Found Wanting (35 page)

The rising defensiveness irritated her. It hardly mattered what he thought. But maybe it did. "I didn't have a choice."

"Why not?"

She pushed away from the table, unable to sit there another second with his intense gaze on her, challenging her. Retreating to the fire, she sought its heat to chase away a sudden chill. This was dangerous territory that she was unwilling to tread. It was one reason she had kept him at a distance all week. "I don't want to talk about this," she said.

"I think we should."

"It doesn't matter. None of it matters."

"I think it does."

He seemed determined to hammer at her until she admitted ... what? That everything that had happened was her fault?

Emma dead. Her mother murdered. Grant Maxwell shot. And why?

Because she had coveted her sister's fiancé. There was no question that she had been attracted to Layton. She had flirted with him on more than one occasion. He was a good-looking, intelligent man who'd paid attention to her when others had brushed her off. He'd laughed at her jokes. He'd seemed to respect her refusal to kowtow to her controlling father.

It had frustrated her that he was with Addison when it had seemed so obvious that Alaina was the one he'd wanted. She'd seen it in his electric blue gaze every time he'd looked at her. Maybe he had seen something in hers, too. She had certainly done nothing to discourage him when he'd looked at her that way.

Alaina listened to the snap-pop of the wood, felt its heat on her skin, though it failed to warm the chill inside her that had its origins in guilt. She'd learned to live with the chill. Jonah had taken the edge off, had very nearly banished it. Without him, she imagined her heart would have been a block of ice by now. Maybe one day it still would be. Maybe some day soon.

She felt Mitch behind her, waiting for her to respond, and sensed he would wait all night. She drew in a slow breath. "When he took my son away, Layton didn't even want him. Nobody wanted Jonah but me, and I was the only one who was told I couldn't have him."

"So the obvious choice was to run away."

She told herself his sarcasm didn't hurt, but it did. It really did. "It was absolutely the right thing to do. I made a choice. A hard choice."

"And when you slept with your sister's boyfriend? What kind of choice was that?"

* * *

Mitch held his breath. He expected her to be angry. At least, that's what he wanted. Fury, resentment, hostility. Any reaction would do. As long as there was emotion. Ten days ago, she'd been fiery with rage and frustration. Fierce with maternal defensiveness. She'd been mad as hell and fighting for her own life and the life of her child. Even the first morning here at the cabin, she'd been determined to beat Keller, to get her son back.

Since then, the fire had died out of her eyes. He didn't think she had given up, but hope seemed fleeting. She conversed. She even laughed. But she was going through the motions. It was as if she'd shut herself down because she didn't know how to deal with what she would feel if she didn't. Instinct told him that to jumpstart her emotions, he had to tear down her defenses, and the angrier he made her, the faster that would happen.

When she finally faced him, though, he saw that his attempt had failed. Her features, though pale and drawn, were carefully blank, her eyes as expressionless. "Did you say earlier that there's pie?" she asked.

His plan had backfired. Instead of snapping her out of whatever torpor she'd slipped into, she seemed to have retreated even further. Frustrated but fearing she might be too fragile for him to push any harder, Mitch scooted his chair back and stood. "I'll get it."

After gathering their dirty dishes, he carried them into the kitchen and set them in the sink. His hands shook as he sliced into the fresh apple pie and served two pieces onto clean plates.

He blew it, he thought. She'd been relaxing with him, and he'd pushed too hard. But, God, he wanted her to look at him just once without that damn wariness in her eyes. He wanted her to trust him. He just plain wanted her. It surprised him how much. Even as he'd kept his distance from her all week, his need had grown. And if she never trusted him ...

When he returned with the pie, he saw that she hadn't moved from where she stood in front of the fire. She had her arms curved around herself as if she were cold.

"Do you want a refill on coffee?" he asked as he set the plates on the table.

She didn't move, and he thought she hadn't heard him. "Alaina?"

"He raped me."

She turned from the fire, and Mitch stared at her, wanting desperately to have not heard her correctly. But, on some subconscious level, he'd already known that she'd been assaulted. He'd suspected it after she had freaked out when he'd straddled her on the bed to subdue her. Hearing her confirm his fear -- and that it had been Keller -- didn't make the rage any less powerful. It rolled over him, heavy as a cement truck.

That bastard. That fucking bastard.

Alaina's gaze dropped from his, and she rubbed her arms. "He came up with his own version of what happened, of course."

Mitch didn't move, didn't breathe, as he grappled with the fury that threatened to aim his fist at the nearest wall.

She blew out a shaky breath, glanced at him, then away again. When she spoke, he had to strain to hear her. "They all bought it," she said. "My father. My sister. My mother ... though I think she didn't at first, until my father did his usual bullying. I suppose I can't really blame them. My behavior had never been ... ideal." Her laugh was humorless as she gazed into the flames. "I didn't even tell them at first, because I was terrified that that's how they would react. They would think it was somehow my fault. I mean, I couldn't really expect them to think it wasn't my fault when even I didn't think that." Her voice cut out, and she paused, chewing her bottom lip.

