Keep Me Safe (6 page)

What if . . . ​What if he truly could keep her safe? What if he could prevent her agonizing death at the hands of a madman? She was afraid to hope, to let herself be lulled into a false sense of security. And yet she couldn't quite prevent the fledgling glimmer of hope from unfurling in the deepest part of her soul.

“Look at me. Watch me. Breathe deep. In through your nose and out your mouth. You can do this.”

Her pulse was a rapid staccato against her skin. She stared helplessly back at him, a single tear trailing warmly down her cheek, a contradiction to the icy chill that held her in its grip.

“Don't cry, Ramie,” he said in a gentle voice. “You're safe now, I swear it. But you have to breathe for me. Like this.”

She watched as he demonstrated sucking in deep breaths, his nostrils flaring, and then expelling the air, the warmth of his breath on her chin. Some of the terrible panic began to ease. Slowly, her lungs opened up and allowed a shaky intake. She shuddered violently, shaking off the chokehold anxiety had on her.

“Nice and easy,” he soothed. “You need to slow it down.” He glanced down at one of the hands he still held, his fingers circled gently around her wrist. “Your pulse is way too fast.”

She had yet to say a word to him. He'd done all the talking. And now that her panic attack was abating, she had no idea what to say at all. He was here. He'd come. He'd responded to her plea for help. What could she tell him? Would he even believe her?

His expression grew dark, his eyes flaring with anger. It was instinctive for her to recoil when he lifted a hand toward her face. He frowned even harder at her reaction.

“I'm not going to hurt you, Ramie,” he murmured.

He touched the corner of her mouth where the bruise and dried blood she still hadn't washed away were on her skin. His touch was infinitely gentle and once more she marveled at the fact that her mind wasn't thrown into the instant turmoil that was usually the result when people touched her.

Oh, she sensed anger. Deep, seething rage. But she knew it was directed at the man who'd struck her. The man who wanted to kill her. She could sense nothing from him, which meant he had no dark secrets. No violent tendencies. All she could feel was hatred toward the man who'd struck her.

“Now, tell me what you can,” Caleb said, no hint of impatience in his voice. “You said someone was trying to kill you. I need to know every single detail if I'm going to be able to protect you.”

It was the way in which he said
protect you
that struck a chord inside her. He hadn't said
help her
. He'd said
protect
in a possessive tone, one she found comforting. The first time in over a year she'd enjoyed one brief moment of comfort and . . . ​peace. The peace she was so desperate to achieve.

They sat there in silence, Caleb's fingers still a gentle caress on her face, when she realized he was waiting for her response. For her to say something instead of numbly staring at him like a brainless idiot.

God, where to start?

Weariness assailed her. Fatigue crashed into her like the surf against a rocky coast. She felt more battered and bruised in her heart and soul than she did from her stalker's physical attack hours before.

“I don't know where to start,” she whispered. “It all sounds so . . . ​crazy. I wouldn't even believe my story coming from someone else.”

His fingers fell from her face and back to her hand, rubbing over the top in a circular pattern meant to soothe and calm. Then he simply laced his fingers with hers and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“Start wherever you like. I'll listen. And I'll damn sure believe you.”

She sucked in a steadying breath and then let it out, her shoulders sagging with the effort.

“A year and a half ago I helped locate a kidnapping victim. What that poor girl went through was horrifying.”

She shivered just saying the words. No matter how hard she tried to block it from her mind it was there, image after image of blood, pain and impending death thick in her memory. It was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday and not eighteen months ago.

“And what
you
went through as well,” he murmured.

Regret was stark in his eyes. Sincere remorse was etched into his features.

“Yes,” she whispered. “What I endured as well.”

“Go on,” Caleb encouraged.

“The killer was never apprehended. And I say killer because though he didn't kill the victim I located, there were others. So many others. I was only able to save the one.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as grief welled to the surface, threatening to completely consume her. Then she reopened her eyes and focused her gaze on Caleb.

“He's the one trying to kill me. He's been hunting me for months. He's why I tried to hide where no one could find me. And yet he somehow manages to find me no matter where I go. He's always there. I think . . .”

She broke off and lowered her gaze because this is where it got crazy. Caleb may well think she'd lost what remaining sanity she possessed.

“You think what?” he asked softly.

“I think he has psychic abilities himself. I think it's why he's obsessed with me. It has to be why he keeps finding me. Why I'm constantly having to look over my shoulder. I swear at times I can feel his breath on my neck. He was waiting inside my hotel room today. I knew when I touched the knob that he'd been there but before I could run, he yanked the door open and grabbed me.”

Caleb's eyes grew murderous, murky like a thundercloud.

“So, you've been running for a year and a half?” he demanded.

She shook her head slowly. “No. He waited. Just when I thought I had moved on and somewhat made peace with the ordeal of locating his victim he contacted me. He called me. And I don't know how he got my number. At the time I had a stable residence but no landline. Just a cell phone. And he began taunting me. Telling me what he would do to me and how my death wouldn't be fast and that in the end I'd beg him to kill me and end my pain and misery.”

“Son of a bitch!” Caleb swore.

He pushed to his feet and began pacing back and forth at the foot of her bed. He paused briefly and turned, facing her again. He ran a hand raggedly through his hair and then gripped his nape in a gesture of frustration.

“I forced you out of hiding,” he said in a grim voice. “You left because of me. Because you were afraid if I found you then others could too.”

