Hidden Scars (20 page)

       “My mother doesn’t like you.” Her teeth clicked together as her mouth snapped shut. She pressed her face into his chest. “There’s just no way for that to come out right, is there?” She caught the wariness in his eyes when she lifted her head. Taylor moved onto his side, and she scooted up, stopping when they were eye to eye. “She thinks you’re bad for me. According to her, I’m changing myself for you. I used to be so bright and fucking happy and outgoing.” Bitterness left a sour taste in her mouth. “She’s stuck on some previous version of me that I haven’t been in what, ten years? Longer?”

       Her fingers traced the line of his mouth, thumb rubbing over the fuller part of his lower lip. “I wish she could see it,” she whispered, gaze trained on her thumb and his mouth. “My dad does. Megan does.” Her fingers moved away from his mouth, over his cheek to slide into the silky warmth of his hair. “I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.”

       The change was minute, but she felt it, the slight stiffening. “Oh, am I getting too mushy for you?” Her smile may have been a little on the evil side. “Too bad, bud. You make me happy. Deal with it.”

       She squeaked as he tipped her onto her back, pinning her to the bed. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working.” She tilted her head when his mouth came down on her neck. “Although if you’re trying to distract me from a serious conversation, you’re doing an excellent job.”

       “Not excellent enough,” he said, voice muffled as he nibbled his way up to her ear. “Not if you’re talking.” His hips rolled forward. “Can’t get enough of you.”

       He groaned when she wrapped her legs around his waist. “So am I staying?”

       “You’re not getting out of this bed tonight.” He paused, hesitation shining in his eyes.

       Dammit, she was falling way too hard for this man. Way, waaaay too hard. At least if he crushed her heart he wouldn’t be crushing her self-confidence in the process. She took a chance and stripped aside her barriers, letting everything leech out onto her face. “I want you to do it again,” she murmured. “Make love to me like you did before.”

       This time, when he slid into her, she laid herself open to the devastation she felt coming, sucking in everything she could, the freedom, the fear, the promise of more as she splintered around him.

       And when he went rigid above her, she held on tight.

       Maybe if she sprinkled her resume with glitter and stars and holy water she’d have better luck getting a call back. Sara scanned her cover letter one last time and clicked send, hoping it didn’t get lost in the ether along with all the others she’d sent out over the past few weeks. She shut off her laptop and glanced at her phone for the time.

       Crap. She was going to be late for work.

       She darted around her house, hunting down the heels she’d kicked off in the living room the other day, locating her book and tossing it in her bag. Her security system beeped, a long, low pulse signifying someone had tripped one of the motion sensors. It would send an alert to her phone, and she had a short window to respond or the police would be notified. She shut off the alert, puzzling over who could be at her house this early in the day. The mail wasn’t delivered until the afternoon, and she had packages delivered to work.

       Her first thought was Sam. He could have decided it was worth violating the terms of his release to go after her. Creeping to the window, she gripped her phone tight and nudged the sheer curtain aside to scan the front yard. She’d had a lot of problems in the beginning with squirrels and the occasional neighborhood cat tripping the sensors, so the security company had moved them up higher, far enough off the ground that only a truly intrepid creature could set off the sensor.

       The loud
crack
of a tree branch being stepped on had her ducking out of sight, heart in her mouth. She needed to get away. Why had she shut off the alert?
Why?

       She strained her ears for the tiniest noise, jerking and pressing herself to the wall as she heard footsteps thunking on the driveway. They were getting farther away, not closer, and she slid down the wall, phone forgotten in her hand.

       Not a safe place. She needed to get to a safe place.

       Willing her heart rate to settle, she sat on the floor and counted, first to a hundred, then a thousand. When she didn’t hear anymore footsteps, she scrambled to her feet, set her alarm, and ran out of the house, making a beeline for her car.

       She didn’t remember the drive into downtown, or the hunt for a parking spot. It took all her concentration just to keep the car steady, the
slap-slap
of her windshield wipers lulling her. Uncaring that she was getting wet, she stared at the front of the precinct. A safe place. Sam couldn’t get her in there.

