Martin nodded and placed a call on the radio attached to his shoulder, then he looked at the two of them. “Out of the room. I need to take pictures.”
After a few minutes, they all made their way back downstairs, and Martin paused in front of Slater. He patted the guy down and found a cell in his pocket.
“That’s Alexa’s,” Maverick said, recognizing the watercolor graphic on the case.
Martin set it aside and nodded. “Grant Slater, you’re under arrest for the sexual assault and battery of Alexa Harmon. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. Do you understand your rights as I’ve presented them to you?”
Red-faced, Slater just shook his head like he couldn’t believe this wasn’t going his way. Martin cuffed Slater, then worked to untie the ropes.
Maverick had seen enough. “Can I get Alexa out of here?”
Martin nodded. “I can follow up with her if I need to.”
Outside, Mav found the paramedics packing up their bags. “She’s refusing transport to the hospital,” one of the men said. “There’s a possibility of a head injury, though. She may have a headache, sleepiness, or feel nauseous. Those would all be expected. But if she loses coordination and balance, gets dizzy, or starts vomiting, take her to the emergency department immediately.”
“Why don’t you go, Alexa?” Maverick asked, crouching down next to her. “Just to be sure.”
Just then, Martin hauled Slater out and down the steps. Her ex glared at Alexa, and Maverick put his body between them until he was out of sight, working like hell to keep his own anger under wraps.
Alexa shuddered. “I just want to go home.”
“Okay,” Maverick said. He gave the medic a nod. “Then let’s get you home. This is all over now. Slater can’t hurt you anymore.”
CHAPTER 27
Sitting on the couch in Maverick’s house, Alexa hung up the phone. Telling her mother what’d happened was the only way to make her understand why they couldn’t move her tonight. But going through the story and answering all the questions again left Alexa feeling utterly drained.
Never in a million years would she have thought Grant would get that violent . . . or twisted. And who knew what more he would’ve done if Maverick and the guys hadn’t shown up?
Maverick sat down beside her and held out a steaming mug and two little pills. “Here, Al. Try a little of this.”
“What is it?” she asked. The ceramic was warm in her hands, and the heat felt good.
“Just chicken noodle soup and some ibuprofen. I thought . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It might help.”
Aw, sweet, sweet man. She tossed back the medicine and washed it down with a big sip of the salty broth. “It’s perfect, Mav.” She took another sip, and another, hoping the soup would warm the icy chill that filled her chest. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m not worried about me right now,” he said.
“Well, I am.”
“Don’t be.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “As long as you’re good, I’m good.”
“I don’t know if I’m good or not.” Sip.
“You don’t have to know right now. But you’re here and you’re safe and Slater’s behind bars. So that’s a start.” His eyes blazed a dark blue intensity that seemed to peer into her soul.
The fierceness of his words chased off a little of that chill, like he was wielding a pickax and chipping away the pieces of Grant that her ex had left behind inside her. It was a terrifying, nauseating image and immediately chased away her appetite. She set the mug on the coffee table.
“How can I help?” he asked.
She tried to give him a smile. “You already are.” Finding it hard to hold his gaze, she ducked her chin and stared at her lap, at the navy capris and sheer patterned blouse over a tank that she’d worn to work today. Knowing Grant had touched the clothing repulsed her. “I want to take a shower.”
“Yeah. Okay. That sounds like a good idea.” He gave her a hand up and walked her to the bathroom. Worry poured off of him like a waterfall, the force of it too intense and soothing at the same time.
“I won’t be long,” she said, peering at him around the door.
“However long you need.”
Nodding, she pushed it closed. Avoiding her reflection, she undressed. Balled up her clothes and stuffed them in the little trash can. Turned on the water. Waited for it to heat. Got in.
She cleaned herself mechanically, barely feeling the spray against her skin. Her soapy hands found a bruise on her hip. One on her ribs. One on her shoulder. And each little jolt of pain chipped away more pieces of Grant. A bruise on her forehead. On her wrist. On her elbow. Chip, chip, chip.