Safe by His Side Read online

  Of her.

  “This is nice, Lenora. It looks like you’ve moved on.”

  Her gaze met his, questions simmering in his eyes.

  “I know me being here is not what you want.”

  Except she did want him here. She only wished it was under different circumstances. “I appreciate you coming in person, Micah. You were good to me during the trial. That meant a lot.”

  “I was just doing my job,” he said, although she’d secretly fantasized about a relationship. Not then. She hadn’t been ready. But someday.

  Then he’d left her with a simple goodbye, and she’d assumed she’d imagined any personal feelings between them. She had been a fragile wreck back then. She’d confused kindness with interest.

  “You stood behind me during the worst time of my life,” she said. “Not everyone did.”

  He clenched his jaw. “I know Simpleton’s lawyer was rough. Out of line.”

  Her fiancé’s betrayal was worse. “I guess he was just doing his job, too,” she said. “Although I can’t imagine why anyone would defend that horrible man.”

  Micah shrugged as if he had no answers. He certainly wouldn’t have taken up for Simpleton. No, Micah was honorable and fought for what was right. Fought to protect others.

  An image of Cissy Cornwell’s dead body flashed in her mind, and a shudder rippled through her.

  “Cold?” Micah asked.

  She shook her head. “Just remembering tonight. Seeing that woman’s body.”

  Micah hissed between his teeth. “Try not to think about it, Lenora. I’m not saying she deserved what he did to her, but she did help him escape.”

  “Because she thought he loved her.” Her bitter laugh rent the air. “She was completely fooled by his act.”

  “Which means she had issues of her own. Anyone who watched the media circus surrounding Simpleton’s arrest also saw the evidence against Simpleton. We had him dead to rights. He was—is—a cruel monster.”

  And he was on his way to kill her.

  Lenora didn’t say the words aloud. She didn’t have to. They both knew it was true.

  “Now try to get some rest. Maybe the police will track down that truck and in the morning we’ll have him in custody.”

  She’d fantasize about that all night. But she’d lived the harsh reality of Simpleton, and she didn’t believe fantasies came true.

  “I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” Micah said, his dark eyes skating over her.

  Lenora’s pulse hammered. She did need him, wanted him to stay upstairs with her and hold her tonight.

  But that meant she was weak. And using Micah as a crutch would only make it more difficult for her to cope when he left again.

  And he would leave.

  What man would want a life with a broken woman like her?

  Micah fought images of Cissy’s dead body in his mind because every time he saw her, Lenora’s face appeared behind his eyes.

  Lenora lying dead and bloody. Her eyes wide open in horror.

  That damned bloody X carved on her chest.

  He jogged down the steps, struggling to banish the images from his head. He was not going to let Lenora die.

  He’d kill Simpleton first.

  He checked his phone again, willing it to ring with the news that the police had apprehended Simpleton, but nothing happened. No messages in his inbox either.

  Dammit.

  He went to the kitchen, found a glass in the cabinet and filled it with water, then carried it to the window and drank as he glanced outside. The parking lot was dark and filled with cars, but he saw no movement.

  The woods beyond loomed with possibilities, though. Even if there was security, the trees made it easier to gain access to the development.

  The wind picked up, a storm brewing, sending leaves and twigs tumbling across the lot. A noise to the left caught his attention, and he studied the area, then spotted the silhouette of a man lighting a cigarette, leaning against a battered Jeep.

  His body coiled with tension. Was it Simpleton? Had he found where Lenora lived? Was he stalking her now?

  Antsy to know, he called upstairs to Lenora. “I’m going to look around the parking lot. Stay inside with the door locked.”

  She appeared at the top of the steps, her face crinkled in worry. “Did you see someone?”

  He shrugged. “Just routine. I want to check out the parking lot before we both turn in.”

  She nodded, but her hand tightened around the stair rail, and she slowly descended the steps. “I’ll wait down here.”

  He stepped outside, waiting until she locked the door behind him, then he eased around the building to the corner where he’d seen the man. He had his back to him, coat collar pulled up, face obliterated in shadows.

  Cigarette smoke curled into the sky as the man leaned his head back and blew smoke rings into the air. If it was Simpleton, he wasn’t even trying to hide.

  Cocky jerk.

  Inching toward a van to disguise his actions until he could get a better look, Micah patted his gun, ready to draw. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man stiffen.

  Micah walked slowly, so as not to startle him, but suddenly the man cursed, tossed the cigarette onto the ground, stubbed it out with the toe of his boot, then took off running along the edge of the parking lot.

  Micah vaulted into action and ran after him. The man was tall, fast, wearing cowboy boots and jeans, but he couldn’t distinguish his face. Moonlight streamed through the trees, enough for him to see a tattoo on the back of the man’s neck.

  His head was shaved, his body stout like Simpleton’s.

  The man dashed through a row of vehicles, then dove into a black Range Rover. Micah sprinted in front of it, drew his gun and aimed it at the man’s face.

  “Get out or I’ll shoot.”

  Robert watched through the window of Nan Purcell’s bedroom, his cock growing thicker as she shimmied into a little black dress. Was she going to a business dinner or was a lover waiting?

