Deadly Obsession (10 page)

* * * *

Brayden slammed to a stop in front of the ER. Nausea rolled in his stomach.

He should have gotten here sooner. But the damn wreck on the interstate had traffic backed up for over an hour.

When they’d finally reached Christian’s condo it was to find the place swarming with cops and all they’d been told was the resident of Nineteen was at Sibly Memorial. Some sort of attack.

What the hell had happened?

He ran through the double doors, hearing the faint swoosh behind him as they closed.

At the nurse’s station, he thumped the counter with his fist. "Christian Bills?"

The nurse looked at him and tapped some keys and shook her head. "No, sorry. I just came on about two minutes ago and she’s not listed."

Brayden slowly counted to five. "Will you check again please? We were told she was here."

"Brayden? Aiden? What are you doing here?"

Brayden turned and saw a doctor he’d met with his mother several times.

She smiled. "Dr. Ripley. You just missed Christian."

"What happened?" he asked.

Her look darted away, then down at the chart she was holding. Ice skittered through him. Finally, they rose back to him. "You know I can’t discuss patients."

"Is she okay?" She must be if she left. "You said ‘missed her’. Where is she?"

Dr. Ripley sighed and motioned them to the side.

"Yes, she was here. Fine? Well, that depends on your point of view I suppose."

"What the hell does that mean?" Brayden snapped. Where was she? This was like before. Cops, hospitals and no one telling him a damn thing.

"Dr. Ripley," Aiden said, "is there anything you can tell us?"

"I heard her mention the hotel. Detectives Morris and Laurence gave her a ride."

Brayden barely heard the last of it; he was already hurrying to the door, dodging a gurney and the persons pushing it.

By the time they reached the car, Aiden was on his phone talking to Quinlan who was still at the hotel overseeing the setup for a large convention.

"Quin, just keep your eyes open for them. I don’t know. We don’t know. Yeah, we’ll be there in a few minutes."

Brayden felt sick. He should have stayed. He should have stayed. He knew it, knew it! Dammit!

He slapped the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.

Taking every shortcut he knew, he raced through the traffic. Aiden never said a word, not that he would have noticed.

He had to get to Christian.

* * * *

In the elevator, she braved, "Did you call him?"

One long moment passed before Gabe cleared his throat. "I tried to, he wasn’t there and I didn’t leave a message."

Christian closed her eyes, relief trickling through the fear, yet she wished he were here. Part of her wished for the safety she felt with Brayden, even if it was only an illusion.

But even if he were here, she wouldn’t know what to say or do. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

She didn’t want anyone to see her like this.

Weak, frail, beaten.

She was strong. She survived before, she would again.

She would again.

The doors slid open and she stepped out into the quiet, dimmed hallway. The plush rugs, laid out in the entry, swallowed her footfalls. At apartment 3B, she stopped. Her key. Her key was in her purse and....

"I picked this up at the condo. I figured you’d need it." Detective Laurence held out her purse.

Christian started to reach for it, but stopped. The locket. The locket had been in her purse. He’d been in her purse.

She shook her head. "No. No. I don’t want it. I’ll call down and get another one."

"I can get it," Gabe volunteered.

"No!" she yelled. "He--he touched it. I don’t want it." The shaking wouldn’t stop. She hurt, hurt all over.

She just wanted inside, inside where it was safe. Away from him. With nothing he’d ever had his hands on.

"He was in your purse?" Laurence asked.

She nodded, reached up and felt the side of her neck, where the chain had bitten the flesh as he’d ripped it off.

"The locket."

"What locket?" Gabe asked.

"The one-the one I called you about today." She looked to the door in front of her. "He got it out, put it on me when-when-when...." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

The ping-swish of the elevator doors startled her. Her heartbeat speeded up, but she didn’t turn around.

"Thank God."

Brayden.

No. Oh, no. Not like this. Not like this. Please.

Christian pulled the blanket tighter, stared at the closed door and kept the bruised side of her face away.

She had no idea what it looked like, she hadn’t wanted to see, but she could imagine.

Footsteps neared. More than one.

"Mr. Kinncaid. Mr. Kinncaid. And another one I presume? If you don’t mind, we’d like a moment of your time," Laurence tried. Christian felt the cop move to stand between her and them.

"I do mind." Then he was there, pulling her against him. "God, I’ve been worried sick. When I couldn’t get hold of you. When I couldn’t ... I kept thinking about.... What happened? All they said was that you were at Sibly. Are you okay?"

She could feel him trembling, or maybe it was her.

It didn’t matter. She was dirty. Dirty. She pushed him away, brought the blanket up with her hands to shield her face.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him raise his hand, and she stepped away.

His hand hovered there. "Christian?"

Silence settled around them. She was so cold, she couldn’t stop shaking.

"Let’s go inside," Gabe said.

Brayden didn’t care about going inside. He wanted to know what the hell was going on. When he’d seen her standing there between the cops, relief had rushed through him. She was okay. She was fine.

But as he’d gotten closer, he noticed the posture of the cops--guarding, hers--tightened. The changed hair color, a burnished blonde-brown color. And the relief slid away into worry.

She stood there, trembling before him, her head bowed in the blanket.

"Christian?"

Still she didn’t lower the blanket and Brayden didn’t move.

Slowly, he reached up to the bunched material hiding her from him.

Her head shook back and forth, but she didn’t jerk away.

"Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me," she whispered. If he weren’t standing so close, he wouldn’t have heard her.

"Christian." Carefully, he pulled her hands down.

Her head was still bowed. He saw the white butterfly bandage on her forehead, the dark bruise contrasting around it, the large knot bumping under the contused skin.

With one hand, he crooked a finger under her chin, noticed her stiffen, pull into herself. What had happened?

"Look at me."

She shook her head.

"Baby, look at me."

Her eyes slowly rose to his and he felt his world tilt, quake and shatter.

"Jesus." The entire right side of her face was bruised, swollen and red. Dark purple marks colored her jaw line. Gently, he moved her chin to the side. Her lip was swollen and split.

He heard Aiden’s indrawn breath, Quinlan’s curse.

"What the hell happened?"

The hands, hidden beneath the blanket, held in one of his, started to shake. The trembles shook her entire frame, until she quaked violently.

"Bray, let’s go inside. Get her inside and sit her down," Aiden said.

Her eyes wouldn’t meet his and she ducked her head. He shifted out of the way as Aiden unlocked the door, wrapping one arm around her.

Still holding her hands, in one of his, he pulled her closer and walked her into their apartment.

He cupped her arm with one hand to steer her to the couch, but at her grimace he let go.

She stopped and stepped away from him, looking at the floor. "I’m going to take a shower."

A shower? He reached out to her, but she stepped further away.

"D-don’t. I’m dirty. Please don’t-don’t touch me."

The words sank home, the possible meaning behind them. No. No. God, no.

Christian turned to walk to her bedroom and stopped. She stood in front of the hallway mirror. He saw her reflection, the shock on her face. Her trembling hand rose to her hair.

"Look," she whispered. "Look."

He was and his stomach pitched at the bruises on her face, her swollen eye. An accident?

I’m dirty ... don’t touch me.

Brayden swallowed.

The bandage around her wrist flashed at him. White against white skin. Her other hand came up and the blanket dropped.

Holy Mother of God.

Her neck was scratched and scraped. A bandage wrapped around both wrists and her upper arm.

"Look at my hair," her voice trembled. Tears trickled over her cheeks.

"Honey, it’s okay. It’s fine," Aiden said calmly from behind him.

Brayden didn’t give a damn about her hair, it was the rest of her, abraded and bruised that shook him, made him fist his hands at his side.

Her eyes rose to his, then locked on Aiden. "It’s not fine."

Brayden saw the fear, the anger in the gray depths.

"It’s not fine!" Her fingers ran through her discolored hair. "He-he did this." Her eyes looked back to the mirror, to herself. "He-he-he... Oh, God." She swayed.

Brayden moved and caught her before she crumpled to the floor.

Rage pounded through him. Disbelief warred with the bruised and battered woman in his arms. Her body shook so badly, so deeply he wondered that her bones didn’t snap.

"Who?" He held her, gentled his voice even though he wanted to yell.

She stiffened, pushed away from him. "Don’t-don’t touch me. Don’t. I’m dirty."

He reached out, but dropped his hands back when she shook her head and stepped away. All he could do was watch helplessly as she took small steps to the door of her rooms. He fisted his hands at his side until they shook, bit down till his teeth hurt.

At her door, she stopped. Without turning, she asked, "Could-could you get me-get me some clothes?"

Brayden could see her trembling from here. "Anything. Anything you want."

She nodded. "Clothes. I need some clothes. He-he.... I need some."

With that, she shut her door and he heard the lock slide home, click back open, then slide home again.

Brayden stood staring at the door refusing to see the picture her voiced and unspoken words painted.

He moved his jaw back and forth, grinding his teeth. Taking a deep breath, he turned to see the cops standing in his foyer. Aiden paced by the couch. Quinlan stood by a chair.

He asked Morris, "What the hell happened?"

Morris rolled his head on his neck, his jaw moving side to side as he walked toward Brayden. His eyes narrowed. With no warning, Morris threw a punch, catching him right on the jaw.

Brayden shook his head, the pain not registering.

"Morris? Are you insane?" the female officer asked.

"That’s what I’d like to know," Aiden added. "Do you wish to have a brutality suit filed against you?"

Brayden’s gaze locked on Morris’ dark one.

"You don’t deserve her. Damn you. Why the hell did you leave her alone?" Morris bit out.

"Gabe. Calm down." Stepping between them, the short woman held her hand out. "I’m Detective Laurence."

Brayden barely spared her a look, but when he did, he asked, "I want to know what the hell happened and I want to know now."

* * * *

The scalding water filled the bathroom with so much steam, she couldn’t see herself in the mirror. Just as well. She didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to see the bruises, the cuts, the marks he left on her.

She didn’t want to see Josephine staring back at her.

The skin on her arms was pink, almost raw from the pumice stone she’d used, and the entire bar of soap.

And still she scrubbed. The water heated her already reddened skin.

She’d taken off the wet gauze from her wrists. The spray bit into the raw skin, stinging at first, until it grew numb.

Water ran off her hair, down her face. She stared at the cream tiles, the steam so thick on them, water trailed down.

What was she going to do?

...first will be Brayden, and his little girl...

Oh, God. What did she do?

A sob choked her, tore out of her throat.

She leaned back, slid down the wet wall. With her knees to her chest, she bowed her head and tried to stop the tears that washed away her shame as uselessly as the hot water beating unmercifully down on her.