The doctor’s expression grew fierce as he said the last and anger blazed in his eyes.
“I’ve been a doctor for twenty years and no matter how many times you think you’ve seen it all and can’t possibly be shocked by what comes through the ER, there’s always another case that leaves me shaking my head and wondering what kind of scum gets his rocks off by beating an innocent woman. Especially in the manner that Miss Hill was. I have no doubt this was a well-measured attack meant to do as much harm as possible without killing her.”
“We know,” Beau said in a savage tone. “And the bastards who did this to her will pay. You can take that to the bank.”
“Good,” the doctor said emphatically. “Now I’ll let you see Miss Hill. I’d like to admit her for observation and keep her at least forty-eight hours before I release her. She’ll be moved up to the floor when her room is ready and she’s admitted. Do you happen to have her insurance information? The admitting nurse will need that and her other personal information as well.”
Zack hesitated because he didn’t know anything about Gracie. He knew everything and nothing, or at least what used to be. Who was Gracie now? The last forty-eight hours had shattered any illusions he’d had.
“It will be taken care of,” Beau interjected.
The doctor nodded and then stepped away from the door to let Zack pass.
Zack sucked in a deep breath, squared his shoulders and braced himself before walking into the room.
He let out a strangled cry when he saw Gracie lying on the bed, eyes closed but her forehead marred with pain, her features tight and her lips firm in a thin white line. Even at rest, she looked as though she were in horrible pain.
How scared she must have been. If the doctor was right—and Zack had no doubt that he was—she had endured a cold, methodical beating. It hadn’t been done in a rage. No, it had been administered impersonally. She’d been a job to someone. Nothing more.
But she hadn’t known that. How long had she endured the pain? Had she been scared to death they’d eventually get bored and then kill her? Had she prayed for death? God, he hoped not.
He approached the bed hesitantly, his gaze anxiously searching the monitors and instruments. She was being given oxygen but there was no heart monitor. That had to be a positive sign that they weren’t concerned she’d die. But then the doctor had said she’d be fine. Just in pain. That she needed to take it very easy. That was one vow he’d absolutely meant.
When she was discharged, she was going home with him. But not back to his current place. Not with those bastards still out there, circling like vultures. Her beating had been a message. To him. To DSS. His mind was already going full gear. He would have Beau find a secure location for him to move Gracie to. And security would be top-notch.
He eased his way to the head of the bed, careful not to wake her. For a long moment he stood, drinking in her fragile appearance. His heart ached. His chest was tight with discomfort.
He leaned down, cupping his hand over her brow, one of the few places left untouched by her attackers. Gently he rubbed his thumb over the bridge of her nose, wincing as he took in the extent of her facial bruising.
God, he wanted to kill those bastards for touching her. For laying their hands on what was his. Gracie had always belonged to him. The last twelve years no longer mattered. She was here now. And if he had his way, she’d never go anywhere else.
He lowered his head to press his lips against her brow. He closed his eyes as his breath blew warm against her skin.
“I’m so sorry, Gracie,” he said bleakly. “God, I’m so sorry.”
She stirred slightly and he quickly lifted his head, his gaze anxious. He held his breath when her eyelids flickered and then opened.
She blinked a few times, her face crinkling in confusion. And then she let out a low moan and tried to lift her head from the pillow. Her arms flailed out in a defensive gesture and more sounds of fear and desperation spilled from swollen lips.
“Gracie. Gracie, honey, you’re all right. It’s me, Zack.”
She went utterly still and if possible she grew even whiter beneath the purple of bruises. Her head swiveled so that her gaze locked with his.
Terror swept through her eyes and her lips parted and then shut repeatedly as though fear had robbed her of speech.
Zack ran his hand lightly down her arm to where the IV attached at her wrist. He flinched when she withdrew so quickly it pained her. She emitted a soundless cry, hurt flashing in her eyes.
What the fuck?
He managed to keep the frown from his face. Barely. It took everything he had to stand there and take her response. If it had only been now he could understand. It was understandable for a woman who’d been attacked to have an instinctual defensive response. To be afraid.
But it wasn’t just now. It wasn’t because she’d been attacked. She’d reacted the same way on the two other occasions they’d come into contact. Like he was some kind of monster. She hadn’t merely been surprised or afraid. She’d been fucking terrified. Of him!
“Do you remember what happened?” he asked softly, ignoring, for now, her fear of him.
She let out a small, defeated whimper. The sound nearly slayed him. He reached behind him to snag the lone chair, pulling it toward the bed so he could sit. So he didn’t loom over her and frighten her more.
She visibly swallowed and then licked her lips.
“Would you like some water?”
For a moment she just stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. Then, slowly, she nodded. She kept her frozen gaze on him the entire time as he stood, went to the sink and ran water in one of the small cups.
He walked back to the bed, and holding the cup with one hand, he carefully slid his free arm behind her neck and lifted just enough that she could sip without spilling it on herself.
She took several long swallows and then broke away, coughing. Her face spasmed with agony and her arm went instinctively to her stomach, to her injured ribs, holding it while she tried to suppress the cough.
“Easy,” he murmured, easing her head back down.
As he turned away, he saw that both hands were curled into tight fists, the backs of her knuckles completely white with strain.
When he was settled back in the chair, he reached for the fist on his side and carefully unrolled her fingers and then curled his around hers.
“Why are you so afraid of me, Gracie? I don’t understand. God, there’s so much I don’t understand. But we’ll start with this, the most important. Don’t you know I’d never hurt you? That I’d kill—will kill—anyone who does?”