She pointed to him, tears burning her eyes. “He was right there…in the door just like you are now.”
“Pete?”
“No. The man in the mask.” She pressed her lips together to hold back a sob. “The…the one who…raped me.”
She fell against Chance’s broad shoulder and let the tears flow. He whispered assurances that she was safe now. Slowly she calmed and started to voice the horrific memory.
“All I could see were his eyes and his lips. He stared at me for a moment, and then he smiled.” She shuddered. “I shouted for Pete, but the other room had gone silent.”
Chance didn’t let go until the tears subsided. She drew back, swiped at her cheeks. “I’m sorry. The memory was just so intense. It was like I was back there, and then when I turned around and you were standing right where he had been, it was so vivid.”
He took her hand and led her back to the sofa. When she’d settled, he resumed his seat. “In your statement, you said the intruder pulled you from the bed.”
She gave a succinct nod, then shook her head. “No. That was wrong. His voice—I suppose it was his voice—pulled me from the bed. The shouting. I heard Pete, and I heard someone else. Shouting. Arguing. I got up to come see what was happening, and the intruder was suddenly there in the doorway just as you were a moment ago. He grabbed me and threw me back onto the bed. I fought him, but he was too strong. All I could see were his eyes…brown, not so dark like yours but brown for sure. He…you know what he did next.”
Chance nodded, his expression somber. “Did you hear the voices in this room again during or after the attack?”
“No.” She tilted her head and replayed those moments again. “It was all quiet. Just the sound of his…grunting.” She shuddered.
“What do you remember next?”
“I suddenly broke through the fear that had held me frozen. I remember fighting the man…screaming. I bit him…scratched him.” Her pulse raced faster with each remembered action. “I remember a stab in my shoulder.” She frowned. “But it couldn’t have been the man on top of me because his hands were on me at that point. One on my mouth…the other grasping my hair.”
“His partner must have come in and drugged you. He’d probably already done the same to Pete.”
A blade of pain speared through her. “I guess so. But it was sudden,” she said, thinking about how she heard the shouting and then abruptly it was all quiet. “I mean, it was seconds. Not a whole minute.” She looked to the man asking the questions. “They said there was no tissue under my fingernails, but that can’t be right. I know I had to have scratched him.”
“Your fingernails may have been cleaned after you were unconscious. A professional would know all the things to do to clean up after himself.”
Something, a memory, either real or imagined, flickered through her…a gloved hand holding her hand. Had her hands and beneath her fingernails been cleaned? If not, the evidence that might have been there had been ignored. But there was no way to prove any such thing.
“You mentioned that you dream about that night.”
She nodded. “All the time.” She searched his face. Appreciated that his expression was thoughtful, seemed caring. Other than her aunt and her brother, it had been a long time since anyone showed her those considerations.
“Can you tell me what the dreams are about? Specifically?”
Rory drew in a deep breath. “In one of the dreams, it’s like the man who…attacked me was nervous.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know that sounds crazy, but I felt him tremble. But in that moment, what it meant didn’t register. Or even that it happened. So I’m not sure if that part is real or not. It feels like it was—in the dreams, I mean.”
“It may have been the adrenaline,” he offered. “Different people have different physical reactions to pleasure as well as danger. Are there other ones? Different dreams? Different details? Conflicting or otherwise?”
“In one dream, I can feel myself being lifted and carried. The next thing I know, I’m lying on the floor with Pete. My arm goes across his body, but I didn’t move it. It’s as if someone else put it there. I could see Pete, and I was aware of what was happening, but I couldn’t react.”
“Did you recognize either intruder’s voice?” he asked then.
She recalled the sounds…her frantic efforts to defend herself. The heated words from the man attacking her…or were they from the other man? She shook her head. “Their voices were odd. It’s like they exaggerated the sounds when they spoke. Growled or spoke through their teeth, whatever, to ensure they weren’t recognizable. But really, they didn’t speak much at all. When they did, it was not in normal tones.”
“You said the two of you drank the champagne. Did you eat any of the food? Do you remember having anything out on the table or on the counter? Where was the basket when you called it a night?”
She thought about that one for a bit. “I don’t remember eating. Maybe that’s why the champagne went to my head, and my memory is foggier than it should have been.”
“So you never touched any of the eating utensils or knives in the kitchen.”
“No. I never even opened the fridge.” Heat rose in her cheeks. “We just went straight to the bedroom when we arrived. We went out on the balcony once. Pete had the glasses and the bottle of champagne. At one point we were at the table, but there was nothing on it. No basket, no food.” She concentrated harder on the details. “I’m fairly certain I didn’t touch much of anything beyond furniture.”
“In the one hundred and thirty two crime scene photos,” he said, his gaze steady on hers, “all the things you said were in the basket were spread on the table. There were plates and glasses. They gave the appearance that the two of you had been at the table eating.”
That wasn’t right. “No. I’m certain we never used the table. Not for eating.”
