Heart of the Night (22 page)

“Animals don't,” Jared said angrily. “That's the interesting part. Animals don't hurt others of their species that way. Only men do. They even take pleasure in the pain they inflict.”

“But why? Why Megan? What did she ever do to deserve that kind of pain? All she ever wanted in life was a small measure of financial security. She didn't ask for the world. She certainly didn't ask for wealth. She married Will because she was in love. What did she do so wrong?”

“I don't know, babe,” he said, working to get a handle on his anger. It wouldn't help Savannah any. She needed soothing. Rubbing his jaw against her hair, he inhaled her sweet, clean smell and said gently, “Some things happen without any reason at all.”

“They got the money. They knew they'd get the money. Why did they have to put their filthy hands on Megan?”

He didn't answer. There were no answers to give, and he knew Savannah knew that. The best he could do was to hold her tightly and let her vent the anger and pain and frustration that festered inside.

“I should have done more,” she murmured. “If I'd known what they were doing to her, I'd have brought in every law enforcement agency in the state.”

“They brutally raped her. That has to tell you what they're capable of. If you'd openly brought in the law after they'd warned against it, they'd have killed her.”

“I've been telling myself that, but I'm not sure there's much difference between rape like that and murder. You didn't see Megan's face, Jared. It was awful—not a bruise in sight, but it was totally changed. Like she'd been hollowed from the inside out. Like something inside her had died.”

“She's not dead, Savannah. You have to remember that. She's not dead. She'll heal. There are counselors who'll help, psychiatrists.”

“She was practically catatonic.”

“She can be treated.”

“It was awful. She looked at Will as though it hurt to see him. She looked at me the same way. Do you know how that felt?” She gave an anguished cry. “Talk about setting off a guilt trip!”

Taking her face in one hand, Jared turned it up to his. “Not guilt. There's no reason at all for that. You did your best. You made decisions based on the information you had. It's easy enough in hindsight to say what you should have done, but given the same situation again, you'd have to do the same thing. There's nothing you could have done differently. The risk would have been too great.”

“If I'd known—”

“No. Nothing differently.” His voice was at the same time firm, but gentle and pleading like his eyes. “Savannah, you tried. You had people working with you and none of them told you to do anything but what you did. It wasn't like you were going against orders, or even advice.” He paused. “Have you spoken with your boss?”

She gave a single nod against his hand. “He's not thrilled. He was hoping we'd rescue both Megan and the money.”

“How did he hope you'd do that?”

“He didn't say.”

Jared swore. “Politicians are assholes. So concerned about the next election that they lose sight of what they're elected to do. So what was he doing while this rescue was taking place? He was probably in some woman's bed, screwing her wild.”

“He's at a conference.”

“Same difference. You know that guy's reputation, don't you?”

“Paul's wife is a cripple. She's been unable to respond to him for years. Still he's been wonderful to her, faithful in every respect but that.” Closing her eyes, she took in a long, tired breath, then let it out in a quiet, “Oh, God.”

Jared knew it had nothing to do with Paul DeBarr, and he felt suddenly contrite. Pressing her head close again, he massaged her scalp. For a strong woman, she felt fragile in his arms. “Want to get some sleep?”

“Each time I close my eyes, I see Megan.”

“She'll recover, Savannah,” he said by her ear. “The bruises will fade. Each day she'll feel stronger.”

“But emotionally—”

“That's what I'm talking about. She'll recover. She'll have people around her who love her. She'll mend.”

Savannah sighed and rested more of her weight against him. “I'd like to believe that.”

“Meanwhile, the cops will do their thing. Was she able to give them any clues?”

Savannah shook her head. With the outpouring of the tale, she was feeling purged, and very tired. “Two men, that's all,” she said softly.

“No descriptions?”

Again she shook her head.

“No names? Nicknames? Locations?”

Another headshake.

“Savannah?”

“Mmm?'

“Want to sit someplace else?” he whispered. “This tub's killing my butt.”

She would have smiled if she hadn't felt so drawn. “I'm going to bed,” she said. Mustering the sum total of strength she had left, which wasn't much but did the trick, she levered herself off him and stood up.

He followed her into the bedroom, watched her pull back the comforter and slide between the sheets. He caught fleeting glimpses of nice things like manicured toenails, delicate feet, and slender legs before they disappeared. But those things weren't of prime importance just then. The focus of his attention was her face. It lacked color. She was exhausted.

Crossing to the window, he adjusted the blinds to blot out the rising sun. Then he returned to squat by the side of the bed. “I take it you're not going to work.”

“Not this morning,” she murmured. She lay on her side looking at him, but her eyes were leaden. “I'll call in at nine.”

“You'll be asleep then.”

“I'll wake up.”

“Let me make the call for you.”

“You have to sleep.”

“I can sleep later.”

She dragged in an uneven breath. “I'd better call, myself. I'll have to tell Janie what to postpone to when.” She closed her eyes.

“Should I set the alarm to wake you?” Jared whispered.

Her eyelids didn't flutter. They were too heavy for that. “No,” she whispered back.

He said nothing more, satisfied to study her features in silence. They were delicate, sculpted by a fine genetic tool. Unable to resist, he lightly brushed the pad of his thumb over the shadowed crease between her eyes.

She didn't blink, didn't seem to notice what he'd done. Her breathing was soft and slow. Assuming she'd fallen asleep, he was surprised when she whispered his name.

“Jared?”

“Right here, babe.”

“Talk to me.”

“Talk to you.”

“Say something, anything. I like listening to you when I fall asleep.”

“Do you now?” he asked, inordinately pleased by that.

“Mmm.”

