “He better not. And Paul’s a nice name.”

  Laughing, Heather picked up her purse and briefcase, then moved past Beth into the hallway. “Okay, now you know his name and his occupation. Happy?”

  Beth winked. “Of course. I knew you’d cave.”

  “You ready to go?” Heather glanced at her watch, antsy to get home. They sometimes walked out together, but Beth was notoriously slow.

  “Naw, you go ahead. And I want details first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Heather waved goodbye and headed for the elevator. Was Paul already at her place? Had he started dinner? She wondered if he could figure out her picky barbeque grill. The elevator door swooshed open, and she laughed to herself. Any man who could install a security alarm could figure out how to light the grill.

  She watched the digital numbers over the door as she rode down to the parking garage. As the car hit the bottom, it bounced a bit, and her tummy flipped.

  She couldn’t help but think about a baby. Paul’s baby.

  Her car was in the fourth aisle over, so she weaved her way between cars to get to it, digging her keys from her purse.

  She thought for the first time in almost a decade about having a baby. Was it possible? Why hadn’t she ever gotten checked out? She’d always assumed her failure to conceive was because of her body, not Davie’s. But what if he’d been shooting blanks all those years?

  Tomorrow morning she’d book an appointment with her gynecologist. It was past time she found out for sure. Besides, she and Paul had made love three times last night without protection. If there was a possibility of conceiving, that needed to stop. Trapping him into fatherhood was the very last thing she wanted to do. When it was time for him to move on, she wanted nothing that would make him feel as if he wasn’t free. Even if she desperately wanted to have his baby.

  A hand clamped over her mouth.

  She dropped her briefcase to claw at the leather glove.

  A big body pinned her against a car.

  Her other hand caught in her purse that hung over her shoulder.

  “Hello, bitch.”

  No!

  She tried to scream but all that came out was a pained whimper.

  Harold bent her over the hood.

  She couldn’t breathe. His hand covered her mouth and cut off the air to her nose.

  Another rough hand lifted her skirt and grabbed at her ass.

  “Thought you could hide behind that bodyguard boyfriend of yours, didn’t you, bitch? This’ll teach you.”

  Her panties were yanked down with a painful jerk.

  Please! No!

  Tears blurred her vision as she tried to fight. For air. For freedom. But he had her trapped against the car.

  She managed only to shake his hand loose enough for a frantic gulp of air.

  “No one’s coming to your rescue this time.” His voice grated on her nerve endings. “You owe me a good fuck, and I’m here to collect.”

  Her stomach churned.

  His zipper rasped.

  Her keys rattled in her right hand.

  Adrenaline flashed through her. She jabbed her left elbow back into his gut. It didn’t budge him. She reared back and slammed the back of her head into his throat.

  “Fucking bitch!” A hand in her hair jerked her to the side, then slammed her against the hood of the car.

  With a quick flip of her thumb she released the safety on the pepper spray, lifted the canister over her shoulder, and pulled the trigger.

  “Ahhhhh!”

  He released her with a hard shove.

  She dashed across one aisle to her car. The key missed the lock on her first try.

  God, please!

  By the time she got inside, he was there, reaching for the door as she slammed it. The door caught his fingers, making him holler again and jerk his hand free. She yanked the door shut and punched the auto-lock button, then fought the key into the ignition.

  He shouted curses at her and struck the window. The glass held, but for how long?

  Throwing the car into reverse, she hit the gas—flinched and screamed when her car collided with another vehicle. The gears ground as she shoved the stick into first. Tires squealed as she tore out of there.

  Tears streaming down her face, she took the corners too fast, clipping another vehicle. She’d pay them back later. She had to get away. Barely pausing at the garage door to check for traffic, she gunned the engine and shot into the street.

  Racking sobs shook her body. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so hard they hurt.

  Paul.

  Paul.

  She needed Paul.

  Not taking her eyes off the rush-hour traffic or the rearview mirror, she dug into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She punched in his mobile number, screwing up once before finally getting it right, and held it to her ear.

  “Baxter here.”

  She couldn’t speak. Her throat was too tight. Raw.

  “Hello?”

  A choking sob came out as she swerved around a double-parked delivery van.

  “Heather?”

  When the world turned into a smear of watercolor because of her tears, she pulled to the side of the street and hit the breaks.

  “Heather, where are you? What’s happened?” She could hear his concern. It gave her strength.

  “He...Harold was... Please, come get me.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Don’t forget that car over there. I want every inch of this garage processed,” Paul ordered.

  “If you’d stop spouting commands long enough to let me do my job,” the crime scene investigator said, “I will.”

  “Whoa, Tex,” Mike said. His partner’s viselike grip on his arm was the only thing keeping Paul from committing homicide. “Come over here. I need to show you something.”

