Known (24 page)

Her eyes burned as she heard the truth in his words. She
did
love that feeling of hope and safety that floated through some of her darker memories of the crash and walk. At times she’d felt protected and guided during her long ordeal. Real or not, those were the recollections to treasure. She shouldn’t dwell on the terror and darkness and fear. She’d made it; she’d survived.

She looked directly into Chris’s hazel eyes. “Thank you,” she said simply.

“I’ve been there.”

“I know. At least you were a bit older, so you must be able to separate reality from a child’s dreams.”

His jaw tightened and the muscles in his neck tensed. “I remember everything.” Pain flashed across his eyes, and she regretted her words. Her child’s brain had protected her in the best way it knew how. Chris’s hadn’t.

“I can’t imagine what you went through.” She looked down at his hands, stiff at his sides, and took one. It was rough and calloused. Not the hand she’d expected to feel on a man who claimed he sat at his computer all day. Images of him digging out the snow in front of the shed and tying the knots to secure the sleds flashed through her mind. There was a lot below the surface of Chris Jacobs. He was skilled at allowing people to see solely what he wanted them to see, but he’d allowed her glimpses that made her want to know more.

He didn’t pull his hand away. Instead he looked down at the two clasped hands and she felt him struggle with a decision. He raised his gaze, and she caught her breath.

Old pain, grief, and torment. But also
need
.

She understood. Tension had simmered between them for days but had been held in check by their environment and their own insecurities. With one look, Chris Jacobs had laid it bare before her. He’d lowered his scarred and battle-hardened defenses and offered her a chance to touch, feel, and learn.

She knew the moment was fleeting. One wrong word and his defenses would be back in place and stronger than before. Possibly never to lower again.

What do I want?

She shut down her rational brain and stepped closer. Brief terror flashed in his gaze but it was immediately replaced with determination, and she knew it was difficult for him to allow her to see him exposed. All of her senses focused on him, she saw the dilation of his pupils and felt the small tremor in his hand. He stood deathly still, suddenly a hardened statue, and she knew one mistaken touch would make him shatter.

“I’ve seen things no person should ever see,” he whispered. “I’ve seen the sickness that drives a human to hurt innocent people. And I’ve been on the receiving end of that pain.”

Grief radiated from him, igniting a primitive need in her to heal him. But she knew he would never be whole.

Perhaps she could help a tiny bit.

She stepped closer, pressed her chest to his, and stretched up on tiptoe, sliding her other hand behind his neck. He froze under her touch, then seemed to explode with movement as he moved their clasped hands behind her back, pressing her closer, wrapped his other arm around her waist, and lifted her to his mouth. Her eyelids closed and heat shot through her from where his lips met hers.

They’d both been balancing on the edge of violent memories, and she’d saved them from a plunge to the bottom.

Chris’s brain shot into fifth gear.

It had been at a full stop as he told Gianna that he remembered everything about his captivity with the Ghostman. He hadn’t shared his memories with anyone since Brian’s mother, Elena. His secrets had died with her. Early on, Michael and Jamie had asked a few leading questions, but he’d shut them down. He didn’t want their minds polluted with images from his past. They had imaginations; they could use them.

But with Gianna it was different. She’d moved toward him when he alluded to the horrors that had been done to him. She hadn’t run. She hadn’t rejected him. For one terrifying, heart-stopping moment he’d thought she’d look away; instead she’d reached out.

He’d grabbed her offering and clamped on like a man dying of thirst.

As he kissed her, he acknowledged that he’d been closed off for years. Gianna had gently touched his surface, sending small waves across his senses. The waves had rippled over the black memories that’d risen to the surface and calmed them, buried them. He hadn’t fought his usual internal struggle to make the images vanish; they’d simply dissolved.

He wasn’t a fool. They weren’t magically gone. But they’d never fallen away into the background with such ease.

Since he’d first seen her, Gianna had soothed his environment. Usually he escaped to his cabin to find that calm; yesterday he’d discovered it’d followed him back home on two legs. Two petite legs attached to one of the most gorgeous women he’d ever seen.

And she accepted him. She’d looked right into his nightmare and not shied away.

Her heart beat against his and he ran his hand up into her hair, cradling her skull. She felt so small under his fingertips. Her hand was still clutched in his, gripping like she was scared to let go, and he held their clasped hands against her back, feeling the soft give of her skin and the harder bumps of her spine. With her arm behind her she was open and vulnerable to him, but she didn’t seem to care. He tightened his hold on her, causing her to exhale, and she turned her lips from his, her breath brushing over his cheek. He moved his lips up her face to her cheekbones and her eyelids, to her forehead. A soft scent of coconut shampoo entered his senses, and he abruptly wished they were alone on a tropical island, not standing in her violated home in a rainy city.

He went back to her lips and her doorbell rang.

“Holy crap,” she uttered.

“We’re not done here.” He held her gaze, turning his statement into a question. Once again he placed the decision in her hands.

“Definitely not.” She pulled back; her eyes were dark, but her lips curved in a promising smile that made his heart painfully contract. In a good way.

