Extreme Exposure (26 page)

Where were the police? What if the button hadn’t worked?

He slammed her into the door as if she were a rag doll. “I want the tapes. I want the documents. And you’re going to fetch them for me like a good little girl.”

So it was Northrup.
Anger swelled from inside her and blotted out her fear. “Go to hell!”

He hurled her across the room. “Stupid bitch, you don’t get it, do you?”

She fell across the coffee table, heard bone break and felt the air leave her lungs in a painful rush. She rolled to the floor, tried to crawl away, but the toe of his boot caught her in the stomach and left her gasping in pain. She rolled onto her back, kicked at him, striking his knee and stomach.

He grunted and swore, blood still pouring heavily from his nose. Then his fist caught her cheek and sent a shockwave of light, of agony, through her brain.

She was only vaguely aware of the hands that lifted her nightgown, of the tears that trickled down her cheeks, of the knee that forced her thighs apart or the hands that encircled her throat and squeezed.

“When I’m done with you, you’ll do anything I tell you to do. Or maybe I should let you die with me inside you.”

Then the room exploded.

R
EECE SLIPPED
a jazz mix into his CD player, turned east on Fourteenth, and headed toward the gym. He resisted the urge to turn left onto Corona, and instead let the street pass. She was probably asleep by now. If he showed up on her doorstep at eleven-fifteen at night, he would probably succeed only in scaring her. He needed to give her space, give her time to work through whatever she was feeling. A little time to think wouldn’t hurt him, either. Or so he told himself.

Ahead of him, the blue-white-red of police lights flashed as two squad cars raced toward him, headed west. He pulled over to the side of the road. They were running silent, doing at least fifty. Then they slowed and, one by one, turned left onto Corona, their lights filling his rearview mirror.

Kara.

He waited until the last car had passed, then pulled an illegal U-turn and followed them, hoping to God he was wrong. But the squad cars had already pulled to a stop in front of her house, joining a third that was parked in her driveway. Two armed officers raced toward the front door, while two more circled toward the backyard.

“Damn it!” Reece pulled over, leapt from his Jeep, and ran.

“Stop where you are! Police!”

It took a moment for him to realize the command was meant for him. He stopped and raised his arms. “I’m Sen—”

Beefy hands slammed into his back. “Lie down on your stomach, hands behind your head! Now!”

Seething, Reece knew he had no choice unless he wanted holes in a few vital organs. He lay flat on the pavement and locked his hands behind his head. “I’m Senator Reece Sheridan. This is my girlfriend’s house.”

“Stay down!” A cop kicked his legs apart and began to pat him down.

“My ID is in my rear pocket. This is my girlfriend’s house, and I need to know if she and her son are all right!”

The cop’s hands roamed over his torso and then reached for his wallet. “I don’t care who you are. Stay down!”

“Let the senator up, Fisher.” It was Chief Irving’s voice. “Sorry, Senator. The men are just doing their job.”

Reece rose and took his wallet from the cop’s hands. “Thanks. Where’s Kara? What happened?”

A burst of static came over Chief Irving’s radio. “Affirmative. We need an ambulance and a body bag. Someone needs to call out the medical examiner and Child Protective Services. There’s a little kid in here scared to death.”

Body bag. Medical examiner.

“Christ, Kara!” Reece ran, heedless of Chief Irving’s shouts, heedless of the fact that everyone around him was armed. He pushed through the front door and then he saw her.

She lay on her back on the carpet, pale as death, the white of her nightgown stained with blood, her face bruised. Dark bruises ringed her throat. Her nightgown rode high on her thighs, as if she’d been raped.

But she was shivering.
She was alive.

A mixture of relief and helpless rage surged through him, and he threaded his way past the uniforms to her side.

“Who the hell are you?” A cop grabbed his shoulder.

Reece brushed the hand away, knelt next to her, and cupped her cheek. “Kara, sweetheart, can you hear me? It’s Reece.”

Her head turned toward him, and her eyes fluttered open. Her voice was weak, her breathing erratic. “Reece?”

“I’m right here. You’re going to be okay, Kara. An ambulance is on its way.”

She shivered violently, clearly in shock. “Connor. Help him.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, slipped out of his jacket, and covered her with it. “I’ll watch over him.” He turned to the cops. “Where’s the boy?”

