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  “I should talk to the police.” I started to push myself up.

  He moved quickly, gently pressing me back down. “I already talked to them.”

  “You did?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I gave them a description, his name, and his address.”

  Relief made me weak, and I leaned back against the pillow. “Did they arrest him?”

  The area around Nathan’s eyes became pinched. “Not yet.”

  Well, this wasn’t good. “Why not?”

  “They’re still looking for him.”

  “Where is he?” I demanded.

  “We aren’t sure. They’ve got men out in the woods where you were. He’s just… gone.”

  “They believe us, right?” I worried. What if they thought I was lying? What if no one believed us? He would just get away with what he did.

  “Yes, Honor, they believe us. They found the hole you were in.”

  My stomach tightened at the thought of that nasty hole. I had another thought that had me sitting up quickly. My head swam, but I ignored it. “The necklace!”

  “I gave it to them.” He reassured me. “I showed them the picture you texted me too.”

  “What was her name?” I whispered. I needed to know the name of the girl who wasn’t as lucky as I was.

  He frowned. “Honor—”

  “Her name,” I said firmly, cutting off whatever protest he was about to spew.

  “Mary.”

  I was silent while the name sank in. The horrors she must have experienced in her final hours of life were things no woman should ever have to endure. Memories of the truck, of my kidnapper pinning me down and putting his… his… parts in my face assaulted me.

  I squeezed my eyes closed, willing away the images.

  “Hey,” Nathan said, and I felt the bed dip beneath his weight. “What’s going on in there?” I felt his finger tap my forehead.

  I opened my eyes and stared into his blue irises. “How do you forget?” I whispered.

  He knew what I meant. I could see it on his face. It was the kind of understanding that told me he too had experienced things that would forever leave a mark on his soul.

  He trailed the backs of his knuckles over my cheek and then tucked my hair behind my ear. “You don’t,” he said gently. “You just have to find a way to live with it and go on.”

  “Will it get easier?”

  I saw the war wage in his eyes. He wanted to tell me yes. He wanted to take away some of what I was feeling. But Nathan was no liar; that much I knew to the deepest places within me. He wasn’t the kind of man to sugarcoat something that couldn’t be sweetened.

  “I don’t know, baby,” he said gently. “I sure hope so.”

  My chest felt tight and my stomach was jittery. Hearing such tenderness out of this large and steely man did things—very good things—to my body.

  It was the stuff I wrote about.

  The stuff I never really thought existed outside of those pages.

  My fingers itched; they longed to touch him. He was so close, and he watched me so carefully that I couldn’t resist slowly reaching out to trace along the jagged scar that stretched across his cheekbone. He didn’t flinch or pull away. He sat there completely still while my fingers caressed him.

  “What happened to you?” I whispered.

  He caught my fingers and pulled them away, wrapping his around mine, dwarfing my hand in his, and pulled it close to his chest. I waited for his answer, curious and patient at the same time. I knew whatever answer he would give would not come easy, and I didn’t mind waiting. Nathan was a man worth waiting for.

  The door made a loud scraping sound as it opened and dragged across the floor. Irritation skittered through me because someone dared to interrupt this moment. I didn’t want anyone else in here. I only wanted Nathan.

  Get a grip, I told myself. This isn’t some cheesy soap opera. This is real life. You got shit to do.

  But even my thoughts couldn’t keep my eyes from straying from him.

  “Miss Calhoun,” an older doctor in a white coat said. “Glad to see you’re awake.” He carried a clipboard (didn’t they always?) and had the traditional stethoscope hung around his neck.

  “How are you feeling?” the doctor asked as Nathan released my hand and returned to his chair beside the bed.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “The police are here. They would like to take your statement.”

  Nathan sat up a little higher in his chair but said nothing. I nodded. “That’s fine. I’m sorry I slept so long.”

