BOMAW 1-3 (27 page)

“Let’s hope not. If all goes well, you guys can sit and enjoy your coffee and donuts in peace,” Shawn added for humor. Collier chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…just jealous ‘cause we get it free.”

“Oh, for sure, with all I have to pay for in life, the least a man can expect is a free donut or two,” he chuckled. Collier joined him, shaking his head adding, “If that were the only injustice in life.” They both quieted, contemplating that line and the current event. Soon they were back in Camp Daniels…the nearest hospital with the most advanced emergency staff and equipment was in Mauston, a larger town east of Camp Daniels. As Collier turned down the road where they lived, Shawn spoke up instructing him, “To my place, please. I don’t think she needs to be alone tonight.” Officer Collier nodded his head quietly in agreement as he pulled into Shawn’s driveway.

The rental car was still where he parked it, as were his bags that he’d sat on the front porch when he’d forgotten his keys at Sylvia’s. Again he thanked
God
that he had. What would have happened otherwise was too horrific for him to let linger in his mind. “You need me to go in and check things out first?” the officer asked, stopping behind the rental. “That won’t be necessary, I can—”

“Please—please!” Sylvia cried out, saying something for the first time. Royce Collier looked back at her, then at Shawn, who nodded his consent. “I have to run to the house to get my keys,” Shawn informed her. She shook her head, grabbing up her purse, unsnapping it to shift through it, coming out with his keys. She passed them to Royce, beseeching him with her eyes to check. Without hesitation he was out of his vehicle to give Shawn’s home a look over. Shawn sighed, looking at Sylvia. Getting out, he walked to her side, opening the door for her. She stood, stepping almost against his body as he remained blocking her way. Sylvia’s eyes lifted to meet his. Neither of them moved as they stared silently at one another.

“All clear,” Royce called.

“Thank you,”

“Thank you,” they spoke simultaneously, maintaining eye contact.

Within his home, he set down his soaked bags after opening the door to let Sylvia in. “It’s kinda chilly in here. I’ll turn up the heat a bit.” Walking past her, he did just that. Sylvia stood in the middle of his living room not sure what to do. Following the adjustment he made to the thermostat, he walked to the back of the house towards the bedrooms to place his bags in there.

As if unable to move, Sylvia stood in the middle of the floor.

When he returned, he had a clean white T-shirt and a small pair of navy blue sweat pants folded in his good hand. He could still use the other, he just needed to be careful.

“Hey…come here,” he spoke softly. Sylvia looked up, unsure…lost. “Come on, follow me,” he coaxed gently. Nervous, yet trusting of him, she slowly moved towards him. Once there, he put his injured arm around her back to carefully prod her towards the bathroom, urging her inside.

“Bath…or…shower?”

Softly, reluctant, she whispered, “Shower.”

“Okay…well, I’ll let you go first - I'll leave you to it. I’ll be right in the kitchen—”

“No! Please, don’t leave me…I-I don’t want to…not alone!” she cried out, shaking.

Gazing at the raw fright on her face, he sat the shirt and sweats on the sink counter and sighing deeply said, “One moment. I’ll be right back.” With a mind swirling in scattered thoughts, Sylvia waited, hearing him moving something in the kitchen. A moment later, he returned carrying a chair from the kitchen table. “I’m gonna sit this right here, where I’ll be while you shower. Okay?” She swallowed deep and nodded okay. He reached for the doorknob to close the door. “No…leave it open. Please, leave it open.” He froze briefly, then stood straight, looking down at her. His hand rose gently, the knuckles of his good hand gave her cheek a tender caress. “Sylvie, you have nothing to be afraid of. I’m here…I’m here.”

“I know…but…please, leave it open,” she repeated the plea.

He nodded. “Okay, I’ll leave it open. Anything else you need?”

“Lotion?”

