As Darkness Gathers (Dark Betrayals Book 2) (16 page)

“Is there anything else you can remember about the man who attacked you?” the police officer asked, her voice gentle. It was the same woman with whom I’d filed the report over my slashed tires. She’d introduced herself as Bernadette Walker when she’d pulled up a chair beside my bed in the emergency room.

I started to shake my head, but then thought better of it. I ached from my collarbones to the top of my head. The tears from when the doctor packed my broken nose had dried on my face, and my cheeks felt stiff. My eyes were gritty and swollen and, though I hadn’t looked in a mirror, I imagined both were probably black. “No, but he . . . There was something about the way he smelled, something vaguely familiar. I don’t know what it was, though.”

“It will come back to you. Don’t try to force it. Aside from the slashed tires, has there been anything out of the ordinary in your life lately? Personal life, work life, anything.”

My laugh was humorless. I told her of my flight going down in the Canadian wilderness.
 

Her eyes widened as she jotted notes on a pad of paper. “Sounds like an ordeal, to put it mildly. The investigation into the crash is ongoing?”
 

“Yes.” My voice sounded strange to my own ears.

“What about relationships? Have you had a falling out with any friends, a boyfriend, coworkers?”

I pushed a straggling strand of hair back from my face. “I . . . my boyfriend and I broke up recently. Right before the crash.”

Her gaze on my face sharpened. “How did he react to that?”

“He was hurt. He’d asked me to marry him.”

“Has he ever been violent or aggressive toward you?”

I shook my head. “He’s always been the perfect gentleman.”

She nodded. “I’m going to need his name and address.”

I gave her the information, feeling as if ice infused my limbs. I was staring at my hands knotted in my lap when she covered them with her own. They were warm.
 

“It’s only to consider all the bases. I doubt he had anything to do with the break-in.”

My nose throbbed, and her grip tightened on my hands before she sat back and closed the small notebook she’d been writing in. “Would you like me to sit with you until your parents get here?”

My chin trembled. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

My parents arrived soon thereafter. My mother was calm as she examined my face, despite the tears in her eyes. My father was livid, the top of his bald head turning red.

“Who the hell did this? I want him found. And when he is, I’m going to break every bone in his goddamn body.”

“Jacob, your blood pressure,” my mother said. She tucked an arm around my waist and helped me stand.

“Fuck my blood pressure!” he shouted.

A nurse peeked around the curtain. “Sir?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I . . .”

Bernadette touched his arm. “I understand your frustration and anger, Mr. Rhodes, and I want you to know we’re doing everything in our power to find the man who did this to your daughter.” She turned and handed me a card. “That has both my work and personal number on it. Call me if you need anything. The officers will be finished with your apartment by tomorrow morning.”

I thanked her, and my father did as well, his voice gruff.

I was discharged and instructed to come back to the hospital in forty-eight to seventy-two hours to have my nose rechecked and to see about having the packing removed. After I’d filled out the paperwork for my insurance, we left.
 

I sat in the front passenger’s seat, reclined and staring out the window. I felt hollow and numb and barely managed to return the grip my father kept on my hand.
 

My mother slid into the backseat after filling the antibiotic and painkiller prescriptions at the pharmacy and said, “I got you a gallon of that ice cream you like. The banana pudding kind.”

I tried to summon a smile but I didn’t think it was more than a wobble of my lips, so I murmured, “Thanks, Mama.”

When my father parked the car in front of their house, I said, “I’m just going to lie down a while.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” My mother opened the front door, and the corgis spilled out, barking. “Boys, hush!”
 

Athos squirmed his stout little body between my feet.
 

“Why don’t you take one of these pain pills first?” she asked me.

I followed her into the kitchen and swallowed one of the pills with a glass of water. All I could taste was the metallic tang of blood, and I shuddered.

“Need help climbing the stairs?”
 

“Thanks, Daddy. I can make it, though.”

Athos, Aramis, and Porthos waddled after me as I climbed the stairs. I leaned against the railing, my feet feeling as if they were weighted. Every step dragged, and by the time I made it to the landing, what little energy I had was siphoned away.

I stopped in the hall bathroom and avoided looking in the mirror as I squeezed toothpaste onto the toothbrush I kept there. I sat on the closed toilet lid while I brushed my teeth. When the taste of mint was more prevalent than blood, I stood and spat into the sink. I glanced in the mirror after I rinsed my mouth and the brush, and I sucked in a startled breath.
 

Both of my eyes were blackened, and the swelling and bruising encompassed my nose and upper lip, spreading out to my cheeks. Blood had caked and dried around my mouth and down my chin. A swath was stained along the front of my sweater, and I retrieved a washcloth from the shelf and cleaned the blood from my skin.

As I set the cloth aside, I looked down and found the dogs sitting in a row, their heads cocked to the side as they watched me. “I won’t be winning any beauty pageants, will I, boys?”

Their ears pricked at my voice and they tilted their heads in the opposite direction. It brought a smile to my stiff lips.

When I entered my bedroom, I found the covers turned down and the pillows fluffed and stacked so I could lie propped up. My mother had left a bottle of water and the pain pills on the bedside table.