  He wished he knew.

  Not that it mattered.

  He intended to change those plans for her.

  Christ, she had great tits. He remembered them from the trial. Remembered that she’d worn a conservative white blouse, but that the buttons had strained across her big chest. The whole time he’d been on the stand, he’d stared at them, willing the buttons to pop and expose her cleavage.

  He had imagined what her breasts looked like beneath that thin white blouse. The large dark areoles poking through a lacy white bra. White for purity.

  Yet the bitch was not pure.

  Those nipples begged for a man’s mouth.

  Would she scream when he touched her? Beg him to stop?

  She straightened her skirt, long slender fingers running over her ass as she examined herself in the mirror.

  He wanted to touch that ass himself. And he would.

  She sank onto the stool in front of her vanity and began combing through her dark hair. It was a deep reddish brown, shiny and long, wavy on the ends, curling around her neck. Her hand moved in nice even strokes.

  Was she counting them?

  His hands itched to thread the strands around his fingers. To wind them so tight she’d cry out in pain as he rammed himself inside her cunt.

  Then she twisted her hair around one hand and slid a glittery comb in the bun to hold it away from her neck, exposing the creamy skin of her throat. He licked his lips, hungry to have her.

  What would her skin taste like? Salty? Sweet like honey?

  Excitement coursed through him.

  Did she know he was out here watching? Maybe she did and she was putting on a show for him.

  She turned sideways on the stool, slowly strapping on a pair of black-heeled sandals. Her toes were painted a deep crimson
red.

  Blood red.

  Need shot through him, scorching hot. Heady.

  Finally, she checked her make-up then picked up a tube of lipstick and painted her lips. The same color as her toenails.

  Hot, delicious red again.

  Smiling at herself, she spritzed perfume behind her ears, then a dot between her breasts.

  Hmmm . . .

  Satisfied with her looks, she grabbed her cell phone, jammed it inside a mini black purse, then sashayed from her bedroom to the living area.

  He moved around the side of the house, slipping behind the bushes by her front door.

  Stupid woman made it easy for him. She lived alone at the end of a street. He supposed she’d chosen the pretty little neighborhood thinking it was safe, that neighbors weren’t far away.

  They were far enough.

  All tucked in their own houses with TVs blaring or heads buried in computers or their phones. No neighborhood watch here. In fact, his research indicated half of the homes had gone into foreclosure and were vacant.

  She stepped onto the front stoop, then turned to lock the door, and he moved like lightning. She tried to scream as he grabbed her by the throat, but he used a paralyzing maneuver he’d learned in prison, and seconds later, she sagged in his arms.

  He brushed her cheek with his lips as he carried her to the Honda he’d stolen after that fucking cop had nearly caught him in the truck. He opened the car door and settled Nan inside, smiling as she slumped down into the front seat.

  “Soon we’ll be back at my place.” An Internet search at the library had allowed him to find an abandoned house not too far from Lenora that would work. A house just like the one he’d lived in as a child.

  Back when the voices in his head had started.

  He licked her neck. “Then the fun is going to begin, Nan. So much fun . . .”

  Micah jerked the man by the collar of his shirt. “Who are you and what the hell are you doing stalking Lenora Lockhart?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. They were set a little too close together, his nose was crooked, his teeth tobacco stained.

  “I’m not stalking anybody, asshole. If you’re here to shake me down for some money, I don’t have any.”

  “It’s Sgt. Hardin.” Micah tapped the Silver Star on his shirt. “Texas Ranger.”

  “Oh, shit,” the man muttered.

  “Oh, shit, yeah,” Micah growled. “Who do you owe money to?”

  The man shrugged his beefy shoulders. “No one. You just looked like you wanted something. I figured it was money.”

  The man was nervous about something. “Why were you running? Someone hire you to find Lenora?”

  “I told you I wasn’t watching nobody,” the man snarled. “I was just out for a smoke.”

  “Yeah, right. You live in that complex?”

  “No.”

  “Girlfriend live there?”

  The man lifted his chin. “No.”

  “Then what?” Micah dug into the man’s pocket, yanked out his wallet, then flipped it open to look at his ID. Billy Willard, forty-five. “Either spill it or I’m locking you up. Probably gonna find a rap sheet, won’t I?”

  Willard cursed. “Look, I got into some trouble a while back, but I’ve been clean for months.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Just some petty stuff.”

  Micah tightened his hold. “How petty?”

  “Jesus. A bag of weed, that’s all.”

  Micah studied the man’s eyes. They kept darting back toward the truck. “Is that why you were here? You buying dope?”

  “Listen, man, I’m on parole. I can’t go back to jail. They’ve got lunatics and murderers and rapists in there.”

  Micah relaxed slightly. “You weren’t here looking for Lenora?”

  An angry glint darkened Willard’s eyes. “I don’t know who this Lenora is, but no. I came here to make a deal. Period.”

  Micah released him. “Then get the hell out of here.” He had to get back to Lenora himself.

  Willard jumped in the Range Rover and roared from the parking lot.