He smiled, then reached down to open the cabinet door under the sink and brought out a large bottle of lotion. Next he opened the medicine cabinet and set out one of his antiperspirants, plus a new toothbrush and toothpaste. “Did I miss something?” he asked, after setting those items out for her. She shook her head, giving a gentle smile full of appreciation and sadness. “Okay, I’ll be right there, out of sight, so you’ll have your privacy and the door will remain open. I’ll tell you about my trip to California.”

As she showered, he did just that, bringing in humorous stories of his adventures of taking his daughter shopping with her friends, listening for the smallest sound that might alert him of her needing him. He needed a painkiller; his hand throbbed, his shoulder ached. When he was a young man in his teens and twenties, he often got into scraps that he quickly recovered from. Fact was, his teens and twenties were long gone, and the body took revenge once you passed your thirties for doing things it would have much preferred you hadn't with it, such as violent physical combats, even though he was in good shape for his age, he wasn't superman. It had been a long time since he'd attacked without thinking, his reaction and response was without plan or reason, it had been pure adrenaline. Though he sat now with shock leaving his system, the traumatized muscles, nerves and joints beginning to tally his damage, which would inform him by the level of pain he would suffer, hopefully it by his fitness level, not too bad. For that reason, he didn’t give a thought to getting up to pop the anti-inflammatory painkillers he was prescribed - he knew he'd be okay; the same couldn't be said concerning the lady in his charge, he was not going to steal one moment from sitting in attendance to her to see about himself.

The shower water turned off. He waited to hear her exit. With the shutting down of the water, he stopped talking. As he waited to hear the shower curtain slide across the rod, only silence filled the air where that sound should be. Finally…

“Shawn?”

“I’m here…you okay?” he asked from his seat by the door.

“Yeah. I need a towel. There’s none hanging here,” she mentioned softly, standing with her arms crossed over her breast and upper body.

“Ahh, sweetheart, hold on, I’m sorry.” Right away she heard him get up and head for the linen closet. He walked with heavy thumping steps. It comforted her. A mere moment later, a folded beige towel on his hand came around the side of the shower curtain. She took it gently. “Thank you,” she whispered softly.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’ll be right outside.” Before he took two steps…“Shawn?”

He stopped. “Yes?” Silence…it grew close to a full minute.

Finally, softly, “He was in my house.”

He swallowed deeply. “I know he was.”

“He was there before you came. He was there all along, watching me. I was in the shower before you came…and…he was there, in my room…looking at me, the whole time.”

He was quiet…not sure of what to say, waiting, listening. She was silent once again, then, “If you hadn’t come home when you did…if you hadn’t returned in time…oh god…he…” His hand showed back up inside the shower curtain. “Pass me the towel, sweetheart,” he asked softly, gently. She was crying now, just gentle sobs. Obeying him without thought, she passed him the towel back. He shook it out then slowly slid the curtain aside with her standing there, her arms wrapped protectively in front of herself. He held the towel up and wide. “Come here.”
With her eyes set on his, Sylvia stepped from the tub and into the towel, which wrapped around her along with his arms as he gathered her close against him. Her sniffles were punctuated by soft choked-off sobs. She struggled to keep control.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh…I’m here…I’m here…it's over. It's all over. He can’t hurt you anymore. Because
God
as my witness, if he ever dared try again, I’d finish where I left off,” he declared from the depths of his being, his deep voice rumbling, attempting to speak low and soothing to her. “Now I want you to dry off, lotion down and whatever else that you do, and I’m going into the kitchen and make us some tea, then take myself a painkiller.” His saying that, mentioning his own discomfort, snapped her teary face up from his chest where it laid for comfort. Her eyes met his and she was immediately apologetic. “Oh, my god…how can I be so selfish? I didn’t even ask you if you were okay! I’m sorry, Shawn…I’m so sorry - you could have been killed! I didn't even think-...”

