“Are you okay?”
“Get me out of the restraints!” Untamed panic welled inside her. It was like a living, breathing thing ready to completely take over. She tried to tell herself to stop struggling, that she was safe now, but she was about to have a serious breakdown if he didn’t get her free.
As he bent down over the body she could see him searching the man’s pockets until finally he popped up with a small silver key grasped tightly in his hand. It felt like an eternity passed until he’d completely freed her wrists and ankles. Unable to stop the cry that rose in her throat she attempted to sit up but Grant caught her underneath her back and pulled her close to his chest in an almost crushing hug. He murmured soothing words as he stroked her back and lifted her up.
Sobs wracked her body and the more she tried to get herself under control the worse it was. She was vaguely aware of him carrying her outside. When the sun nearly blinded her, she blinked, her tears drying from the shock and pulled back from her death grip around his neck.
“Are you… Did he hurt you?” Grant’s voice cracked on the last word, his eyes filled with agony.
She shook her head, fighting to breathe, to get a grip. “No. Thanks to you,” she whispered, looking around at her surroundings.
Grant had just walked them out of a simple looking shed into a giant backyard filled with lush greenery, overgrown rosebushes and other foliage. The back of the house was a Queen Anne style home. Everything looked so…normal. There were no noises from the neighbors, the sun was shining and she could hear a dog barking nearby. Despite the warmth from being outside, she shivered uncontrollably.
Grant sat on a patio chair and cradled her in his arms. She’d stopped crying but couldn’t seem to let go of him. All she could concentrate on was the feel of his strong arms keeping her in a warm, tight embrace, the beat of his heartbeat and his familiar scent. She knew they should do something like call the police, but she felt safe and secure and refused to let go of that. Just his being there grounded her and counteracted the raw panic threatening to burst through her. In her head she knew she was safe, but her body was having a hard time catching up.
The sound of footsteps and then a surprised curse made her jerk her head up. Carlito rounded the corner of the house, gun in hand. He looked at them cautiously but Grant must have motioned with his head because he nodded and continued back to the shed.
Once he was out of sight two more men crept around the corner of the house, both carrying guns. She stared at them, briefly wondering why they looked so familiar when she realized she’d seen them in the pictures at Grant’s house. These were his brothers. And she was almost completely exposed and covered in blood.
The way Grant held her gave her a little cover, but she couldn’t bear for strangers to see her like this. Burying her face in Grant’s neck, she tried to hold back another sob.
There was a rustling behind her and Grant murmured something she couldn’t understand, but when he started to pull back she instinctively fought to stay closer to him.
“Honey, I’ve got a shirt for you. I want you to put it on.” His voice was quiet next to her ear.
“Okay,” she rasped out, grateful she’d found her voice. After slipping on a big collared black shirt with a Red Stone logo on it she finally looked around again. Both his brothers had their backs to her as they stood at alert. The tallest one was missing a shirt and it slowly registered that he’d given it to her.
Before she could say thank you, Grant’s former partner was stalking back across the yard on his radio. Then all the men started talking at once. Grant still held her tight, but he was just as involved in the conversation as everyone else.
They asked her a few questions and she must have answered because she received nods. Eventually paramedics and a whole lot of uniformed officers showed up. People kept asking her questions and she continued answering when all she wanted to do was curl into a ball and hide. When they practically forced her into an ambulance, Grant never left her side. He rode with her all the way to the hospital and was quite insistent that he’d be staying in her room. She hadn’t been injured—well she was emotionally fried—but they wanted to keep her overnight anyway and run a toxicology report to see what her kidnapper had given her. She probably could have fought them but she didn’t have the energy.
A doctor she knew eventually gave her a couple pills he said would help her sleep and she didn’t even question. She hated taking drugs but right now she felt as if she might implode if she didn’t shut the outside world out for a few hours. Sleep was the only way to do that. Eventually she drifted off, secure because Grant was next to her bedside. His face was a mask of worry and she wanted to tell him she was fine, but she simply didn’t have the strength.
* * * * *
Grant shot Belle another glance as he steered into his driveway. She’d been thoroughly checked out at the hospital and finally released around noon. While she was physically fine she’d been incredibly quiet. Not that he blamed her, it just killed him seeing her so subdued and unlike herself. If he could, he’d kill that psycho Matthew Brown all over again. A common name for a man who by all accounts had looked and acted normal.
