The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 5 (85 page)

“We can skip that one.”

“Being scared doesn’t make me weak. Being scared means I’ll do anything and everything I have to do to defend myself.” She heaved the spatula into the sink. “Couldn’t you show some compassion, some understanding instead of jumping down my throat?”

“You’re not sitting on the floor shaking anymore. And I’m feeling less inclined to punch my fist through the wall.”

“And that’s your method?”

“I haven’t been in a situation like this before but apparently, yes, that’s my method.” He took the spatula out of the sink, shoved it back in the drawer. “But if you want the strong male to blubbering female, we can go with that.”

“Blub—
God!
You piss me off. Which is,” she said after a righteous breath, “exactly the goal. Well, bull’s-eye for you.”

“It makes me crazy.”

She pushed her hands over her face, back into her hair. “What?”

“Seeing you like that. Have you ever seen yourself when you’re seriously scared, seriously sad? You lose every drop of color in your face. I’ve never seen anybody still breathing get that white. And it makes me crazy.”

She dropped her hands again. “You’re damn good at leashing the crazy.”

“Yeah, I am. We can talk about that some other time. Don’t think—” He broke off, shoved his own hands in his pockets. “Don’t think you don’t matter. You do. I just haven’t—Now, see?” he said with raw frustration. “The minute I stop pissing you off you start crying.”

“I’m not crying.” She blinked desperately at the tears welling in her eyes. “And what’s wrong with crying? I’m entitled. I’m entitled to a jag of major proportions, so be a man, damn it, grow a pair and suck it up.”

“Crap.” He yanked her against him, chained his arms around her.

She felt the sob flood her throat. Then he eased her back, skimmed his fingers down her cheek, laid his lips on her brow.

The tenderness shocked her eyes dry, killed the sob before it released. Instead she let out a long, shuddering sigh and leaned on him.

“I don’t know how to take care of people,” he muttered. “I’m barely able to take care of a damn dog.”

You’re wrong about that, she thought. So wrong about that.

“You’re doing okay,” she managed. “I’m okay.” Still she jolted when the dogs barked the alert. “That’ll be Davey.”

“I’ll go let him in.” He stroked his hand down her hair once, twice. “Sit down or something.”

Sit down or something, Fiona thought as Simon walked out. Then she took his advice and made herself sit at the kitchen table.

Simon walked out onto the porch. “She’s inside, back in the kitchen.”

“What—”

“She’ll fill you in. I need about twenty minutes, and I need to know you’ll be here that long.”

“All right.”

Simon headed to his truck, ordered Jaws to stay, then drove away. Calmer, Fiona thought, she was much calmer when Davey came in. “I haven’t touched it since I opened it,” she began. “I don’t guess that’s going to matter.” She looked over his shoulder, frowned. “Where’s Simon?”

“He had something to do.”

“He—Oh.” The pressure on her chest returned, just for a moment. “Fine. It was in the mail. It’s got an Oregon postmark.”

He sat first, took her hands. Just took her hands.

“Oh God, Davey. I’m scared senseless.”

“We’re going to look out for you, Fee. If you want it, we’ll have somebody parked outside the house twenty-four hours a day until they catch this bastard.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that. Yet. It could come to it.”

“Have you gotten any unusual calls, any hang-ups? Anything troubling on your website or blog?”

“No. This is the first thing. And I know it might not be from him. It’s probably not. It’s from some vicious person who read that damn article, got my address. That’s just as likely.”

“Maybe it is.” He released her hands, took out two evidence bags. “I’m going to take these in. We’ll do what we can. There’s a federal task force on this now, and we’ll probably need to turn these over to them. Fee, it’s likely they’re going to send someone out to talk to you.”

“I’m okay with that.” Wouldn’t be the first time, she thought bitterly. “I’m good with that.”

“We’ll be reaching out to the police in Lakeview. I know this is hard for you, but maybe it’s a break. We might get prints or DNA off the stamp. Something from the handwriting, or we’ll trace the scarf.”

