Safe at Last (Slow Burn 3)

“But if you are able to provide protection, then why do I even need to go with Zack?” she demanded, her panic rising once again as she realized she was trapped with no way out of the situation. “Why are you forcing me to go with him?”

She sounded like she was begging, like someone at the end of her rope, and God, maybe she was. Maybe he was right, and in suppressing it for so long and not really dealing with it she’d created an inevitable firestorm when things finally boiled over.

“Because you—and he—need this,” Wade said gently. “You may not think so now. And I know you’re afraid. But I’ll be with you and I promise nothing will hurt you.”

“That’s what he always promised too,” she said painfully.

She saw Zack flinch and go pale as if she’d landed a blow.

“I’m your friend,” Wade reminded her again. “I’ll always be your friend. And I promise you on my soul that no one will hurt you this time.”

“I guess I don’t have a choice,” she said in a dull monotone.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “This is for the best, Anna-Grace. You may not think so now, but you’ll realize it soon enough. I promise. Now, if I’m going to an undisclosed location with you and Zack then I need to run home and stop by my office to make arrangements to be away for a period of time.”

“How soon will you be back?” she asked fearfully.

“An hour. Maybe an hour and a half.”

“We’ll wait,” Zack interjected. “We won’t leave the hospital until you return. My partner is arranging for transportation and a disguised escort so we can be on our toes and be watching for a tail.”

“Anna-Grace needs clothing and personal items, I’m sure.”

Anna-Grace flushed as they blithely discussed her as though she weren’t present.

“Eliza is taking care of that. She has a good eye for sizing people and she’s shopping for clothes, shoes and all the feminine accessories Gracie will need. She should be here within the hour,” Zack said. “Gracie’s exposure has to be limited and there’s no way in hell I’ll let her go back to her home. I’m sure the bastards have it staked out.”

“They know where I live,” Gracie whispered. “It’s where they attacked me. I can’t ever go back there again.”

She closed her eyes as painful memories assailed her. Things she’d tried very hard to put out of her mind, much as she’d attempted to block out her attack twelve years ago. And yet now, she was assaulted by memories of both incidents together as though they had merged and had become one. Flashbacks of her rape were as clear as if it had happened yesterday. The clarity of each of those memories tore another piece of her soul.

Zack’s curse made her flinch and when her eyelids fluttered open, cold fury blazed in his eyes. She stared at him, truly dumbfounded by his reaction. Nothing made sense and her head ached from trying to sort through it all.

“I’ll have someone pack up your apartment, Anna-Grace,” Wade assured. “When this is all over with, I’ll help you find another place.” He glanced up at Zack and then added, “That is, if you still need it.”

TWENTY

ANNA-GRACE breathed a huge sigh of relief when Zack finally pulled into the long, winding driveway of a large house that sat atop a hill. The ride had been interminable and she’d been rigid and tense the entire way, which wasn’t helping her sore, bruised muscles.

When she’d insisted on riding with Wade to wherever it was they were going, both men had acted as though they hadn’t heard her. Or perhaps they simply ignored her. Wade had walked briskly away to collect his vehicle while Zack helped her into the SUV that he’d pulled to the entrance of the hospital so she wouldn’t have to walk a long distance.

It was thoughtful of him. She begrudgingly gave him that much. But then he’d been nothing but solicitous of her since reappearing in her life. It was a mystery to her, and trying to ponder the whys and wherefores just mentally exhausted her.

To prevent awkwardness—though she failed miserably on that count—she’d rested her head on the rest behind her and closed her eyes, pretending sleep. At least Zack hadn’t called her on the pretense though she highly doubted he bought that she was asleep. Perhaps he was content in getting his way after successfully strong-arming her into acquiescing to his demands. It was wise to pick one’s battles, and it certainly appeared as though Zack adhered to the same motto.

She’d watched him through a barely discernible slit in her eyelids, and he seemed grim and utterly focused the entire trip. His gaze darted like clockwork between all the mirrors as if he was truly expecting someone to be following or an attempt to run them off the road.

Admittedly, Zack appeared to be good at his job, but then again, if he and the company he worked with were such hot-shot security experts, why the hell were the “enemies” he spoke of able to get to her as soon as Zack made contact with her? So far she hadn’t been very impressed with their “skills.”

She didn’t understand the extreme paranoia or Zack and his partners being so worried that she would be targeted again or killed. It didn’t make any sense to her. If they’d intended to kill her, why not have done just that? They’d certainly had ample opportunity when they’d beaten the crap out of her. It seemed far more risky to beat her, then let her go, only to return to kill her another time, when the others would be on their guard. What purpose would that serve anyway? It was risky, not to mention inefficient. But perhaps protecting her was an ulterior motive and was Zack’s way of forcing a confrontation with her.

Zack had said she’d been used to send a message. To the people Zack worked with. So in essence it had been a crime of opportunity since everyone associated with the security company evidently had security up the ass. It hadn’t even been personal to her—thank God. All the same, she had Zack to thank since he’d made their association known by visiting her at the gallery and the studio. If he’d stayed away, she likely wouldn’t have spent the last two days in the hospital.

She barely stifled the urge to wrinkle her nose as Zack rolled to a stop. God, she hated how bitter and cynical she sounded. Life hadn’t taught her to be anything but that, though. She’d never known hatred before she’d been raped. She hadn’t hated her father for deserting her and her mother. She hadn’t hated her alcoholic, negligent mother. Nor had she hated her abusive uncle.