Keep Me Safe (11 page)

Heart and mind were not in accord, which only added to the sensation of her sanity slipping further and further from her reach.

Worse, on the way to the room Caleb had installed her in, they'd passed Tori's room and the sound of her weeping filled Ramie with sorrow and her chest ached for the emotional upheaval she was causing with her presence. She couldn't fault Tori's reaction to coming face-to-face with the unerring truth of what had happened to her. There was nothing wrong with denial. Everyone had their own way of coping. God only knew how Ramie had learned to cope over the years. It may not be the healthiest way to absorb tragedy after tragedy, but being able to compartmentalize each nightmare had been the only way she survived.

At some point the walls would likely crumble and everything she'd been stuffing down would come spewing out like a geyser erupting, but until that day she just . . . ​coped. Just like Tori was coping—or not coping. It wasn't her job—her responsibility—to heal Caleb's sister. She wouldn't even know how to begin even if she wanted such a task.

She cupped her hand over her forehead, eyes still closed, and she rubbed tiredly in an attempt to ease the awful tension and the painful ache in her temples. When would she stop running? Would she
ever
stop fleeing, and would she ever be able to lead a normal, boring life, something she craved with desperation?

If you think you're safe—that you'll ever be safe—from me, you're a very stupid woman. There is nowhere, no place you can hide that I won't find you. And when I do, you will suffer. You will beg me for death, and maybe, if you're a good girl, I'll be merciful and kill you quickly.

Ramie bolted upright in bed, her scream shattering the silence that had blanketed the room. Her gaze bounced wildly around the darkened room, pupils quickly adapting as she blinked, expecting to see him standing by her bed. Within touching distance.

She should run, but she was paralyzed, unable to move—to breathe. Terror gripped her until she felt bruised, as if an actual hand had wrapped itself around her throat.

When the door burst in, she screamed again and scrambled wildly for the other side of the bed. She landed with a harsh thump, pain lancing through her head. She planted both palms on the floor, pushing herself upward, prepared to fight for her life.

She'd known she wasn't safe here. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Like a wild animal she reared her head, nostrils flaring as she evaluated her escape options. He filled the doorway and then suddenly light flooded the room, momentarily blinding her.

From a distance she heard her name and she jerked her gaze around the vividly lit room, desperately seeking the source. Strong hands wrapped around her upper arms, and she lashed out, self-preservation kicking in. She wasn't ready to die.

“Caleb, what the hell is going on?”

Ramie stared at the open doorway to see Beau Devereaux standing there in a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else. He was quickly shoved aside when Quinn appeared looking worried and frazzled.

“Jesus, this is not going to help Tori,” Quinn bit out.

Ramie glanced upward, the haze of terror slowly releasing its grip on her. Caleb was on his knees just a foot from her, his hair mussed, his eyes bloodshot. Like Beau, he was wearing only boxers and it was equally evident that he'd been roused from sleep by her scream.

She closed her eyes, mortification taking over the fear.

“Go back to bed,” Caleb ordered his brothers. “I'll handle this. Make sure Tori's okay.”

Ramie held her breath as Caleb's brothers slowly withdrew, identical frowns on their faces. There was no hiding the looks of annoyance and welcome was the furthest thing from their expressions. No matter what Beau had said earlier, he was obviously regretting his words now.

The door closed gently, Caleb's brothers disappearing from sight. She became aware of her fingernails digging into her palms, marking her skin. She forced her hands to relax and closed her eyes, not wanting to look at Caleb and see the same thing she'd seen in Beau's and Quinn's faces.

“I'm not crazy,” she whispered. “I'm not.”

She wasn't even cognizant of her fist pounding on the top of her thigh. Nor of the tears that streaked down her face in silence. A low sob finally welled out and it was a horrible sound, one she never wanted to repeat. Because it sounded too much like defeat. As though the asshole had already won.

“I'm
not
crazy,” she said again, fiercely, daring Caleb to argue with her, to judge her.