“I’ll get the door.” He let go of her, his hands suddenly feeling empty, and stepped to a window. A white van with the name of a security business on the side sat in her driveway. “Did you call a security company?”

She groaned. “My uncle said he would.”

“Good.” A glance at the wry expression on her face told him she didn’t consider it good.

“Let’s get your place secured.” He let in the security company agent after a good look at his credentials and the van. He followed the tech through the house as the man took notes; he promised to have his supervisor call back with an estimate. Chris wished he could install the equipment immediately, but understood.

Gianna sighed after the tech left. “I still don’t want to stay here, but I don’t want to put your brother and Jamie in a bad situation.”

He ached to ask her to stay with him, but it felt too soon; he didn’t want to scare her off. And there was Violet to think of. “I think you need to check into the hotel with your uncle.” He watched her face and quickly amended his statement. “Not stay with him, but stay there with someone else’s name on the room. I really think that’s best. We’ll pick up Violet on the way. You said you need to see him at some point anyway, right?”

“I do.” Resignation filled her features. “I love him and I know he’s here because he’s worried. A hotel makes sense over staying with your brother.” She tilted her head. “Although I like the idea of an armed guard with Violet.”

Again he backed away from asking her to stay at his home. It’d been right to take her to Michael’s home the first time. He’d known Jamie would be there. He changed the topic. “Did you ask your uncle about old photos of the medallion?”

“I emailed him this morning. He forwarded it to his staff with a request for someone to get right on it, so I assume someone is digging through photos as we speak. When he asks for something, people move.” A thoughtful look crossed her face. “I’d like to take another look at the medallion. I know we just saw it at the medical examiner’s, but my mind was spinning so fast, it’s all a blur.”

“I have the photos.”

“What photos?”

“The one’s from Frisco’s camera.”

“And how did that happen?” she asked in an accusing voice.

He shrugged. “You plugged the memory card into my laptop. I copied them at that time.”

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or scared that you’re that devious.”

“Nothing devious about it. I believe in making immediate copies of everything. You’d be surprised how often things go missing or get changed.”

“We tried so hard to keep track of evidence at my old place of work, but I swear gremlins would go through our stuff.”

“People are generally dishonest.”

Gianna took a step back and gave him a pointed look. “I don’t agree with that at all. I’ve found most people to be forthright and helpful. Most have good intentions.”

“Most,” said Chris in a dry tone. “Apparently I’ve dealt with the underside of society for too long. I’ve learned to not believe a word anyone says.”

She held his gaze. “That’s sad.”

“No, it keeps me from making mistakes. My work turns out best when I act as though everyone is out to lie to me.”

“So why copy a memory card that I handed you?”

Chris tiptoed around the question. “It was for future issues. What if a key photo was suddenly missing?”

“Can we look at it again? I want to see the medallion pictures.”

“When we get you checked into a hotel. Call your uncle and ask him to reserve you a room under his name.”

She reluctantly agreed.

The Benson Hotel in downtown Portland was over a hundred years old, with one of the finest reputations in the city. Every president since Woodrow Wilson had stayed there, the bellman told Chris proudly. Chris wondered if the presidents had been disappointed.

He’d expected more.

The woodwork in the lobby had been impressive and the ceilings were stunning. But it felt and smelled old. Violet wrinkled her nose but didn’t comment. Apparently he had the taste of a teenager.

It’s one hundred years old. What did I expect?

Where was the presidential glamour? The Benson had a stellar reputation for service and quality. No doubt those factors made it worth the price. He’d heard about the Benson for years, and his father had recommended it to visiting senators all his life, but this was Chris’s first step into the legend.

Maybe he simply preferred open spaces and modern looks.

There was a touch of a closed-in feeling that had made him feel itchy as they’d left the lobby. It’d intensified in the elevator.

I need space. Huge windows and long sight lines.

He had his first look at the presidential suite when Saul Messina opened the door and hugged Gianna like she’d been missing for months. In Saul’s big suite he found old-fashioned living room and dining room furniture. Violet got the next hug from Saul, while Chris received a guarded and curious look over her shoulder. He returned the look as he shook Saul’s hand and introductions were made. He felt a web of protection flow out of the older man and over Gianna and Violet, and he approved.

A man about Chris’s own age appeared from another room.

This must be Owen Thomas.

“Gianna. Thank God you’re okay.” The man enveloped her in a hug, which she returned.

Out of the corner of his eye, Chris noticed Violet take a step backward, her expression carefully blank. The dark-haired girl had been quiet since they picked her up from Michael’s home. She’d been reluctant to leave, which Chris had attributed to Jamie’s connection with the girl, but the entire ride to the hotel, she’d primarily asked about his brother. He understood. Michael was fascinating to many people, a bundle of energy who constantly moved and talked. After the fifth question about his brother, he’d raised a brow at Gianna, who bit back a smile. A small pang of envy touched his chest, surprising him.

I’m jealous of a kid’s interest in my brother?

Impossible. He’d given up being jealous of Michael decades ago.

Or have I?

Michael had lived the life he’d been destined for while Chris had hid behind the name of a dead friend. Michael was outgoing and unscarred, and had the love of a beautiful woman. Chris waited for the jealousy to flow through him. It didn’t.