  Paul let Mike drag him several feet away before demanding, “What?”

  “You need to back off, man.”

  “Fuck that. I’m not new to the beat. I’ve got a job to do, and I’ll damn well do it.” He turned, but Mike grabbed his arm again.

  “I realize I’m the rookie here, but you’re too close to the case. You’re not helping, just getting in the way, and pissing everyone off.”

  He jerked his arm free.


  “Your job right now is to your woman. Take her home and get her away from all this.”

  Paul glanced at Heather huddled in his SUV, speaking to Jon, whom he’d called to the scene. He leaned against the concrete column behind him and closed his eyes. The sight of her shaken and crying, her makeup smeared and clothing askew, was forever burned into his memory. He wanted to kill the bastard for touching her.

  “Did you hear me?” Mike asked.

  “Sorry. What?”

  “You’re too close to this.”

  “I’m not stepping aside. You can forget it.”

  Mike frowned. “I know that, but if you don’t get your act together and start thinking with your head, you’re going to get hurt, or get her hurt. Take her home. Stay with her, and let me handle things on this end. The chief thinks you’re on leave anyway, since you put in for it to keep an eye on her.” He put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “I may be a rookie, but I had a damn good teacher. I’ve got it under control. Okay, Tex?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just keep me in the loop on this.” He looked past Mike to see Jon approaching.

  “Consider it done. Now get the hell off my crime scene so I can get back to work.”

  “In a minute. Let me talk with Jon, and then I’m gone.”

  “Okay.” Mike turned and walked away with a brief wave at Jon.

  “How’s she holding up?” Paul asked when Jon stopped in front of him.

  “I’d say she’s gone from shocked to pissed at a pretty healthy rate.”

  Paul struggled with the first smile he’d felt tug his mouth since he’d answered her phone call, which had damn near stopped his heart. “She’s a fiery little thing.”

  Jon slid his hands in his pockets. “Which no doubt saved her today.”

  The urge to smile vanished. “Were you able to get her to talk?”

  “A little. She’ll no doubt share more with you. The recovery will take time, but she’s already survived the worst of it. Keep reminding her of that.”

  “I will.”

  “Oh, and expect emotional fluctuations—everything from guilt to fury.”

  “Thanks, Jon.” He shook his friend’s hand.

  “Don’t thank me, yet. When she learned I was a psychiatrist, she turned those hot emeralds of hers on you, buddy.”

  He glanced at the SUV. She sat with her forehead resting in her hand, her elbow propped on the passenger-side door’s open window. “I’d rather have her ticked than crying.”

  “Don’t know a man alive who’d disagree with that statement.” Jon turned toward the truck. “She’s a fighter. I’ll grant you that. But I suggest you get her back to a normal routine as soon as possible. She’ll need the stability to help with recovery.”

  Paul nodded, said his goodbyes, and headed for the SUV. Slipping behind the wheel, he reached for her hand before cranking the engine. She pulled away after a brief squeeze.

  “You called a shrink.” An eruption was bubbling in those words. He heard it. Felt it.

  He didn’t venture a glance at her, instead keeping his eyes straight ahead as he navigated through the parking garage and onto the street.

  “I called a friend to sit with you while I checked out the scene.”

  “Who just so happens to be a shrink.”

  “He prefers the term psychiatrist, but yes, that’s his job.”

  “Why—”

  “However,” he said, cutting her off, “you’re not paying him. I’m not paying him, so he wasn’t here because of his job. He came because he’s my friend, and I asked him for a favor.”

  “A favor. What? To psychoanalyze me?”

  “No. I didn’t want you sitting alone so soon after the attack while at the scene where it happened. I couldn’t stay with you and still do my job, and I don’t trust your care to just anyone.”

  She turned toward him as far as her seatbelt would allow. “I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

  “I never said you did. I said he was there for me. I didn’t want you to be alone.”

  She crossed her arms. He pulled to a stop at a red light and gave her a sincere stare.

  “I would not have been able to concentrate on collecting evidence to help us find this bastard if I’d left you alone in your condition.”

  She pursed her lips and leaned back, glaring out the windshield. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m sure you are.” The light turned green. He pressed the gas pedal. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop worrying about you.”

  She kept silent after that, all the way to her house and on the short walk from his vehicle to her living room.

  As she headed for the bathroom, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Honey, talk to me.”

  “I need a shower.”

  “Talk to me.”

  Her tiny hands fisted at her sides, and her eyes flashed emerald fire at him. “When can I get my briefcase back? I’ll need it for work tomorrow.”

  “You’re not going to work.”

