Tranquility (Turbulence Series Part Two), page 16
The man leaned forward and placed his coffee cup on the table in front of them. Clearing his throat, he announced gruffly, “You know, Miss Delany, I don’t think I know the rest.”
Brit froze. She’d been relatively sedate, but at his words, she turned to stone.
He started flipping through his notepad again, looking at past scribbles. “No, sure and I don’t know the rest of it. I have here that you don’t remember.”
Her eyelids fluttered; she recognized that she was being called out.
“But you do remember a few things, too.” He smiled. “So let’s go over what you do remember. Once he had you on the ground, what happened?”
The air shifted; it was probably good that they were outside because the slight wind tugged at the tension rather than trapping them in a room with it.
Brit answered evasively, “He choked me. He stabbed me. You know what he did.”
“Can you guess about the time you might have arrived at Mr. Dunne’s residence?”
The change in questioning threw Brit, but she answered, “I suppose it was just after one.”
“And how long did it take him to prepare your snacks?”
“I don’t know. Thirty minutes, maybe?”
“So, you arrive, chat, prepare your wine and snacks. You have your initial altercations, and they seem to have gone by fairly quickly. And then he gets you down. You have two stab wounds and a laceration.
“The officers I spoke with mentioned he had just stabbed you when they’d broken in, so that’s an hour and a half, being conservative, of you on the ground with a laceration. And he’d choked you. You say you don’t remember how many times.”
Brit stared at the man, her eyes wide, the serenity gone to be replaced with uneasiness.
“That’s a long time to be doing nothing. Granted, you were unconscious for a bit of it, but…” He shook his head. “Help me out here, Miss Delany.”
Brit gave a slight shake of her head, a confused look on her face.
“Was he talking to you? Spouting scripture? Jacking off? What was happening that we don’t know about?”
Brit looked over at Evie in barely disguised distress; her face lost color at the last.
Evie leaned forward in her chair and asked gently, putting her hand on her own neck. “How long did this take, the first time?”
Brit gave a small roll of her eyes and refused to look at anyone. “I don’t know.”
Sean shifted slightly in his seat. Evie looked over at him; he looked like he was struggling not to respond; to not interrupt. His nostrils were flaring, and he looked absolutely alpha at that moment, like he wanted to tear out of there and find Jasper and put an end to the man.
But Sean didn’t need to distract her, and she looked back at Brit.
“When you came to?” Detective Brady prompted.
“I don’t know what time it was.”
“Not the time; what was he doing?”
In a quiet voice, she answered, “I was on plastic. He’d started to cut my shirt off.”
“Why’d he do that?”
She shook her head, her gaze fixed on the table in front of her. “I don’t know.”
That was a lie. Evie could tell by her expression; she also knew Jasper well enough to know he would have shared his every intention. Brit knew him that well, too. If she bothered to look, so did Sean.
“Was he saying anything to you? Planning on having sex with you? He was cutting your clothes off.”
Brit shook her head, but it looked like more of an indication that she didn’t want to go there.
“He didn’t want to have sex with you?”
Evie couldn’t tell if his question was an intentional misread, so she asked, “How do you know?”
Not looking up from the table top, Brit answered, “Because he wanted to kill me.”
“He said that?”
She frowned, appearing to think about it. “He called it setting me free.” Her face crumbled for a second before she controlled herself. “I told him he wasn’t a killer; that’s when he told me he’d pushed my mother under the water.”
Evie was riveted, and she had to take back her count on the earlier dodge about her mother.
Detective Brady waited again. “When did he cut you?”
Brit touched her abdomen. Her eyes darted over to Sean.
Evie watched them. Brit was silently imploring him to stop this; Sean was sadly relaying that he couldn’t. He was torn. He wanted to; Evie could tell he wanted to spare her this, but at the same time, he wanted these answers as much as Detective Brady.
“Tell me about your hands.”
She looked down at her hands. “I tried to grab the knife.”
“And then he stabbed you.”
She nodded. “No, I think… I don’t remember. I don’t know if one was right after the other.”
“What was he saying to you?”
She shrugged.
“Was he saying anything to you?”
She gave a half-shake of her head and shrugged again.
“He told you he’d killed your ma. Did he just clam up after that? I imagine you were in a lot of pain—did you tell him you were in pain?”
“I don’t remember if I said it hurt.”
Evie looked at Sean again; he grimaced and looked down. No, she wouldn’t have said it; it wasn’t in her to tell anyone that she was hurting—that had been ingrained in her. They both knew it.
“Were you saying anything? Other than telling him he wasn’t a killer?”
“It was all so fast.”
“So what was he saying?”
Anticipation for her words swirled through the air.
But she either wasn’t capable or willing to form the words. She said quietly, “I don’t… I don’t remember.”
Evie fought to keep her expression blank at probably the biggest dodge of all; it wasn’t just a dodge; it was an outright lie.
“You don’t remember?”
She laid her hands over her abdomen. “There was just… so much blood. I was trying to keep it in, but there was so much of it.”