  “Your body needed the rest, Miss Calhoun. We gave you something to help you sleep. From here on out, you will be getting Naproxen, which is similar to a strong Motrin.”

  I nodded.

  “Are you in pain?”

  “A little,” I admitted. “But it’s not as bad as before.”

  The doctor glanced at the clipboard. “Most of your injuries are superficial and will heal quickly. You have a lot of bruising, some swelling, and a bump on your head. It doesn’t appear that you have a concussion. We put three stitches in your hand and removed the glass that was beneath the skin.”

  I glanced down at my hand, which was bandaged. How had I not realized I had stitches until he pointed it out? It must have been from the glass in the truck.

  “Our biggest concern is your ribs.” The doctor continued.

  “They’re broken,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes. Several of them. You appear to have suffered blunt force trauma to your torso area.”

  “He kicked me,” I reiterated.

  The doctor cleared his throat. “You have heavy bruising, swelling, and mild tissue damage. Have you ever had a broken rib before?”

  “No.” I’d never had a broken bone at all.

  “It’s quite painful. There really is no treatment for a broken rib, just pain management, which is what the Naproxen is for. Years ago, doctors used compression bandages to treat broken ribs, but its since been deemed unsafe. You see, the risks of having broken ribs is that you’re at a high risk for pneumonia.”

  Pneumonia? That was weird.

  “She was out in the rain, in the cold, all night,” Nathan said.

  “I’m aware,” the doctor replied. “So far, you show no signs of becoming ill.”

  “But why pneumonia?” I asked.

  “Because when you suffer that kind of trauma, it prevents you from taking deep breaths. This increases your risk. If you begin to run a fever, feel weak or dizzy, or experience any other worrisome symptoms, you need to seek medical treatment immediately.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  “I’ll send the police in now,” he said after a few more moments of talking. When he finally left, I blew out a breath.

  “Doctor’s are so serious,” I mumbled.

  Nathan chuckled. “Would you rather he be unserious?”

  “I want to go home,” I griped.

  He grinned.

  Two police officers shuffled into the room, wearing pressed uniforms with badges clipped to their black belts. Resigned, I submitted to their questions and prying eyes. Because Nathan filled them in so thoroughly, their questions turned personal fast.

  “Did Lex Sullman rape you, ma’am?”

  I recoiled like I smelled something foul.

  “What the hell kind of question is that?” Nathan said, jerking up from his chair and taking up position beside the bed.

  “A necessary one,” the police replied, gauging Nathan, no doubt taking in his rough appearance and scars. His eyes slid to me. “How do you know this man?”

  “I already told you that,” he said, and I knew he was restraining his temper. Nathan seemed to have a bit of a short fuse.

  Before things could escalate, I explained quickly about how Nathan and I met.

  “So you are friends with the man suspected of kidnapping women?”

  “No,” Nathan said slowly, like he was talking to an idiot. “Like I told you bef
ore, we play a weekly poker game together. He’s an acquaintance.”

  “You provided us with his home address.” The other officer spoke up.

  Nathan shrugged. “I’ve played poker at his house.”

  “Will other men testify to this?”

  Nathan rattled off about four names and a phone number of some guy named Patton. When he was done, the muscle in the side of his jaw was ticking. It reminded me of a time bomb ready to explode.

  “No,” I said quietly.

  All eyes turned toward me.

  “No?” the officer asked.

  “He didn’t rape me.”

  Nathan dropped onto the bed beside me. It was as if he was so relieved he couldn’t stand. I gave him a watery smile.

  The police officer looked at his partner. “We’re not looking for a rapist.” The other partner nodded and wrote something in a no-nonsense black notebook.

  They said it like it somehow made everything I’d gone through okay. Like what I suffered was somehow less now because my body wasn’t violated like they assumed.

  It really, really made me angry.

  This wasn’t just about me. It was also about Mary and whoever else came before us. “He was going to,” I said, and once again all eyes turned to me.

  “How do you know that?”