  She yanked her arm away and faced him as if he was a simpleton. “Like hell I’m not. No one is going to stop me. Not Harold.” She poked him in the chest. “Not you.”

  “It’s not safe.”

  She turned to walk away, and he had to grip her arm again. Her jaw clamped tight, her eyes narrowed, and she growled like a starving pit bull. “You dinna have to tell me what I already know.” She jerked from his grasp. “You want to make me safe? Find Harold. Post cops in every other parking slot. I don’t care, but I’m not losing my job, my right to be in this country, or my home because of that arsehole...or you.”

  He grabbed her by both arms, fighting the urge to shake some sense into her. “You’re not going to put your life in jeopardy for a goddamn job.”

  “What makes you think you have any say in what I do?” she shouted.

  “Because I love you, damn it...and I’ll be damned if I let you get raped, kidnapped, or killed because of your stubbornness."

  She gasped, and her eyes went wide. “You’re a jerk, Detective.”

  “A jerk?” I tell her I love her and I’m a jerk?

  “You canna possibly know me well enough to love me, and trying to make me bend to your will by...by...by trying to convince me that you do willna work. I canna belie—”

  God! He wanted to shake her. Instead, he pulled her hard against him, his mouth shutting her up.

  Her fingers clung to his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his emotions in turmoil. Anger simmered at her refusal to accept his word, to trust that he’d never lie about something as serious as his feelings for her. To think that he’d admit to something he didn’t feel to con her. Did the woman have no faith in him at all?

  He released her lips but held her close, looking down into her emerald gaze. “I do know you. I know your fiery temper and your stubborn nature. I know the capacity of your heart for love from what you’ve shared of your memories with your husband. I’ve felt your fear, witnessed your pain, and been left breathless by your smile.” He lifted a lock of her hair, feeling the silky strands slide through his fingers. “I love how your hair reminds me of the beauty of autumn and the scent of honeysuckle. How your eyes are like the green pastures of my childhood home in Texas.” He gazed into those beautiful eyes, which started to glisten.

  He almost stopped. Damn it. He didn’t want her tears, but how else would he convince her of his sincerity unless he told her the truth?

  “You can deny it all you like, but I even love that stubborn glint you get in those eyes. I love the touch of your hand, the softness of your lips, and every freckle on your body.”

  “Stop.”

  “Why? So you can tell me I’m making it all up?”

  She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. “I’m in danger. You’re a cop. It’s just a sense of duty.”

  He did shake her then. A brief quick attention-getting shake that stopped with her at arm’s length. “You listen to me, Heather Gilpatrick, and listen well. I’ve worked countless abuse ca
ses, assaults, and rapes. You name it, and I’ve seen it over the past ten years as a detective. Longer as a beat cop before that. Never in all that time have I fallen in love with a victim. Harold’s crimes have nothing to do with this or what I feel for you.”

  She pushed against his chest, her eyes blinking rapidly. “I...I gotta go to the bathroom.”

  The second he let go, she spun and darted away, leaving him standing alone in the living room. He sank onto the couch and stared at the closed bathroom door.

  “Shit.”

  * * * * *

  Heather locked the bathroom door, not trusting Paul to stay out. Her hands shook, her heart thudded in her chest, and tears stung her eyes. “Damn him,” she muttered as her legs collapsed and she sat hard on the toilet. She remained there for several moments, while her mind replayed his words repeatedly. Her body trembled. “Damn him.”

  Finally she stood, when she knew her legs would hold her, and shed her clothes. How could he do this to her? Tell her he loved her when she was feeling so vulnerable.

  Didn’t he know what hearing those words would do to her?

  She turned on the shower and stepped under the needle-like spray, needing to wash away the feel of Harold’s hands.

  Her own fault, she suspected, that Paul’s sense of duty would be so strong he’d think he loved her. If she had only been able to stay calmer after what happened in the garage. If she hadn’t given in to the overwhelming urge to call him and beg him to come get her.

  She lathered her hair and turned the water temperature up higher. She felt so cold inside, as if she’d never thaw. She should have been paying attention while walking through the garage instead of daydreaming about babies. She shouldn’t have broken down into a blubbering mess once she’d escaped. And the smartest thing would have been to call 911 instead of Paul.

  Now he was going to try to keep her from going to work. And damn it, she was scared! She wanted to lean on him and let him take care of everything. To keep her safe and protected. But if she did that, how would she ever be able to move on once Harold was behind bars and Paul was gone from her life?

  She rinsed her hair and worked in the conditioner, then lathered her body. To think what Harold could have done—would have done—if she hadn’t had the pepper spray. If Paul hadn’t insisted she keep it with her. She’d argued with him over it, afraid she’d set it off accidentally and blind herself. But he had insisted. Thank God. Or she could be dead right now.