Rafe calmly forced her hands inside the horrible wound and whispered in her ear. You did this, my little Catarina. You. Their blood is on your hands. Don't ever be so foolish as to leave me again. The memory was so sharp, so vivid, she was afraid she would vomit right there.
Rafe spoke softly. He never needed to raise his voice. He simply looked at his men and gestured toward the mess that had once been a live woman, now something he considered trash for them to take out.
April had cleaned their home, and Catarina had followed her everywhere. She'd been one of the few people who had been kind. She'd even helped Catarina learn to read and write, and Catarina had gotten her killed.
"Who killed her, Ms. Benoit?" Tuttle asked. "You didn't say who held you there and pushed the knife into April."
She raised stricken eyes to him. "I don't know. I didn't see his face."
He sighed. "Now you're lying to me."
"My back was to him. He wore gloves. Black gloves. I never saw his face." That was true. She hadn't needed to see his face. She recognized his scent. His hard body. His voice that never changed. He terrified her.
"I'm going to get you some water."
She was surprised by the compassion in Tuttle's voice. He left the room briefly, just enough time for her to press her trembling hand against her mouth. She breathed in over and over, trying to keep from throwing up. She had nightmares and there was no way to ever get that scene out of her head, but talking about it was far worse.
The details. The smell. The horror of it. All along her mother had been dead. Rafe casually told her the truth. That was the thing about him. He didn't hide what he was from her. He didn't lie to her. He always told the truth. She'd been stupid enough to ask him if he'd killed her mother.
She was a whore, Catarina, he had explained patiently. She didn't need to be, but she turned herself into one because she couldn't live without drugs. Addiction is a terrible weakness. She sold you to me for drugs. Her stepchild she should have loved and protected. I couldn't let her touch you. I couldn't ever allow that woman to harm you through her addiction. She came back wanting more drugs. She threatened to take you back and sell you to men. She claimed that I had conned her and that had she kept you, you would have been an endless source of revenue for her.
Catarina knew he told the truth, because he always did. The stark truth. He never tried to soft soap it. There were no such things as white lies. Her mother, or rather stepmother, really had done all those things. She was the only mother Catarina had ever known. Catarina, for whatever reason, was under Rafe's protection. She'd been threatened and he'd removed the threat. Just like that.
That hadn't been the only time he'd "protected" her. She'd been sixteen and had become a little rebellious. Not with Rafe. Never with him. But she always had shadows on her. Men who went everywhere she did. She'd gone to a movie and had slipped into the woman's bathroom and she'd stayed there deliberately for a very long time, forcing one of the two men to come in to retrieve her.
She detested Marcel. He'd been the one to help kill April. Marcel had dragged her out and refused to allow her to see the rest of the show. She'd kicked up a fuss. In public, a serious break of the rules. He'd slapped her the moment they were away from prying eyes.
She never told Rafe, but he knew before she got home. He was there and his anger filled the room. Filled it. She stood in front of him, bowing her head, terrified of his wrath, kicking herself for being so stupid. She hated having men following her everywhere. She didn't have friends to attend movies with, and she'd overheard the two men talking about how pathetic she was. She'd been crushed.
Rafe caught her chin with two fingers and tipped her face up for his examination. He pressed his palm to the cheek Marcel had slapped. Then he'd raised his eyes to Marcel and jerked his head at two of his personal bodyguards. The last she'd seen of Marcel, he was struggling as he was dragged from the house.
Don't hurt him, Rafe. I was upset with them, something they said about me, and I acted stupid.
No one has the right to put their hands on you but me. Never, Catarina, not for any reason. I won't stand for it. If you need to be punished, that's for me to decide, no one else. Any man touches you, you tell me.
That had been the first time he'd ever touched her gently. His hand had skimmed her face and then moved to her hair. His eyes, usually so cold, held something for one brief moment she couldn't understand. But she knew she would never, ever, tell Rafe that someone hit her, slapped her, or put his hands on her. She knew it was a death sentence.
Tuttle returned with the water and Catarina drank it down and then pulled her feet up on the chair beneath the table, sitting tailor fashion. She rocked gently, trying to soothe herself long enough to get through this.