“He’s under his bed, and he won’t come out.”

Reece started down the hallway but stopped when he saw the body sprawled on the kitchen floor in a pool of crimson.

“He dove for that piece.” The cop nodded toward a Glock .45 auto that lay on the floor like an abandoned toy. “Now he’s dead. Looks like she roughed him up some. Not his night.”

“No.” Reece turned his back on death and followed the sound of a child’s crying. He found an officer crouched down next to Connor’s bed, crooning to the boy, who called for his mother with a tiny, frightened voice. No doubt the officer’s uniform and gun were doing little to soothe the child’s fears. “Leave me alone with him, please.”

“If you say so.” The cop stood and walked off.

Outside, sirens signaled the arrival of the ambulance.

Reece knelt down and spied Connor backed into the far corner on his belly, teddy bear clutched to his face. “Connor, buddy, it’s me. It’s Reece. It’s safe now. Your mommy sent me to find you.”

Connor looked up, his eyes wide with fear, and he hiccupped. Then, as if his life depended on it, he crawled forward on his belly and threw himself into Reece’s arms. He smelled like baby shampoo, and his little arms were wrapped tightly around Reece’s neck.

Some unfamiliar and fierce emotion surged from Reece’s gut. He hugged Connor tightly and whispered reassurances in his ear. “You were a very brave boy. Your mommy is going to be so happy to see you. But she’s got to go see some doctors now.”

“The b-bad m-man hurt her.” The child was quaking like a leaf.

Reece found himself wishing he’d pulled the trigger that had brought that bastard down. “Yes, but he won’t hurt anyone ever again.”

“The p-policeman shot him.”

Why did a child have to know any of this? Reece stroked his downy hair. “Yes, he did. They came to help you and
your mommy. Now it’s all over, and you’re safe. Would you like to stay with me until your grandma comes?”

Connor nodded.

W
HERE WAS
Reece? He had been here. She was sure of it.

And where was Connor? Dear God, was Connor okay?

Kara’s mind drifted between numbness and pain, oblivion and fear. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to open her eyes. It hurt to talk. But still she called for them.

She was cold, so cold.

A man in a white shirt put something over her mouth and shined a light in her eyes.

“Pupils responsive. BP is seventy over forty. She’s going shocky. Let’s get an IV started.”

What had happened? “Reece!”

She felt hands reach inside her nightgown and tried to fight them off.

“It’s okay, darlin’.” The man’s voice was soothing. “I’m just hooking you up to the monitor.”

Monitor? Nothing made sense. “Reece!”

“Possible right pneumothorax. Possible skull fracture. Let’s get her under transport.”

She was hurt, and they were taking her to a hospital.

She felt herself being lifted and cried out against the pain.

“Sorry, darlin’. I know it hurts. Let’s go.”

Cold air brushed her face, then a warm hand.

“We’ll be right behind you, Kara.”

She opened her eyes and saw them—Reece and Connor. Reece had wrapped Connor in a blanket and was holding him.

She reached for her son, tried to smile, and winced as she took air into her lungs to speak. “I’ll see you later, pumpkin. Reece, take care of him.”

He kissed her hand. “You know I will.”

When the darkness sucked her down again, she gave in to it, let herself go.

R
EECE SAT
across from Lily McMillan in the hospital dining room and watched as she cut up her grandson’s pancakes. It had been a long night for all of them. Connor at least had gotten some sleep, much of it on Reece’s lap.

Reece had reached Lily on his cell, and she’d met them at University Hospital, her face white with worry for her daughter. He’d told her what he knew—that an armed man twice Kara’s size had broken into her home and that she’d somehow fought him off long enough for the police to arrive and save her life and Connor’s.

“Did he rape her?” Lily had asked, a woman’s knowing fear in her eyes, eyes that reminded Reece so much of Kara’s.

Rage had burned hot in his stomach. “I don’t know. It looked like he at least tried to.”

They’d whisked Kara off for a CT scan and X rays, giving Reece an hour or so to talk with Lily, who, beneath her granola exterior, had a sharp mind and loved her daughter fiercely. When the doctor had emerged, his face drawn with fatigue, she had slipped her hand through his—whether to offer support or seeking it, he wasn’t sure. But he’d liked how it had felt.

