Toss Up (The Toss Trilogy) (16 page)

“Put your coat on. I’m taking you and Tyler to my place. Everything else can wait until morning.”

When she nodded numbly and simply obeyed, cold fear pierced his heart. She was even more damaged than he’d thought.

He wrapped Tyler in the boy’s sleeping bag and placed him next to Sally in the truck. The child murmured and returned immediately to sleep. Sally sat silent, making no protest. Cursing the man responsible for the emptiness in her eyes, Jim drove the truck home.

The roar of the
four by four’s engine echoed hollowly in the cold air. On the east side of Sally’s house, the watcher turned up his collar against the cold and leaned his shoulder against the wall below her bedroom window.

He smiled to himself. The slut’s response to his little surprise had been gratifying. He had enjoyed listening to her screams. Too bad D
onovan had come bursting in and ended the fun. It would be interesting to learn how long she would scream without the vet around to spoil things.

He’d been surprised how much he’d enjoyed her terror, and knowing he had caused it. The power he wielded had given him a raging hard on. He brushed his hand lightly over his crotch. He’d take care of that in a few minutes.

Watching the lights of the truck recede into the distance, he straightened and moved to the back door, running his tongue over his lower lip as the lock slipped easily open. Flipping his collar back into place, he stepped into the house.

chapter fourteen

Jim lived in a converted loft at the edge of old York, fairly near his clinic. Not a showplace by any means, it had all the essentials— huge flat-screen television, modern kitchen, two baths,—but none of the high-end design appeal he glimpsed on home shows when channel-surfing.

He didn’t care. There was enough space to spread out and do wha
tever he felt like doing. He was content. A long, low bookshelf ran under the windows of one exterior wall, facing a comfortable faded couch he liked to slouch on while he read. The small nondescript end table left by a previous resident held a Tom Clancy novel and the dilapidated potholder that served as a drink coaster. On the opposite side of the space, facing the door and the flat-screen, was one of Jim’s few major purchases—a massive black leather sectional sofa.

Tyler slept there now—on his stomach, face pillowed on one arm, sleeping bag more than half on the floor—undisturbed by the light drif
ting into the room.

In the bedroom, Jim watched the daylight grow. He lay on his side in the king-size log-frame bed, facing the windows. Sally was curled up against his back, as she had been all night. He wondered if it was the warmth of his body or just the comfort of human contact that kept her there.

When he ordered her into his truck last night, and set Tyler beside her to bring them here, she’d made no protest. As he’d lifted Tyler and carried him into the building, she’d come along, putting her hand against his back almost as if she was blind and needed physical contact to avoid losing him in the darkness. She’d crowded close behind him, into the elevator, into his loft, and over to the couch where he’d laid the boy down.

When he straightened and turned to her, taking her hand to lead her to his bed, she’d shuffled behind him, her face blank, and her body pa
ssive. He’d yanked aside the cover, sat her on the bed, pulled off her shoes, and lifted her legs into the bed—no response.

When he’d drawn the comforter up to her chin, she’d rolled onto her side away from him, eyes open, face stark with pain. Going around to the far side of the bed, he’d undressed, throwing shirt and jeans on a strategically placed chair, and climbed into bed. Wanting to comfort her, he’d silently offered the shelter of his arms, but she had turned away.

It stung, but he wasn’t surprised. She was too far away to reach with words or actions. Helpless to console her, he had settled himself on his side facing the windows, and lain motionless. His heart raged at the stalker, at himself… but not at her. In the face of her pain, whatever had gone on between her and Smith faded into insignificance. The control developed when a slip meant death, harnessed his body and kept it still, despite the simmering rage that prodded him to toss and turn. He would not disturb her rest.

Then she’d moved across the bed to him and curled up against his back where he could feel the warm, worn fabric of her sweat suit and the palms of both her hands pressed against him.

He started to turn toward her, but she’d stopped him with a whisper of pressure on his shoulder. All he could do was lay there while she suffered. Stoically, he’d turned back to the window and she’d shifted closer, pressing her cheek against his back. Just that, nothing more. That small contact was all the help he could provide. She hadn’t moved more than an inch since then. He hadn’t either, except to shift his legs a time or two. He wondered if she’d slept at all.

Probably not.
No one sleeps frozen in place like that.