  “He made his intent pretty clear,” I hedged.

  Nathan was sitting very still and staring at the floor. I glanced at him, feeling unease curling through my limbs.

  “Maybe you should wait outside, Mr. Reed.”

  “No,” I said, reaching for his hand. I didn’t want him to go. This was hard enough to say out loud. Knowing Nathan was here and that he somehow understood something about pain made it easier.

  Before the officers could insist, I opened my mouth and let it pour out. “He held me down,” I said. “He… um… he took himself out.” I paused, looking at the officers, hoping they would understand. Both of them wore a disgusted look so I knew they understood perfectly. “And he tried to shove it in my mouth.”

  Nathan glanced at me. “The truck?” he whispered, harsh.

  I nodded.

  He ripped his hand from mine and hooked it around the back of my head, pulling me into his chest. He still smelled like pine trees, and I let it fill my senses.

  “Is that all?” one of the officers asked.

  I lifted my head, anger on my face. “Well, aside from being kicked, slapped, punched, shot at, groped, and thrown into a thirty-foot hole in the ground, I guess that about covers it.”

  “We meant no disrespect,” the second officer spoke.

  “Yeah, I know.” I relented.

  “I think we have all we need for now. We’ll leave a card. If you remember anything else, please contact us.”

  “Wait,” I called. “Did you find him? Is he in jail?”

  The officers exchanged a long look. I knew what that meant.

  “I’m afraid the suspect is still at large.”

  Why did they keep calling him the “suspect?” He was frickin’ guilty as sin. “You have to find him,” I implored.

  “The department is doing everything we can, ma’am.”

  “It isn’t enough!” I shouted.

  “We’ll let you know when we’ve apprehended the—”

  “Suspect.” I spat the word for him. I hoped he realized how disgusted I was by the police department’s incompetence.

  He had the grace to flush as the second officer let himself out the door. Before following behind, he turned back and cleared his throat. “I should probably caution you, ma’am,” he began. “You need to remain precautious and alert until he is in custody.”

  I nodded, the hair on the back of my neck rising just a little.

  And then I was alone with Nathan. I looked at him. “What a bunch of idiots,” I muttered. “If you hadn’t found me, I’d probably be dead by now. They certainly wouldn’t have found me.”

  He grimaced. “I had to show them where the hole was.”

  I covered my mouth with my hand and giggled. It was terrible, but if I couldn’t laugh, I might start screaming. The sudden burst of laughter caused me to wince in pain.

  “Easy,” Nathan cautioned, placing a hand on my shoulder and pressing me back in the bed. “You need to rest.”

  How the heck was I supposed to rest when that man was still out there?

  20

  Nathan

  I spent the night watching her sleep. Sometimes I saw her face twist in fear and pain; sometimes I would hear a low whimper.

  I knew that sound, and I imaged my face likely looked a lot like hers—except much uglier—when I slept. I was thankful for the meds in her IV because I knew once she got home, she wouldn’t get much rest.

  Nightmares would likely plague her.

  The police were a bunch of idiots. They had no idea how to talk to people who’d been through hell. They had no idea how to search the woods. Shit, I had to leave the hospital and drive out there to show them where the hole was.

  It made me angry. Leaving her lying there, all black and blue, with her face in a permanent grimace, was surprisingly hard. It was only after I made sure a police officer stayed behind that I left for the mountain.

  Where I got angry all over again.

  When I first found Honor, she hadn’t been in the hole. Lex pulled her up. The rope ladder was still lying in a heap on the ground. One of the officers shined a large light down into the hole… and I felt sick. It was a muddy, dark pit. She spent fifteen hours down there. The thought replayed over and over in my mind until I had to turn away.

  Even still, the sight remained. The rain finally stopped but had come down so hard there were several inches of water just sitting stagnant at the bottom. It was likely ice cold. He would have left her down there to freeze, to fear, and then he planned to come back to kill her.

