Out Of Her League (17 page)

He waved her words away. “Don't apologize.” He came over and settled an arm around her, his forearm warming her shoulders, making her long to burrow into his shirt.

No clinging, Christa. Clinging is the surest way to make a man run in the opposite direction
.

She didn't resist when he stepped back and took her hand to lead her out of the room. “Come on. Let's watch the game for a while.” He settled her on the couch. “I think all I've got in the fridge is water and beer.”

“Water would be great.”

He came back with a chilled bottle and flipped on the TV, scanning to the Mariners’ game. Three innings later the phone rang.

“Hello... Hey Nate. Come on up.”

Her stomach clenched.

After Rayne had let him in Nate strode over to her. “Hi, Christa. This big guy been taking care of you?”

“He's spoiling me, for sure.”

“Good.” He regarded Rayne, poised in the entryway, then back at her. “Tell me how you want to do this, honey.” His deep brown eyes were kind. “You want Rayne to stay, or would you be most comfortable with just me in the room?”

She weighed the pros and cons. She really didn't want Rayne to hear it all yet, but if she asked him to go, would it make him feel she didn't trust him? She cast him a glance.

“Don't worry about me,” he told her, as if reading her mind. “I'll stay if you want me to, but I totally understand if you'd rather I didn't.”

She felt shaken. Part of her was terrified at facing this without him, and the other part of her was too ashamed to let him hear her statement. “I think I'll talk to Nate by myself, if you don't mind.” Her voice came out uneven.

“Not at all, darlin'.” He must have seen how close she was to losing it, because he crouched in front of her and set his warm hands over hers as she rubbed her damp palms on her jeans. “I'm right down the hall if you change your mind,” he told her, those hazel eyes boring directly into hers, lending her strength.

“Thanks,” she whispered. He squeezed her hands and left her with Nate, who chose the La-Z-Boy.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees.

“As well as can be expected, I guess.” She was holding it together so far, wasn't she?

He pulled a tape recorder and a pad of paper out of his briefcase. “It's standard to record the victim's statement for future reference,” he told her, starting the machine. First he announced the date, her name and file number.

She answered all his questions with as much detail as she could, outlining Jake's barking in the yard, the moment she'd realized it was Seth advancing from the shadows, the struggle to get away before he forced her into the car and drove to her house. She told him about the alarm, that Seth had known the code, and the instant of freedom in the kitchen before he'd caught her again.

“I think I might have broken his nose, because it made a real crunching noise when I hit him, and he was bleeding. It didn't slow him down much, though, because he grabbed me by my hair and wrestled me down.” She had to swallow twice before continuing. “Then he dragged me up to my room and... and tied me to the bed.”

“Face up or face down?”

His matter-of-fact tone jarred her, and she had to remind herself he wasn't being callous, only doing his job as an investigator. “Face down.”

Nate nodded, made some notes on his pad, peered across at her. “And when did he produce the knife?”

Her throat clamped shut at the memory of him holding the glinting blade above her, making her think she was about to be stabbed. “First he put a picture of Rayne and me on the nightstand... ” She explained that Seth thought Rayne was her boyfriend, described how infuriated he'd become when she'd denied it, had tried to choke her. “Then he used the knife to cut off my clothes.” The tears threatened then, she blinked hard to hold them back.

“Take your time,” Nate murmured, watching her with sympathetic eyes.

She shook her head, closed her lids. “I'm okay.” She would not fall apart. If she allowed herself to let go, she might never be able to put herself back together.

“And after he cut your clothes? What happened then?”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “He tried to rape me, but he couldn't, um... ” Humiliation burned like acid.

“Couldn't maintain an erection?” Nate supplied.

“Yes.” Which was why she'd been so upset with the doctor about the need for an internal so soon after the ordeal. He hadn't been able to penetrate her.

“And when he couldn't perform sexually, what then?”

Her jaw trembled along with the rest of her body. Her teeth chattered. “H-he bit me, on m-my shoulder.” She was cold, so cold, the wound throbbing. She heard again her own scream, relived the bright haze of pain that sliced through her, and the warm stickiness of her own blood trickling over her skin. The nauseating tang of it.

