Chapter Twelve

 

 

 

Danforth took a convoluted route back to the station, approaching the building from the back, then spirited us inside through a dingy back hallway. There wasn’t a whole lot more action in the main room when we arrived than there had been when I’d left. Thankfully, Simpson was nowhere in sight, but the way Vic squared off opposite his own partner stopped me barely inside the room. He seemed frantic.

“Please tell me you don’t actually expect me to consider this,” Vic spat.

Connelly shrugged. “You know it will work.”

“He’s a civilian.”

“He’s also the only one Carl will approach.”

“It’s dangerous. Idiotic.” Vic shook his head.

“It’ll work,” Connelly insisted.

Vic glared him down. “No.”

“The asshole stuck a knife in your partner, Vic. Watched him bleed out in a filthy alley.”

Tension tightened Vic’s muscles, lining his expression with steel. He just kept shaking his head.

“You know it’s only a matter of time,” Connelly went on. “Right now, Carl still thinks there’s something there. When he finds out Paul even glanced in your general direction, how long do you think that will last? You saw what he did to his own father. What do you think he’ll do—?”

“I won’t let him risk his life over this!” Vic slammed a hand down on his desk.

I jumped.

“Find another way, Jim.” Vic’s voice went from shouting to eerily calm. “There’s always another way.”

Connelly shook his head. “And how many more bodies do you want to pull out of alleys while we figure out a safer way to flush him out?”

Vic shook his head too. “It’s too dangerous.”

I had a sinking sensation I knew what they were discussing. I took a deep breath and stepped forward. Connelly saw me first, nodded, and sank into his chair. As soon as Vic turned around, my reluctance to insert myself into his space vanished.

“Hey.” I tried a tiny smile. It bounced off his stony demeanor, and I tried a little harder. “You okay?” I gave in to the desire to touch him, to try to sooth away a wisp of the frantic energy emanating from him.

“Paul.”

He reached out, and I did the only thing I could. I let him pull me over into his arms. It was just the five of us in the room, and it was nice having Vic’s protectiveness covering me. He relaxed his tight hold after a few seconds. The hardness around his mouth and eyes eased.

I looked up at him and tried my best to project calm. “You want to use me as bait for Carl.”

“No.” His grip clamped down hard again.

“It’ll work.”

“You don’t know that.”

What was he trying to protect me from? Rejection by a psychopath?

“I know him. Whatever he’s done, he’s different with me,” I said.

“If you say he won’t hurt you, Paul, forget it. I’ve seen the bruises.” His voice was as tight as his grip.

“I know.” I could barely get my words above a whisper. “I know he has to be stopped. I know he’s dangerous.” I had to step back a bit to really see Vic, but I didn’t get out of range of his touch. “I also know he loves me, however twisted he is about it. I know he’ll come back to me if he knows where to find me.”

“No.”

I squared my shoulders. “Don’t pull the high-handed shit with me, Vic. You want to keep me safe, figure out a way to make this work, because it’s the best chance you have to catch him. As I see it, one of two things is going to happen.” I couldn’t quite stop the shudder at what I was about to admit, but I plowed on before Vic could get a word in. “He’s going to know that I know the minute he sees me. He’s going to know things are changed between us. He’ll either try to kill me or he’ll run. If he thinks he can’t get close to me, he’ll just run. He’ll keep killing, and you will waste a very long time trying to catch him. That isn’t how I want to see you spend your life. I want this over.” I reached up to spread my hand over his chest. “I want my life back.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Paul.”

“Yes, I do.”

They all turned their attention to me, and I stepped away from Vic’s embrace. Much as I wanted his comfort, he had to know I was not dependent on it, or him.

Lil eyed me down the bridge of his nose, arms crossed, diva-like, over his chest, his expression stony. If I hoped for support there, it didn’t look like I was much likely to get it.

Connelly remained, as always, passive and difficult to read under his beard. Danforth nodded at me when I glanced at him. Strange to find support there, but welcome just the same.

Vic’s eyes burned with frustration. “Paul.” He stepped up, quick to close the distance I’d put between us.

“Don’t, Vic.” I put my hand out, not to feel his nearness this time, but to hold him off. “Don’t try to talk me out of this. I know you want to protect me. You can’t. It’s already done. He’s already destroyed everything I thought I knew.” I took a deep breath and let my hand fall. I needed him to understand. “If I’m going to salvage anything that’s even worth getting to know, I have to do this. I have to see it for myself. I have to see him. On his terms, and know what those terms are.”

“That’s as insane as he is,” Vic snarled.

My faith in his reasons for trying to keep me from helping skidded. “I need to know, Vic.”

“What? You need to see the crazy in his eyes up close to believe it?”

“Yes!”

“He’s dangerous!”

“You think?” Fuck! Of course he’s dangerous. How did Vic imagine I didn’t know this?

He blinked big brown eyes at me, shook his head. “You don’t know. You haven’t seen… I can’t—”

“Fuck you.”

He swallowed whatever he was about to say in return, backing off as though I’d slapped him, and I hurried on before he could regroup.

