Guarding Raine (Security Ops) (18 page)

“When did you do these?”

She took a deep breath. “A lifetime ago.” Finally sure that her legs would work, she crossed to him, reaching for the top canvas.

He grasped her wrist, stopping her. “What happened to you, Raine?” His voice was hoarse from suppressed emotion. “What in God’s name happened to evoke this much anguish on canvas?” Because something earthshaking had, that was apparent. Even his untutored eye could detect the pain and trauma reflected in each painting, which she’d kept hidden away, out of sight.

She pulled her wrist from his hold. “Life happened,” she snapped. “It happens to all of us, doesn’t it? These paintings were my reactions to it at the time, that’s all.”

He rose slowly to face her. “Tell me.” It was less a command than an invitation. She started to shake her head, then bit her lip. Didn’t he have some right to know, after all? He’d been the one to chase away the nightmare the last time she’d been awakened by it. He’d been the one to comfort her. But truth was painful, and reality sometimes more so. Even the most well-meaning person would be repulsed at her sordid little tale.

She looked at him uncertainly. He was watching her, silently, not pushing. Just there. And she knew with sudden certainty that what she’d had to overcome in her past was a mere whisper to what he’d seen. What he’d done. Nothing she could say would shock him, and he’d already pushed her away physically. She had nothing to lose by telling him.

“As you can imagine, having met my father, I led a pretty sheltered childhood.” Her voice was thin when she spoke. “He taught my brothers to look after their little sister. I was to be pampered, and protected from all unpleasantness. I was spoiled beyond measure, and totally confined. My comings and goings were regimented, and I never went anywhere unescorted.” The smile she tried for failed. “That was pretty restrictive for a teenager who thought she was an adult.

“But I was inventive. The library was one place I could go without restriction, so many times I’d arrange to have one of my brothers take me there, pretend to go inside, then duck downtown with one of my friends. It got to be kind of a game, and if my brothers ever suspected, they never told. They didn’t like having to watch me all the time, anyway. I think I cramped their style.” She looked at Macauley uncertainly. He was watching her closely, his face absorbed.

Her gaze dropped. “There was this guy at school I had a crush on, and one night we arranged to meet. We walked around the mall a while and then he took me back to the library.” Funny how she could remember the boy so clearly. Bill Sanders had been a major heartthrob among her friends, and when he’d begun to pay attention to her, she’d thought that every teenage god in the heavens was smiling down on her. “We were gone longer than I’d expected. It was almost dark when we got back. The boy offered me a ride home, but I told him I had to wait for my brother. I knew I’d never be able to explain arriving at my house in a boy’s car. I wasn’t even going to be allowed to date for another year.” Her voice trailed off for a moment.

“I waited. It grew dark, and then darker. It was almost ten o’clock and I became convinced that I’d missed John somehow when he’d come to pick me up. I decided I’d walk home and make up a good story along the way for being late. It was one of those utterly black nights, you know? Clouds covered the moon, and if there were any stars out, they were hidden, too. It wasn’t so bad near the library, but the way to my place went past a park, and there weren’t many streetlights. There were lots of trees and hedges, creating all kinds of creepy shadows. I heard something behind me once, but when I turned and looked there was no one there. So I just kept walking, faster and faster, wishing with all my heart that I’d stayed at the library and called home.”

She rubbed her forehead, where a headache had suddenly appeared. Even after all these years it was difficult to tell the story. Difficult to think about. “The man came out of nowhere.” Her voice tapered to almost a whisper. “He jumped out and grabbed me from behind, and tried to drag me into the bushes. I fought him as hard as I could, and I got away once, but he caught me again. He grabbed me by the hair and pulled me back, and that time—” she took a deep breath “—I couldn’t get away.”

“Did he rape you?” His harsh tone was almost a snarl.

Her eyes met his wearily, and he saw in them the same tired, ancient look he’d been surprised to see in them several times before. Only now he knew the cause, knew it without her answer. And that knowledge sent currents of rage firing along his veins.

“Yes.”

Chapter 9

Although he’d been half-prepared for Raine’s answer, Mac was still jolted by it. His big hands clenched and unclenched on his knees. A red mist swam before his eyes, and he knew if it had been within his power he’d have made sure the man died for hurting her. A long, slow, merciless death.

She swallowed around the knot in her throat and forced herself to continue. “He grabbed a rock and hit me. I don’t remember anything after that. I found out later that John and William had been looking all over for me. They heard me screaming, but by the time they got there, I was unconscious and he was on top of me. . .” Words clogged in her throat. She hadn’t talked about this for a very long time, and she faltered at the mask of menace that had descended over his features.

Then her trepidation was wiped away when he reached out and pulled her into his arms, sinking back onto his haunches. Burying his face in her hair, he squeezed her tightly.

She’d been raped.

The stark, ugly truth pounded inside his skull. His fury was so great that he shook from it. He rocked her back and forth in his arms, soothing her, trying to calm himself, not sure if he was capable of either. One hand threaded through her hair, pressing her head against his chest.

