Heartbreaker

  He held her tight and rocked her, his hands stroking up and down her back. She’d been beaten. The knowledge kept ricocheting inside his skull, and he shook with a black rage he’d never known before. If he’d been able to get his hands on that slimy bastard right then, he’d have killed him with his bare hands and enjoyed every minute of it. He thought of Michelle cowering in fear and pain, her delicate body shuddering under the blows, and red mist colored his vision. No wonder she’d asked him not to hurt her the first time he’d made love to her! After her experience with men, it was something of a miracle that she’d responded at all.

  He crooned to her, his rough cheek pressed against her sunny hair, his hard arms locked around her. He didn’t know what he said, and neither did she, but the sound of his voice was enough. The gentleness came through, washing over her and warming her on the inside just as the heat of his body warmed her cold skin. Even after her shivering stopped he simply held her, waiting, letting her feel his closeness.

  Finally she shifted a little, silently asking him to let her go. He did, reluctantly, his eyes never leaving her white face as she walked into the bathroom and shut the door. He started to go into the bathroom after her, alarmed by her silence and lack of color; his hand was on the doorknob when he reined himself under control. She needed to be alone right now. He heard the sound of the shower, and waited with unprecedented patience until she came out. She was still pale, but not as completely colorless as she’d been. The shower had taken the remaining chill from her skin, and she was wrapped in the terry-cloth robe she kept hanging on the back of the bathroom door.

  “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes.” Her voice was muted.

  “We have to talk about it.”

  “Not now.” The look she gave him was shattered. “I can’t. Not now.”

  “All right, baby. Later.”

  Later was that night, lying in his arms again, with the darkness like a shield around them. He’d made love to her, very gently and for a long time, easing her into rapture. In the lengthening silence afterward she felt his determination to know all the answers, and though she dreaded it, in the darkness she felt able to give them to him. When it came down to it, he didn’t even have to ask. She simply started talking.

  “He was jealous,” she whispered. “Insane with it. I couldn’t talk to a man at a party, no matter how ugly or happily married; I couldn’t smile at a waiter. The smallest things triggered his rages. At first he’d just scream, accusing me of cheating on him, of loving someone else, and he’d ask me over and over who it was until I couldn’t stand it anymore. Then he began slapping me. He was always sorry afterward. He’d tell me how much he loved me, swear he’d never do it again. But of course he did.”

  John had gone rigid, his muscles shaking with the rage she felt building in him again. In the darkness she stroked his face, giving him what comfort she could and never wondering at the illogic of it.

  “I filed charges against him once; his parents bought him out of it and made it plain I wasn’t to do such a thing again. Then I tried leaving him, but he found me and carried me back. He…he said he’d have Dad killed if I ever tried to leave him again.”

  “You believed him?” John asked harshly, the first words he’d spoken. She didn’t flinch from the harshness, knowing it wasn’t for her.

  “Oh, yes, I believed him.” She managed a sad little laugh. “I still do. His family has enough money that he could have it done and it would never be traced back to him.”

  “But you left him anyway.”

  “Not until I found a way to control him.”

  “How?”

  She began trembling a little, and her voice wavered out of control. “The…the scars on my back. When he did that, his parents were in Europe; they weren’t there to have files destroyed and witnesses bribed until it was too late. I already had a copy of everything, enough to press charges against him. I bought my divorce with it, and I made his parents promise to keep him away from me or I’d use what I had. They were very conscious of their position and family prestige.”

  “Screw their prestige,” he said flatly, trying very hard to keep his rage under control.

  “It’s academic now; they’re dead.”

  He didn’t think it was much of a loss. People who cared more about their family prestige than about a young woman being brutally beaten and terrorized didn’t amount to much in his opinion.

  Silence stretched, and he realized she wasn’t going to add anything else. If he let her, she’d leave it at that highly condensed and edited version, but he needed to know more. It hurt him in ways he’d never thought he could be hurt, but it was vital to him that he know all he could about her, or he would never be able to close the distance between them. He wanted to know where she went in her mind and why she wouldn’t let him follow, what she was thinking, what had happened in the two years since her divorce.

  He touched her back, caressing her with his fingertips. “Is this why you wouldn’t go swimming?”

  She stirred against his shoulder, her voice like gossamer wings in the darkness. “Yes. I know the scars aren’t bad; they’ve faded a lot. But in my mind they’re still like they were… . I was so scared someone would see them and ask how I got them.”

  “That’s why you always put your nightgown back on after we’d made love.”

  She was silent, but he felt her nod.

  “Why didn’t you want me to know? I’m not exactly some stranger walking down the street.”

  No, he was her heart and her heartbreaker, the only man she’d ever loved, and therefore more important to her than anyone else in the world. She hadn’t wanted him to know the ugliness that had been in her life.

  “I felt dirty,” she whispered. “Ashamed.”

  “Good God!” he exploded, raising up on his elbow to lean over her. “Why? It wasn’t your fault. You were the victim, not the villain.”