Investigations, routines, procedures. How was it all happening again?

“What about Perry? He might have paid somebody to send it to me.”

“I’m going to see what I can find out, but I have to think they’ve talked to Perry. They’d monitor his contacts, his visitors, his mail. We’re not really in the loop, Fee, but after this the sheriff’s going to push that. Maybe this was just some asshole’s idea of a nasty joke, but everybody’s going to take it seriously. I can bunk on the couch.”

He would, she thought, for as long as she needed. “You’ve got a family. I have the dogs.”

He leaned back. “Do you have anything cold to drink?”

She cocked her head. “Because you’re thirsty, or because you don’t want to leave me alone?”

He gave her a hard stare. “You can’t spare a cold drink for a hardworking civil servant?”

She got up, opened the fridge. “You’re lucky I just hit the market. I have Coke, OJ, bottled water and V8 Splash. Beer, too, but as you’re a hard-working civil servant on duty—”

“I’ll take the Coke.”

“Ice and lemon?”

“Just hand over the can, Fee. Why don’t we take it out on the porch, take advantage of the weather?”

She got out a second can. “I’m all right on my own, Davey. I’m scared,” she added as they walked toward the front door, “but I feel safer and more secure in my own place than I would anywhere else. I’m carrying my cell phone in my pocket. I’ve done some practicing with my gun—and believe I’ll do more before dark. And you’ll be happy to know that when Simon walked in while I was having my freak-out, the dogs warned him back until I released them.”

“All good, Fee. I’d just be happier if you had somebody staying with you. Why don’t you call James?”

The fact that she considered doing just that told her she was shakier than she’d realized. “I don’t know. Maybe—”

The dogs alerted when they reached the door. Davey nudged her to the side, opened it himself. And nodded when Simon drove back up. “I guess I’ll get going.”

She’d been tag-teamed, she realized.

“What about the cold drink and taking advantage of the weather?”

“I’m taking the drink with me.” He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze before walking out to meet Simon.

Fiona waited where she stood while the two of them had a brief conversation. Davey got in his car, and Simon slung a small knapsack over his shoulder.

“I thought you went home.”

“I did. I had to take care of a couple things and get some stuff. I need some of my stuff since I’m staying over tonight.”

“You’re staying over tonight?”

“Yeah.” He took the can of Coke from her, downed some. “If you’ve got a problem with that, too damn bad.”

Her insides softened as another woman’s might if a man read her a love sonnet. “I guess you’ll expect sex and a hot meal?”

“Yeah, but you can pick the order.” He handed her back the Coke.

“I’m a lousy cook.”

“Luckily you’re good in bed—or wherever.” He shrugged. “Don’t you have any frozen pizza?”

Still scared, she realized, but she didn’t feel like crying anymore, didn’t have to fight off trembling anymore.

“I do, but I also have a menu from Mama Mia’s. They’ll deliver for me.”

“That works.” He started to move by her, into the house, but she turned, stepped into his arms, held hard.

“Simon.” She murmured it as she relaxed against him. “I have no idea why, but you’re exactly what I need right now.”

“I don’t know why either.” He tossed the duffel through the open door, then stroked a hand down her back. “You’re really not my type.”

“That’s because I defy typing.”

He studied her face when she laughed and leaned back. “Yes, you do.”

“Let’s take a walk before we order dinner. I need to shake off the last of the jitters.”

“Then I want a beer.”

“You know what, so do I. Two walking beers coming up.”

LATER, THEY SAT on the sofa with a second beer, the fire chasing the evening chill, with a pepperoni pizza in the delivery box between them. Fiona crossed her ankles on the coffee table.

“You know, I keep telling myself I’m going to start eating like an adult.”

“We are eating like adults.” Simon blocked Jaws’s attempt to scoot under his legs for a stab at the pie. “Get lost,” he told the dog. “Kids have to eat when and what they’re told,” he continued. “We get to eat when and what we want. Because we’re adults.”