Caleb rose quietly from his position on the floor. He reached down and simply plucked her up and carefully placed her back on the bed. Then he simply climbed in next to her and enfolded her in his arms.

She inhaled and his scent was imprinted on her. She breathed . . . ​him. It was as though one by one, pieces of a puzzle were slowly being put together. Sliding into position all around her.

“I don't think you're crazy,” Caleb murmured against her ear. “But I would like to know what happened. You don't scare easily, Ramie. So for you to have screamed that loudly something had to have scared the ever-loving fuck out of you.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth drooped open as she stared at him like he'd lost his damn mind.

“I don't scare easily? Is that something you made up on the fly to placate me, pat me on the head and tell me what a good girl I've been?”

“Uh . . . ​I'm not sure what the right answer to this kind of question is so I'm just going to express my earlier opinion that you don't scare easily.”

Ramie snorted and then wiped her damp cheeks against the fluffy pillows that her head should still be resting on were it not for the psycho stalking and terrorizing her.

“I'm terrified,” Ramie said with no theatrics. She stated it as baldly as she would any other truth. Like the sky is blue except some days it's gray and sometimes black and also puffy white.

His tone was exasperated even though he kept her anchored tightly to his body. She was tucked up against him, his body cupping hers entirely, giving her safe harbor. She recognized it for what it was. Sweet relief. Because for however long Caleb was holding her in just this way nothing or no one could hurt her.

“
What
are you terrified of, Ramie?” he asked gently. “We showed you the surveillance system. We stole quite a few of the brightest military minds from Uncle Sam. These are men who'd make the average guy out there on the streets, just like the punk stalking you, look like freaking kindergartners and, well, I bet the kindergarten girls could kick the shit out of him. Have you ever seen kindergarten girls? They're freaking scary, let me tell you. My hat is off to anyone who can last an entire day with that many five- and six-year-old girls
and
boys.”

He asked a question but then gave her no opportunity to answer it. He kept talking, drawing her thoughts from the scare she'd just been delivered and filling the gap with teasing stories of kindergartners.

He was giving her time. To tell him in her own way instead of demanding it and pulling it out of her teeth. He'd likely just recently had to learn that kind of patience. With Tori. It would have frustrated her brothers for her to be uncommunicative because they'd want answers. To everything. And who knows what would have happened had they been able to pull any identifying information from Tori's fractured dreams.

Ramie yawned and suddenly Caleb was closer, mounding pillows between their backs and the headboard of the bed. Then he pulled her into his arms so she was cradled by his body, his warmth soothing her.

She'd felt the chill the moment Caleb had opened the door to the “guest room,” which was all the way down the hall from the Devereaux siblings and had its own guest bathroom to boot. But she didn't like the room. It was . . . ​cold. Sterile. Quite frankly it freaked her out.

Caleb brushed his lips over the top of her hair. “What happened, Ramie? Did you have a bad dream?”

“You're just going to think—
know
—that I'm crazy. You'll know it like I'm starting to know,” she whispered.

Even as she was dancing around Caleb's target, the chill in the room grew even colder. Ramie shivered, her teeth chattering in a not so very attractive manner, but at the moment she didn't give a shit what she looked like. She just wanted to be warm.

“You're freezing to death,” Caleb said in disbelief. “Are you sick? Why the hell didn't you say something? I could have had a doctor come out to see you.”

Ramie threw up her hand. “I'm not sick. I'm not crazy. Those are the only two things I know for sure in my life right now.”

“What was the dream about?” he asked, pinpointing the topic so there'd be no sidestepping.

“It wasn't a dream,” she whispered. “I wasn't even asleep yet. I was tired and I was thinking that I was lying on the best bed I'd slept on in months. Lots and lots of months. I was lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling and trying to make my brain shut down. My head was aching a bit around my temples so I was just rubbing my head and trying to relax. And then . . .”

“Then what, Ramie?”