  “I know, but sometimes knowledge doesn’t help. The feelings were still there.”

  He kissed her, long and slow and hot, loving her with his tongue and letting her know how much he desired her. He kissed her until she responded, lifting her arms up to his neck and giving him her tongue in return. Then he settled onto the pillow again, cradling her head on his shoulder. She was nude; he had gently but firmly refused to let her put on a gown. That secret wasn’t between them any longer, and she was glad. She loved the feel of his warm, hard-muscled body against her bare skin.

  He was still brooding, unable to leave it alone. She felt his tension and slowly ran her hand over his chest, feeling the curly hair and small round nipples with their tiny center points. “Relax,” she murmured, kissing his shoulder. “It’s over.”

  “You said his parents controlled him, but they’re dead. Has he bothered you since?”

  She shivered, remembering the phone calls she’d had from Roger. “He called me a couple of times, at the house. I haven’t seen him. I hope I never have to see him again.” The last sentence was full of desperate sincerity.

  “At the house? Your house? How long ago?”

  “Before you brought me here.”

  “I’d like to meet him,” John said quietly, menacingly.

  “I hope you never do. He’s…not sane.”

  They lay together, the warm, humid night wrapped around them, and she began to feel sleepy. Then he touched her again, and she felt the raw anger in him, the savage need to know. “What did he use?”

  She flinched away from him. Swearing softly, he caught her close. “Tell me.”

  “There’s no point in it.”

  “I want to know.”

  “You already know.” Tears stung her eyes. “It isn’t original.”

  “A belt.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “He…he wrapped the leather end around his hand.”

  Joh
n actually snarled, his big body jerking. He thought of a belt buckle cutting into her soft skin, and it made him sick. It made him murderous. More than ever, he wanted to get his hands on Roger Beckman.

  He felt her hands on him, clinging. “Please,” she whispered. “Let’s go to sleep.”

  He wanted to know one more thing, something that struck him as odd. “Why didn’t you tell your dad? He had a lot of contacts; he could have done something. You didn’t have to try to protect him.”

  Her laugh was soft and faintly bitter, not really a laugh at all. “I did tell him. He didn’t believe me. It was easier for him to think I’d made it all up than to admit my life had gone so wrong.”

  She didn’t tell him that she’d never loved Roger, that her life had gone wrong because she’d married one man while loving another.

  Chapter Ten

  “TELEPHONE, MICHELLE!” EDIE called from the kitchen.

  Michelle had just come in, and she was on her way upstairs to shower; she detoured into the office to take the call there. Her mind was on her cattle; they were in prime condition, and John had arranged the sale. She would soon be leaving the ranks of the officially broke and entering those of the merely needy. John had scowled when she’d told him that.

  “Hello,” she said absently.

  Silence.

  The familiar chill went down her spine. “Hello!” she almost yelled, her fingers turning white from pressure.

  “Michelle.”

  Her name was almost whispered, but she heard it, recognized it. “No,” she said, swallowing convulsively. “Don’t call me again.”

  “How could you do this to me?”

  “Leave me alone!” she screamed, and slammed the phone down. Her legs were shaking, and she leaned on the desk, gulping in air. She was frightened. How had Roger found her here? Dear God, what would John do if he found out Roger was bothering her? He’d be furious… . More than furious. He’d be murderous. But what if Roger called again and John answered? Would Roger ask for her, or would he remain silent?

  The initial silence haunted her, reminding her of the other phone calls she had received. She’d had the same horrible feeling from all of them. Then she knew: Roger had made those other phone calls. She couldn’t begin to guess why he hadn’t spoken, but suddenly she had no doubt about who her caller had been. Why hadn’t she realized it before? He had the resources to track her down, and he was sick and obsessive enough to do so. He knew where she was, knew she was intimately involved with another man. She felt nauseated, thinking of his jealous rages. He was entirely capable of coming down here to snatch her away from the man he would consider his rival and take her back “where she belonged.”

  More than two years, and she still wasn’t free of him.

  She thought about getting an injunction against him for harassment, but John would have to know, because the telephone was his. She didn’t want him to know; his reaction could be too violent, and she didn’t want him to get in any trouble.

  She wasn’t given the option of keeping it from him. He opened the door to the office, a questioning look on his face as he stepped inside; Edie must have told him Michelle had a call, and that was unusual enough to make him curious. Michelle didn’t have time to compose her face. He stopped, eyeing her sharply. She knew she looked pale and distraught. She watched as his eyes went slowly, inevitably, to the telephone. He never missed a detail, damn him; it was almost impossible to hide anything from him. She could have done it if she’d had time to deal with the shock, but now all she could do was stand frozen in her tracks. Why couldn’t he have remained in the stable five minutes longer? She would have been in the shower; she would have had time to think of something.

  “That was him, wasn’t it?” he asked flatly.

