Safe at Last (Slow Burn 3)

“I just want to forget. Everything,” Gracie whispered brokenly.

His heart was in his throat. No matter that he knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. Gracie thought so. She was convinced. Heartbreakingly so. How awful must it have been that she hadn’t even confronted him about it twelve years ago? And she couldn’t bring herself to even talk about it. She hated him. She wanted nothing to do with him.

He surged upward from his chair and stalked to the foot of the bed, his hand gripping the back of his neck. He closed his eyes in utter frustration and despair. He was getting nowhere fast. He’d never wanted anything as badly as he wanted her trust. Her love. How the hell was he supposed to get both back when it was clear she neither trusted nor loved him?

“I’m tired,” Gracie whispered. “And I hurt. Can you push the call button?”

The question was obviously directed at Eliza. She never even looked his way while she made her request. Even so, he pushed forward and pressed the button himself.

For the briefest of moments their gazes locked as he once again stood to his full height. Her lips trembled and her eyes were still glossy with tears. The look of defeat in her features nearly unhinged him and broke his heart at the same time.

“Listen to me, Gracie,” he said in a quiet, firm voice.

He waited until she finally lifted her gaze to his, and he winced at the stark emotion in her eyes. The bareness. Like a desert.

“I need you to talk to me, but I understand that right now you’re upset and you’re hurting. But I’m not going away. Not until we have this—whatever this is—worked out between us. I won’t allow you to walk away from me again. Not when I’ve looked for you for so damn long. So here’s the way it’s going to be. While you are here, in this hospital, I or someone I work with will be with you 24/7. And when you’re discharged, you are going home. With me.”

She let out a strangled protest and he gently touched the tip of his finger to her swollen lips.

“Shhh, and hear me out.”

She went silent and he let his finger fall away instead of tracing the outline of her lips and imagine what she tasted like, if she still tasted as sweet as she had the last time he’d kissed her. Only, he hadn’t known it would be the last time. If he could only have that moment back.

“The men who attacked you went after you because of me—because of the people I work with. And you aren’t safe as long as they’re out there. Targeting their next victim. And I will not allow you to be at risk. Someone will have to go through me to get to you. Now, we can do it the easy way, which is you agreeing to come with me. Or we can do it the hard way and I carry you out of here.”

“What kind of people do you work for?” she asked, fear sparking in her eyes.

“The best, Gracie. The absolute best. Eliza works with me.” He nodded in Eliza’s direction. “I work for Devereaux Security Services. We protect people. Provide security. Any job that requires muscle and high technology.”

“Ironic,” she bit out, her eyes flashing with fire for the first time.

Well, he’d take anything over the fear and utter desolation that had seemed a permanent fixture in her soulful brown eyes.

She lifted her chin a notch higher, and she stared directly at him.

“Is this your penance?” she asked softly.

He swore violently, barely able to keep the blistering epitaphs from erupting off his tongue. He breathed in through his nostrils for a few moments as he sought to keep his temper in check.

He’d never been angry with Gracie. Never had a reason to. He wasn’t sure he had a reason now but the anger was there all the same.

“Tell me what the hell it is I supposedly did,” he demanded. “It’s kind of hard to defend an action when you have no clue what it is!”

“Are you for real?” she asked incredulously.

Eliza leaned forward, interrupting the tense exchange. She squeezed Gracie’s hand in a gesture of reassurance but Gracie appeared to be as angry as he was. Again, he’d take that over defeat and sorrow any damn day of the week.

“Gracie, in order to atone for one’s sins, one has to know what sin has been committed,” Eliza said quietly. “You and Zack obviously have very differing accounts of what happened twelve years ago. Talk to him. Tell him why you’re angry. If nothing else, tell him to go to hell, but at least give him the opportunity to defend himself. Surely he deserves that much.”

“Deserves?”

Gracie’s voice cracked under the weight of emotion and tears rapidly filled her eyes once more.

“He deserves. God, that is so . . . I don’t even have words!” Gracie said tearfully. “I sure as hell didn’t deserve what he did to me—what he had done. I can’t even think about that night or I get sick to my stomach.”

As if to drive home her point, she gestured wildly for the basin, which Eliza promptly shoved onto her tray, just as Gracie heaved the contents of her stomach inside it.

THIRTEEN

ONCE again, Zack had been forced from Gracie’s room while the nurse did an assessment and made her more comfortable. Eliza stood next to him, watching the goings-on through the narrow glass panel above the knob.

She shook her head, her eyes awash with sympathy. “I don’t know what to say right now,” she murmured. “I can’t even imagine. I’m so sorry, Zack. This has to be hell for you.”

“Evidently it’s hell for her too,” Zack said bleakly.

He rubbed his face tiredly, lack of sleep fast catching up to him. Maybe he’d never sleep again. How could he when whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was terror blazing in hers. The shadows under her eyes. How utterly fragile and breakable she appeared.

Breakable.

No, that wasn’t accurate. She was already broken. Anyone with eyes could see that.

God, it scared him to death to see her in such a state. What the hell had happened twelve years ago? He was getting damn tired of the issue being dodged and Gracie’s refusal to let him in on the big goddamn secret. Especially when he seemed to be the only person who didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

“I wonder if you shouldn’t have a psychologist brought in,” she said in a low voice, ensuring it didn’t carry through the door. “She looks so . . . fragile.”

“I’ve used the exact same word to describe her more than once since seeing her in the art studio.”