       Tracking down the same detective who’d helped file the protection order took some time. The tiny waiting area wasn’t exactly welcoming, and her heels clicked over the worn linoleum as she paced. The longer she waited, the more the fear spread, until she was shaking with it.

       What if it wasn’t Sam? What if it was one of Tony’s men, like Taylor feared
?

       A dull buzzing filled her ears, grey edging her vision. She needed to sit down. Her knees gave way and her butt hit the floor, the contents of her purse spilling out. Her phone chimed twice. She probably ought to answer it.

       “Miss? Are you all right?”

       Does it look like I’m all right?
Hysterical laughter bubbled up, and she choked. The blue uniformed officer was bent over and studying her with a professional frown. Her hands flopped uselessly to her sides. The floor was incredibly uncomfortable. She didn’t have the strength to stand up.

       Five minutes later she was in an equally uncomfortable chair and her hands were wrapped around a paper cup of coffee. It smelled horrible. Her hands soaked in the warmth and she huddled farther into her coat.

       “Miss Andrews?”

       The detective she’d spoken with the last time, Fallon? Farron? He sat across from her, placing his elbows on his knees. “Are you sure you’re okay? Is there anyone we can call for you?”

       She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. All I want is someone to make sure Sam’s in Sacramento where he belongs, or wherever the hell he’s supposed to be.”

       He took out a notepad from his inside jacket pocket. It was a nice jacket, deep grey without being charcoal. Taylor would look good in it. She should ask him where he got his suit.

       “At the risk of repeating myself, are you sure you’re okay?”

       Her gaze snapped back to the detective’s. “Yes,” she whispered. Reluctantly pulling one of her hands away from the cup, she found her phone in her bag and handed it to him. “I received a couple of hang up calls from a blocked number. I received the first one the same night I learned Sam had been paroled, the second a few days later.”

       Fallon gestured for the phone, and she handed it to him. “I’ve left a message for Detective Milan. We should know the whereabouts of Mr. Thibodaux by the end of the day.” The phone buzzed in the detective’s hand, and after a nod from Sara, he opened the incoming text. “Who’s Taylor Smith?”

       “A friend. Coworker. Why?”

       “He wants to know where you are.” The detective’s thumbs moved over the keyboard, and he handed the phone back before she could snatch it away. “Miss Andrews, our first concern is your well-being. You’re in shock.”

       “I’m fine,” she insisted.

       “That may be the case, but I’d feel better if someone came and got you. Hopefully Taylor will show up soon.”

       It was all wrong. She didn’t want to drag Taylor into this, not when he had his own problems to deal with. When she tried to get her brain to send a signal to her legs to stand up, it refused to cooperate. They were numb. All of her was numb. She needed better coffee.

       She answered the detective’s questions on autopilot, and if someone asked her later what was said, she’d have to fake it, because she couldn’t remember. At one point, she handed over her phone again.

       She was the first to see Taylor. He walked through the maze of desks, the fluorescent lighting dulling the reddish hints in his hair. If people saw him, their gazes slid right past him. The time it took him to cross the room passed by achingly slow, and then his hand was on her shoulder and she tried to stand and found she still couldn’t.

       The detective glanced up. “Are you Taylor Smith?” He nodded. “Detective Fallon.” Fallon held out a hand to Taylor. “Thank you for coming. Miss Andrews had a bit of a scare this morning, and I didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone.”

       “Would you give us a moment?” Taylor asked. Fallon stood and walked away, taking his notepad with him. Taylor took the seat he’d vacated and rolled it forward, placing his hands on her knees. “Talk to me.”

       “Someone was at the house this morning.”

       “Someone was at the house. And you drove here instead of calling the police.” He rolled closer, his hands sliding up the outsides of her legs to her hips. “You could have gotten hurt.”

       She could have gotten hurt if she’d stayed in the house. She was safe here. Sam wouldn’t be stupid enough to walk into a police precinct.