“Did anything else happen before you heard your neighbor Patrick Flannery calling you?”

“No. That was about it.” Thank God for Patrick. He'd saved her life, she was sure of it.

Nate finished his last questions swiftly, then shut off the tape recorder and sat next to her on the couch. “All over now, Christa,” he soothed. “Want me to call Hutch back in?”

She shook her head. She didn't want him to see her until she was back in control.

“Okay, I'll give you a few minutes.” He settled a blanket over her, and she flinched when his hand touched her back. “You did real well, honey. Your information will be a big help to finally put this guy away forever, so he won't be able to hurt another woman.”

She hoped so. God, she hoped so. No one should have to go through this agony.

After a few minutes the trembling eased and she was able to breathe normally again. A heavy, almost drugged feeling of fatigue dragged at her, making her lean into the cushions.

Nate studied her a moment longer, then stood. “Okay, Hutch,” he called, “we're through here.”

Rayne appeared, his gaze locking with hers. “You all right kiddo?”

“Just glad it's over,” she answered. “No offense, Nate.”

His lips quirked. “None taken, honey. I'll keep you informed of any developments, and feel free to call me anytime day or night, as a cop or a friend. In the meantime I'll have Victims’ Services contact you.”

“She'll be gone for a few days, Nate,” Rayne told him.

“Gone? Gone where?”

“If it's all right with you I'm taking her to the beach house for a while.”

Nate stared at him. “Oh.”

An undercurrent simmered between the two men, though she didn't know why. Rayne's expression was inscrutable.

“You okay here for a minute while I see Nate out?”

A-ha. They wanted a private conversation. She waved him away. “Sure, go ahead.” The door closed behind them, leaving her to wonder what was so terrible it couldn't be said in front of her.

Nate eyed him levelly. “What the hell are you doing? I don't mind you using the beach house, but have you considered the implications? I mean, there's always protective custody— ”

“You want to scare her even more? She's already freaking about this guy. Besides, she'll be in protective custody. Mine.”

Nate spread his hands. “I hear ya. I've known you almost your entire life. You're like a son to me. I know I can trust you to take care of her.”

“So what's the problem?” Rayne leaned back with his arms folded across his chest.

“I know, I know,” Nate placated him, “you don't want to hear it. But I'm going to say it anyway. First of all, whatever has happened between you and Christa is— ”

“Nothing's happened, Nate.”

“— is none of my business,” he finished. “But it's obvious you care about her a lot.”

“That's right.”

“I can see it.” He cleared his throat. “And I can't help feeling you might be getting in over your head here.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I won't change my mind.”

His fingers drummed on his briefcase. “I'm concerned about her too. Hell, she's a sweet girl, and didn't deserve any of this. But even when we catch the bastard, she may still be... well, she might... you know as well as I do that she has a long, tough recovery ahead of her. She's totally vulnerable and not up to dealing with any more
stress
right now.”

What the hell? Rayne stood straighter, leaning forward on the balls of his feet. “So, what are you saying?”

“I'm saying that you'd better tread real carefully here.”

His hands squeezed into fists. “You mean I can't just take her to bed like every other woman I've been with, right? Like I have no control over my sexual urges or something.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Your lifestyle isn't exactly a big secret.”

Rayne's teeth clenched. Jesus Christ, did everyone think he was a hormone with feet? He had always treated the women he'd dated well.

“All I'm saying is that you'd better think long and hard before you put the moves on Christa Bailey.”

“So you
do
mean sex.” His brow hiked closer to his hairline.

“Partly. Take it easy, for her sake. She's not ready for that kind of thing. She may never be ready again.”

He had heard enough. It was one thing to be offered fatherly advice, but quite another to have your lifelong idol insult your morals. Who the hell did Nate think he was to talk, anyway? His reputation had been even worse than his, for God's sake. “Just so there's no confusion about it,” he said with dignity, “I'm taking Christa with me to Lincoln City. And if I happen to go to bed with her, rest assured I will not have
sex
with her. You of all people should understand I won't rush her.”