  Maybe it was a good thing the cops couldn’t find him. He was safer that way. Of course, his safety was the very last thing I cared about.

  Once I showed them the scene of the crime and answered a million other questions and showed them my Wrangler with the ruined tires, I finally went back to the hospital where I took up residence beside her bed.

  It really wasn’t that uncomfortable. I’d slept in worse places.

  She was being released from the hospital soon, and the police still hadn’t brought in Lex. They weren’t going to. Enough time passed that he was likely long gone or in a place no one knew about, plotting out some sick plan.

  It was hard to say. People who weren’t right in the head were very unpredictable. I glanced at Honor, who wasn’t doing a very good job of resting.

  I wouldn’t rest easy, either, if I were her. She was basically a sitting duck.

  “You don’t have to stay, you know,” Honor said, turning her head to the side to look directly at me. “You’ve already done so much. If it wasn’t for you—”

  I held up my hand to halt her words. “Don’t say it,” I replied.

  A smile played on her lips and a mischievous little light came into her eyes. “Say what?” she asked innocently. “That you look like you need a shower?”

  I glanced down at my rumpled clothes and muddy boots. “So you’re picturing me naked over there?” I quipped. “Here I thought the reason you seemed so anxious was because you wanted out of here.” I sat forward, bringing my face closer to hers. “If you wanted to see me naked, you should have just asked.”

  She actually blushed. But even embarrassment wasn’t enough to keep her mouth shut. “Oh please,” she said and rolled her eyes. “Do those corny lines actually work on women?”

  I grinned and sat back. “I don’t know.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know?”

  “Nope.”

  She pursed her lips. “Do they work on men?”

  I laughed out loud.

  “What?” She shrugged. “I watch the news. I heard all about how the military lifted the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy.” She lean
ed closer to me like she was telling me a secret. I wanted to grab her face and kiss the shit out of her. “I can legally ask you that now.”

  Then she actually wagged her eyebrows at me.

  I bit back a smile and leaned forward once again. Our faces were mere inches apart and our lips were lined up for a kiss…

  “I’m not gay,” I whispered.

  “No judgment here,” she said. “I need a good shopping buddy.”

  Honor moved to sit back, but I gently grasped her wrist and pulled her back. “I’m not gay,” I repeated again, my voice even lower, as my mouth hovered oh so close to hers.

  Everything about her stilled. Her little pink tongue darted out and wet her bottom lip, which was still just slightly swollen from whatever happened to it. I’d never been so insanely tempted to lick someone as I was now.

  “You’re not?” she whispered.

  I shook my head and leaned a fraction closer. “Nope. I’m willing to prove it.”

  She made a small sound in the back of her throat, kind of like a purr. I liked that sound. I liked it a hell of a lot.

  I let our lips hang there, almost touching, drawing out the anticipation of the kiss… Usually, I would instantly go for it, but this was different. Honor was different. I wanted a chance to feel every single thing. Every ounce of desire, every single thread of anticipation. She wasn’t something I wanted to hurry up and get over with; she wasn’t something I wanted to use to pass the time or to make me forget.

  I wanted more than that from Honor.

  I wasn’t sure why.

  Or how.

  But I knew down to my bones that didn’t make it any less true.

  Just when I couldn’t take the distance any longer, the door to the room opened. We sprang apart, looking at each other with a little bit of shock and disappointment written on both our faces.

  “Honor!” called a woman from just inside the door.

  “Mom,” Honor replied, finally looking away from me and toward the woman moving into the room.

  She wasn’t a large woman, maybe five feet four, with chin-length dark hair and brown eyes. She wore a pair of loose, black knit pants with a long-sleeved white T-shirt and a red zippered fleece vest. “Thank God you’re okay,” she said, setting a medium-sized multicolored bag on the end of the bed. She placed her hands on her hips and studied Honor and all her bruises. “You should have called earlier, young lady.”