The Closer He Gets

The rift with Bran had been his fault. He could fix it, too. He had to. Tess was right. A little wryly, it occurred to Zach he must be in training to be a husband. But she was right more than wrong.

He did have a brother and a mother. He could mend his relationship with both. And, please God, with Tess.

Whom he’d left alone and unprotected.

And... Jesus. How much time had passed?

The numbers on his digital clock jolted him. He’d left her house two hours ago.

Slammed by fear, he pictured her huddled on the sofa where he’d left her. Or had she gone to take a shower? With it running, she wouldn’t hear a window shatter.

Again.

If anyone had been watching the house, they’d have seen him leave. The light in the garage came on automatically when the door rose. He’d backed out without so much as looking around.

Without thinking, he was moving, searching for his phone and keys. He wouldn’t try to make his peace tonight, but he could park out front and watch her house.

Keep her safe.

* * *

FEELING SORRY FOR herself wasn’t very productive. Tess emerged from a prolonged bout of self-pity thinking more clearly.

It took her a while, but she eventually worked herself around to believing that maybe the real truth was in what Zach had said at the end.

I didn’t mean the things I said. I’ve been...panicking.

Until the past couple days, when he’d changed, he hadn’t acted like a man staying with her only because he’d felt responsible for her security. He might not be in love with her, but Tess believed he cared. Maybe enough to spook him. Given his childhood and the example his mother had set, it would be no surprise if he didn’t believe in love that could last a lifetime.

Was he capable of changing? She had no way of knowing. And, after tonight’s scene, she couldn’t exactly go after him. It was up to him now. All she could do was wait and hope.

Too bad she felt a little short on hope right now.

Even though it wasn’t especially late, she was so exhausted it was hard to heave herself up from the sofa. She did go to the kitchen and make sure the door into the garage was locked. It was. He didn’t forget.

She bumped into walls a couple of times as she made her way to her bedroom, turning out lights as she went.

A hot shower would feel really good, but took more energy than she could muster. Plus...she wouldn’t be able to hear anyone coming. Like the first hint of an injected drug, fear trickled into her veins, but she couldn’t succumb to it. Wouldn’t. What was she going to do, call Zach and beg him to come back?

I could go to Dad’s.

But she swayed where she stood, too tired for that much effort. Besides, if someone was watching the house, she’d be followed anyway. Her father didn’t want to admit how much the stroke had stolen from him, but she wouldn’t put him in the position of trying to protect her from a muscular, brutal, furious man like Andrew Hayes.

She made herself brush her teeth, trying not to look too closely at herself in the mirror. Blotchy skin and red, swollen eyes were so attractive.

Bed.

Hazily she thought, Won’t answer the phone if it rings. Screw ’em. They can leave a message.

If anything else happened...it only took a couple seconds to dial 911.

She dropped like a rock into sleep.

* * *

TESS LURCHED TO a sitting position in bed, blinking. She wasn’t awake enough to know what had alarmed her. Had her phone rung? No. She kept listening, but heard nothing.

Maybe just a nightmare.

Her eyelids felt too heavy to keep open, but she didn’t lie back down.

Nothing.

Finally too groggy to stay upright, she let herself sink back against the pillows and pulled the covers up over herself, preparing to surrender to sleep again.

A hard hand gripped her jaw, covering her face. Fueled by terror, she bucked and grabbed for the thick forearm and wrist, digging in her nails. Tess sucked in air through her nose and released it as a scream. The sound that emerged was no more than a prolonged whimper, smothered in that palm.

It smelled funny. Oh, God—he wore latex gloves.

“Bitch,” the man whispered. “Wouldn’t listen, would you?”

Her bedside lamp came on, momentarily blinding her.

When her eyes adjusted, she saw Andrew Hayes leaning over her, his weight on the forearm that pressed cruelly hard on her chest. He wanted her to see him. Flooded by the implications, Tess let go of his wrist and went for his face and eyes.