She picked up the cell phone lying on the kitchen table and sighed. She kept looking at it every few minutes, hoping it would ring. That Nolan would have received her message. That he’d call. Pretty dumb.
The quiet knock on her door filled her with joy. Nolan. Dropping the phone, she ran to the door, flung it open.
“Elizabeth, my dear.” The fist hit her face so hard she felt the skin on her cheek split against his ring, and then she hit the floor. Dazed, she fought back blindly, fists flailing away. One connected, and he cursed. Something bit into her thigh. A needle, she realized, struggling to sit up. He hit her again, knocking her flat. His foot came down on her chest, his weight pressing her down. She struggled helplessly for breath.
And the edges of the world caved in and sucked her into blackness.
* * * * *
Nolan walked into the kitchen, toweling off his hair. He hadn’t tried to sleep; that would have been a worthless effort. But pounding on the bag in his workout room had eased the anger, and a hot shower cleared his mind. Nothing would help the hollow feeling deep in his chest.
As he poured a cup of coffee, he saw the message light blinking on his answering machine. He grunted. The way his life was going, probably one of his new office buildings had collapsed. He flicked the switch and leaned against the counter to listen.
“Nolan. Sir. I was going to call you. I mean I was going to call you before and try to apologize, only now…” Beth’s voice. Thick. Wavering.
He set his coffee down slowly, feeling like someone had stomped on his chest. She’d been crying…was still crying. His guilt layered higher, brick by brick.
“Now I’m saying goodbye too.” He heard a shaky breath. “And I’m not making sense. God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you and made you… I shouldn’t have let you f-fuck me once I knew how you felt about married women.”
He winced at the word. Bad enough he’d used it, worse that she could apply it to an act that had been much more than just sex.
“But I couldn’t get a divorce. I ran away. He’ll kill me if he finds me; that’s how my fingers got broken, from the last time. So I couldn’t… But I should have told you.”
With the sound of her sob, he stalked across the kitchen. The need to wrap his arms around her and comfort her was a burning knot inside.
“But it doesn’t matter; nothing matters now. Mom said Kyler knows I’m in Tampa, so I have to leave, and I’ll never get a chance to make this right.” A sniffle, silence. “Anyway, I just wanted… I wanted to thank you. I wanted more time with you. I…” A gulping sob. “Be well, Master.”
He stared at the machine. Surely she had more to say, hadn’t just hung up. Dammit, say more! He slammed his hand on the counter next to the phone, making his coffee slosh over the side of the cup.
A sick feeling grew inside him. What had he done? Damn his blindness. He’d known her last lover, husband or not, was the one who’d beat the crap out of her. He’d known the bastard had scarred her mentally and physically. He’d known she’d probably run from him. And filled with self-righteous crap, he’d come down on the little rabbit like a truckload of bricks.
How the hell could he blame her for doing anything she needed to ensure her own safety? “He’ll kill me if he finds me.” She’d done what was necessary to survive.
Fuck… He felt like she’d slapped him upside of the head with a two-by-four instead of a phone call. He snorted. Being Beth, she hadn’t been trying to change his mind. She’d just wanted to apologize and say goodbye.
What did he want?
He scrubbed his hands over his face. Face it, idiot. The little sub had gotten to him with that combination of fear and trust, of passion and innocence. With her love of beauty and her willingness to work like a dog to achieve it. With her growing need to please him and her surprise when he cared for her in turn. And fuck it all, he wanted to continue to care for her and protect her. Did he love her?
Maybe.
He would have liked a chance to find out, but he’d screwed that up rather badly. No kidding, asshole. He’d overreacted and behaved like a man seeing his home fall apart in front of his eyes. But it hadn’t been the whole house. He’d barely begun to build really. And yes, the foundation had been laid on ground that was too soft, on a lack of knowledge and fear and untruths, but there were ways to stabilize all that.
He could rebuild. They could rebuild.
If she wanted to. He remembered the way her eyes had looked when he said goodbye. Stricken. Lost. He’d never forgive himself for being so fucking cruel. But could she forgive him? That was the question.
Apparently she planned to very politely take herself out of his life. He hit the counter again. Here she goes and rips his heart into pieces and then thinks she’s going to just up and leave?