He hadn’t been able to shut his eyes either. Now, as he watched the light grow, he felt sick. It was like she’d been beaten senseless. And he supposed she had been. This last blow had knocked all the fight out of her.

The shell of a woman clinging to his back wasn’t his Sally. The woman he loved had vanished into herself, and God help him, he was afraid to move, afraid to learn what his heart already knew—that even seven hours later, she hadn’t come back.

The sun rose higher, and finally shone, cold and bright, through the tall windows and directly into the loft, filling every corner with light. Jim felt Sally shift slightly away from him. Her cheek no longer pressed against him, her hands slipped down. He heard a change in the rhythm of her breathing. She had fallen asleep, at last. Cautiously he slipped out of the bed and turned to look at her. She was pale and had dark circles under her eyes. Her body curled into a tight ball, and her face was crimped, as if in pain.

Impotent fury lashed through Jim again and he turned it on himself. He had failed to keep her safe. There was nothing he could do to fix this. Feeling as if his heart was made of lead, Jim turned and left the room. Tyler would wake soon, and Sally needed sleep. Perhaps it would help her. His own pain was nothing compared to hers, and castigating himself further for his failure would have to wait. There was her son to care for. He pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and headed for the kitchen.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before Tyler sat up and looked around the loft in puzzlement. Then he spotted Jim in the kitchen area. Popping off the sectional, the boy walked over and climbed onto one of the stools at the raised countertop.

“How did I get here? Where’s Mom?”

Jim ignored the stab of pain brought by Tyler’s second question. Reaching deep inside himself, he forced out a small smile and a cheerful tone. “I brought you over wrapped in your sleeping bag like a moth in a cocoon. Do you want a waffle?”

“Yes, please. Why did you bring me? Is my mom here?”

“I brought you so you could sleep over.” Jim set a syrup-covered wa
ffle in front of the boy. “Your mom’s asleep in the other room. She was up most of the night, so I want you and me to be quiet and let her rest.”

Tyler stuffed a bite of waffle in his mouth and spoke around it. “But why is she here?”

What to say, when the truth was out of the question? “Well, her bed got messed up. Part of it’s broken. Maybe we’ll go shopping later and get her a new one.” He had a feeling Sally wasn’t going to want to sleep in the old one ever again anyway. “But first we’ll eat breakfast and let her sleep. Are you going to want more than one waffle?”

Tyler nodded and swallowed a huge mouthful. “Maybe three?”

When Sally awoke the sun was high in the sky. She stared for a moment at the tall windows, the almost vanishingly high ceiling, and the huge bed in which she lay. It was the first time she had seen Jim’s loft, but it was easy to recognize. His clothes were tossed over a chair beside the bed and the space itself—the expansiveness of it, she supposed—felt like Jim. With recognition of where she was came the memory of why.

Rolling away from the windows, she curled into a tight ball and wrapped her hands around her head, as the emotions that had melded into a haze of pain last night came roaring back at her individually and specifically, each burning into her soul like a fiery brand.

As always, her worst fears centered on Tyler. They had fled here in the middle of the night. What reason could she give? She couldn’t protect him from knowing any longer. What would she say? How could she possibly explain what was happening without destroying his security—and worse, his innocence? And then what would she do? She didn’t know if she would ever feel safe in her home again.

Who was doing this to her? Some nut acting as if Trent was still alive. Who was he? How did he know so much? And what, she wo
ndered as an icy feeling invaded the pit of her stomach, would he make of her escape to Jim’s home? With all her being she wished she could be somewhere miles and years away from York—be someone else.

Moaning softly, she gave herself up to the pain.

Much later, she became aware of voices working their way through the agony. She heard the deep rumble of Jim’s voice and the clear treble of Tyler’s reply. Listening, she realized they were nearby, playing some kind of game, laughing and joking softly.

The voices gave her a point of focus, a firm place to stand. They drew her mind away from the pain. She couldn’t live in the world of hurt her tormentor had created. She had to come back to Tyler. And… in her weakened state she could no longer deny it… she wanted to come back to Jim.
She opened her eyes and stared uncomprehendingly at the sunlight slanting between buildings outside.

Breathing deeply, slowly
, she drew strength for herself from the normal sounds, the commonplace exchanges of words… the laughter. She was hurt, but she was not defeated.