       Her senses returned in a rush, and she was very aware of Taylor’s hands at her hips, the drone of the squad room around them, the scent of over boiled coffee. She reached down and grasped his hands in hers. “I’m not going home. I am not going to cower or hide behind my alarms and locked doors.” Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against his. “I do that,” she said softly, “and I’ll never stop being scared of him. He’s screwed up my life long enough.”

       His gaze searched hers, and she swallowed the last of her fear. Apparently satisfied, he eased his chair back and stood, tugging her to her feet. Fallon strolled over. “I’d like to keep your phone for a little while, see if we can’t trace the calls.”

       “And someone’s checking on Sam?” she asked. Taylor’s grip on her hand tightened, and she squeezed it with a reassurance she didn’t feel.

       “We’ve left a message for his parole officer. We’ll contact you as soon as we have confirmation.” Fallon’s reassuring smile fell splat on the floor, and she resisted the need to cling to Taylor’s side.

       She slid an arm around his waist as they left the squad room. “I’m sorry you came all the way down here.”

       “I’m not.”

       The rain had let up since she’d been inside, and she let go of him to navigate the puddles dotting the sidewalk. “Sam isn’t your problem, Taylor.” She wobbled and her foot came down in a small lake of water. Fantastic. This day was getting better and better.

       He held out a hand for her car keys, and she passed them over. He was right; she shouldn’t be driving. He waited until she was seated in the passenger seat and fumbling with her seatbelt. Tipping her chin up, his lips claimed hers, the heat of them curling her toes. “You’re wrong. He is my problem.”       

       The drive through downtown Portland sped by much too fast. She scowled at the cars in the garage as Taylor rolled down the rows, searching for a parking spot. “Coffee? Please?” She batted her eyelashes after he’d maneuvered into a spot.

       His mouth quirked in that half-smile she loved, and her heart stuttered.

       She’d gone and fallen in love with Taylor Smith.

       This was such a bad idea. A horrible idea. Falling in love was not supposed to happen now. And not with him. She stared at him, a vague hope that if she did for long enough she’d trick herself out of it. Concern clouded his gaze. “You all right?”

       And everything changed. She was better than all right. She was fantastic. She kissed him softly. “I love you,” she blurted.

       He stared back at her, stunned. Imagine that, she’d managed to shock Taylor Smith. She waited a moment, her heart beating with a heavy, dull thud. No response, and the longer she waited, the more she realized it didn’t matter. She loved Taylor, and she trusted him; he might not love her, but she
knew
he cared for her. She undid her seatbelt and climbed out. Shutting the car door, she walked around to the other side and pulled open the driver’s door, leaning in to kiss a mute Taylor one last time before she headed out of the garage.

       Despite the scare from that morning, she stopped into Stumptown and picked up a cup of coffee, determined to prove to whoever might be watching that she wasn’t going to hide anymore. From anything.

       Coffee in hand, she was smiling when she swung into her office. She dropped her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk, set her coffee down, and darted out to the restroom to wash her hands.

       Jeremy was storming down the hall to his office as she made her way back to her office. “You.” His voice was low and harsh. “You fucking bitch.” He covered the remaining feet between them and shoved her into the wall, his hands clamped down on her shoulders. His mouth twisted in a snarl, the feral noise emanating from his throat sparking panic in her belly.

       When he brought his face to hers, she reacted on instinct. One knee came up and connected with his groin, her fist plowing into his stomach as she ducked under his arm. The ass collapsed in a howl of pain, curling into a ball. “Fuck,” he squeaked. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

       “Hind brain reaction. It didn’t take too well to being threatened.” She bent down, reveling in the power surging through her blood. She’d done it. She hadn’t frozen like a scared little bunny. Jeremy’s blue eyes were shiny with tears and hate, narrowing to slits as she leaned in. “Don’t you fucking touch me again.” Straightening, she noticed Larry standing open mouthed at the end of the hallway. He stayed that way for long minutes, until she shrugged and walked around Jeremy’s prone form.

       “Sara—”

       “What?” she demanded, planting her feet, prepared for another round. “He shoved me into the wall. I protected myself.”