“That’s true. Plus, I love pizza.” She bit into her slice. “There’s no food to match it. Still, I was actually thinking before . . . before you came by that I’d ask you over to dinner.”

“Then how come I paid for the pizza?”

“You got out your wallet; I let you. I was going to ask you over to dinner that I cooked.”

“You’re a lousy cook.”

She jabbed him with her elbow. “I was going to make an attempt. Besides, I can grill. In fact, I’m superior on the grill. A couple of good steaks, Idahos wrapped in foil—some vegetable kabobs as a nod to a balanced meal. That’s where I rule.”

“You cook like a guy.” He picked up a second slice. “I admire that.”

“I guess I owe you a steak dinner, since you paid for the pizza, and you’re keeping me company tonight. Tell me about leashing the crazy.”

“It’s not that interesting. Why don’t you have a TV down here?”

“Because I never watch TV down here. I like to watch it in bed, all sprawled out or nested in. The living room’s for company and conversation.”

“The bedroom’s for sleeping and sex.”

“Until recently sex wasn’t that much of a factor, and watching TV in bed helps me fall asleep.” She licked sauce off her thumb. “I know when you’re changing the subject, and it won’t work. I’m interested.”

“I’ve got an ugly temper. I learned how to keep it under control. That’s it.”

“Define ugly temper.”

He took a pull on his beer. “Fine. When I was a kid and something, someone pissed me off, tried to push me around, I’d go off. Fighting was my answer, the bloodier the better.”

“You liked to brawl.”

“I liked to kick ass,” he corrected. “There’s a difference. Brawl? There’s something good-natured about that word. I wasn’t good-natured about it. I didn’t pick fights, I didn’t bully other kids, I didn’t look for trouble. But I could find a reason to swing, I could find trouble, no problem. Then the switch would go off.”

He turned the beer around, idly read the label. “Seeing red? That can be literal. And I’d wade in, and when I waded in, it was to do damage.”

She could imagine him wading in—his build, those big, hard hands, the hard line of heat she caught in his eye now and then. “Did you ever hurt anyone seriously?”

“I could have. Probably would have eventually. I got hauled down to the office in school more times than I can count.”

“I never did. Not bragging,” she added when he turned his head to eye her. “I sort of wish I hadn’t been such a good girl all the damn time.”

“You were one of those.”

“Sadly, yes. Keep going. Bad boys are so much more interesting than good girls.”

“Depends on the girl, and what it takes to bring out the bad.” He reached over, released the top two buttons of her shirt until her bra peeked out. “There you go. Pizza slut. Anyway,” he continued when she laughed, “I got in some trouble, but I never started the fight—and there were always people around to back me up on that. My parents tried different things to channel it. Sports, lectures, even counseling. The thing was, I got decent grades, didn’t smart-mouth teachers.”

“What changed?”

“Junior year in high school. I had a rep—and there are always going to be the type who need to challenge the rep. New guy comes along—tough guy. He goes after me; I take him down.”

“Just like that?”

“No. It was vicious, on both sides. We hurt each other. I hurt him more. A couple weeks later, he and two of his buddies jumped me. I was with a girl, making out in the park. Two of them held me while he took his shots. She’s screaming for them to stop, screaming for help, and he’s laughing and beating me until I don’t even feel it anymore. At some point I blacked out.”

“Oh my God, Simon.”

“When I came to, they had her on the ground, holding her down. She’s crying, begging. I don’t know if they’d have raped her. I don’t know if they’d have gone that far. But they didn’t get the chance. I went crazy, and I don’t remember any of it. I don’t remember getting up off the ground and going after them. I beat two of them unconscious. The third ran off. I don’t remember any of it,” he repeated, as if it still troubled him. “But I remember coming out of it, out of that red zone, and hearing the girl—a girl I was half in love with—crying and screaming and begging me to stop. I remember the look on her face when I pulled in enough to see her. I’d scared her as much as the ones who jumped me and nearly raped her.”