I shrugged out of my coat and pulled the sweater gingerly over my head before toeing off my shoes by the end of the bed. I shucked my jeans, tossed all of my clothes into the laundry hamper, and donned an oversized T-shirt and leggings before crawling into bed.

The dogs had already scrambled onto the mattress, and they snuffled and snorted as I nudged them out of the way. When I was situated, Athos squirmed his black and tan body under my arm and tucked his nose against my throat. Porthos lay along my thighs, and Aramis draped his body over my ankles. Their weight and warmth was comforting, but even so, I couldn’t bring myself to turn off the lamp.
 

I lay staring at the opposite wall until the painkillers began to fog my mind and weight my eyelids.
 

It was dark outside when I woke. I put a hand to my forehead and groaned as I pushed myself upright. The lamp beside the bed was still on, but shadows filled the corners of the room, and the events of the day rushed back to me. With a trembling hand, I pushed the hair back from my face. “Nothing to be afraid of,” I whispered.

Porthos lifted his head and yawned as if in agreement.

“You’re awake,” my mother said from the doorway. “I was just coming to check on you. Would you like to eat something? Your brother stopped by to check on you earlier, but he couldn’t stay. He brought you some chicken noodle soup.”

My stomach gurgled and I smiled. “I think that’s a yes.”

She chuckled. “I’ll go heat it on the stovetop. Would you like me to bring it up to you?”

“I’ll come downstairs.”

I couldn’t taste either the bowl of soup or the scoop of ice cream, but I felt better after eating. As I set my spoon aside, I caught sight of the digital clock on the microwave: 9:32 p.m. Clay and I usually talked on the phone around eight every night.

“Dad, can I borrow your cell phone?”

My father handed it to me as he stood. “I’m going to take the dogs out. Come on, boys.” He whistled and all three darted after him.

My mother collected my bowl and spoon and took them to the sink.

“I can wash them, Mama.”

“Not tonight,” she said. “You go sit on the couch or lay back down and take it easy.”

“Thanks.”

She leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “Go make your phone call. I’m sure he’s worried after not having heard from you.”

My face flushed, but I obeyed and curled up in my father’s recliner. I dialed Clay’s number, and he answered after the second ring.

“It’s me,” I said.

“Stand me up for a hot date tonight?”

His voice was dry and humorous, and it broke the tremulous dam that had been holding back my tears.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, his voice soft. “I was just teasing.”

My nose ran, and I couldn’t sniff or wipe it because of the bandaging, and that only made me cry harder.
 

My father pressed handkerchief into my hand and then retreated back into the kitchen.
 

After several tries, Aramis heaved himself up into the chair and plopped down across my lap. He whined and licked my chin.

“Talk to me,” Clay said. “What’s wrong?”

I relayed to him the horror of the morning.

“Did he . . .” His voice was tight and rough. “Are you hurt?”

I had regained consciousness in the ambulance, and I closed my eyes, remembering the terror that had almost suffocated me. The EMT had been a woman, and before I could form the words, she’d said, “It’s just your nose. He didn’t hurt you in any other way.”

“Finch?”

“A broken nose,” I whispered. “I’m a little banged up, but that’s all.”

He sighed. “Give me your parents’ address, and I’ll be there by morning.”

Chapter Nine

“Finch, sweetheart, wake up. There’s someone here to see you.”

“Hmm?” I squinted at the bright light spilling through the bedroom window. My head felt muzzy with the lingering haze of the painkillers. “What time is it?” My voice sounded as if someone had pinched my nostrils closed.

“Just after noon. He got here right around breakfast.”

It was an effort to sit up, and I felt as though my entire body creaked in protest. “You didn’t wake me?”

“He didn’t want me to. I only woke you now because lunch is almost ready, and I thought you’d be hungry. I’m warming the last of the soup for you.”

“I’ll be right down.”

I pulled on a pair of jeans and a pink button-up blouse, but left my feet bare. In the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and ran a comb through my hair. My mother had helped me wash it in the sink last night, and I’d gone to bed with it still damp. It was an unruly, wavy tangle, but the comb tamed some of the wildness. There was nothing I could do about my face. The swelling and bruising were even worse today.

I padded downstairs and hesitated in the threshold of the kitchen.
 

My father and Clay were coming in the back door, the corgis bounding ahead of them, and they spoke to one another like old friends.
 

My toes curled as a waft of cold air blew across the tile floor, and as Clay caught sight of me, a bout of self-consciousness rooted me in place. I lifted a hand to cover my nose as he approached.

He wore a similar ensemble to the one I’d first seen him in—well-fitting jeans, boots, and a dark blue fisherman’s knit sweater. At his throat, I could see the collar of the gray T-shirt he wore underneath. I was again struck by the confidence with which he held himself and the smoothness of his stride. A scar now bisected his eyebrow, and stubble shadowed his square jaw.

“You always manage to see me at my worst,” I said behind the cover of my hand.
 

He caught it in his own, his grip warm and firm, and drew it away from my face.
 

As he studied me, I watched his eyes. They were a pale, pale blue, but the color didn’t hold any iciness. They reminded me of the ocean in their depth and the way they changed depending on the light.