  Micah glanced around again, then strode back to Lenora’s door and knocked. “It’s Micah.”

  When the door swung open, relief spilled through him. She was safe for now.

  He had to keep it that way.

  Lenora let Micah in, her heart hammering. She’d been worried sick that Simpleton had been outside and had hurt Micah. The crazy maniac had probably made friends in prison, ones she didn’t want to meet. Hell, he was probably the leader of his own gang. Any one of them could be following her. “What happened?”

  “False alarm,” he said. “Guy ran because he was buying dope.”

  Relief whispered through her. “Thank God.”

  Micah nodded and squeezed her arm. “Go to bed and try to rest, Lenora.”

  His touch made her tingle all over. But that tingle frightened her in another way, so she hurried up the stairs. When she reached the landing, she paused and turned to look back at him. “Micah, you’re welcome to sleep in my office.”

  “Thanks, but I’d rather stay down here so I can keep watch.”

  The reminder intensified her anxiety. She’d prefer he was upstairs with her, chasing away her nightmares.

  But if he was downstairs, he would hear if someone tried to break in.

  “There are sheets and a pillow in the closet for the fold out. It’s not very comfortable—”

  “Trust me, I’ve slept on much worse.”

  His dark gaze pierced her, and he looked as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked back toward her living room.

  She slipped into her room and closed the door, but as soon as she turned off the lights, the images flooded her. Dark images of the room where that monster had kept her, of his hands touching her, his mouth biting at her.

  Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. The room was stifling hot, the walls closing in, the sound of his footsteps shuffling as he came nearer echoing in her head.

  She flipped the light back on, then moved out to the terrace. Desperate for air, she dragged in several deep breaths, then paced, forcing herself to look at the pale moon. The sky loomed above with glittering shapes that sparkled like diamonds.

  Micah was downstairs. Only a few feet away.

  Repeating the reminder in her head, she finally crawled onto the chaise, pulled the blanket over her, closed her eyes and let exhaustion claim her.

  But in her sleep, the demons came.

  Heavy breathing echoed in the silence. The rancid odor of her own sweat and the blood on her fingers where she’d clawed at Simpleton’s arms when he’d tossed her in the cage. The cage that he’d kept her in before he took her to the house with the basement. A cage meant for an animal.

  Bile rose in her throat as his odor permeated the air.

  He smelled like sweat and dirty sex. His breath like stale beer. Cigarette smoke.

  She gripped the bars of the cage, hating that he’d trapped her like a dog. Hating that she was helpless and weak and couldn’t fight him off.

  Hating that she’d begged like a baby for him to stop.

  He fed on that weakness. On her tears and cries to release her. On the blood that he’d drawn from her when he’d cut her.

  Another woman’s shrill scream rent the air, the sound filled with terror.

  Lenora buried her head in her hands and cried for the woman.

  She knew what he was doing to her now.

  That soon it would be her turn to die.

  Micah tensed at the sound of a scream. He jumped up from the sofa, hand on his gun and raced up the steps. He had no idea how Simpleton could break in upstairs, but the man could have found a way. Maybe a rope or ladder . . .

  His pulse pounded as he
glanced inside Lenora’s bedroom. She wasn’t in bed. He ran to the bathroom, but it was empty. The terrace door was open.

  He jogged to the door and quickly scanned the area, but he didn’t see Simpleton anywhere.

  Relief mingled with an ache in his chest when he saw Lenora twisting and turning in the midst of a nightmare on the chaise.

  Except her nightmare was real. Memories that she’d tried to escape. Ones he’d resurrected when he’d informed her of Simpleton’s escape.

  Tamping down his emotions, he sank onto the chaise and pulled her in his arms. “Shh, Lenora, it’s all right. It’s over.”

  He stroked her hair, her back, her shoulders, gently whispering reassurances until finally she opened her eyes and looked up at him. The big luminous orbs were filled with tears, glazed with the pain of the past.

  “You’re safe now,” he said softly. “Safe with me.”

  A flicker of something like trust danced in her eyes, replacing the haunted look, then she lay her head back against his chest and heaved a weary breath.

  Compassion for her, along with other feelings he didn’t want to acknowledge, filled him. He told himself that she was quiet now, calm, that he should leave.

  Instead, he pulled her tighter up against him and held her until she fell asleep.

  Robert had carried Nan into his new house, a lovely old Victorian place with a basement that had been deserted years ago. The cobwebs and dust motes gave the place a macabre feel, the dusty abandoned odor that permeated the rooms a reminder of the house he’d once lived in as a child.

  Of the basement where he’d spent most of his time.

  Ugly words rolled from his tongue as memories bombarded him—memories of his mother scrubbing his mouth with soap until his tongue was raw and bleeding. The ancient Victorian lamp in the corner looked exactly like the one she used to light up the room when she wanted him to see what was in her hands.

  A belt. The thick rope used to hold back the heavy dark drapes. A cord she’d wind around his neck and penis.

  Then the beating, and she’d close him in the dark.

  Nan roused, a scream trying to escape the duct tape he’d stretched across her mouth, her eyes wide with fear.