From what Carlito had told him, the plastic surgeon had been living in South America the last few years—which was why there was such a huge span of time in between the first two victims. Unfortunately it seemed they technically weren’t the first two victims. From the brief research Carlito had done it looked like Brown had killed women all across Brazil, Chile, Peru and Bolivia over the last five years. His MO was the same for a lot of unsolved murders in all those countries. There were probably many that weren’t even reported but once this story went international Grant had a feeling they’d discover even more killings.
That wasn’t something he wanted to think about though. Belle was alive and safe and a monster was dead. He’d gone down to the police station last night while Belle had been sleeping—only once his brother Porter had arrived to stay with her—to make an official statement. He should have had to go right after the shooting but Carlito and his former boss had pulled a lot of strings to let him ride to the hospital with Belle. Of course it didn’t hurt that his father had a lot of contacts with the Miami PD too.
His entire family wanted to meet her and she needed to call her own family soon. He’d tried to broach the subject but she’d refused. She’d said she just wanted a day of rest and sleep before they all rushed over. Considering everything she’d been through in the past week and how well she was holding up, he figured it was her business how she handled things with her family. But he knew from experience that the longer she put it off the worse their reactions would be.
“I need to get some clothes,” she murmured, the sound of her voice surprising him.
He didn’t stop until they were in his driveway. “I hope it’s okay, but…I had my sister-in-law get a bag of stuff for you. I used the keys you’d left behind. I wasn’t sure how late they’d discharge you so I had her grab some clothes. She’d planned to bring it up to the hospital but when the doctor let you go she just left it at my place.”
She blinked at him, her expression one of surprise. Crap, maybe he’d really overstepped his bounds. “Sorry.”
A slight smile played across her lips, drawing his attention to them. “No, it’s really sweet. Thank you. So you don’t mind me staying at your place?”
He snorted and got out of the vehicle. If she hadn’t been staying here, he’d be at her place whether in her bed or camped out in her living room. After the hell she’d been through, he was going to be her shadow for the foreseeable future. He still couldn’t get the image of that psycho with the knife poised above her body or her strapped down and helpless. Rubbing his eyes as if it would somehow help, he mentally shook himself. Before he’d made it around to her side she’d shut her door and was rounding the front of his vehicle.
Nervous to touch her too much, he kept a little distance and opened the door that led into his kitchen. She gave him a curious look as she passed by him, but didn’t reach out to touch him either. He was so nervous around her, unsure if he should make any sort of physical gesture toward her. The need to gather her in his arms and comfort her was so strong, but his gut told him it would be a mistake. She’d been so closed off since she’d woken up this morning and he felt lost. Not that anyone could blame her for being withdrawn. He just didn’t want to screw up their relationship because he’d misjudged her needs.
Wrapping her arms around herself and looking adorable in the one-size-too-big scrubs the hospital had given her, Belle leaned against the center island and watched him.
“You hungry?”
“Not for food,” she said quietly, a spark of something dangerous in her eyes.
“Ah…” Unsure what to do with his hands, he opened the refrigerator and stared blindly inside. He wondered if he’d misunderstood her. “We’ve got—”
A soft hand settled on his non-scarred arm. Her fingers slightly dug into his skin. “Grant. I want you to touch me, to make love to me. Right now.”
Shutting the door he turned to face her and he couldn’t help the worry that slithered through him. “You should be resting, Belle. I know you said he didn’t…assault you, but you’re not thinking clearly.”
Her eyebrows rose for a fraction of a second before she glared at him. “Don’t you dare tell me what I’m thinking or what I need. I know exactly what I want right now and it’s you. That monster could have done a hell of a lot worse to me and yeah, I’m still pretty shaken up by everything, but I need to feel you inside me. I want you to wipe away everything that happened.”
Grant swallowed hard, knowing he couldn’t deny her anything. Even if he feared that he might be pushing her too far too fast. She’d just had a week from hell, she should be up in bed recovering, but when she slid her arms up his chest and wrapped them around his neck he knew he was lost.