Living in Shadow (Living In…) (21 page)

Horror stole her breath. “You didn’t, Luc.” He couldn’t have; she wouldn’t believe it.

“They weren’t people to me anymore. They weren’t even kids. They’d become targets. And that’s how I thought of them. Targets to hit, obstacles to get rid of. And I felt nothing at the thought of killing them.” His voice became a whisper. “I felt fucking nothing.”

“Luc—”

“I don’t even know what it was that made me think ‘I can’t do this’. Some survival instinct maybe. But after planning that mission, I knew I had to get out. I had to leave, otherwise I’d…truly become one of them. So I took some of my squad and escaped during an ambush that night. We walked for days, hiding from the militia patrols sent to look for us. Eventually we ran into some UN troops and they rescued us. Got UNICEF involved and shipped us to Ghana. I thought…I thought I’d escaped. But…” he turned away abruptly, “…I haven’t… Shit, I’m still there.”

She didn’t know what to say, not when there was so much despair in his voice. Not when words meant nothing at all. “Luc,” she whispered.

More fireworks went off, exploding against the black velvet of the sky. And she saw him flinch.

“Luc, please…”

But he didn’t say anything, only began to walk away. Not toward the festival but in the other direction. Slowly at first. Then faster.

Her heart tightened. “Lucien.”

He shifted into a jog, going faster. Away from her.

Pain bit deep in her heart, as sharp and unexpected as that knife. “Lucien!”

He didn’t stop. Or turn. The jog shifting into a run. Carrying him away.

Leaving her alone.

Eleanor was still shaking when she got back to her car. And she had to sit there for a good five minutes before she felt ready to turn the key and start the engine.

She felt like an earthquake had happened, the ground unsteady with aftershocks.

The point of the knife pressing against her skin. The look of horror on Luc’s face. The fabric cuff on his arm and what it meant. All those threads…

I was recruited by the militia. I’m a killer.

She drove home and didn’t remember even a minute of the drive, becoming aware she was in the driveway of her St. Mary’s Bay home only when the engine stopped.

Inside, she dropped her bag and keys beside the hall table and stood in the hallway with its polished wooden floors and white walls covered in art, staring at nothing, struggling to process what had happened with Luc.

Eventually she made herself move down the hallway and into the kitchen. Grabbing a wineglass from the cupboard and a bottle of white from the fridge, she went into her lounge and sat down on the couch, pouring herself a huge glass.

Shock was still running through her system, a terrible, aching kind of grief in her heart.

Tonight was meant to be the start of something new. Though the kind of relationship she and Luc had planned was going to be intensely sexual, she’d come to think over the past couple of weeks that it could be something more. That, in fact, she wanted more.

But now all that was gone. Shattered by his confession.

Luc had been a child soldier. And he’d lived like that for five years.

Eleanor leaned back on the couch and took a gulp of wine.

Fuck, the way he’d moved when the drunk had lumbered into her. All that lethally honed grace she’d sensed below the surface of him, exploding into action. Terrifying. Especially when she’d pulled on his arm and had it turned on her.

And all it had taken was a couple of fireworks to set it off.

She closed her eyes, remembering the dead look on his face. And then the horror when he’d realized where he was and that he was holding a knife to her throat.

I’m a killer. A killer who’s very good at pretending not to be one.

A killer didn’t look at their victim with horror. But a traumatized boy did. And that’s what he was, that’s what he’d been. A terrified boy who’d seen his parents murdered and then had a gun shoved in his hands.

Tears burned behind her closed lids.

That kind of trauma broke people and certainly Luc had been terribly scarred by his experiences. Who wouldn’t have been?

Grief sat like a broken bottle inside her chest, the sharp ends digging into her heart. Hurting for him. For the weight of the burden he’d been forced to carry. For the trauma he must have experienced. No wonder he’d had to cut off his emotions. How else could you survive something like that so young?

I’m one of them.

A tear leaked out and ran down her cheek. But she didn’t wipe it away.