Jesus, Mitch thought. She'd been eighteen, a kid, with no one to turn to. Pity simmered just below the rapid boil of his rage. But he said nothing. After waiting seven days for her to start talking, he wasn't about to interrupt her.

She sniffed, cleared her throat. "So I kept it to myself, tried to get over it. I made sure I was never alone with him again, never vulnerable. Locked my bedroom door at night, even shoved my desk chair under the knob in case he figured out how to pick the lock. Then I found out I was pregnant." She dropped her head back, as if looking toward the heavens for an explanation. "God, I'd wished so much that I'd fooled around with my boyfriend. Then there would have been a chance that the baby wasn't Layton's. It would have been so much easier. I even considered letting everyone think that, but I couldn't do that to Michael. And as time went by, I began to realize that I had to tell them. Especially Addison. She'd married him by then, and I let her, knowing what he was. That ate at me." She took a breath, held it in. "So I told them." She gave him a sad, tremulous smile. "It wasn't pretty."

Mitch's heart squeezed in his chest so hard it hurt, and his hands shook with the need to destroy something, to vent this terrible, impotent rage. He didn't know what to say, what he could say. Then it hit him why she hadn't told Jonah about his father. How could she tell her son that he'd been given life because a vile act of violence had been committed against her?

"Please don't look at me like that," she said softly.

He tried to force himself to relax, to school his expression. He didn't know how he had been looking at her, but surely the ferocity of his thoughts had been clear.

Perhaps too clear, because she had her arms wrapped around herself, as if for protection. Her gaze, watchful, steady, was on his, her gray-green eyes guarded as ever. He realized slowly that she was waiting for something. What? What did she need from him? What could he possibly give her that would make any of it okay?

"I'm sorry," he said, furious at the inadequacy of it. He'd never felt more like an inept jerk.

Her lips compressed as if to hold back a rush of emotion. Her chin trembled, and he could see she was struggling to hold it in. She started rubbing her arms again, as if she were freezing.

God, he wanted to scream, to beat the wall. If Keller had been standing there, he would have gladly ripped his heart out. What kind of monster did what he'd done? The son of a bitch had actually painted himself as the victim when he'd asked Mitch to find his son. "My sister-in-law is a shrewd, ruthless woman."

Suddenly, Mitch could understand how a man could be overwhelmed by the need for vengeance. The hate he felt was grinding, animal, as he clenched his fists at his sides. "He's going to pay, Alaina," he said in a low voice. "He's going to pay for what he did."

She went still. "You believe me?"

He gazed at her, baffled. "Of course, I believe you. Why wouldn't I?"

She moved jerkily to the sofa and sat, curving one arm around her middle and pressing the tips of her fingers to her lips. Tears began to fall, and her breath hitched once before she leaned forward to bury her face in her hands.

Perplexed and shaken, Mitch forced his anger aside and sat beside her. He didn't know what to do or say as she wept, so he rubbed a gentle hand over her back. As comfort went, it seemed insufficient, but he felt her lean against him ever so slightly.

Putting his arms around her, he cradled her against him, absurdly relieved when she burrowed in and held on.

Chapter 28

The phone rang, and Addison leapt up from Layton's desk chair, her hand covering her heart as if she'd been caught.

But, no, it was just the phone.

She debated answering it. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't. It was Layton's office phone -- and she rarely was in his office. The last time had been to swipe copies of the detective reports on the search for Alaina that she had given to the feds. Certainly now she didn't belong there, looking through his desk drawers for evidence of his affair.

That cheating son of a bitch.

She'd known for a week, and her anger was still strong. She'd been watching him for clues but had observed nothing. Oh, he was good, she thought. He was so good at deception. She hadn't thought she could despise him any more than she already had, but she did.

The phone rang a third time, and she snatched it up. "Layton Keller's office."

"May I speak to Mr. Keller please?"

Addison didn't recognize the sing-song female voice, and suspicion turned her vision red. "He's unavailable at the moment. May I take a message?"

"This is Dr. Ellison's office. Please tell Mr. Keller the blood test results were negative."

"What blood test?"

"He'll understand. Thank you."

The woman hung up, and Addison lowered the phone.

"The blood test results were negative."

She remembered the tiny bruise in the crook of Jonah's arm. "They took blood," he'd said. What kind of blood test would Layton want run on Jonah?

And then she knew.

Head spinning, she sank onto Layton's chair. Disbelief made her ears ring.

* * *

Alaina opened eyes that felt gritty and swollen. Morning sun was streaming through the windows of the cabin. The hair on her nape stirred, and she realized that Mitch's warm body was pressed against her back, his arms wrapped securely around her, his chin resting in the juncture where her neck and shoulder met. The fire had died down, and his heat felt good. So, she noticed, did his proximity. A man had never held her like this, and it surprised her how comfortable it was. It also surprised her that she was in no hurry to shift away.