“Hey…I'm fine. I’m okay. I’m a tough ol’man…just as long as you’re okay, then I’m okay.” He smiled down at her gently. She stared into his hazel-blue eyes and was lost. She loved him. Right then, right there…she knew it…and was scared to death of it coming to her so clearly. At that very moment, she wanted him to see that she wanted him, loved him…and just take her, to wipe Raymond Olivetti from her mind. She swallowed deep, hoping he would kiss her. His hand rose carefully to caress her smooth brown cheek. Her skin was absolutely flawless and breathtaking. Everything about her was beautiful to him. He sighed deeply, drawing a breath way down into his lungs and letting it out. There was desire shining in her eyes, but he wasn’t about to respond to it now. Not tonight, after what had happened. He wasn’t sure what had put the desire there. She, nor he, needed to complicate this matter by doing what his body wanted to.

“I’m gonna go get that tea on. I’ll be waiting for you in the kitchen.” He stepped away from her. Sylvia lifted her arms over the towel to hold it to her now that he had let it and her go. Her face reflected the disappointment of him denying her what she longed for.

“You know what?” he asked, stopping at the bathroom door looking back at her. Gesturing with widened eyes, the raising of her brows and lift of her face served to signal her enquiry of
what?

“You do wonderful things for a towel, lady, wonderful things,” he stated sexily, giving her the once-over slowly with his eyes. Heat flared within Sylvia’s body, melting her down from within. Her trembling, slight smile showed her appreciation for the compliment.

*

Everything had been fine. She’d come out of the bathroom seeming to be okay. They’d sat and talked for two or more hours, him holding her hand across the table. She’d apologized for the injuries to him again because he’d risked his life to defend her, repeating once more, as if it fully dawned on her, “You could have been killed.”

His response had been, “He should have been killed. I’d never stand by and let someone hurt you. Not ever.” The penetrating, sure gaze of his intense eyes on hers, coupled with the squeeze of his hand assured her he meant every word. Rising, he’d escorted her to his bed, willing to sleep on the couch, when she’d convinced him to sleep there with her. To that, he’d given in after taking a much needed shower himself. When he climbed into bed, it was to sleep on top of the covers and her sleep under them. He’d held her, comforting her through the night, her back to his chest, her head and neck across his bicep as they shared the same pillow. The deep timbre of his voice, calming and soothing her deep into the night. He'd been unwilling to sleep until he'd been assured that she slept.

Everything had been fine.

So as he sat on the side of his bed 11:45am the very next morning, he hadn’t a clue as to why she’d up and left, not waking him to tell him that she was going. He was a bit stiff, sore and aching. He stood, wincing, and walked out of his room to the kitchen to use the wall phone again for the third time. Again her phone rang and rang, no answer. “Dammit, Sylvia Payne…where the hell are you?” As he stood there thinking, he decided to call the police station. “Yes, ummm, is Officer Collier in, please?” he asked the operator. “He is, hold on.” He leaned back against the wall with the phone to his ear, trying to breathe deeply and disregard the aching of his arm, it hurt more than anywhere else - throbbing at the stitched areas where he was cut in the fight.

“Officer Collier, how can I help you?”

“Yes, this is Shawn McPherson. I was to come in today to answer any questions concerning last night’s attack on Sylvia Payne. Have you heard from her?”

“Yes. She came in…oooh, ‘bout nine o’clock this morning. I'll still need you to come in and make a statement from what took place once you entered the scene, although I do have her account down,” he informed Shawn, adding the last, just in case. The phone line was silent as Shawn’s mind took off wondering where she could be. “Mr. McPherson…you there?” the officer asked, following the stretched silence.

“Ummm, yeah…I’m here and I’ll be there in a few minutes. Hey, um, did she say what she planned after leaving there?” Shawn asked nervously.

“No, she didn’t. And of course, I didn’t ask. I just advised her to contact a support group to help her cope with the attack.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll be there shortly,” Shawn finished, hanging up the phone. “All right, Sylvia Payne…where are you?”

Before heading for the police station, he pulled into her driveway, just to make sure she wasn’t hiding away inside. But when he looked into the window of her garage, there was no car. Walking slowly back to his SUV, an overpowering determination stole over him.

“Not this time, lady…not this time. You can run, but you sure can’t hide. I will find you. Wherever you are…I will find you.”