He wasn’t one of them, though, was he? He’d broken through her walls, ripped through the anguish of what had happened to her with Piers, but he hadn’t left her bleeding and broken. Or hurt her needlessly. He’d touched her gently and with passion. Taken away the pain and given her pleasure in its place. Accepted the trust she’d given him and treasured it for the gift it was.

He’d healed the wounds.

That didn’t make him a killer, one of those dead-eyed soldiers who raped and tortured because any empathy they had for others had been destroyed.

That made him a good man. A man who’d drawn a line in the sand and said no. Who’d taken threads from the clothes of the men he’d been forced to kill so he wouldn’t forget.

So he
wouldn’t
be one of them.

And he still wasn’t. Sure, he had cracks running through him that ran deep, but he wasn’t broken. Jesus, he’d come out of five years of hell with a strong will and a passion and had gone on to do so much. That he was even able to function was kind of amazing.

He
was kind of amazing. In so many ways.

You’re in love with the guy.

Eleanor opened her eyes.

Yeah, she probably was, wasn’t she? How completely ridiculous, to fall for one fucked-up man and then, years later, to fall for another who was possibly even more fucked up.

Yet Luc was strong, honorable, protective, caring. A better man than Piers had ever been or would ever be.

Her fingers tightened on the stem of her wineglass.

He was so alone. So isolated. And shit, she knew what it was to feel like that. She’d experienced what it was to feel trapped. To be forced into doing something you didn’t want to do.

She couldn’t leave him to suffer that by himself. She couldn’t leave him alone in the dark.

Her heartbeat began to accelerate, a feeling of certainty settling over her like a heavy blanket.

What she was contemplating was probably insane. The issues Luc had wouldn’t be solved easily or without pain, if at all. Staying with him would mean one hell of a commitment.

But she could do it. She was strong.

And fuck, he was worth it.

Eleanor put down her glass, wiping away the tears and getting to her feet.

There was just one thing she needed to get.

Luc threw the meager clothes he had into the kit bag that sat open on the bed. He didn’t need much more than that and his wallet.

You’re running away for the second time this evening, you fucking coward.

Too bad. Perhaps he was a coward, but that was better than the alternative. Losing his shit and hurting someone again, like he’d hurt Eleanor.

Christ, her terrified face and blood on her skin. His knife so close to her throat.

A shudder rippled through him, his hands shaking as he balled up a T-shirt and flung it at the bag.

He’d never had a flashback like that before, not once, but he knew why that was. Because he’d never had Eleanor before. She’d brought him back to life, warmed up the part of him that was numb, brought all those emotions he’d managed to bury back to the surface again.

And that couldn’t happen. He couldn’t have another flashback because, Christ, what if he hadn’t stopped? What if he’d killed that guy?

What if you’d killed her?

Cold sank down into his bones. A deathly cold.

He began to shake again. He needed to get out of here, get away from everyone until he’d managed to force all these fucking feelings down. Until he’d gotten himself back under control. Had found that detachment once more. Yeah, he hated feeling numb but at least that protected him and the people around him.

At least it would protect her.

Luc closed his eyes. He had to remember that cold, hold tightly to it with everything in him. Because if he hurt someone again, especially her, fuck, it would destroy him.

Better to leave. Better to go now, while he could. It didn’t matter where he went, as long as it wasn’t here.

Abruptly there came the sound of someone hammering on his front door.

What the fuck? Perhaps if he ignored it, whoever it was would go away.

He threw the rest of his stuff into the bag and scanned around his bedroom to see if he’d missed anything. Considering there wasn’t much there to start with, he didn’t think he had.

The hammering on his door didn’t let up.

Cursing, he strode down the hallway.

It could be her.

He stopped dead. No, it couldn’t be her. Why would she come after him? After he’d held a knife to her throat? After he’d told her what he was? She was an intelligent woman. She’d probably never want to see him again.

Pain looped around his heart, but he ignored it. He had to remember the cold. Stay detached.

“Luc! Open the door!”

Oh fuck. It
was
her. What the hell was she doing here? What the hell did she want? Didn’t she have any sense of self-preservation at all?