She hesitated, wondering just how far she should take things with Caleb. How much she could trust him with. What if he turned on her? What if he'd worked some sort of sick trade where he handed Ramie over, gift-wrapped and in a bow in exchange for Tori and her continued safety? Maybe they were just throwing her under the bus so that none of their family would be remotely involved—or responsible for a man being brought to justice.

He stared her down with those ice-blue eyes that could at times seem glacial. Like he could freeze someone at a glance. Her skin prickled. As if she weren't cold enough already.

As if sensing her chill, or perhaps clued in by the fact that the entire bed was shaking with her, he pulled the blankets over them both and tugged Ramie back into his arms so there was no space between.

Heat scorched over her skin, warming her from the inside out. She hated that her T-shirt was a barrier between his bare skin and her own. She slipped her hands, palms down on his chest, between them, ignoring his flinch over the coldness of her touch. Gradually they both relaxed as more of his warmth seeped into her body.

His lips were tantalizingly close to hers. Their breaths mingled and it was so silent she could hear his heartbeat. Could feel it beneath her fingertips.

“Kiss me,” she pleaded softly. “Make me forget.”

Their lips touched tenderly, just a gentle brush that trailed warmth all the way to her heart.

“Forget what, Ramie? You have to talk to me. If I'm going to keep you safe, you can't keep me in the dark.”

The spell was broken and the cold returned. A shiver stole up her spine and she gathered the covers, rolling onto her back and pulling them to her chin. She stared blindly up at the ceiling as Caleb lay beside her, his strong body touching her side.

“He spoke to me,” she said quietly. “I'm not crazy. It's not my subconscious or me projecting my fear nor is it the manifestation of my fears or paranoia. He has a link to me. It's how he always manages to find me. It's how he knows where I am now.”

Caleb went rigid next to her. She chanced a glance out of the corner of her eye and saw that his face was every bit as tense as the rest of him. What she didn't see, however, was disbelief.

Relief coursed through her veins, making her heady, dizzy almost, as though she'd just had an IV injection of alcohol or a potent drug.

“You believe me,” she said in wonder. “You
believe
me.”

He slid his large hand over her belly, splaying his fingers outward and then he continued upward until his fingers gently touched her chin and he pushed it in his direction so her gaze met his.

His stare was serious, intense. The blue was more vivid, darker, not as glacial as it normally was. His eyes looked . . . ​warm. Tender. It wasn't the look he'd give a stranger. Or someone he considered a threat or even a casual acquaintance. It was an intimate look, and sincerity was evident in every facet of his face.

“I believe you, Ramie.”

She closed her eyes, this time not fighting the tears as they gathered and burned a trail down her cheeks. He believed her.

“What did he say to you?” Caleb asked in a terse voice.

The fury in his voice shook her from her emotional response. She hastily wiped away the tears with her hand and then turned slowly onto her side so she once more faced him.

“He knows where I am. Or at least he knows what it looks like. He told me that if I believed all these security measures would prevent him from getting to me that I was a very stupid woman. He said there was nowhere I could hide that he wouldn't find me and that my death wouldn't be quick or merciful unless I was a very g-good g-girl and then he'd consider k-killing me quickly.”

She was barely able to choke the words out. It felt as though a ton of cement were pressing down on her chest.

“I'm not ready to die, Caleb,” she whispered. “I thought I was. I gave up. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I have to be honest with you. I resigned myself to my own death. I even thought it was what I wanted, that maybe I'd finally find peace. But then when confronted with my death, when he caught me outside my hotel room, I found myself fighting back. I ran. I didn't give up. And I called you. Because I knew you were my only hope. I have no one else. No family. No one who cares. I realized that I wasn't ready to die. No matter what I may have thought. Or how wimpy I've become. And that it doesn't matter that I don't have anything or anyone to live
for
. I'm not ready to die.”

Caleb's hand slid over her cheek and then delved into her hair as he pulled her to meet his lips. Their noses bumped and nudged as he figured out the best angle and then his tongue glided over hers, tasting, savoring.