The doctor had then explained that Kara had a concussion, two broken ribs, a collapsed lung, some trauma to her trachea, and dozens of scrapes and bruises. Though they’d feared she was bleeding internally, nothing had been picked up on the CT scan. The rape kit they’d performed on her was inconclusive. Although bruises between her thighs made it clear her attacker had tried to sexually assault her and they’d seen live sperm on the slide, there had been no visible ejaculate and no vaginal trauma.

“I’m inclined to think she had sex in the past couple of days and the sperm we found are hardy survivors.”

Reece felt it was his responsibility to speak. “I was with her last night.”

He felt Lily squeeze his hand, a gesture of unity.

The doctor nodded. “That makes perfect sense, then. I’m disinclined to believe she was raped. He was so rough in every other way, I can’t believe that he could have penetrated her without causing tears or bruising.”

Thank God.
At least she had been spared that.

“She’s going to be here for at least a few days, possibly a few weeks. With head injuries it’s sometimes hard to know how a patient will be affected. The concussion is probably her most serious injury, though a bruised trachea is also serious.”

Lily’s voice had quavered slightly, just as Kara’s did when she was fighting tears. “Bruised trachea?”

“He tried to strangle your daughter, ma’am. We’re observing her closely to make certain her trachea doesn’t swell and cut off her breathing. If it does, we’ll have to intubate her or perform a tracheotomy. Right now, she’s sleeping comfortably. We’re giving her morphine. You can go see her if you’d like.”

Lily had spent the night in Kara’s room with Connor, sleeping on a cot, while Reece had paced angrily in the waiting room, waiting for dawn.

He drank his coffee and finished his breakfast, while Lily listened to Connor’s retelling of his scary night.

“You were a very brave boy, Connor. Your momma is so proud of you!”

Connor smiled shyly, his lips curving beneath a milk mustache. Then as quickly as it appeared, his smile faded. “Why did the bad man hurt Mommy?”

Reece leaned down and met the boy’s gaze. “I don’t know, buddy, but come Monday, I’m going to find out.”

H
IS EXHAUSTION
held at bay by anger and caffeine, Reece strode into the state attorney’s office Monday morning, past the startled administrative assistant, and directly into his private office.

His head jerked up at Reece’s intrusion. He was in the midst of a phone call and glared at Reece. “Can I put you on hold? I’m sorry.” He clicked a button on his phone console. “Who are you, and what the hell do you think you’re doing barging in here?”

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Senator Reece Sheridan from the Legislative Audit Committee. I’m here for a list of all open-records requests made by reporter Kara McMillan over the past six months, and I’m not leaving until I have the information. Please, finish your call. I’ll just make myself comfortable.”

T
OM WAS
behind on tomorrow’s editorial. The team had taken news of the attack on McMillan poorly, all but accusing him of not taking the threats against her seriously. But there was no proof Northrup was behind the attack, not yet. He’d tried to explain that newspapers deal in facts, only to have Novak and Alton storm out of the meeting.

They acted like he didn’t care. But he did. McMillan was his best reporter, and it bothered him to know she’d been hurt. Smart, efficient, a great writer, she could digest complex information like most people digested their own spit. If he was hard on her it was only because he expected great things from her. When she won the Pulitzer, she would thank him.

He reassured himself of this fact and tried to force his mind back onto the words on his screen. He’d added another two hundred or so when Paula from HR stepped into his office, an incident report in her hand. He didn’t have to ask what it was. He’d finished writing it just yesterday.

In her fifties, Paula hadn’t let herself go the way some women did. From her carefully manicured fingernails to her carefully colored hair, she gave the impression of being in her forties. Regular trips to the gym kept her slim. When she wasn’t babbling about her grandchildren, she was even intelligent. Of the women his age in the building, she was
undoubtedly the most attractive. They’d had sex off and on for years, ever since she’d gotten divorced.

She glared at him. “What the hell is this?”

“An incident report.”

“You’re writing Kara McMillan up for insubordination?”

“That’s correct.” He turned back to his computer, effectively dismissing her.

“Look at me, Tom.” She raised her voice a notch.