Unsafe Haven (13 page)

Curled up with Denn on the comfortable sofa, the warmth of his body solid and reassuring, Kendall struggled to deal with the grief of reliving the past. Her hand sought his and she sighed when he twined his fingers through hers.

“After my parents died, Roy came to see me every day. He said he was worried about me, concerned because I was all alone in that big house. I was an emotional wreck and he knew it. He used it, though at first I had no idea. By the time his fatherly attention turned romantic, I was so grateful for his caring, I accepted the new relationship without a single doubt. I’d had parents who coddled and sheltered me from the world, and Roy stepped right in and continued the same pattern.”

“Except the father routine changed.” Denn spat the words as if they were distasteful.

“Yes, but not at first. He told me he wanted to marry me so he could protect me. The way he put it, I was this naïve child who needed someone older, someone more established, who could keep me sheltered in the style to which I’d become accustomed. Eventually we’d become a real couple, when I had a chance to ‘grow up.’” She choked on the despised phrase. “I was too inexperienced to see what his agenda was. Too dumb to realize what he really wanted.”

“A victim. He wanted a victim, the son of a bitch.”

“Exactly. And a victim was what he got.” She pulled away and sat up, scrubbing her hands over her face. “In public he couldn’t have been more attentive, more loving. I ate it up and begged for more. Some days it seemed as if my parents had never left me. I’d hear Roy say things to me my own father would have said, and it was a comfort. In private, he frightened me and I didn’t know why. In a corner of my mind I must have known what he’d do to me if I crossed him.”

“Did he ever—no, never mind. I don’t want to know.” Denn jumped to his feet and moved to the fireplace, grabbed the poker, and jabbed at the half-burned log to redistribute its embers. When he turned around, the anger on his face would have frightened her if it hadn’t been Denn. She held out a hand to him.

He clasped her fingers and resumed his seat, perched on the very edge of the cushion, a loaded gun waiting to go off again.

She sighed. “You want to know if he beat me. He never hit me in the face, if that’s what you’re asking. He didn’t need to. Roy could keep me down with nothing more than a look. He was a master at verbal abuse and his control was absolute.”

“But eventually he did lose control, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” Her hand tightened on his. “The first few times Roy got violent around me, I told myself it was my fault. I dropped his favorite vase and broke it, I refused to eat the dinner he cooked, wore a dress he hated instead of throwing it out as he’d requested. Pick an infraction, any infraction. He had me fine-tuned to accept discipline.”

“
God.
” The vein in Denn’s neck pulsed. Kendall wanted to press her lips there, try to ease what she knew he must be feeling. But she clung to his hand, as if the tenuous connection between them would ground him.

Finally, Denn blew out a harsh breath. “Didn’t he have family, someone who could see what the hell he was doing?”

“His mother lived in Vancouver. And yes, she knew what he was doing, but she wouldn’t have stopped him. He’s blond, handsome. She called him her ‘golden boy.’ He’s her only child. To get what he wanted, Roy could be damned charming. She forgave all where he was concerned,” Kendall wearily replied.

His fingers tensed on hers. “Okay, tell me the rest. Just tell me, and then we’ll deal with it.”

She wanted to explain it didn’t work that way for her. Talking about awful events never got rid of them. It simply brought them to the surface like a sore that wouldn’t heal right.

But he needed to know. Deserved to know.

Absently her fingers stroked his knuckles as she sought to remain matter-of-fact. “Long story short, Roy started threatening me when I exhibited what he called ‘disobedience.’ A knife to my throat, a gun to my head. I’d run away from him once. And he found me, dragged me back, handcuffed me to my bed and left me there all weekend with no food or water.”

She shivered as she unwillingly remembered the horrific weekend, trapped in her room, restrained on her bed with no way to use the bathroom. How mortified and humiliated she’d been, how utterly frightened.

Kendall gripped his hand tighter as she struggled with the remainder of her story. “He had a list of my friends and where they lived, and he told me he’d kill them, one by one, if I ran off again. He was immensely rich, influential, had associates in very high places. I believed him. And I believed him when he told me if I ever talked back to him, he’d cut out my tongue and take me someplace where nobody would find us, and we’d live there until I died. He had all kinds of effective ways to keep me from leaving.”