“Did you fight back?”
She bit her lip, tears filling her eyes. She visibly swallowed, keeping her head down. “I think so.”
Detective Brady snapped his notepad shut. “I know you fought back.” Leaning toward her, he assured her, “He had bruises on him; scratches. The floor was marked with the rubber of your boots; you’d torn right through that plastic, and it was industrial-grade. From what I’ve seen, you fought like hell.” He looked at Sean, then Evie. “I don’t like dragging you through it all again, and it won’t be the last time, but it’s necessary to be sure he doesn’t walk.”
“You have the other women,” Evie pointed out.
“That we do,” he agreed. He looked at Brit’s bowed head. “I’m sorry to start your morning with this; I hope it improves from here.”
Brit didn’t acknowledge his words.
Sean stood when the older man stood, prepared to walk out with him. As he passed behind Brit’s chair, he caressed her hair briefly.
Evie watched until they were out of earshot before addressing her, “Are you okay?”
Brit raised her gaze to her and just shook her head.
“What do you need?”
“Can you help me out of this chair?”
“Of course.” Evie stood and walked around the table, assisting Brit up, watching her now-impassive face. “But what do you need?”
Brit turned her head and looked into the room at the silhouettes of the two men still conversing by the open front door, Sean’s arms akimbo, his head tilted as he listened to what the older man was saying.
Evie’s eyes bounced from Brit to the men and back. She could see the naked need on the younger woman’s face for Sean to turn and look her way, to discern that she needed him because she did need him, even if she wouldn’t admit it.
But of course, he didn’t.
She looked away, catching Evie’s assessing look. “I think I’ll walk for a bit.”
“Do you want company?”
Brit shook her and walked away toward the back of the patio.
Evie watched her go, her gaze lifting momentarily to the rapidly increasing clouds. If those clouds had gathered about ten minutes ago, it would have caused her some unease even though she was in Ireland and clouds were more prevalent than the sun.
Chapter nineteen
BRIT
Brit couldn’t walk away from the lodge fast enough. Her head spinning, the anxiety in her chest was almost as painful as her rib.
She’d stepped on a plane in DC, both excited and a bit nervous about returning to her childhood home and friends, but primarily excited. The turbulence had fed her apprehension, her imagination. Somewhere in the past month, she imagined they’d flown into the Twilight Zone.
It wasn’t the first time she’d had flirtations with alternate realities, as everyone was now well aware.
As a child, she’d needed that escape. Her boys had been an escape, but she’d hidden so much even from them. Her rabbit holes had been a sanctuary for the most part, not a place of darkness; they had been peaceful and painless, and—yes—they had been oblivion. Darkness had been her everyday reality, in her conscious thoughts where she could keep an eye on it.
She’d told Sean he couldn’t imagine the rabbit holes she'd gone down, which was true. But she hadn’t necessarily meant darkness. She meant sliding into oblivion and not wanting to come back. Until Jasper, she hadn’t known the rabbit holes could be so full of horror. Now she was struggling to get out of his while at the same time dealing with the guilt that all of this was caused because she stepped foot on that plane.
Arriving at the lake, she looked out over the waters that cascaded in the breeze. Even as clouds rolled in, the surface managed a gray sparkle. It was beautiful; Ireland was beautiful.
And Sean.
Her heart skipped, and her stomach flipped; god, this morning. He’d barely touched her, but when his voice dropped even lower into that seductive, lilting cadence and she’d felt his body against hers, just his breath against her neck. She was reacting even now, the tingles and aches that he had created in those moments.
It hurt so much knowing she was hurting him and couldn’t explain why. How could she explain it to him? How could she explain to him that Jasper had wanted to set her free from her pain, that he saw them as kindred spirits of darkness? That he thought he was providing her with the ultimate rush that he’d felt she was afraid to grasp? It was to have been the crescendo of release, vengeance, and repossession.
Sean wouldn’t understand that, and he wouldn’t understand that her admission of love had been forced on the point of a blade and was nearly the death of her, assuring the end of any declaration of it again. He didn’t see darkness; he didn’t understand anything beyond the fact that he loved her and wanted her. He didn’t see the signs leading up to that day, not because he didn’t care, but because—as even Jasper knew—he was the lucky one, the stronger one.
But she would be punished for it, for loving him—allowing it. She didn’t know how it would happen, but it had already happened when she couldn’t have imagined it in her wildest dreams, so why wasn’t it possible that Jasper could make good on his promise to continue the conversation?
She wanted to go back in time; she shouldn’t have let Sean talk her into staying after the fight at the pub. It would have been too late for the women Jasper had already attacked, but as selfish as it was, she could have saved herself. And Sean.
But this wasn’t Hollywood.
A gentle roll of thunder caused her to jump. She looked skyward with gauging eyes.
“Mo chroí?”
Brit pulled in a breath, again experiencing all of the exciting physical responses the mere sound of his voice elicited, albeit with a sense of melancholy. She turned her head, casting a look over her shoulder to watch him as he approached from the path, brown hair shifting in the wind. His gaze was focused, studying.