“You don’t know me, Vic. I’m not some virginal damsel who needs your protection. I got myself into this shit. I’ll get myself out.”

He closed his mouth with a snap, though his nostrils flared with his sharp, uneven breaths and he clenched his hands into fists.

“I need to get myself out. I let him…” I gulped in a deep breath, curled my lip at my own hesitation, but squared my shoulders once more. It wasn’t like this was new information for any of them. They’d all pointed it out at one time or another. “I let Carl get away with too much. Because he was stronger than me. Not just physically, but…mentally, I don’t know. I bent to what he wanted, even when I didn’t want it. I will not do that again.” I willed him to understand. “I will not bend, Vic. Not to him, or you, or anyone else. Ever again. This is my battle. You can’t fight it for me. I won’t let you.”

“This is what I do. Let me—”

“No!” Why wouldn’t he listen? I had a sudden flash of memory of Carl telling me what I wanted, when I knew perfectly well he was wrong, telling me he would do what he pleased to me, that I’d like it, it would be okay. It hadn’t been. Nothing anyone could do would ever change that, any more than it would bring Lil’s brother or any of the others back. But this, this had happened to me. I was still here, and I’d be damned if I would let anyone else tell me they knew what was best for me.

“This is my life, Vic. Let me live it.”

“Or lose it?”

He was so close. I didn’t remember either of us moving, but he was right in my face.

“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” he said.

“You don’t, either—not—not how he can be. How he was once. He didn’t start out a killer!”

“But that’s what he is, now, Paul. A killer. A rapist.”

Blood drained out of my face to pool in a churning mess in my gut. I couldn’t move.

Vic lifted my hand, held my bandaged wrist in front of my face and shook it. “Cold-blooded. Pitiless. Ruthless. Everything you’re not. You can’t do this.”

I ripped myself free of his grip, ignoring the searing pain of opened scabs. “He won’t hurt me.”

Vic drew his eyebrows together. “He already has. Why can’t you see?”

“I know him. I know—”

“Do you want a body count? Do you want to see the pictures? You do not know what he’s capable of!”

“Don’t I?” Frustrated, I grabbed the hem of my T-shirt and yanked it off over my head. “Look at me!”

He didn’t. He pinched his lips and turned to Lil, as though hoping to find support there.

I snatched at his arm and wrenched his attention back to me. “Look at me!”

Finally, he forced his gaze down across my torso. He was about as pale as I felt.

“He did this to me.” I glared at him, at his beautiful eyes focused on my bruises and full of that unnamable emotion. “He did this. He—” I snarled, and my entire body clenched with fury at him for making me say it out loud. “Okay, so maybe I didn’t protest, didn’t fight him off. Maybe I hid how I really felt—that I didn’t want it that last time—” Nothing.

Vic stared, pallid and angry, eyes like fire burning through the last shred of my dignity. I clenched my teeth and forced the hated words out.

“He raped me. I know. This is my life. I have to take it back.”

At last, his gaze drifted up my body, across my face, and he stared into my eyes.

All that anger just bled out of me, like he’d lanced it away.

“If anything were to happen to you…”

I stepped back into his space, finding the solace I’d hoped for when I’d first come into the room. I dropped my shirt and touched his cheek. He vibrated with tension. I wished there was some way to ease his mind other than backing down.

“Just make sure nothing does,” I said. “Be there. But don’t deny me this. I have to take my life back, Vic. Please. Tell me you understand.”

He closed his eyes, denying me that oh-so-frustrating and confusing glimpse into his thoughts. He leaned forward, and this time I didn’t back away. His forehead touched mine.

“I hate that you’re right,” he whispered.

I ran my hand along the fuzzy hair of his arm toward his chest, closed my eyes, and basked in the sizzling strength and nearness. “I’m not particularly thrilled about it, either, believe me.”

I rested my palm on one broad pec and felt his heart beating underneath. After a stretched pause, Vic covered my hand with one of his. His breath wafted warm over my face. Now I was the one vibrating. I very much wanted him to stake a claim, even though I’d just finished telling him I was my own man, even though there were people in the room with us, watching and listening. When his lips did touch mine, they weren’t tentative. They didn’t have the hard, bitter taint of frantic possessiveness I was used to, either. I wondered if I’d ever been kissed like that before, or if I just didn’t remember.

“All right.”

When we broke apart to Lil’s comment, we found him waving his hand in front of his face. “Get a whiff of that testosterone. If the two of you are done with the whole horn-butting thing…?” He lifted an eyebrow at us, but the look he leveled at me was one I’d seen him give Brian when he was especially pleased with his man.

A little smile passed over my face at the thought that Lil might actually be proud of me. I guessed Carl’s true personality wasn’t the only one I’d come to understand through all this.

I squared my shoulders a bit and turned to Connelly. “You have a plan?”

 

* * * *

 

A loud bang startled Carl awake—so loud it sounded close. Too close. He jolted forward, gaze darting back and forth, behind and in front. A cab idled at the curb ahead, the occupants too far away for Carl to see them clearly, but something about the front passenger brought Carl’s mind to full attention.