At the string of curses Denn spewed in reaction to her words, she shook her head sadly. “Denn, you have to understand I was easily cowed, easily controlled. It’s why he chose me in the first place.” She gestured with her free hand in appeal. “You’re a cop, you know how vulnerable kids can be, especially the ones who put up with abuse. Some girls might not have buckled under so easily.” She shrugged. “But I did.”

“There’s more, isn’t there? Something made you snap, otherwise you wouldn’t be here right now,” Denn stated. He wrapped her in his arms and held her close.

She laid her head on his chest, listened to the unsteady pound of his heart.
He’s beyond furious.
That erratic
thump
told its own story.

“This is so hard for me—”

“Finish it, Kendall, and then we’ll make sure he gets what’s coming to him.”

“Denn . . .”

“Just tell me.”

She took a fortifying breath. “Okay. All right.” She kept her ear pressed to his chest and tried to remain detached. “He made dinner for me one night. An apology for losing his temper the night before. He’d set the table with linen and candles, crystal flutes of champagne. He’d made prime rib. I’d never cared for beef, and he knew it. I refused to eat it, which infuriated him, so he pinned me to the chair and forced the meat down my throat. I swallowed maybe two or three pieces but they came right back up again.”

Her breath hitched and she gritted her teeth to keep her voice from trembling. Against her ear she heard the sudden spike in his heartbeat. She raised her head. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea—”

“No. I need to hear this. I need to understand.” Denn stroked her hair. “Please.”

She eyed him, trying to gauge his emotional state, but found it impossible to judge. He’d revealed a lot of anger on her behalf, but the worst was yet to come. She hadn’t a clue how he’d handle it.

Finally, she stated baldly, “He punched me in the stomach as punishment for vomiting all over his dining room table. I stumbled against the table, knocked over one of the champagne flutes and it rolled off, fell, and broke. Which made him even madder. He pushed me to the floor and I landed right on the smashed flute, and while I screamed from the pain of glass embedded in my back, he strangled me.”

Her voice splintered and her body gave a violent shudder. In a hoarse rasp, she whispered, “While he strangled me, he told me he loved me.” She could still hear it, an echo from many nightmares; Roy’s velvet-smooth voice in her ear while he rained kisses over her face. While his hands choked off her air supply.

Soon, my love. We’ll make love soon and you’ll belong to me forever.

Her teeth clenched so hard, she bit her tongue. “I wanted to die, Denn.” She buried her face against his neck. “H-he was kissing me and strangling me and I wanted to die.”

“Oh, no. Oh, baby.” Denn rocked her, his hands trembling as he ran them over her spine. “I want to rip this bastard’s lungs out through his balls.” He cradled her, murmuring to her while she wept.

Spent, Kendall pulled away. A brief watery smile was all she could offer when he handed her a handkerchief. He kept one arm around her as she dried her eyes and blew her nose. She leaned her head on his shoulder and fingered his damp shirt. “Sorry I got you all wet.”

“It’s all right. My clothes can take a few tears.” He plucked the soaked material with an exaggerated flourish. “Feel better?”

“Not really.” She caught his worried frown and hastened to reassure him. “It’s still hard for me to remember. I had nightmares for . . . well, let’s just say I still can’t get a great night’s sleep.”

“Did he . . . Jesus, I can’t even think it, much less say it.” Denn’s entire body had tensed. It was like leaning against stone.

In a rush to reassure him, she cupped his face in her hands, brought him close, and focused on the hard glitter in his eyes. “No.
No.
I got away before that could happen. Believe me. I got away.”

Denn’s expression lightened and he relaxed against her. “Thank God.” He brushed quick, soft kisses over her damp cheeks, then rested his forehead against hers. They held the comforting position in the quiet room, relief almost palpable between them.

At last, Denn raised his head. He trailed unsteady fingers over her cheek and along her neck. Their touch soothed her. He cleared his throat, but the words came out scratchy. “Tell me how.”

She didn’t have to ask him what he meant, but fatigue had caught up with her and she couldn’t deal with any more troubling memories. “I bought a bus ticket and ended up in Pendleton, about two hundred miles east. Let’s just say I ran for my life, okay? Let’s just leave it there.”

For a moment she thought he’d argue with her. Instead, he nodded and spooned her close again. He dropped his chin to her shoulder and pressed his lips to the curls she’d pushed behind her ear. “Okay. For now. But I need to know, Kendall. If I’m going to keep you safe, I’ll need the whole story.”

She turned to look at him in surprise. “Keep me safe? I’m already safe.”

