A Merciful Secret

In other words, not worth my time or focus.

I sat up. It took great effort, and the room spun slightly as I sat on the edge of the bed. The nerd woke and was at my side before I could blink, steadying me in case I tipped off the mattress. I looked into familiar brown eyes, reminiscent of the man I’d danced with the night before. A fresh bruise was forming around one of his eyes, and I saw dried blood in his nose. The memory of a fight flitted through my brain.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

I considered his question, taking inventory of my body. “Exhausted.”

He nodded. “You were drugged.”

I jerked up straight, shaking his grip from my arm. “I was not.”

“You were,” he said grimly. “And he was about to rape you in his car.”

“I chose to be there.” I was always in control with my men. He couldn’t tell me different.

“I don’t think you were able to make any intelligent decisions at that point.”

“You didn’t need to interfere,” I snapped. “I would have been fine.”

“Do you remember me driving you here last night? Or leading you to this room?”

“No.” I couldn’t recall any of it, and a flicker of fear lit through me. I studied his bruised eye and noticed a recent cut on his lip.

“You should be more careful.” His brown gaze was serious. “Why do you fuck around with so many guys? You’re going to end up dead in a ditch and on the news one day when you leave with the wrong one.”

Anger heated my face and I pushed to my feet, intent on getting out of the room. “Fuck off.”

I took a step and my knee buckled. In a flash he was at my side again, gentle hands guiding me back to the bed. “You aren’t in any condition to go anywhere.”

I was vulnerable, not in control. I hated it and grabbed command of the situation. I held his gaze, tipped my head down, and gave the smile of an experienced seductress.

He drew back, disgust on his face. “Don’t try that shit on me.”

I was stung.

“Are you gay?” I tilted my head ever so slightly and licked my lips. “Scared to be with a woman?”

“You’re not a woman; you’re a senior just like me. And no, I’m not gay. I’m simply not an asshole who takes advantage of girls.” He kept his distance, but his hands were ready to grab me again if I started to fall.

I tried again, lightly touching his hand. “You are gay. That’s okay. I bet I can turn you. Wanna give it a try?”

He sighed. “Give it up,” he ordered. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

I was flummoxed. No one turned me down. He had to be gay. No other man had responded with such disdain.

“Now,” he said. “Talk to me like a regular person. Not a person you’re trying to fuck. I’ve seen you at school, but I don’t know anything about you except that all the girls hate you and the guys drool over you. Do you have any siblings?” His brown eyes were sincere.

I stared.

“I know you came to our school in the middle of your sophomore year. Where did you attend before that?”

“I was homeschooled,” I said in spite of myself.

His eyes lit up with interest. “Really? What was that like? I’ve often wished I didn’t have to deal with the extra shit that comes with school and just study what I want to learn.”

I told him. I told him about my crazy mother and our home in the woods. I told him how excited I’d been to attend high school and how it’d crushed me when I was rejected. We talked for the next hour and I slowly relaxed. He brought me juice and a bagel and sat with me until I felt nearly normal. He told me his mother wasn’t home and that he’d only been at the party because a friend had dragged him to it.

“I guess I owe you for getting me out of there,” I finally admitted. “You were right. Someone must have drugged me. I’ve never felt like this, and I’m lucky you were paying attention.”

He was silent for a long moment. “My older brother drugged you. He was the asshole I pulled off you.”

“You fought your brother?”

“It wasn’t the first time,” he said ruefully. “I doubt it will be the last. Luckily he was wasted last night. He outweighs me by about fifty pounds and usually kicks my butt.”

He was incredibly thin, but it was the lean build of a runner. His brother’s handsome face flashed in my memory and I saw the resemblance. I didn’t know what to say. My pride was at war with my shock at his actions, and I was in the unusual position of being beholden to someone else. In other words, I wasn’t in charge, and again I was thrust out of my comfort zone.

“Thank you.” The words were difficult.

“I’m sorry he did that to you.”

An honest aura surrounded him, and I scented fresh trees and grass. His brother might be an asshole, but this man was not.

“I don’t know your name,” I admitted in embarrassment.

“Christian.”

It suited him. Just as my name suited me.

Eventually I felt strong enough to leave the room. His home was beautiful and reeked of money, and I tiptoed as we walked the polished wood floors, terrified to touch anything. He drove me in a Mercedes back to the party house to get my car. I was embarrassed as I stood by my clunker hatchback, but he was too polite to mention it. He waited to make certain my vehicle would start and then waved good-bye.

I figured that was the end.

To my surprise he found me at school the following Monday. Usually I ate lunch alone in a small, quiet alcove with a book in my hand. I jumped as he set his tray on my table. He sat down and drew me into conversation. Christian became my friend. We were two outcasts, the geek and the slut. But we each found something special in the other person.

I never tried to seduce him again; I wouldn’t do that to my friend. He wasn’t gay, but he was a virgin who believed no girl would give him a second glance. He put his energy into his studies and helped me with my math. I gave him tips on his clothing and pushed for him to gain some weight. Other students gave us odd looks. Together we were an unusual sight. Several guys asked Christian if he’d fucked me and refused to believe his denials, but regarded him with a small degree of admiration. We laughed over his jump in status. I curtailed my prowling at parties, but only by a little bit; I enjoyed it too much. I never accepted another drink and paid more attention to what my senses told me about a man. Together we made a difference in each other’s lives.

It was a friendship I would treasure forever.

EIGHTEEN

Truman’s stomach churned.

Who killed Rob Murray? Does the killer know I was there?

He marched up the unreliable stairway to Rob’s apartment, Mercy right behind him. The officer out front had signed them in, not questioning why an FBI agent was at the scene. Mercy was skilled at pretending she was where she needed to be, and few people questioned her.

His mind raced through his earlier conversation with Murray, searching for a clue that the man had been in fear for his life.

Nothing came to mind.

Deschutes County detective Evan Bolton met them in front of the apartment. Truman was relieved that he’d already met the man at the scene of Olivia Sabin’s death. A familiar face. Bolton’s expression narrowed as he shook Truman’s and Mercy’s hands.

“Why are you here?” Bolton bluntly asked Mercy.