Nate gave an ear-to-ear smile and burst out laughing. “Well I'll be damned.”

Christa picked at the pizza Rayne had placed on a tray for her. She wasn't hungry but she needed to eat, so she suffered a few bites of ham and pineapple, usually her favorite.

She knew the interview with Nate had been necessary, though she'd dreaded having to relive everything, all the awful details. Partly because she could hardly bear to think about them herself, let alone expose them to strangers. That would come later, in the inevitable psychiatric appointments.

And that's when it happened. The full impact of what had happened crashed down on her, a suffocating weight. Her heart raced, sweat popped out on her forehead, her skin tingling as if covered with a million skittering bugs.

She was unclean, violated. She could smell the faint scent of him that lingered on her skin.

She shoved the tray off her lap and leapt up. Her body was contaminated, and she needed to wash the filth off,
now
.

“I need a shower,” she blurted, heading for the bathroom. The walls closed in on her, her vision blurring as the world tipped onto its side. She stumbled, but Rayne was right behind her, helping her to her feet.

“Chris, you're scaring me.”

“I just need a shower,” she gasped, desperate to get under the spray of water. She ripped off her clothes, throwing them into a heap before yanking at the faucet.

“Chris?”

She slammed the glass door behind her and stood under the blistering hot spray, the urgent, panicked sensation remaining. She scrubbed her body, violently cleansing every patch of flesh she could reach, continuing even when her skin shone red and raw.

Rayne opened the door and yanked the washcloth from her before killing the spray.

Christa blinked at him. Had he been there in the bathroom with her all along? She covered herself with her arms, trembling, her shoulder stinging. As if she were coming out of a fog, she stared down with detached curiosity at the pink rivulets dripping from her fingertips. Blood stained the water. Her blood.

“Oh, God.” Rayne's eyes were glued to her bleeding shoulder. He grabbed a towel from the cupboard and wrapped her in it, applying firm pressure to stop the bleeding. “You're okay,” he told her, maintaining eye contact. “You're okay now.”

Still she watched the blood drip, shivering. Then her knees gave out and she slid bonelessly to the floor. “D-don't,” she mumbled when he reached for her. She was naked, for God's sake! She didn't want anyone— least of all him— seeing her right now, lying in a heap with only a towel covering her, her skin raw because she'd morphed into a mad woman.

He hunkered in front of her outside the shower stall, stemming the flow of blood while trying to preserve what was left of her dignity. Then he carried her to his bed, shoving pillows under her ankles to elevate her feet above her head.

“It's okay, Chris. Everything's fine now. You need to lie still for a bit.” He deftly rolled her to get a better look at her wound. “When the bleeding slows I'll apply a pressure dressing.”

She shut her eyes as the room spun around her, buzzing filling her head. She was too tired to care about what anyone else was thinking, so she let herself drift, aware only of Rayne's hand rubbing her arm.

“Should I call someone?” he asked eventually. “Teryl?”

“A shrink. No, an exorcist. An evil spirit has taken over my body.”

“Everything hit you at once and it overloaded your brain.”

“I shorted out.” Maybe she had smoke coming out of her ears.

“Exactly.”

“Promise me you won't tell anyone about this,” she demanded.

“Of course not.”

“I'm so embarrassed.” The understatement of the year. He'd seen her naked while she was freaking out; not exactly the scenario she'd fantasized about.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about, kiddo.” He tipped her chin and met her eyes. “I was too distracted by the blood dripping down your arm to notice anything else.”

He might be lying, but it was sweet of him to try to put her at ease. Some of the mortification faded.

He left briefly and returned with a first-aid kit, unwound a strip of gauze with practiced ease and applied the dressing, then gave her one of the sleeping pills the doctor at the hospital had prescribed. She swallowed it, willing it to kick in and sent her into sweet oblivion. She welcomed Rayne's presence, the sense of security he gave her. She wanted to crawl into his pocket and stay there. Why oh why did she have to fall for someone so far out of her league?