Denn shook his head. “No, sweetheart. Not completely. But we’re going to work on it.”

Early in the morning, Wendy mixed batter with a vengeance. The recipe, a buttery scone cake, wasn’t meant to be manhandled by a spoon. It would probably end up tough and dense since she pounded out all of her frustrations on the sad contents of her mixing bowl. Well, she’d slather preserves and blueberries over the top and call it cobbler.

Her fingers gripped the whisk and her other arm cradled the mixing bowl at an angle. In her mind, with every hard beat she gave the batter, she slapped Kendall Martin right in the face.

At the muted sound of voices, Wendy crossed the kitchen and peered out the window toward the front sidewalk. And she stirred harder, faster, to see Denn smile at Kendall as she handed him a box. He placed it in the truck bed and turned to take her suitcase. And then another box.

I broke into one of those boxes, you bitch.
Wendy’s lips drew back from her teeth in a snarl she didn’t bother to repress. On her desk in the corner of her private suite, she’d placed a copy of the bill she’d presented Kendall. Stapled to the bill was the check Kendall had given her in payment for her final week of residence at the Four Hills. And in the desk’s center drawer, Wendy had hidden a folded piece of paper with names, phone numbers, email addresses.

Identities.

Wendy’s fingers gripped the whisk when Kendall laughed up at Denn, her hand on his shoulder as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Swift kisses, once, twice, then a third, longer caress. Wendy could almost taste the sweetness of those kisses.

It should be me, damn it.
She stood behind a curtain in her own kitchen and spied on the man she loved, while he claimed another woman right out on the streets of Staamat for everyone to see. With jerky movements, Wendy turned from the window and dropped the mixing bowl and whisk on the table. She strode to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer.
Might as well drown my sorrows in Alaskan Amber.

She took a large gulp, wiped her mouth, and paced around the table. When she looked again, the truck was gone. Disgusted with herself, she dumped the rest of the beer down the drain and tossed the bottle away. She couldn’t afford to have alcohol on her breath when she served her guests. And she couldn’t afford to let her erratic behavior jeopardize her business.

After cleaning up the mess she’d made with her cake batter, Wendy plodded down the hallway to her suite. Despondency pulled at her, an awful feeling, as if nothing in life would ever be right again. She sank onto her vanity stool and stared at herself in the ornately carved mirror.

What was so wrong with her that she couldn’t attract the one man who mattered most? Why hadn’t Denn seen her differently years ago? She’d made her interest in him obvious enough. He couldn’t have missed the signals she threw out.

Yet, somehow, he did, completely.
He may as well pat me on the head like a kid brother every time he sees me.
She clenched her hands into tight fists, and it took all of her will not to punch the mirror and break it into a thousand pieces. The round, tufted vanity stool skittered backward as she jumped to her feet. She kicked it out of the way.

Her spacious bedroom stifled her as she paced back and forth, from the window to the bed to the desk. Back again to the window. She paced in a circle, until she reached the desk again, and paused. Fingered the knob on the center drawer. Pulled it out.

She withdrew the single sheet of yellow tab paper containing phone numbers and names she’d found while digging through Kendall Martin’s strongbox. What brief guilt she’d experienced at the time had already melted away. All she had to do was think of her rival, smiling at Denn, laughing with him. Kissing him. And a piece of paper with stolen scribbles didn’t seem bad at all.

Neatly stacked and paper-clipped together in Kendall’s strongbox, Wendy had found a restraining order. Copies of email messages. A handwritten letter. Two birth certificates . . . one for Kendall Diana Martin and one for Victoria Elizabeth Wyndham.

I know who you are, bitch.

Wendy’s lips curved as she traced the phone numbers she’d written on the sheet of tab paper and tapped a fingernail against the short list of names she’d copied.

Evelyn Herington. Lloyd Stein, Attorney-at-Law. Conroy Herington.

Wendy’s finger hesitated over the name. She’d seen it elsewhere in Kendall’s paperwork, most notably on the restraining order, dated eighteen months ago. Obviously, Conroy had been a man in love. Men in love often did impulsive things, didn’t they?

She recalled the other name on the restraining order: Victoria Wyndham. What had she done, to encourage Conroy’s impulsive actions, which in turn had led to the issuance of a restraining order against him? He’d probably had good reason. Maybe he caught her cheating and slapped her around. No doubt she deserved it.

