She reached for the knife tucked inside the sleeve of her jacket. It was the only weapon she could take into the small downtown area without drawing attention to herself and that wasn’t on the agenda . . . yet.
Before she had it opened and assumed a defensive stance, familiar strong arms wrapped around her body, effectively rendering her immobile.
Sterling?
His strength was a thing of awe. She wasn’t huge in stature, but she was strong for her size and she was quick—usually. But power coiled and simmered from his large frame, as did the seething heat of his fury.
And then the unthinkable registered, creeping through the sluggish mush of her mind. Sterling. Here. In Calvary. Not just in the town, but in the house she’d rented. Seen and associated with her.
A low moan of anguish tore from her throat because now, if she failed, one more person would be added to the list of those Thomas would kill for the unpardonable sin of being in Eliza’s life, regardless of the capacity.
Her knees buckled and she plunged downward only to be hauled up and held firmly against the muscled wall of his chest. She pressed her hands over her face, feeling the hot tears already leaking from her eyes. No, no, no! She couldn’t lose it now. She couldn’t break. Not when she was so close to the end game. She had to keep it together!
“You have to go,” she said, grief heavy in her voice. “Hurry! Get out before anyone knows you’ve been here and then he’ll never know you have any connection to me.”
She looked him straight in the eyes, lifting her chin, uncaring of her obvious vulnerability or the humiliation of tears flooding her eyes and this time she was fully aware of the name she used.
“God, please, Wade. I’m begging you. Save yourself and get out!”
NINE
WADE was so stunned that all he could do was haul Eliza’s shaking body against his own, anchoring himself so they both didn’t end up on the floor. Any and all thoughts of giving her a blistering outburst of just what he thought of her disappearance instantly fled, because she looked as though she was on the verge of completely shattering.
If she hadn’t already. And judging by what he’d just witnessed, he’d say she was already beyond shattered. She was broken. Something painful and vicious twisted in his gut, tightening his chest as fury rolled over him like a tidal wave. Not at her but at whatever the fuck had done this to the strongest, most infuriating, solid, selfless woman he’d ever known.
Sudden guilt—another unfamiliar emotion—hit him hard as he remembered hurling accusations at Eliza. Selfish. Bitch. Ungrateful. Hurting Gracie by distancing herself. He should have known—he had known—that she wasn’t capable of those things. He should have known that her acting so out of character meant something was very wrong.
She was huddled in his arms curling into the smallest possible ball, as if she wanted to disappear all together, but what threatened to totally unhinge him was the fact that tears were streaking down her face as her body heaved with violent, silent sobs. She was shaking so hard that it took all his strength just to maintain his already rock hard hold on her.
He thought he’d been prepared this time. After the shock of their last meeting when he’d seen panic and vulnerability and lastly fear in her eyes, he hadn’t thought it could get any worse. But Eliza curled into his arms, her fragility broadcasting in intense waves and tears running in never-ending streams, soaking his shirt, depriving him of all rational thought. Even his pulse stuttered, pain shooting through his chest as he witnessed the heartbreaking sight of this beautiful, strong woman in fragmented shards of utter despair.
Nostrils flaring, his head came up, his eyes narrowed in rage. He kicked the door shut and then swept Eliza into the only room in the house that didn’t have a window. He needed to get her to a secure location immediately, but his first priority had to be . . .
Fuck! He’d never felt so helpless in his life. He couldn’t deny that he’d savored the thought of, and had fantasized about how it would feel, when she was finally in his arms, her softness melded to his body, but never at this high a price. Not this way.
Broken. Fucking broken and in so many pieces that he feared he couldn’t put her back together.
Eyes so dull and a look of hopelessness he’d never imagined seeing on Eliza’s face.
He wanted her in his goddamn arms because she wanted to be there and because the fierce battle of wills between them erupted and desire they both felt was acted on. Not because there was nowhere else for her to go and because he happened to be present at the precise moment she fell apart.
In no way could he remain aloof and purposely antagonize her and act the part he’d played for the last months. He sank down on the small sofa that lined an inside wall and tenderly enfolded her once more into his embrace, but even taking care to be gentle, his grip was fierce and unyielding, giving her no choice of escaping.
“Shhh, Eliza,” he whispered, his lips pressed to her hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything hurt you. If you believe nothing else, know that I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”
She clenched his shirt, balling it along with her fingers into a fist and buried her face in his neck, the heated moisture of her tears wet against his skin. It was as though months, years, a lifetime of fear, stress, pressure had broken free after being so tightly restrained. She shuddered, her entire body violently shaking with the force of her sobs, and yet the silence was so eerie that it unnerved him. Her tears were wet against his neck where her face was still firmly planted, her hold on him as fierce as his was on her.
It was obvious she’d disciplined herself to hold it back, to never allow anyone to see beyond her meticulously constructed barriers, that even in grief, the strength of her self-imposed will refused to allow her to make a sound. Worse was the thought of her never having anyone to lean on, because he couldn’t imagine her ever exposing so much of herself even to her teammates. People she trusted. And obviously not even Dane, because Dane was merely “worried” and had no fucking clue just how serious the situation was.
He trailed his lips over the top of her hair until they touched her clammy forehead and he nuzzled to her temple, murmuring soothing sounds because he was helpless as to what else to do other than let her know she wasn’t alone. And her tears. God, her tears cut into him like a knife and twisted his heart in a way he’d never experienced.