She felt the need to defend herself under his assessment. “I needed to breathe.”
He gave her a patient smile. “It’s about to bucket down.”
Even as he said it, she felt a fat raindrop splash on her arm and then another on the top of her head. She looked up again. The drops started coming faster and fatter.
Sean held out a hand to her. “Come on.”
She reached back, taking his hand, the heavens opening just as their fingers touched, a deluge of rain pouring down on them.
“Balls!” he said. His grasp on her hand was sure but light, obviously taking into consideration her injuries. He pulled her to him and tucked her under his arm; there would be no running, but he attempted to shield her. “The boat house is close.”
Once inside, a scent of wax, rope, wood, and lake water hit them; the familiar and usual musky smells. The green boat bobbed in its placing, occasionally hitting the bumpers on the side. The sound of rain thrummed steadily on the rooftop and plunked noisily into the lake waters at the open end of the structure.
Brit ducked out from under his arm almost immediately, the proximity too much for her at the moment. The proximity to him coupled with the sound of the rain against the roof; she hadn’t been kidding those many days past when she’d said she’d never hear rain the same way again. If she was going to keep him away, she needed to keep him away. She picked at her semi-wet t-shirt and ran an irritated hand through her hair.
Amused, Sean pulled off his polo shirt and handed it to her. “Dry off; there’s a wee spot of it not soaked through.”
She warily took the shirt, her gaze dancing over his bare torso. “What about you?”
He ruffled his brown hair, which almost sent her to her knees, as he replied, “Short hair.”
She started to dry her hair with his mostly sodden shirt. “What we wouldn’t have given—wow, seventeen years ago—for anything that had been remotely dry.”
He made a face of agreement, taking a measure of the place as though he hadn’t stepped foot in the boat house since that time. “We’d have been better off stripping than remaining in those wet clothes.” He glanced over her as though it was a consideration now.
Brit noticed the look. She turned slightly away from him, looking beyond the veil of water at the end of the covered slip, using his shirt to rub at her ginger hair lightly. The smell of him, his cologne, reached her. She fought the urge to cover her face and take in a deep breath; he was standing right there, watching her.
“This place is small enough as it is; we should clear a few elephants from it.”
“Sean,” Brit groaned wearily. She threw his shirt back at him. “I am exhausted. You know I don’t have the energy for this.” It was true; she’d typically have been sleeping again if she were at the lodge. Her waking moments were consistently dogged with a level of fatigue.
“What ‘this?' What do you think I’m on about?”
Turning, she walked to the back wall. She rested her forehead against the wooden planks for a moment before she turned and leaned back against it. He hadn’t turned to face her, so she looked at the expanse of his bare back, the musculature that curved downward, leading her eyes along his spine only to end abruptly at the waistband of his jeans. Her desire to run her hands along his flesh clashed with the practical side of her brain.
“I never know with you, but I know I can’t do this right now. I walked away for a reason.”
He half-turned toward her, blue eyes pinning her to the spot. “You know I’m aware of what you didn’t say to the detective? I know you better than either of them; I know how evasive you were with him.”
She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “This. Jesus Christ, this. You talk more than anyone I know.” She opened her eyes again and leveled him with an irritated glare. “I answered his questions; why are you still at it?”
“Because you didn’t answer him,” he called her out, “and you know it.”
Being this tired, she wanted to cry in frustration, but she controlled herself. “Well, then make room for whatever elephant you think it is because it’s not going anywhere. You’re free to go elsewhere, someplace far roomier. Better yet, return my passport to me, and I’ll take my elephants with me.”
He smiled and turned toward her fully, walking to her and joining her in her stance against the wall. “Nice try.”
“I’m so much better than I was; I don’t need home care. I don’t need care at all. The first few days—week, I admit, I did. But not anymore. That doctor is insane to think that I need home care for so long.”
“You are better, sure,” he agreed. He reached down and grabbed her hand, holding it up for both of them to look at. “But you still have a ways to go. You can’t even open your pain meds.”
“I don’t think I need you for the rest of it; that’s all I’m saying,” she said, pulling her hand from his grasp, running a finger along her healing gashes.
Sean rolled to his side, facing her, his bare chest just pressing against her arm and shoulder, the warmth of him permeating through her shirt. “I’ve said it before; you know how to hurt a man.”
Brit glanced up at him with a wary side-eye.
He ran a knuckle down her arm. “As for your other elephant…”
Brit made a movement to leave the wall, but Sean reached his arm out and firmly grasped her waist, holding her in place. There was an immediate change in her breathing pattern she knew he would detect, but she steeled herself and her expression against any interpretation he would have about it. Her look dared him to comment.
Being Sean, he risked it. “You still feel desire. You can’t hide that from me, either.”
She raised her left arm; a blocking gesture meant to keep him in his place beside her. “I don’t want to talk about this, either.”
“I know it, sure I do,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about it, either. I’d rather be done with it altogether, the pretending you don’t feel the same way.”