Who could blame him for overreacting? Men in love could be damned stupid.

For a few more seconds, Wendy studied the sheet of paper.
I’ll bet anything Conroy Herington doesn’t know where his girlfriend’s living now. I’ll bet he’s worried.

He’d come and get her if he knew. Wendy was sure of it. He’d come to bring her home.

Without further hesitation, Wendy sat at her desk and engaged her laptop. As it clicked and went through its startup, she thought of what she wanted to say in the email she planned to send Mr. Herington. She worded and then discarded opening lines as her email program loaded.

She’d touched her fingers to the keyboard when a thought came to her: if she emailed him, he’d know who she was, wouldn’t he? If he found out, then sure as anything, Denn could find out. She had to keep her identity a secret.

With a huff of impatience at her carelessness, Wendy closed the laptop and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen.

“Here’s the last of it.” Denn placed the box on the kitchen floor. “This one’s heavy. What’s in here, anyway?”

Kendall retrieved a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and poured him a glass. “I think that’s the book box.” She handed him his tea and he downed half the contents. “Gee, you thirsty or something?” Her dimples flashed, quick and sweet.

He drained the glass and set it on the table, then snaked out an arm and caught her around the waist. She laughed as he pulled her close and kissed her pretty, curved lips. He nibbled them gently, trailing a few kisses over her ear and enjoying her sudden shiver.

“Moving’s hard work and you’re a slave-driver. Making me drag all sorts of stuff around at the crack of dawn. I’ll have to soak my poor, abused body tonight, just to get through tomorrow when I hunt down criminals and issue parking tickets.” He rubbed chin stubble along her neck and made her shriek.

She slapped her hand over his face and pushed playfully. “So dramatic. You moved three suitcases and handful of boxes. I hardly think it broke your back.” She glowed at him, all smiles and sparkling eyes. His heart clutched at the sight of her, happy and carefree.

I’d do anything to keep her this way.
The thought sobered him, but he wouldn’t burden her with his worry, that somewhere in Oregon an obsessed bastard might go to extreme lengths to get his hands on her again.

Not going to happen.

He’d remain vigilant, protective. He’d take care of his own.

“Where’d you go?” Kendall’s soft voice brought Denn back to himself and he offered a reassuring smile.

“Nowhere special. Just thinking about the day ahead.” He looped his arms over her shoulders. “Stevie’s working swing for me. You want to hang out later? We could ride into New Mina, catch a meal.” He nibbled at the tip of her nose and elicited another shiver.

“Well, I close early today. It could work.” She waved her hands around, taking in the cluttered kitchen with a sighing huff. “On second thought, I still have a lot to put away. Maybe you and Luna could help me?” She fluttered her lashes at him, a beguiling damsel in distress.

“You can have me, but Luna’s at Jo’s place tonight. It’s Tessie’s last day before she returns to Aniak. I think it’s now a sleepover.” He shuddered with exaggerated dread. “Poor Frank. A wife about ready to pop, five boys, and two squealing teenage girls. He may not retain his sanity.”

“Jo’s the one who needs to hang onto her sanity in that house.” Kendall staunchly defended his dispatcher. “I’ve seen those boys of hers, running in and out of Fake’s. They’re a wild bunch.”

“They’ve got a mama who keeps them in line. Jo whaps them upside the head every morning. She told me so.” Denn enjoyed the look of disbelief Kendall tossed him at the revelation.

“No way.”

“Uh-huh. Way.” He gave her a hard, fast squeeze and laughed aloud at her breathless squeak.

They tussled in the sunlit kitchen, a little flirt-and-stroke, before Kendall finally squirmed out of his arms and pointed toward the door. “Out. Go check in with Jo. Protect the streets of Staamat from marauding tourists. Come back around five, prepared to roll up your sleeves and work yourself half-dead.” She shooed him out of the apartment, through the store to the entrance.

Denn peered out the wide window and gestured at the variety of transportation in the parking lot, mostly four-wheelers and a Jeep or two. “Check it out. There’s a sight to warm a shop owner’s heart. A herd of needy consumers, all with hundred-dollar bills hanging from their pockets. My girlfriend’s rich.” He gave her a cocky grin and took in the expression of sudden insecurity she couldn’t hide as she reacted to his teasing. He stepped close and cupped her cheeks, then leaned in and took her mouth in a lingering kiss.

As their lips parted, she held his gaze. “Am I?”

