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He had never touched her again. He had taken her back to the shore and walked her the short distance to the small parking area above the Point. He had put her in her car and sent her home. And the next morning, he was gone. And he had not touched her since. She had lived on fantasy and dreams, because Rowdy made certain there was no chance of a repeat performance. And she had plotted and planned for his return. She had moved out of her mother’s home into a small apartment in town. She had begun monthly visits to the local spa where she was plucked, waxed, toned, and lotioned on a regular basis. For too short a time.
Within three months of moving out all her dreams had turned to ashes and fear had taken their place. Her own foolishness had led to her downfall, and pulling herself from the shadows of the terror she had experienced was taking all her strength. She didn’t know if she could survive dealing with Rowdy and her need for him, on top of it.
She leaned her head against the shower wall, her breath hitching as she fought back tears. He knew something was wrong. There was no way to hide it. She looked at him now and she didn’t just see the man she had been in love with since she was a kid. She saw someone she couldn’t fight, couldn’t struggle from if she needed to. She saw a threat.
Her fists clenched as she pressed them against the tile, anger building in her chest until she wondered if she would be able to hold back the screams that pressed at the back of her throat.
She loved him. She had loved him forever. Dreamed of him, ached for him, waited for him. And now she was too damned scared to even welcome him home.
Are you my good girl, Kelly?
She flinched at the memory of the scratchy voice at her ear as a hard male body held her down, as the slickened fingers of the other hand probed between her buttocks, ignoring her struggles, her muted screams through the gag over her mouth.
She had been bleeding from the numerous cuts he had made on her body after he tied her spread-eagle on her bed. The wounds had burned like fire as they bled, the adrenaline pumping through her making the blood race and pour from the cuts. It had made her weak, made it hard to think, to work the hastily tied gag loose enough for one piercing scream as she felt him attempt to penetrate her rear.
God, she hated the memory of it. Hated the feeling of helplessness that followed her, even now. She had been unable to fight; unable to protest anything he did to her. And the nightmares that alone brought left her shaking in the darkest hours of the night.
She had been terrified of Rowdy knowing. Fearing he would blame her.
But even more, she had feared for Rowdy. He would have never stayed on duty if he knew what was going on at home. He would have left, with or without permission, and returned for vengeance. Rowdy protected those he cared about, and Kelly knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would have come racing home, even if it meant going AWOL.
But now Rowdy was home. And Kelly knew, once he learned the truth, he would never let it rest. He would find the stalker tormenting her, or he would die in the effort. And the fear of his death overshadowed even the fear of the threat she faced herself. Because life without the promise of seeing Rowdy, of hearing his laughter and the dark promise of passion in his voice, was a life Kelly didn’t want to contemplate. A life she knew she didn’t want to face.
TWO
At fifty-seven, Ray Mackay was still a powerful man, with hazel eyes and hair that still retained much of its raven black color. His weathered face was starting to crease with deep laugh lines at the sides of his eyes. Eyes that were usually cheerful, always warm and friendly, were now somber.
Rowdy was waiting on the front porch of the two-story white and red farmhouse when his dad pulled into the driveway, the dark green Jeep Laredo parking beside Rowdy’s Harley.
Maria Mackay was out of the jeep before Ray turned the engine off, rushing up the cement walkway, her gray blue eyes concerned as she met his gaze.
“Is Kelly okay?” Maria Salyers Mackay was still slender for her forty-seven years of age. The summer shorts and crisp, white cotton shirt showed off her tanned legs and arms attractively.
“Why wouldn’t she be?” He leaned against the railing, watching her with narrowed eyes. “And why do I have a feeling that if I had warned ya’ll I was coming home, that I might have found my way barred?”
He could see it in her face, in his father’s heavyset expression. They hadn’t expected him, and they weren’t comfortable with him being there alone with Kelly. And that just pissed him off. Whatever the hell was going on, one thing should have been set in cement in their heads, and that was the fact that he would die before he hurt Kelly.
“I’d never bar you from your own home, Douglas. ”
He winced. Maria was the only person who called him Douglas, and the snap in her voice when she said it now was as sharp as a knife. No one called him Douglas, ever. But hell, she had taught him in school and breaking her of the habit wasn’t easy.
He crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at her intently as she stepped onto the porch.
“I’m going to check on Kelly. ” She moved for the door.
“Not yet. ” He didn’t move; he didn’t intend for his voice to lower warningly, or his body to tense as he watched a main source of information attempt to escape. But he wanted answers, and she wasn’t running off until he had them.
“Go on, Maria. ” Ray stepped up behind her, his large hands settling on her shoulders as he gave them a comforting squeeze. “I’ll talk to Rowdy. We’ll be in soon. ”
She glanced up at Rowdy, worry and regret shimmering in her eyes before she turned to her husband, kissing his cheek gently before moving into the house.
Rowdy’s attention fixed on his father, watching as he swiped his fingers through his hair before burying his hands in his jeans pockets.
“Was she raped?” Rowdy lifted the bottle of water to his lips, taking a long sip as he watched Ray’s eyes darken with pain.
Ray breathed out roughly, his shoulders shifting as he lowered his head.
“Attacked,” he finally muttered. “She wasn’t raped. But she was cut up pretty bad, traumatized. ” He lifted his head and Rowdy wondered if his father could see the pure murder burning inside him now.
