Hunted, A Romantic Suspence Novel (12 page)

Matt watched her hands work with lightning speed as she reassembled the Glock. She had nimble fingers and great dexterity. How much had she inherited, and how much had she learned in order to survive?

Shaking his head, he studied the log once more. Focus. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

“The lawyer was the only visitor Strict had for the previous two months.”

Finished assembling the Glock, Katie pushed the magazine into place. She laid down her weapon then reached her right arm over her head, scratching at her back. “He had followers, not friends. Once he was sent to Lewisberg penitentiary, the Family scattered.”

“September twenty-third, Christian G. Anders visited.”

Her face went blank as if she was trying to recall the name, then she shook her head. “I don’t have a clue who that could be.” She switched arms, again scratching at her back.

“Could it be an alias?”

“Who knows.” Shrugging, she lifted his weapon and quickly disassembled it. “Many Family members used them. A number of men spent time in prison.”

And this young woman grew up in that environment? He studied her face. Concentrating on her task, she looked as young and innocent as a student performing an assignment for a grade.

Living among hardened criminals and men who placed their own needs and desires above the law, had she really managed to stay innocent? He knew some paramilitary groups used their women like toys.

The idea of Strict using Katie as a prize for his men made Matt’s blood go cold. She wouldn’t have been able to prevent the abuse. Considering everything else she’d been through, Strict wouldn’t have been above using rape as a way to control her. Self-preservation ran strong and deep in Katie. She’d learn to adapt, even to that.

A wave of nausea rolled over him. The room filled with stars. Intense heat pressed in all around him.

He needed to leave, quick.

He shoved himself out of the chair then stumbled toward the door.

“Matt?” Katie’s concerned voice followed him.

He stopped at the door, signaling her to stay where she was. “I’m all right, I just need a little air.”

Without looking back, he bolted for the kitchen. After grabbing a bottle of whiskey from Craig’s liquor cupboard, he stepped onto the back porch. Inhaling deep, he let the winter air fill his lungs. The shocking cold returned his world back to its axis. He unscrewed the top to the whiskey bottle and took one large drink. The liquor burnt his throat then sent a fire all the way to his stomach.

Pain blurred his eyes and he choked. Coughing for a moment, he bent at the waist, his head hanging below his knees.

Damn, he hated even the possibility that Katie had been raped and used by Strict’s men.

That was Sarah, not Katie.

His mind cleared. Those things, all of them, had happened to Sarah, not Katie, not the Katie who stood up to Strict and his clan.

He could deal with that. He’d just keep her two identities separate in his mind. He slowly took another steadying drink of whiskey, then screwed the cap back on the bottle. What was past was past. Now she needed him to help her catch the person sent to kill her.

“Feeling better?” Katie asked when he returned to the sunroom. She had his gun dismantled on the newspaper before her.

Matt nodded. “A little. Let’s see who else we can add to our list.” Picking up the log he flipped through the next few months, finding Strict had no contact with anyone other than his lawyer. “April sixth, Maura Allen.”

A soft smile spread across Katie’s lips. “Maura. She was one of the few people in the Family I liked. She functioned as the clan’s midwife and secretary. I think she fancied herself in love with Strict.”

“She was kind to you?” Matt liked the idea of someone caring about her.

“As much as anyone was allowed to be, yes.” Finished cleaning the parts, she quickly reassembled his Glock.

Fascinated, Matt watched her quick and precise hands. “You’re an expert at that.”

“I was drilled on it every day for six years. Some things you never forget.” She laid the gun on the floor next to the other weapon. She sat straighter, wiggling her shoulders, then reaching back to try and scratch between her shoulder blades once more.

“Got an itch?”

“It’s more like something is poking me there that I can’t quite reach.” She twisted to one side, reaching from the bottom.

Matt set aside the log. “There’s no other new names in the log. Why don’t you let me see if I can find out what’s bothering you.”