  Her hand crept toward her throat as she stared at him like a rabbit in a snare. John crossed the room with swift strides, catching her shoulders in his big warm hands.

  “What did he say? Did he threaten you?”

  Numbly she shook her head. “No. He didn’t threaten me. It wasn’t what he said; it’s just that I can’t stand hearing—” Her voice broke, and she tried to turn away, afraid to push her self-control any further.

  John caught her more firmly to him, tucking her in the crook of one arm as he picked up the receiver. “What’s his number?” he snapped.

  Frantically Michelle tried to take the phone from him. “No, don’t! That won’t solve anything!”

  His face grim, he evaded her efforts and pinned her arms to her sides. “He’s good at terrorizing a woman, but it’s time he knows there’s someone else he’ll have to deal with if he ever calls you again. Do you still remember his number or not? I can get it, but it’ll be easier if you give it to me.”

  “It’s unlisted,” she said, stalling.

  He gave her a long, level look. “I can get it,” he repeated.

  She didn’t doubt that he could. When he decided to do something, he did it, and lesser people had better get out of his way. Defeated, she gave him the number and watched as he punched the buttons.

  As close to him as she was, she could hear the ringing on the other end of the line, then a faint voice as someone answered. “Get Roger Beckman on the line,” he ordered in the hard voice that no one disobeyed.

  His brows snapped together in a scowl as he listened, then he said “Thanks” and hung up. Still frowning, he held her to him for a minute before telling her, “The housekeeper said he’s on vacation in the south of France, and she doesn’t know when he’ll be back.”

  “But I just talked to him!” she said, startled. “He wasn’t in France!”

  John let her go and walked around to sit behind the desk, the frown turning abstracted. “Go on and take a shower,” he said quietly. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  Michelle drew back, feeling cold all over again. Didn’t he believe her? She knew Roger wasn’t in the south of France; that call certainly hadn’t been an overseas call. The connection had been too good, as clear as a local call. No, of course he didn’t believe her, just as he hadn’t believed her about the blue Chevrolet. She walked away, her back rigid and her eyes burning. Roger wasn’t in France, even if the housekeeper had said he was, but why was he trying to keep his location a secret?

  AFTER MICHELLE LEFT, John sat in the study, pictures running through his mind, and he didn’t like any of them. He saw Michelle’s face, so white and pinched, her eyes terrified; he saw the small white scars on her back, remembered the sick look she got when she talked about her ex-husband. She’d worn the same look just now. Something wasn’t right. He’d see Roger Beckman in hell before he let the man anywhere near Michelle again.

  He needed information, and he was willing to use any means available to him to get it. Michelle meant more to him than anything else in the world.

  Something had happened the summer before at his neighbor’s house over on Diamond Bay, and his neighbor, Rachel Jones, had been shot. John had seen pure hell then, in the black eyes of the man who had held Rachel’s wounded body in his arms. The man had looked as if the pain Rachel had been enduring had been ripping his soul out. At the time John hadn’t truly understood the depths of the man’s agony; at the time he’d still been hiding the truth of his own vulnerability from himself. Rachel had married her black-eyed warrior this past winter. Now John understood the man’s anguish, because now he had Michelle, and his own life would be worthless without her.

  He’d like to have Rachel’s husband, Sabin, with him now, as well as the big blond man who had been helping them. Those two men had something wild about them, the look of predators, but they would understand his need to protect Michelle. They would gladly have helped him hunt Beckman down like the animal he was.

  He frowned. They weren’t here, but Andy Phelps was, and Phelps had been involved with that mess at Diamond Bay last summer. He looked up a number and punched t
he buttons, feeling the anger build in him as he thought of Michelle’s terrified face. “Andy Phelps, please.”

  When the sheriff’s deputy answered, John said, “Andy, this is Rafferty. Can you do some quiet investigating?”

  Andy was a former D.E.A. agent, and, besides that, he had a few contacts it wasn’t safe to know too much about. He said quietly, “What’s up?”

  John outlined the situation, then waited while Andy thought of the possibilities.

  “Okay, Michelle says the guy calling her is her ex-husband, but his housekeeper says he’s out of the country, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is she sure it’s her ex?”

  “Yes. And she said he wasn’t in France.”

  “You don’t have a lot to go on. You’d have to prove he was the one doing the calling before you could get an injunction, and it sounds as if he’s got a good alibi.”

  “Can you find out if he’s really out of the country? I don’t think he is, but why would he pretend, unless he’s trying to cover his tracks for some reason?”

  “You’re a suspicious man, Rafferty.”

  “I have reason to be,” John said in a cold, even tone. “I’ve seen the marks he left on Michelle. I don’t want him anywhere near her.”

  Andy’s voice changed as he digested that information, anger and disgust entering his tone. “Like that, huh? Do you think he’s in the area?”

  “He’s certainly not at his home, and we know he isn’t in France. He’s calling Michelle, scaring her to death. I’d say it’s a possibility.”