Oh, she sensed anger. Deep, seething rage. But she knew it was directed at the man who’d struck her. The man who wanted to kill her. She could sense nothing from him, which meant he had no dark secrets. No violent tendencies. All she could feel was hatred toward the man who’d struck her.
“Now, tell me what you can,” Caleb said, no hint of impatience in his voice. “You said someone was trying to kill you. I need to know every single detail if I’m going to be able to protect you.”
It was the way in which he said protect you that struck a chord inside her. He hadn’t said help her. He’d said protect in a possessive tone, one she found comforting. The first time in over a year she’d enjoyed one brief moment of comfort and . . . peace. The peace she was so desperate to achieve.
They sat there in silence, Caleb’s fingers still a gentle caress on her face, when she realized he was waiting for her response. For her to say something instead of numbly staring at him like a brainless idiot.
God, where to start?
Weariness assailed her. Fatigue crashed into her like the surf against a rocky coast. She felt more battered and bruised in her heart and soul than she did from her stalker’s physical attack hours before.
“I don’t know where to start,” she whispered. “It all sounds so . . . crazy. I wouldn’t even believe my story coming from someone else.”
His fingers fell from her face and back to her hand, rubbing over the top in a circular pattern meant to soothe and calm. Then he simply laced his fingers with hers and gave them a gentle squeeze.
“Start wherever you like. I’ll listen. And I’ll damn sure believe you.”
She sucked in a steadying breath and then let it out, her shoulders sagging with the effort.
“A year and a half ago I helped locate a kidnapping victim. What that poor girl went through was horrifying.”
She shivered just saying the words. No matter how hard she tried to block it from her mind it was there, image after image of blood, pain and impending death thick in her memory. It was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday and not eighteen months ago.
“And what you went through as well,” he murmured.
Regret was stark in his eyes. Sincere remorse was etched into his features.
“Yes,” she whispered. “What I endured as well.”
“Go on,” Caleb encouraged.
“The killer was never apprehended. And I say killer because though he didn’t kill the victim I located, there were others. So many others. I was only able to save the one.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as grief welled to the surface, threatening to completely consume her. Then she reopened her eyes and focused her gaze on Caleb.
“He’s the one trying to kill me. He’s been hunting me for months. He’s why I tried to hide where no one could find me. And yet he somehow manages to find me no matter where I go. He’s always there. I think . . .”
She broke off and lowered her gaze because this is where it got crazy. Caleb may well think she’d lost what remaining sanity she possessed.
“You think what?” he asked softly.
“I think he has psychic abilities himself. I think it’s why he’s obsessed with me. It has to be why he keeps finding me. Why I’m constantly having to look over my shoulder. I swear at times I can feel his breath on my neck. He was waiting inside my hotel room today. I knew when I touched the knob that he’d been there but before I could run, he yanked the door open and grabbed me.”
Caleb’s eyes grew murderous, murky like a thundercloud.
“So, you’ve been running for a year and a half?” he demanded.
She shook her head slowly. “No. He waited. Just when I thought I had moved on and somewhat made peace with the ordeal of locating his victim he contacted me. He called me. And I don’t know how he got my number. At the time I had a stable residence but no landline. Just a cell phone. And he began taunting me. Telling me what he would do to me and how my death wouldn’t be fast and that in the end I’d beg him to kill me and end my pain and misery.”
“Son of a bitch!” Caleb swore.
He pushed to his feet and began pacing back and forth at the foot of her bed. He paused briefly and turned, facing her again. He ran a hand raggedly through his hair and then gripped his nape in a gesture of frustration.
“I forced you out of hiding,” he said in a grim voice. “You left because of me. Because you were afraid if I found you then others could too.”
Ramie wouldn’t lie, even to make him feel better. Her tone had no anger or resentment. Just matter-of-factness. “It was the longest I’d ever remained in one place. I think it was the only time he didn’t find me or at least he didn’t make his presence known. But if I’m right and he’s psychic then he would have known. He enjoys the thrill of the hunt. It’s a high for him. He’s a trophy hunter. You know, like hunters or fishermen have their own record books and when someone breaks the old record, there’s this sense of glory, an adrenaline rush that is nothing compared to before then. He lives to taunt me. He’d like to lull me into believing I’ve escaped him and when I don’t expect him there he is. He wants me to suffer. I’m his trophy kill,” she whispered. “The kind hunters have preserved and mounted on their walls, the one that gets the special place above the fireplace mantel.”
He knelt back in front of her. He took both of her hands, drawing them together in his clasp. Then he stared her directly in the eyes, remorse brimming in his gaze.