"I'm sorry those things happened to you, Ms. Benoit." Tuttle even sounded sorry. His eyes were gentle. "Are you certain you didn't see the face of the man who killed April Harp?"
She swallowed down painful memories and shook her head. "I was forced to face her at all times."
Rafe hadn't tried to comfort her afterward. He'd taken her directly to her room and locked her in, bloody hands and all. She'd spent hours in her shower, sliding down the wall and crying while she scrubbed the palms of her hands raw. In the end she couldn't tell if it was April's blood or her own on her hands.
"You ran away again when you were seventeen."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I was afraid of what Rafe wanted from me. He looked at me differently. He watched me all the time. I didn't know why and I was afraid. So I decided to try to get away again, but without anyone's help." That wasn't the entire reason, but she wasn't going to tell him the rest. She didn't have proof. She never had proof, but she knew.
Rafe came into her room at night, his eyes on her. Watching her. Wholly focused on her. Waiting for something. She had no idea what it was, but she could tell he was becoming impatient.
She hadn't left because of that. She'd left because of the women. The nights he came to her room, prowling around, his eyes glowing at her, she'd held her breath expectantly. He hadn't laid a hand on her. But then, after he left, a car would pull up and a woman would get out. She didn't know for certain, but she never saw the same woman twice, and she never saw them leave. Not even when she waited up all night.
"I didn't get very far. Rafe has eyes everywhere. He found me within hours." It was more than that, but she wasn't going to reveal any secrets that would get her locked up. She knew Tuttle could try to lock her up for not reporting April's murder, but she'd been a virtual prisoner and it wouldn't stick. They both knew it. "He was angry with me."
"What did he do? And why didn't you go straight to the police?"
"I was his ward," she reminded him. "He had every right to haul me back. He didn't kidnap me. And he owned half the police department." She knew that. She'd seen the fat envelopes that were handed out.
"What did he do?" Tuttle persisted, not denying that Rafe had owned cops. It was common knowledge.
She moistened her suddenly dry lips. For the first time she couldn't look at him. There was nowhere to look so she stared down at her wrists. Already bruises were forming. She had very fair skin and she'd always marked easily.
"Let's just say, I didn't defy him again until I was very, very certain I could get away and he wouldn't be able to track me."
"You lived with him all those years, Ms. Benoit. You had to have seen him committing a crime. We need you to be frank with us."
"No one sees Rafe committing crimes, Detective, least of all me. I can't help you. I really can't. If you don't have any further questions, I'd like to leave now."
"I have just a few more for you," Tuttle said, giving her an exasperated look. "You do understand that this man is a crime lord. You have no reason to feel loyalty toward him. He murdered your mother. He either murdered April Harp and her family, or he ordered that hit. Rafe Cordeau belongs behind bars."
"If all that's true, Detective, why can
't you ever find any evidence? Or witnesses?"
"Witnesses disappear."
"Exactly. That's my point. I was never a part of Rafe's business. I was a child growing up in his house."
"There's no record of you going to school."
That shamed her and she suspected he'd said it to humiliate her. She detested that Rafe hadn't sent her to school or brought in tutors. She was tempted to lie, but instead she lifted her chin. "No, I didn't go to school. And strangely, no one came to ask why."
"He didn't have you homeschooled?"
She shook her head. "No, I was never homeschooled. I didn't graduate. I didn't go to college. In fact, Detective," she added a little defiantly, "I could barely read for a very long time. What does that have to do with Rafe and his crimes?"
"I would say that would be considered an injustice against you," Tuttle pointed out.
Catarina shrugged. Every second that went by was a second more Rafe had to find her. Sooner or later a police officer on the take would notify him.
"Ask your questions. I don't have much time."
He frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means that sooner or later, word is going to get out that you have me in an interrogation room. Rafe can move fast when he needs to. I think it best if I'm long gone before he gets here."
"We're offering you protective custody in exchange for your testimony against Rafe Cordeau."
She stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing, noting she just might be on the edge of hysteria. "Have you not heard one word I've said to you? I will not testify against him. I don't have any information to help you. And people in your protective custody are not safe from him. He would be able to find me. Once he's here and he gets my scent, my trail, he will find me. He'd kill every single one of you and your families to get to me. He would kill every officer you have guarding me. And then he would kill me."