Paul stepped out onto the path, paying the driver through the window. He glanced up then down the street. He looked tired, panicked even, and rushed toward the building, turning his head left then right before he disappeared inside.

Carl’s stomach muscles bunched at the sight of him, and his heart hurt. Shit, he loved him. Knew that now more than ever, the thumping of his pulse and stinging of his eyes more proof. He waited for long moments, then quickly, a surge of excitement coursing through him, Carl exited the pickup. He went inside the building. Paul would be in his apartment by now, what with the elevator indicating its descent by the glowing green triangular light on the side panel. He jabbed the button, impatient, then changed his mind and took the stairs. Tiredness fled, and he made it to Paul’s door in record time, using his knuckles to rap the wood below the peephole with three short, sharp knocks.

Carl stood to the side of the door and waited.

“Who is it?” Paul asked.

Even through the door, his voice had sounded…tight.

Do I answer as me or…?

“Gas man, sir. Report of a leak in the building.”

Fucking lame. Like he’s going to believe—

The chain rattled, and Carl readied himself for a hasty entrance, dependent on whether Paul’s features showed shock or pleasure at seeing him.

They showed wide-eyed shock. And horror. And repulsion.

Carl stuck out his foot, wedging it between the door and frame. Paul’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. He widened his eyes and curled his fingers around the door edge as he tried to push it closed. Carl shoved the door, both hands flat against it, and Paul let go, staggering backward then crashing into the wall. Carl smiled, shutting the door and snapping the deadlock down and the chain across.

“Hey, baby,” he said, arms out, waiting for Paul to step into them. To realize he wasn’t anyone to fear but someone who loved him to distraction.

“What are you doing here?” Paul sidled along the wall, gaze darting, then dashed across the hallway and into the kitchen.

Carl rushed after him, catching Paul yanking open the utensil drawer and bringing out a knife. Paul held it before him and backed away, catching his foot on the table leg.

“What the hell’s all this about?” Carl asked. This wasn’t happening. He was seeing shit due to being tired. Paul wasn’t standing there with a damn knife and fear plastered across his face.

“Get away from me,” Paul said, knife hand shaking. “Get the fuck away.”

“Get away? Oh, yeah. We’ll be getting away all right. We’ll go someplace, yeah?” Carl moved forward. “Go someplace nice and quiet where no one knows us. We can start again. We don’t need anyone else, do we?”

Paul frowned, swallowed hard, and shook his head. As though what Carl had said was stupid. “Start what again?”

“You do want that, right?” Carl stepped closer, knife in his peripheral vision, main gaze fixed on Paul’s eyes, which flicked from side to side, stilling on the doorway behind Carl. “Ah, I see maybe you don’t.” Carl stifled a sigh of frustration. “Still, it doesn’t matter. It’s what you’re going to get. We’re made for each other, you know that. No point denying it.”

The knife wavered, and Paul raised it, exposing his bandaged wrist. Carl lunged forward, gripping that wrist with biting fingers, digging his nails in the soft underside, twisting the bandages against what he imagined was raw skin beneath. Their gazes met, and a battle of wills ensued, one Carl knew he would win. He always won.

Paul splayed his fingers, the pain in his wrist—it had to be that—drawing a sharp gasp from him. The knife clattered to the floor, spinning across the tile then coming to rest in front of the cooker. Carl spun Paul, securing his wrists behind him, then marched him toward the bedroom, Paul struggling to get away the whole time. Paul didn’t speak, instead issuing noisy exhalations that showed his anger and frustration. As they neared the foot of the bed, Paul jabbed his heel into Carl’s shin. Pain bloomed there, but nothing Carl couldn’t handle, and he bit back the curse tormenting his tongue. He didn’t want to hit Paul, he really didn’t, but he raised his fist then cracked it against the back of Paul’s head. Paul yelled out, and Carl released him, flinging him onto the bed where he landed heavily with a battered grunt. Carl quickly rummaged inside the wardrobe for a belt. With Paul disoriented, he dragged him up the mattress and secured his wrists to a post, going back to the wardrobe for another belt to tie his ankles.

This wasn’t what he’d intended. Wasn’t how he’d envisaged it to be, but Paul needed time, that was all. He’d come around. Hadn’t he always in the past?

“It’s a shame I have to do this, but I need some sleep, and by the looks of things so do you.”

Paul twisted and blinked at him. “Let me go.”

Was he less angry? His voice had lowered, the edges of his words blurred together, like they sometimes did when he was softening to the point of truly submitting. That hadn’t happened in a long time.

Carl climbed on the bed to snuggle up behind Paul, the feel of him like a balm, like he’d come home. “We’ll rest a while, yeah? Then when we wake up, we can discuss where we’re going. We’ll be all right, so long as we’ve got each other, baby, you’ll see.”

“Carl.” Paul squirmed against the tight grip of Carl’s arms around his chest. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

“I had to. I came back for you, babe.” He squeezed Paul and nuzzled his neck. “It’s all been for you.”

“No,” Paul whispered. But he stopped squirming. Stopped trying to get away.

Carl pulled the comforter up to cover Paul and stop his hard shivering. “It’ll be all right. Promise.”