He began to turn away. If he didn’t answer it, she’d leave eventually.

“I know you’re in there, Luc!” she shouted. “I saw the lights in your window. If you don’t open the door, I’ll just stay here. All night if I have to.”

He shouldn’t open that door. He should walk away and leave her.

But something in him wouldn’t let him do it.

Cursing, he jerked it open and there she was, standing in the hallway with her hair loose, down her back, and dark circles around her eyes.

And a line of dried blood at her throat.

Fear and grief sank claws into him, sharp as blades. He tried to force it down, going for anger to frighten her off. “What the fuck are you doing here, Eleanor? You need to leave.”

“No,” she shot back, taking a couple of steps toward him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Are you stupid?” He blocked the door, drawing himself to his full height, wanting to intimidate her so she’d remember what he’d done to her. So she’d leave and save herself. “You’ve still got blood on you from where I cut you with my fucking knife, and now you’re coming back? What the hell do you want? Me to finish the job?”

Her chin lifted, not looking intimidated in the slightest. “You put the blood there, you can fucking clean it away for me.”

“What?”

She didn’t answer. With a move he wasn’t expecting, she suddenly ducked under his arm and stepped into his apartment.

He tried to make a grab for her, but she dodged him, already walking down the hallway toward his bedroom.

“Eleanor, for fuck’s sake!” He slammed the door and went after her, anger escaping his control and beginning to burn hot inside him. What the hell was she doing here? What did she hope to achieve? She couldn’t want him, so what was the point of her being here at all?

He was too dangerous to be around, and if she had any brain in her head at all, she’d be as far from him as she could get.

Following her down the hallway, he found her in his bedroom, her back to him. She’d dropped her bag on the floor and was in the process of taking something out of it.

“Eleanor,” he said, hard and cold. “You need to get the fuck away from me.”

She turned. There was a black, silky-looking blindfold in her hand. The look in her eyes blazed, full of all the emotions he was struggling to contain. Fury, passion, desire. “But I don’t want to get the fuck away from you,” she said flatly. “In fact, leaving you is the last thing on earth I can imagine doing.”

The pain around his heart pulled so unbearably tight he tried to force it away, to hold on to the cold instead. “Then you’re a fucking idiot. I’m dangerous. I’m unstable. I could—”

“You’re not any of those things, Luc.” She stepped forward and held out the blindfold. “You think I’d give a killer my absolute trust? I made the mistake once before of giving it to a man who didn’t deserve it. But you do. And I want to prove it to you. I used to like not being able to see, but Piers made it…awful.” She took a breath, her knuckles white around the black fabric. “I want to reclaim that. I want to be able to choose this for myself, make it good again. And nothing is awful with you, Luc. So please take it. It’s my gift to you.”

A sudden, desperate craving pushed against the cold inside him. The need to take that blindfold, give her what she wanted. Then hold her and all her blazing warmth until he was nothing but ash.

But he couldn’t. He’d held a knife to her throat. He’d made her bleed.

How could she hand him a blindfold and tell him she trusted him after he’d done something like that? After what had been done to her?

He ignored the material in her hand. “Get out, Eleanor. If you knew what was good for you, you’d get the fuck out of here without looking back.”

She stared at him for a long moment, but the determination in her eyes didn’t flicker, not even for an instant. Then she turned away, going over to the bed and laying the blindfold down on it. Her hands went to the buttons of her cardigan and she began unbuttoning it.

“Eleanor.” He put every ounce of command he had into the word. “Get out. I’m not going to tell you again.”

But she didn’t even pause as she shrugged her cardigan off and pulled her T-shirt over her head, dropping them on the floor. Then she reached around to unhook her bra.

The longing pushed harder inside him, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “If you don’t get the fuck out of here, I’ll pick you up and carry you out.”

“Go ahead. But I think you should punish me for ignoring your orders first.” She kicked off her sandals, pushed down her jeans, taking her panties with them.

His breath caught, the pain in his chest unbearable as she stepped naked from her clothes and turned around to face him. The moon came through the windows, gleaming pale over her hair and white skin.