He scooted the dogs away and sat next to her on the floor. Gently he turned her so she sat between his extended legs. She sat ramrod straight, her body tense again. He wanted to grip her by the hips and pull her snug against him, but he fought the urge. Winning her trust was important to him.

“Where’s the spot?”

“Here.” She pointed to the area between her shoulder blades.

Matt looked at her top. The light-blue cotton sweater was dotted with small brown spots. “Have you been scratching at this long?”

“Just since we got back from the hospital. Why?”

“I think you’ve made it bleed. There’s some dried blood on your sweater.” He grasped the bottom of her sweater and gently pulled upward. “Let me take a look—”

“No.” She grabbed the shirt and held it down.

What the hell?

He held onto the back to keep her from moving away. “Katie, I think you’re bleeding and I need to see what caused it.”

Shaking her head, she held the shirt down tight.

“Let me look. I promise not to do anything else.” He leaned forward, his lips a hair’s breadth away from her ear. “Please?”

A shiver ran through her.

“You can trust me.”

They sat that way for a moment in their silent tug-of-war then her head drooped.

She released her hold on the sweater. Her body tensed tighter. He wondered if he blew across her skin if she would shatter into a thousand pieces.

Gently, he lifted the material from her back, exposing the creamy skin beneath. As he lifted higher, he leaned closer not believing what he saw.

Long razor-thin scars striped her mid-back in crisscross fashion.

He paused, holding her shirt halfway up her back. He couldn’t be seeing what he was seeing.

“The son of a bitch. He whipped you?”

“With an antique horse whip.” Her voice trembled. Gripping the sweater again, she tried to pull it back down.

With great restraint over his rage, Matt managed to still her efforts. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

When she released her hold on the shirt, he took a deep breath to steady himself for whatever else he might discover. Pulling upwards, he saw the beginning of puckered scars, the same kind she had on her hip and thighs. He wanted to swear. But he’d seen how his anger affected her and forced himself to hold all the words inside. He eased her top up to her shoulders.

The scars from dogs’ teeth left long ridges over the upper half of her torso. Beneath them lay more lash marks from the whip. There was no question she’d been tortured—more than once.

God, how had she survived it all?

Suddenly, she shivered beneath his fingers. Was it from the cool air on her skin or embarrassment? Trying to reassure her, he rested his hands on her shoulders, gently rubbing them through the material.

“Is my back bleeding?” Her voice trembled again.

Gently he pushed her forward so her back arched a bit. Light from the windows caught something clear on her back and numerous pinpoints flashed at him.

“Dammit. Your whole back is peppered with glass slivers. How did they miss that at the hospital?”

“I didn’t feel any of it until we arrived here. Between my concussion and my thigh injury, I’m sure no one knew to look for an injury on my back.” Once again she tried to pull her top down.

“Stop that.” He held the material at her shoulders. “These need to come out of there, and you can’t do it yourself. You’re going to have to let me get them out for you.”

Her shoulders slumped beneath his hands. “I guess you’re right.”

Her capitulation wasn’t enough. He wanted something more from her.

“Katie, you’re going to have to take off this sweater and your bra. Can you trust me long enough to sit here exposed while I work these slivers out?”

She hesitated. For a moment he thought she’d fight him again. Then very slowly she nodded.

Easing away, he stood for a moment gazing at her. She was almost huddled on the floor at his feet. For the first time since he met her, she looked frail and helpless. Even unconscious she’d seemed to have more fight in her than she did at this moment.

She needed him, not just to pull shards of glass from her flesh, but to restore part of the innocence Strict stole from her. By accepting all of her, her past and her scars, he could return some of her dignity.

Matt strode from the room, praying he could do what had to be done without inflicting any more pain or damage on Katie. Searching through the bathroom cabinet, he found a pair of tweezers and a bottle of peroxide. When he returned, Katie still sat huddled in the same spot. Her top and bra were off, and she held them to her front. Adding the gauze and ointment to his supplies, he slipped in behind her once more.

“I’m going to try not to hurt you too much, sweetheart, but I don’t think I can help it.”