Ramie wouldn't lie, even to make him feel better. Her tone had no anger or resentment. Just matter-of-factness. “It was the longest I'd ever remained in one place. I think it was the only time he didn't find me or at least he didn't make his presence known. But if I'm right and he's psychic then he would have known. He enjoys the thrill of the hunt. It's a high for him. He's a trophy hunter. You know, like hunters or fishermen have their own record books and when someone breaks the old record, there's this sense of glory, an adrenaline rush that is nothing compared to before then. He lives to taunt me. He'd like to lull me into believing I've escaped him and when I don't expect him there he is. He wants me to suffer. I'm his trophy kill,” she whispered. “The kind hunters have preserved and mounted on their walls, the one that gets the special place above the fireplace mantel.”

He knelt back in front of her. He took both of her hands, drawing them together in his clasp. Then he stared her directly in the eyes, remorse brimming in his gaze.

“I'm sorry,” he said hoarsely. “God, I'm sorry, Ramie. I didn't know. I couldn't have known what it does to you. Or that I'd lead you back into the hands of a killer.”

“Can you honestly say you wouldn't have done the exact same thing even if you
had
known?”

Her voice reminded him of cracking ice after a winter storm, though rare this far south, and the sound of the tree branches splintering away, their burden too great to bear any longer. He refused to allow her to slide away from him, like water through his fingers. He curled those fingers into tight fists as if to prevent that very thing from happening.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head. “No. God forgive me, but no, I would have done anything to save my sister. I know you hate me. You have every right to. But as you said, I owe you, and I fully intend to repay my debt to you.”

“I don't hate you,” she said in a low voice. “I don't even blame you. In your shoes I would have done the same for a loved one.”

“How can you not hate me when I damn near caused your death? When I forced you to endure being brutalized by a psychopath? You may not hate me, Ramie, but I damn sure hate myself for what I did.”

She reached out her hand and slid it gently down his cheekbone before cupping his jaw. He visibly flinched and his breath caught. He went so still that she couldn't even detect his breaths.

Warmth spread through her hand and up her arm before spreading through her chest like a wildfire. She yanked her hand away, appalled by the familiar way she'd touched him. But he caught her hand and carefully put it back to his cheek, keeping his hand over hers so it was trapped.

“Desperation makes us do the unthinkable. How can you hate yourself for being able to save your sister? How does it help your sister that you hate yourself? Never let her sense you regret your actions because those actions saved her from certain death. I'm sure she's very grateful to you for her life.”

“She's grateful to
you
,” Caleb said gruffly. “You are the one she owes her life to.”

“You providing me sanctuary is payment enough if you feel you're in my debt.”

“Count on it,” he vowed. “You're coming home with me, Ramie. I formed a security firm with my brothers after Tori's abduction. I swore never to be without the right tools to ensure the safety of my family. We hire only the best.”

“I need the best,” she said in a low voice filled with conviction. “Because he's always only a footstep behind me. No matter where I go. No matter what I do. And until he's taken down, all the women he kills will be my fault. I can't live with that guilt any longer.”

Caleb emitted a soft curse as he slid his hand underneath her chin, framing it between his thumb and the rest of his fingers. His gaze bored into her unwaveringly.

“I
will
protect you, Ramie. I don't make promises I can't keep.”

EIGHT

CALEB
watched a myriad of emotions flicker and swirl in Ramie's smoky gray eyes. The pupils were slightly dilated, making her eyes appear enormous in the delicate bone structure of her face. She was thin. Perhaps too thin because there was no spare flesh at her cheeks or eyes and her shoulders were narrow, her collarbone pronounced, making hollows between it and her neck.

He could circle her wrists with a thumb and one finger and she
felt
delicate. As though she would simply break if someone handled her with anything but the utmost care. And yet she was hauntingly beautiful. Not the sort of woman he was normally attracted to but he realized he was indeed attracted to her. The idea of another man causing her harm infuriated him beyond the fact that no woman should ever be brutalized by a man. It felt personal to him. As though she were
his
woman and another man had put his hands on her.

The idea that she would somehow blame herself for him still being at large, out there hunting new victims—God only knew how many there were that no one ever knew about or discovered. If he had anything to do with it, he was going to make sure she absolved herself of any ridiculous blame over the fact that one out of dozens had escaped the grasp of the authorities.

He paused a moment, his brows furrowing as he considered his sudden vow. Yes, he owed her a great deal, and yes, he would ensure she was safe, that nothing would ever touch her again. But to take on the monumental task of absolving her guilt?

It was an arrogant assumption on his part to think he would bring her anything but more pain, more regret. But if he could even bring her a small measure of peace, anything but the hell she must endure on a daily basis, then he would move damn mountains to make it so.

He frowned again when he took in the dried blood and the bruise that had already formed on her chin and mouth area. He released her hands, carefully placing them back in her lap before he pushed upward to his feet. He held up one finger to her.

“Don't move. I'll be right back.”

The instant fear that sparked in her eyes made him angry all over again at the bastard who'd made her life a living hell for the last year and a half.

“I'm not leaving the room,” he said gently. “I'm just going to the bathroom to get a warm washcloth so I can wipe the blood and see how badly you're bruised.”

Her hand shot upward, a faintly puzzled look in her eyes as though she'd forgotten all about her injury. She winced when she pressed too hard on the bruise and he reached out to tug her hand back downward in a silent command for her not to touch it and cause herself more pain.

He strode into the bathroom and turned the faucet on, letting the water grow hot before dampening and then wringing out a washcloth. Ramie looked relieved when he reappeared from the bathroom as if she truly had believed he'd somehow disappear. He hated the fear in her eyes. Wished he could wipe it away like the blood he planned to wipe from her face. But he knew no matter how much reassurance he gave her that it would take time for her to trust him. And it had suddenly become all-important that she
did
trust him. Why? He wasn't sure exactly.

It could be that he absolutely believed that all debts should be repaid, no matter the price. And Ramie had certainly suffered enormously because of his actions a year ago. There was no way to ever fully repay her, but he'd do anything he could to at least partially remove the burden of his and his family's debt to her.