In the empty room, on the broad expanse of the bed, her body began to uncurl. Her back straightened. She sat, erect, on the edge of the bed. She was afraid, but she would not be ruled by fear. She was the widow of a soldier, the mother of his son, and a woman in love—yes, in love, she admitted—with a man who would stand by her through anything.

Drawing strength from the voices—from the men she loved—she went to the bathroom, washed her face, and stepped out to join them.

When Sally appeared in the doorway from the bedroom, Jim slowly rose to his feet. She was still pale and her eyes were troubled. But she
stood tall, and fixed a steady gaze on him. She walked toward him, stopping a few feet away, to turn her head and give Tyler, who was watching silently, a reassuring smile.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Tyler’s voice was troubled. “Dr. Donovan told me your bed broke. Did you get hurt?” He rose to wrap his arms around her and give her a squeeze. “We’ve been quiet so you could sleep.”

The smile she gave Tyler looked a little strained. But she ruffled his hair and returned his hug, upping the ante with a kiss. “I’m fine, Tyler, but I need to speak to Dr. Donovan alone for a minute. Why don’t you watch TV for a little while?

Jim clicked the set on, chose a cartoon channel, and set the remote back on the cushion. “How’s that?”

“Good.” The boy was immediately engrossed.

Rising, Jim followed her back to the bedroom and shut the door. “What do you need?” he asked gently. She moved to
sit on the bed, leaving plenty of room for him. He stayed where he was, unsure. Something felt wrong, and he was a man who trusted his instincts, even though he consciously chose whether or not to follow them.

Sally looked up at him. The fragility of her face was a reminder of his failure to protect her from the stalker’s game. “I need to talk to you. Don’t you want to sit down?”

He felt an instinctive wariness—something was very different here. This woman, outwardly calm and controlled, was not his Sally any more than last night’s automaton had been. “I’m fine.” He had to struggle not to sound brusque. “What do you need?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I need you. I love you. I wouldn’t accept it or admit it before because I was afraid to risk losing someone again, like I lost Trent. I’m still afraid—and not just of that. But I won’t let fear rule my life. I love you, and I want to marry you.”

Jim stepped over to the chair holding last night’s shirt, reached for the arm, and lowered himself, ignoring the clothing beneath him.
What had she said?
“You want… to marry me?”

“Yes. Tyler loves you. I love you. You said you love me, and I know you love Tyler. I want to marry you.”

How could words he had longed to hear make him feel so cold inside? The images he’d tortured himself with in the shelter sprang back to life. He saw her in Smith’s arms. She been hurt badly, but she was not in the market for love. “Look, forgive me, but I don’t believe this.”

He saw panic in her eyes and hurried on. “I’m not saying you’re lying to me…”

But you are…

“I’m saying you only think you love me because you need protection and support and care, all of which I’ll give you whether you love me or not. Especially now.” He leaned forward, intent. It would hurt her less if she understood. “I know we’re friends, I know we’re good together, but I won’t be a permanent solution to a temporary problem in your life. You deserve better—and so do I.”

Sally’s expression froze in place as her mind whirred, spun momentarily off the course she had chosen.
But, no. He just needed to understand.
She shifted to face him directly. “Jim, I love to be with you, I love to talk with you, I love knowing I can depend on you to be there when I need you. I can’t imagine being without you. I’m ashamed, now, that I was too stubborn and too self-absorbed and afraid to recognize it sooner.”

She rose to her feet and stood tall. “I want to marry you, Dr. D
onovan. Or I will live with you and not marry, if you’d rather, and reputation be damned. Because I know you, and I trust you… and,” for the first time since yesterday her lips curved upward, “you already told me you love me.”

He felt like the biggest heel in the world, watching her stand in front of him, seeing that fragile smile, but he knew he was right. She wanted
security, she wanted sex—yes—but love? “No, Sally. I won’t marry you, and I won’t live with you—not the way you mean.”

Her face tightened and she stepped back.

He felt as cruel as if he’d slapped her. “But, I won’t leave you to face this bastard alone. I’ll still be your friend, like I always have been, and whatever protection and support I can give, you’ll have.”

He stood, his jaw tightly clamped. “I’m sorry.” Turning, he left the room, shutting the door behind him. His stomach hurt and his chest was tight.
Everything, Sal. It’s got to be everything, or nothing. I love you too much to settle for less.