On Dangerous Ground. Maggie Price
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looked back at Sky. The casual observer might think she looked totally relaxed sitting there, her back against the passenger door, her dark hair shifting softly in the breeze from the overhead fans. But Grant’s observation wasn’t casual, and he saw clearly the remnants of the haunted look that had filled her eyes earlier.
He tightened his hand on the steering wheel. The thought of how some gutter-scum rapist had come up from behind and grabbed her had anger stirring just below the surface of his control. The emotion grew hotter when he thought about how he’d done the same thing. True, he hadn’t known any details of what her attacker had done, but he’d known she’d survived a rape. He’d been careless to even lightly taunt her at the gym the way he had. That was one mistake he wouldn’t make again.
The one positive thing that had come from the incident was that she’d opened up to him. Minutely, he acknowledged, but at least the barrier had shifted. Considering they’d had zero communication during the past six months, he would take what he could get and be satisfied.
He glanced at the ceiling fan that spun lazily overhead, then shifted his gaze to the drive-in’s paint-chipped building with the faded handmade sign in the window that advertised Giant Gulp Shakes. Sam had insisted they eat lunch here at least once a week, and on those days Grant had opted for iced tea and left the cholesterol to his partner.
Now that Sam was dead, Grant hadn’t imagined he’d ever show his face again at this hole-in-the-wall. He’d been wrong. He was here now because there was no way he would have left Sky after she’d opened up to him. Standing there in the parking lot of the Training Center with her face pale and her hands jammed into the pockets of her shorts, she’d looked vulnerable and exposed, as if she might break into a thousand pieces if he touched her.
It had undone him to see her like that. He’d wanted to gather her close, swear he’d never let anybody hurt her again. Instinct had told him her nerves were too raw for her to welcome the gesture. Told him, too, the last thing he should do was try to get her into the closed confines of his not-so-spacious Porsche. So when the idea of this far-from-elegant drive-in popped into his head, he went with it.
He pursed his lips, mulling. If he thought Sky would make a habit of coming with him, he’d eat here every day and say to hell with the cholesterol. But she wouldn’t come, he reminded himself. He’d been lucky tonight. She hadn’t meant to walk back into his life for even a few hours, but here she was. The realization came slowly, stunningly that he had no intention of letting her walk out again. She was the only woman he was compelled to be with. The only woman he’d ever considered the possibility of a future with. The only one he’d spent uncountable nights with her face lodged in his dreams. The only one whose loss he’d grieved. He would not—could not—let her leave again.
“Your next step is to go to Austin?”
Her soft voice jolted him out of his thoughts. “Right,” he said, and paused until the emotion that had flooded into his chest eased. “There’s no guarantee the judge will let me have a look at Whitebear’s adoption records, but I’ve run into a brick wall trying to get a line on his twin.” As he spoke, Grant scooped up the sack with the remnants of their meal and tossed it into a nearby trash container. “I called our state pen. Other than the indigent defense fund lawyer assigned to Whitebear, the only person who’s visited him since he’s been there is his son. The twin brother hasn’t shown his face.”
“Maybe he writes to Ellis,” Sky ventured.
“I checked. The whole time he’s been in slam, he hasn’t received one piece of mail. Hasn’t sent any that the guard knows about. Of course, it’s possible his son, or some other inmate, helps Ellis communicate with his twin.”
“Are you going to question Whitebear or his son about the twin brother?”
“Not unless I have to. I don’t want to tip my hand at this point and let them know I’m on to them.” Grant turned the key in the ignition; the Porsche’s engine purred to life. “I need to run everything down to the lieutenant in the morning. As soon as Ryan approves my going to Austin, I’ll hit the road.”
They made the trip back to the Training Center in less than five minutes. Grant nosed the Porsche into the space beside Sky’s Blazer and left the engine running. He didn’t want to spook her, didn’t want to make her think he was going to try anything. What he wanted was her trust.
She smiled. “Thanks for dinner. The shake was awesome.” In the glow of the parking lot’s lights, her face was all intriguing angles and planes.
“You’re welcome.”
“Drive careful.”
“I will.”
She climbed out and shut the door.
“Sky,” he said softly, then waited for her to turn back and meet his gaze.
“Yes?”
“I appreciate you telling me why you reacted the way you did in the gym.”
Emotion flickered in her eyes. “I owed you an explanation.”
“You can trust me. I’ll never hurt you.”
Her lips parted. He sensed her hesitation. Finally she nodded. “I know.” She turned, unlocked the Blazer and climbed inside.
A minute later, Grant watched the taillights of her vehicle disappear into the night. “You know,” he said quietly, “but you still don’t trust me, not enough to let me into your life.”
A blade, long and sharp and deadly flashed before Sky’s eyes. The thick fist slammed into her from behind, exploding air out of her lungs. She went down hard and fast, and before she could scramble up, he was on her. Pain, blinding, numbing, mixed with her terror; a scream tore from her throat in the same instant her eyes flew open.
“Oh, God. Oh, God.” She scrambled onto her knees, her legs tangling in the sheets as she dragged in quick gulps of air.
Lungs heaving, pulse pounding, she flailed for the lamp on her nightstand. Squinting against the light, her eyes swept the room. Her ivory robe was where she’d left it, looking like a shimmering ghost draped on the arm of her grandmother’s wooden rocking chair. The neat stack of scientific journals she needed to scan sat undisturbed on the antique desk angled in one corner. On the nightstand, her glasses still lay on top of the thick paperback she’d used to lull herself toward sleep only hours ago. Everything in the room was as it should be.
Everything but me, she thought, scrubbing her palms across her sweat-drenched face. “It wasn’t real,” she whispered. “Wasn’t real.”
Trembling beneath her thin nightgown, she waited on the bed only until she felt certain her legs would support her. Then she fumbled for her glasses, shoved them on and fled down the hall, switching on every light as she went.
When she stepped into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, she winced. Her eyes were swollen from lack of sleep, her skin as pale as a corpse’s, her mouth grim.
She splashed icy water on her face, toweled off, then continued to the living room, switching on every lamp. Two nights ago, she had decided Streisand’s was the best music to stay awake by. Fickle, last night she’d changed to the Stones. She clicked on the stereo, engaged the CD player.
Now a graveled-voiced blues singer assured her she could lean on him.
“I’d love to,” she said in a shaky voice. “Come on over.” She closed her eyes and waited for the soothing notes to erase the remnants of the terror that had grabbed her by the throat and squeezed.
“It wasn’t real,” she whispered again. To verify, she looked across her shoulder at the alarm panel beside the front door. A red light glowed, indicating the system she’d activated before going to bed had not been breached.
That knowledge did little to calm her. After all, the monster hadn’t crashed through the door. It had been inside her all the time.
Just