Her voice was husky when she spoke again. “I woke up the next day after surgery, and the man was already in jail. William and John had caught him, and they provided the ID. He pleaded no contest. I didn’t even have to go to court.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes in pain. He could envision her at that age, all long, swinging hair and wide eyes. At an age when she should have been acquiring boyfriends and the art of flirting, her life had been shattered in a way that he could barely comprehend. The lessons she’d learned then hadn’t been on new hairstyles and the mysteries of teenage boys, they’d been in the random cruelty of life, and how to pick up the pieces and go on.

He rose suddenly and reached for her hand, pulling her to her feet. She didn’t question his sudden movement as he led her out of the room and down the stairs. He opened the front door and crossed to the porch swing, her wrist still in his hand. Then he sank down in one corner, and the tug on her wrist urged her next to him. They swung silently for a time, she exhausted from the retelling.

“Your father never said a word about this to me,” he said tersely. “Not when he hired me, not later. Not one word.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said quietly. “He’s never spoken of it to me, either.” She watched the sun sink behind the horizon pensively. “My father loves me very much. But he spent his whole life trying to shield my mother and me from life. I think . . . he just couldn’t deal with the fact that he hadn’t been able to do that. Thinking about what happened to me was just too painful for him, and he couldn’t talk about it. Not to anyone.”

Mac frowned fiercely. “Surely your mother knew.”

Raine shook her head. “There was no telling what the truth would have done to her heart. She was told I’d had an accident, but that I’d be all right. There was no other way my father could explain my absence from the house to her while I was in the hospital.”

“He wouldn’t let you talk to your mother about it?” Mac was amazed at her father’s selfishness. Raine had been a young girl, confused and frightened, her body and spirit violated. Surely her mother would have wanted to know when her youngest child was in need. What kind of bastard would make that decision for someone else?

“I wouldn’t do that,” she whispered. “I couldn’t handle it if she had another heart attack because of me. I couldn’t take that chance. I talked to counselors while I was in the hospital.”

“And after?”

“Afterward my father sold our house and moved us to Burbank. He thought getting me away from the place where it had happened would help in the healing process.”

He’d thought it would be easier to forget that way, Mac thought bitterly. He remembered Grady’s surprise when he’d heard his old friend had left from the area. Simon probably hadn’t even told him the reason. As if, by keeping silent and moving away, he could erase what had happened.

“That’s what I’ve seen sometimes, in your eyes.” His voice was low. “I wondered what could have made you so strong. All through this case you’ve taken everything that’s been thrown at you, and bounced back.” He tipped her chin up with one finger. “You’re a fighter, Raine. And you’re also one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

His words embarrassed her, especially since she knew how wrong they were. “I’m not brave, and I’m not strong,” she contradicted, jerking her chin away. “You don’t know how long it took me to get my life back to something resembling normal. You don’t know how many times I failed.” Her voice tapered off into little more than a whisper. “There’s still so much I’m afraid of.”

“Like hospitals?”

Her gaze flew to meet his, and he knew that he was right. “I saw you, remember? You didn’t want to see a doctor, but you forced yourself to do it. You’re facing your fears. That’s what strong people do, Raine. They admit to them and go on from there. There aren’t many people who could go through what you did and still accomplish what you have.”

“You don’t know,” she whispered rawly. “You don’t know how many times I was weak. How many times I took the easy way out.”

“You kept trying, that’s all that counts. And you succeeded.”

She gave a short laugh. “You want to know how strong I was, Macauley?” Self-mockery laced her voice. “You want to know what a fighter I was? I tried to pretend everything was back to normal, to do what was expected of me. But no matter how hard I worked, I couldn’t put my life back together. My family thought I was doing so well. But I’d become real good at pretending. And three days after my sixteenth birthday I swallowed a bottle of my mother’s pain pills.” Her voice was shaky. “That’s what real heroes do, right? Take the coward’s way out. Escape the pain.”

She took a shuddering breath and looked at him. His face hadn’t changed, and he hadn’t pulled back. She noticed for the first time that both of her hands were held in his. She hadn’t shocked him or disgusted him. Nor was his look pitying. He
hurt
for her, and he seemed to understand her pain and the long journey back from it in a way she didn’t question.

“My father finally realized that he wasn’t going to be able to make things all right by ignoring them. I started to see a therapist, and she showed me how to use my artistic talent as a therapeutic release.”

“The pictures in the bedroom?”

She nodded. “I keep them to remind me of how far I’ve come. And of how much further I have to go.”

“Just how far do you think you have to go?” he asked, his voice rough. “Give yourself a break. You’ve experienced more than some people have to in an entire lifetime, and you’re one of the most well-adjusted people I know.” The corner of his mouth pulled up wryly. “You can even put up with a war-weary bodyguard with no sense of humor. Not everybody could.”

“I had to start confronting my fears. I couldn’t go through life letting them cripple me anymore. And things are okay. I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to walk down a street at night whistling joyfully, but I’m coping with my fear of the dark.” The next words were harder, but she knew they had to be said. “I haven’t always been fair to the people who have helped me along the way, Macauley. I had a couple of boyfriends since . . . the rape.” She hesitated, unable to explain how carefully she’d entered into the relationships, how long it had taken her to learn to trust each man enough to be alone with him, not to mention being intimate. They’d been little more experienced than she, and she could see now that that had been part of the reason she’d chosen them.