He bobbed lightly once on the balls of his feet, then braced his forearms on his thighs and let his hands fall between. He didn't know what to say. She was used to listening to him at work, but he couldn't very well break into a lazy monologue as though he were on the air. He wasn't self-centered enough to talk about himself, and the things he wanted to say about Savannah were too whimsical to air. Nor could he talk about Megan.

So he took a deep breath and said in a voice that was low and lyrical, “Once upon a time, there was a princess. She had pretty brown eyes, chestnut-colored hair, and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. She lived in a huge castle.”

“Where?” Savannah murmured.

“Hmm?”

“Where was the castle?”

He hesitated for a mere second. “In Frewschnort.”

“Frewschnort?”

He rather liked the sound, thought it worth repeating. “Frewschnort. She lived there with her father, the king, and her sister, princess number two.”

“How did you know I was born first?”

“I didn't. Who says this story's about you?”

“Is it?”

“I don't know yet. Give me a minute and we'll both find out.” He took her silence as permission to continue. “As kingdoms went, Frewschnort was on the small side, but what it lacked in size it made up for in beauty. There were rolling hills and meadows, forests and streams. The temperature hovered between sixty and seventy-five, and smog was a thing of the future. In fact, Frewschnort would have been an idyllic place if it hadn't been for the Grumpslaw.…”

His voice trailed off. He waited for Savannah to prod him on, but she didn't. Nor did she respond when he whispered her name. Slowing rising to his full height, he stood watching her for several minutes. Then, very quietly, he left the room.

*   *   *

Sam Craig hammered on Susan's front door with his fist, making enough noise to wake the dead—though it wasn't the dead he wanted to wake, just Susan. She hadn't responded to the doorbell. She wasn't responding to his banging. He was worried.

He'd been worried since she left the hospital by cab at four that morning. She had been in rough shape and he would bet she headed straight for a bottle. While a drink or two might have helped her relax, he doubted she would stop there.

Leaving the steps, he started around the house, scrutinizing overhanging trees, latticework, and windows as he went. He finally settled on a tree whose limbs came comfortably close to a small balcony. Within minutes, he was on the balcony and easily jimmying the lock on the door.

He found himself in a small guest bedroom. From there, he made his way down the hall. He stuck his head into each room he passed and shouted Susan's name with increasing regularity. She wasn't expecting anyone to be in the house with her. His intent wasn't to scare her to death, but to make sure she was all right.

At the end of the hall was the master bedroom. It was the one room that looked at all lived in. Clothes were scattered on the unmade bed. Shoes trailed from the closet. A large armoire stood open to reveal a hefty supply of liquor, a collection of glasses, and an ice bucket.

There was no sign of Susan in the room.

For safekeeping, he checked the adjoining bathroom. Towels lay strewn on the sink and the edge of the tub. He closed his hand around one; it was damp to the touch. Returning to the hall, he trotted downstairs.

She wasn't in the living room or the dining room. He found her in the den at the end of the hall, sitting on the floor beside an elegant cherrywood bar. Her back and head were against the wall. Her feet were flat on the floor and bare, her knees bent. The folds of her long wraparound robe fell between her legs. Half buried in the material was the glass that dangled from her hand.

Through eyes filled with misery, she watched him approach. His step slowed as he neared. He stopped several feet away.

“Are you all right?” he asked. He had fully expected to find her stone drunk, but, looking at her, he wasn't sure. More than anything, she seemed tired and unhappy. When she didn't answer, he said, “I tried to call. Didn't the phone ring?”

She tipped her head a fraction and gave a single nod.

“Why didn't you answer?”

With her head at the same slightly tipped angle against the wall, she lifted a shoulder in a weak shrug. It struck Sam then that she did look weak. He could understand it, after the few days she'd been through. He still didn't know if she was drunk.

“Have you gotten any sleep?”

Her eyes didn't move from his, as though she didn't have the power to direct them. But, very slowly, she moved her head from one side to the other.

“Don't you think you should? It's been more than twenty-four hours.”

She spoke then. Her speech wasn't exactly slurred, though she barely moved her mouth, and the sound that came through was meek. “How did you get in?”

“I climbed a tree and snuck in through one of the bedrooms.”

“That's breaking and entering.”

“No. It's trying to be a Good Samaritan. You might have made things a little easier by answering either your telephone or the door. I've been worried.”

Susan straightened her head against the wall. That was the only change she made. Her mouth moved as little as it had before, her voice was as meek. “Savannah sent you.”

“I haven't spoken with Savannah.”

“She sent you.”

He shook his head. “I haven't spoken with her.”

“You wouldn't have come otherwise.”

He frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you respect Savannah. You'd do anything she asked.”

“I work with Savannah. I'd do what she asked if it made sense. But I'm not here on business. This is personal.”

Susan raised the glass to her mouth and tipped it, but only to take in an ice cube. When the glass was back dangling between her thighs, she closed her eyes. “You're not making sense.”

Coming closer, Sam squatted before her. “I was worried about you, Susan. You've been through a lot this week, and last night wasn't a picnic to top it off. I've been through things like this before. You haven't. I wanted to help.”

Her eyes were open again, but vague. “Why?”

“I like you.”

She inched her head from side to side. “You think I'm spoiled and stuck-up. You like my looks, but you don't like me.”

“Half right. I do like your looks. But I like you, too. I'm just trying to decide how much.”

She looked mildly confused as she considered that. Then she turned sullen. “Don't bother. It's not worth the effort.”

“Why not?”

“Because what you see is what you get. There's not much inside the shell.”

“That's a lousy way to talk about yourself.”

She gave a minuscule shrug.

“Do you really have that low an opinion of yourself?”

“There's not much evidence to the contrary, as my sister the lawyer would say.”

“Savannah never said that about you.”

“Maybe not, but I'm sure she's thought it often enough.”

“I don't think so.”