“Scar tissue has fewer nerve endings than regular tissue.”

She sounded like a robot. Just how much control did she have over her emotions right now? And if he did the wrong thing, how would she deal with it?

Forcing all his questions away, he began the long process of pulling each glass sliver from her flesh. Every so often he stopped and rubbed her arm or shoulder.

“How’re you doing?”

“Okay. It feels good to have them gone. But I’m dying to scratch.”

 “Let me get them out, and I’ll be happy to scratch your itch for you.”

Returning to his chore, he was glad the fragility he’d seen earlier was disappearing. She’d almost relaxed under his ministrations.

Finally, the last piece of glass slid out. He handed her the bottle of peroxide. “Pour some of that on the gauze.”

“Be gentle,” she said, handing the soaked gauze to him.

Wincing in sympathy he laid the astringent cloth on her back.

She hissed out a sharp breath, shaking her head back and forth as he dabbed at her skin. “Geez.”

“That’s done. Now, you want some ointment on it?”

“Yes. If you don’t mind?” Her voice sounding almost normal, she handed him the tube. “There’s painkiller in it.”

After squirting the gel onto another piece of gauze, he gently dabbed it over the numerous spots on her upper back. With his left hand, he continued to rub her upper shoulder, accustoming her to his touch.

Her skin grew warm beneath his hand. His eyes wandered over her scarred back. Without thinking, he leaned down and let his lips touch one of the old scars in a gentle kiss. He lowered his hands to the small of her back, his fingers caressing over the faint scars there.

She shivered, but didn’t pull away.

He took her stillness as permission to continue. Working his fingers upwards, he slowly caressed each and every one, bypassing the recently injured spots. Occasionally, he dropped a soft kiss on a particularly ugly scar.

Her shaking started when he’d worked his way two-thirds up her back.

“Am I hurting you?” If she said yes, he’d die. He didn’t want to hurt her. She’d been hurt more than anyone ever deserved.

She simply shook her head.

“Want me to stop?”

Without words, she shook her head.

Taking as much care as he could and fighting his own desire to do more, he continued his gentle caressing touch. Her shaking grew harder.

She sniffled.

His hands stopped on her shoulders.

“Katie?” He leaned closer, his chest gentle against her back. He touched her chin with his finger and turned her head to look at him.

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Katie stared at Matt through her blurry veil of tears. Every inch of her body shook. She needed to find a hole to crawl into and hide.

If he kissed her she’d lose what little control on her emotions she still had.

Please God, don’t let him kiss me.

Slowly he inched closer. She held her breath. His hand touched her cheek, gently stroking her skin with his fingers.

Then she felt a tug on the sweater she clutched to her chest. She gripped the material tighter. The condition of her back embarrassed her. It made her less than whole.

Yet he’d touched, caressed and kissed all her scars. Could she bare the rest of her body for him? She was twenty-seven years old, and no one had ever seen her naked. Until this very moment, she’d planned to never allow anyone this much intimacy. He was slowly changing her beliefs about many things. Could she trust him with all her body and all her secrets?

He leaned in closer. “Sweetheart, let me have the sweater.”

His eyes said trust me. His warm breath sent tingles throughout her body.

Slowly she relinquished her hold on the blue cloth.

His gaze never left hers.

Cool air caressed her skin as the material slipped from her fingers. She shivered, from cold or the sudden awareness of him, she wasn’t sure which.

Bunching the material in his hands, he made the opening in the top a wide circle then gently pulled the material over her head.

Realizing he didn’t mean to press his advantage she numbly stared at him. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Now isn’t the time. When you’re ready, you’ll know it.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

“Then the choice will still be yours.” He helped her get her hands through the sleeves then gently pulled the sweater down over her. His fingers lightly touched the outer swells of her breasts as they passed by.

She gasped. He smiled at her and finished lowering her top into place
.

Then he did the one thing she’d feared. Cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs brushed away the wetness of her tears. He leaned toward her, pressing his lips to hers in the softest of kisses.