No, not just leave—run. He set his jaw. She planned to run, to let her bastard husband win when she had him to defend her? Like hell!
* * * * *
What a pit, Kyler thought as he wiped rain from his face before unlocking the door to the tiny cabin. But, as the realtors always said, location is everything.
He turned and smiled in satisfaction at the surrounding area. Trees, palms, and palmettos stretched out into a dense green jungle. The only way to the cabin was a tiny dirt road and the only sound he could hear was rain pattering on the tin roof. No traffic, no neighbors. No witnesses.
He glanced at the rental car where Elizabeth slumped against the door, still out cold. Just as well. He needed time to set up. The thought sent excitement through him, and he hardened.
He shoved the door open. A yank on the string turned on the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Quite a dump. A faded couch sat across from the door. To the right, an ancient mattress lay on the floor in one corner and a wood stove with a chipped brick hearth occupied the other. On his left was the gourmet kitchen: an avocado-colored refrigerator, a dirt-encrusted stove, and a chipped enamel sink. He sneered and winced as pain lanced across his face.
Touching his nose gently, he winced. One lucky punch and she’d almost broken his nose. Damn her.
He glanced down at his bloodstained shirt. At least he had a change of clothes in his carry-on. Along with a nice set of tools he’d bought in Tampa. Turning, he smiled at the ugly room.
The cabin was isolated and big enough to swing a whip. What more could a man want?
Chapter Thirteen
Nolan pulled his truck into the parking space next to Beth’s. The relief of seeing her truck and trailer let him take his first decent breath since he’d listened to her message. He wasn’t too late.
Stepping out of his truck, he noticed two suitcases wedged between the mower and brush cutter in her trailer. So she had been serious about running. Dammit. He stalked toward her apartment then slowed. Little rabbits frightened easily; he’d need to go easy. Not roll right over her with…
Her door was ajar.
He nudged it open with his foot. “Beth?” An edgy feeling crawled up his spine and raised the hair on his scalp. Over the last year in Iraq, his instincts had become as fine-tuned as when he’d been slitting throats for the CIA. Head up, body tensed, he reached down and drew the knife from his boot sheath.
Remaining in the doorway, he scrutinized the one-room apartment. Totally silent. Boxes on the stripped bed. Curtains still drawn and lights on. Pots and pans stacked on the counter. A canvas bag on the small kitchen table, cell phone beside it.
Dark spots just inside the door on the beige carpet. He bent, touched one lightly. Wet. Red. He sniffed. Blood.
* * * * *
“Wake up, darling. Time to play.”
Beth heard the voice, her mind moving like sludge, still thick with nightmare images. She didn’t like that voice and couldn’t remember why, but the sound made something inside her wail in terror.
If the voice wanted her to wake up, then she wouldn’t.
She let her breathing stay long and slow, kept her body limp, and her eyes closed. She fought to stay awake, and lost the battle. But something was very wrong…
* * * * *
“What happened?” Frowning, Z walked into Beth’s apartment. “And give me more than ‘Beth’s been grabbed.’”
Seated at the kitchen table, Nolan glanced up, a moment’s relief running through him. Reinforcements. “Got a message telling me goodbye, said she was leaving because her husband—the bastard who gave her those scars and who she escaped from—found out she was in Tampa.” He smothered a growl. “When I got here, the door was open. Car and trailer in the lot. Purse, cell phone here on the table. Blood there.” He nodded at the stain on the carpet.
Z touched the blood. “Still wet.” He glanced around. “This looks bad.”
“Yeah. How the hell do we find her?” Nolan scrubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t even know where she came from or where her husband lives.”
“California,” Z said. “She let that drop one day.”
“That helps. To get back there, he’ll have to drive or fly. Either way, he’ll probably use his credit card.”
“Do you know her husband’s name?” Z walked around the cabin, checked the chest of drawers.
“She said Kyler on the message. But she’s smart. She’d have changed her last name.” Nolan tapped his finger on the table and then grabbed the cell phone lying on the table. “Somebody else might know the bastard’s name though.” He found the phone’s contact list and arrowed through the entries. “Mom. That’s promising.”