He didn’t have to ask her what she meant. Slowly, he nodded. Brushed his thumb over her pink-flushed cheek and whispered, “Yes, you are. Is that okay with you?”

“I—” She hesitated, then offered a kind of dawning smile. “Yes. It’s okay with me.” Her eyes moved over him, warm, open. “I’ll see you at five.” This time she took the initiative and kissed him.

His heart rolled, and fell at her feet.

Wendy affixed a stamp to the envelope in her hand and neatly copied the address from the sheet of yellow tab paper. Once again she wanted to kick herself for not making a copy of the restraining order when she’d had the opportunity. Now it was too late.

She folded the single page and stuffed it in the envelope. No return address. No signature on the page, nothing but two informative sentences and the location of The Last Outfitter Post. She used the address she found in Kendall’s papers.

Correction, Victoria’s papers. Wendy acknowledged and then dismissed the quick twinge of guilt that nipped at her as she carried the letter outside and left it in her mailbox for pickup later on. In a situation where she had the chance to win Denn Nulo’s heart, guilt was the least of her worries. Plus, she felt sorry for Conroy Herington, especially after she’d found the letter he’d sent to his runaway girlfriend.

On thick, pink, obviously expensive stationery, he’d taken the time to write in a flowing, elegant hand, pouring out his loneliness and his despair at losing her, his determination to make himself worthy of winning back her affections. The letter had touched Wendy’s heart. He didn’t have to contact his Victoria by snail mail. He could have dashed off an email. A handwritten letter sent a message:
I care. I love. I need.
Why would Kendall Martin have kept it, if that letter hadn’t meant something to her?

Her sense of rightness restored, Wendy flipped the red flag on her mailbox. As she reached her porch, Stevie Wilkins hailed her, and she turned to wave at him. He held up a hand and hurried toward the inn, a big smile on his face. Stevie always had a smile for her, not to mention a bit of a crush. He’d asked her out numerous times, and other than a few lunch dates, she’d rebuffed him as gently as possible. He was a nice guy and she liked him. But never would she have considered him as boyfriend material.

After all, he wasn’t Denn.

“Glad I caught you. Jo sent me. She wants your potato soup recipe.” Stevie gained the steps and stood next to her, too close as usual.

She edged away discreetly, unwilling to hurt his feelings but uncomfortable with his ‘in-your-face’ stance. His smile didn’t dim, and she let out a tiny sigh. “Sure, Stevie. Come on in and I’ll make a copy for her.” She led him to the kitchen where he removed his hat, then leaned against the table while she pulled the recipe from its binder and took it to the copier in the parlor. She half-expected him to follow her, which he did.

She ran two copies and handed them to Stevie. “Here you go. This makes a huge pot of soup. More than enough for Jo and the kids.”

“Oh, they got a houseful tonight. A couple of the boys asked their buddies for dinner, and Luna’s there, too. She’s sleeping over.” Stevie folded the sheets and tucked them into the pocket of his uniform pants.

Wendy’s ears perked up at the mention of Luna. “What’s going on with Denn? I mean,” she amended, when Stevie gave her a questioning stare, “I’m surprised Luna’s not hanging out with him. Is he working tonight? Is Jo babysitting or something?” Even as she said it, she winced at her thinly veiled curiosity.

Stevie shrugged. “No, Denn’s off. I think he’s got a date. Speaking of”—he visibly swallowed and his cheeks flushed pink—“I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me.” His words tumbled over each other. “I mean, we have lunch once in a while but dinner is different, right? So, we could do something different and have dinner.” He gave her a lopsided smile. Sweat beaded his upper lip.

Wendy had shaken her head before he got the last few words out. “I can’t, Stevie. But thanks for asking.” She tried to minimize her rejection, but it made no sense to start something up with Stevie just because he asked her. Nothing could ever come of it, and it would be unfair to lead him on.

His disappointment showed on his face, but he said, “That’s okay, maybe some other time. I’d better get back.” He crossed the parlor and she followed him, wishing she could think of something to say to reduce the sting of rejection her refusal caused.

At the door, Stevie turned and met her eyes. For the first time she saw him as more than the guy she’d known for years, the one who had a crush on her. He stood tall and trim, a nice-looking man with shiny brown hair and even features. He didn’t smoke or drink, went to church every Sunday, did community volunteer work and took good care of his invalid mother, who lived with him. And he left her utterly cold, not a single spark between them.