“I met them in college,” she continued, gazing into the dusk reflectively. “I dated the last one two years before I finally broke it off.” Her voice was mocking. “It had finally occurred to me, you see, that it might be a tad bit unfair to him to be little more than a signpost on Raine’s road to emotional recovery. He was very hurt, and I was never able to fully explain it to him. I had a hard enough time understanding it myself.”

He understood what she was telling him, but everything inside him rejected having that interpretation placed on their own relationship. He cupped her jaw in one hard hand, turning her face to his. One thumb raised her chin, and his face was very close to her own when he muttered fiercely, “That’s not how it was with me.”

She read the savage certainty in his expression and couldn’t deny his words. “No,” she whispered, trapped in the intensity of his gaze.

“I know that,” he muttered. “You responded to me too freely, holding nothing back. There were no ghosts between us, Raine, and I sure as hell wasn’t an experiment with you.”

She shook her head blindly and returned the fierce kiss he pressed against her lips. He was right, of course; he was too experienced not to recognize it. And knowing what he did about her, surely he would guess just how deeply her feelings for him ran.

Breaking off the kiss, he whispered against her lips. “And your other fears?” he asked rawly. “The nightmares?”

“They don’t come as frequently as they used to,” she said simply. “Usually a stressor of some kind brings them on. But I’ve learned how to get through them, too.”

He put his arm around her narrow shoulders and pulled her close, his chest tight. He’d seen that kind of bravery before in the service. Trey had shown it when he’d pulled him out of the ruins of the hotel in Central America, others when they’d fought for their families, their countries. But this woman could teach the most decorated hero a lesson. She’d been through hell, but she’d fought herself free. She could have remained sheltered and protected for the rest of her life. Her father would have seen to it, and nobody could have blamed her for seeking that for herself. But instead she’d chosen to confront life head-on, facing down fears the way soldiers faced the enemy. Except that she’d been emotionally unarmed, and vulnerable. And, for the most part, she’d done it alone.

No wonder she seemed to have the wisdom of an ancient scribe at times. And it was no wonder she was able to see so clearly into his own battle-scarred soul. Such courage filled him with awe. And something else. An emotion he couldn’t, wouldn’t name.

They sat and watched the dusk turn into night. When Mac spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Have you ever tried self-defense courses? The lessons might give you a feeling of safety.”

“I went to a few a couple of years ago,” she answered. “I couldn’t . . . the instructor was showing us how to get away from an attacker. He put his arm around each student’s neck from behind. We were supposed to use what he’d taught us to strike out and twist away. But when it was my turn . . . I panicked.” More than panicked, she remembered uncomfortably. She’d embarrassed herself and the instructor with her reaction. She’d never gone back. Another failure that pointed out just how far she’d yet to go.

But then she remembered the day not long ago when a man had been behind her, when he’d touched her and the usual reaction had been suppressed. She looked at him. “You might be able to teach me,” she said consideringly.

“Me?”

“That day, in the studio.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “You massaged my back.”

“I remember.” His voice was hoarse. Touching her had been totally out of line and completely out of character for him. But his hands had acted without permission from his mind. “You didn’t panic then, did you?”

“No,” she replied softly. “I started to, all the old reactions were there, but it didn’t happen.” Her hand went to his face and she cupped his scratchy jaw. “That’s when I knew,” she whispered achingly. “I didn’t understand why you had such an effect on me, Macauley. But I’m beginning to realize it’s something neither of us can control. I react to you in a whole new way. And I think if you were honest with yourself, you’d admit that I have the same effect on you.”

Mac’s eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. They’d stayed on the porch late last night, late enough for Raine to fall asleep. He’d sat there for an even longer time, one arm wrapped around her, keeping her head pillowed against his chest. He’d carried her upstairs sometime during the night and put her to bed. After he’d pulled her shoes and socks off he’d stood there indecisively. Figuring she wouldn’t want to sleep in her clothes, he’d stripped off her jeans and T-shirt. The sight of her clad in only her silky underthings had sent him fleeing from the room. And kept him awake most of the night.

He needed to take a shower, but instead he went to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He’d put the machine on a couple hours ago when he’d started working in the office, and it looked like he’d have to make a second batch, since he’d drunk most of this one. He rinsed out the pot and started another. It would be ready by the time Raine woke. He didn’t think she’d appreciate his original strong black brew anyway.

A knock sounded at the front door, and he strode to answer it. “Detective Ramirez.” He stepped aside, allowing the man to enter. “Come on in.”

“Mr. O’Neill.” The man nodded in greeting. “Sorry to hear there’s been more trouble.” The detective was short and wiry, with jet black hair worn slicked back and a small, neat mustache. “How’s Miss Michaels holding up?”

“Better than she has a right to. The letter is in here.” He led the man into the office, to his desk. “It hasn’t been handled since it reached the house,” he said. “Maybe you’ll find a fingerprint.”