Chapter 24

Eric checked in with Tom, who assured him that all was well and their emergency generator was enough for the security systems. “I’m not using it for the lights or any non-security systems,” he said. “We don’t know how long things will be down and Iverson might take advantage of the storm.”

“Good. We’re sure it wasn’t sabotage?”

“I checked in with my contact at the city. The whole west end went out when a transformer got hit by lightning. Not even Iverson can manage that.”

He returned to the library, wondering if Caro would like to go upstairs. The thought of lying with her in the cozy dark was attractive. The library was suffused with a dim light from the dying embers of the fire, enough for him to see that the sofa was empty. Where was she?

His senses went on high alert. It was impossible that Iverson could have infiltrated the house, but where was Caro? He moved to the wall and began to work his way around the room silently, eyes vigilant.

A motionless lump lay in the corner. Caro. He sprinted to her side. “Caro, what’s wrong?”

She was inarticulate and he checked her over quickly. It was still Caro, so it wasn’t that she’d been visited by an unwelcome shift. She appeared uninjured, except— He looked again. Her hands were tight on her belly, pressing against the scars so hard her arms shook with the effort.

A fierce compassion rose in him. Had she been attacked in a storm? He tried to lift her, to carry her to the comfort of the fire, but she resisted. “Don’t touch me,” she said in a rough voice.

“I won’t, Caro. I won’t move until you tell me. Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

She turned to him with pain-filled eyes. “It’s night.”

“I know. It’s almost nine o’clock.”

“They got me at night.”

The simplicity of the words slayed him.

“Tell me,” he demanded. She blanched and he cursed himself. “Please tell me,” he added in a softer tone.

“I can’t.” She began to tremble and he reached out his hand, waiting for her to touch him. When she did, tentatively, he pulled her close. The robe was falling off and her body was cool and damp with sweat. “I’ve never told anyone.”

“I saw the scars,” he said gently. “It may help you to talk.”

He saw the struggle in her face and placed his hands on hers to tenderly pull them away from the scars. Then he put his own hand where hers had been. The scar itself was smooth but he felt the thick ridge of healed flesh below. She jumped as though it was the first time she had been deliberately touched there and Eric wouldn’t have been surprised if it was true. “Tell me,” he repeated.

Caro sat up and clutched her legs against her chest. The words sounded as if they were being dragged out of her. It took a few tries before she could even begin.

“It was November and cold,” she said. “I remember that. I had my thin wool jacket on and I was thinking how it never got cold in the city.” She laughed unevenly. “It’s funny how you recall these things. Stupid and meaningless.”

Eric curled himself behind her and stayed silent, giving her the room she needed to say what had never been said.

“I’d been at the library, picking up some reference books for work. They must have been watching me, must have known my routines. There were two of them.”

Caro paused to take a deep breath. “There were two of them,” she repeated. “At first I thought they were after my purse. I let it slip down my arm but when it hit the ground, I knew I was in real trouble.”

She finished the story quickly, as though she couldn’t wait to get it over. The terror she felt at being dragged into the alley. The unheard screams for help. The way the knife thrust didn’t even hurt at first but how she could feel it being pulled out, cutting its way back through the flesh. Then again. The gush of blood when they sliced her stomach.

Then, she said, nothing but blackness.

There was a long pause before she started again. “I healed as well as could be expected, but I’m still afraid of the night.” She laughed shakily. “Like a little girl.”

“Never,” Eric said fiercely. “You’re a fighter. A survivor.”

“No.” The word was barely more than a sigh. “I used to be. I was tough. They all called me a bulldog.”

“Who did?”

Her hand reached up tentatively to stroke his face. “I thought it was over when he was in jail, but I always wondered if he’d find me again. I had no proof, but I knew it was him.”

“Who?” Give me the name, he begged silently. Let me make him suffer.

“I didn’t tell the truth earlier.”

Suddenly, he knew what she was going to say. “It was Iverson.”

“They were his men.” She said it reluctantly.

Decades ago, Eric had been with a woman who said he made her so angry she saw red. At the time, he’d thought it was an interesting way to put it. Exaggerated, of course, but evocative.

He hadn’t realized at the time that he could become so filled with rage that his vision would actually be tinted with the blood boiling in his veins. Until now. Before, his hate for Franz Iverson had been somewhat detached. Iverson was a ruthless man who had to be stopped. It was a matter of business and fundamentally conflicting worldviews, but nothing personal. Iverson wanted what was his, and Eric wouldn’t let that happen. What happened when Iverson drew Caro into it merely confirmed his decision. He wasn’t worried, because he knew he could keep her safe.

Now, as he held Caro’s shivering body and remembered the thick, jagged scars Iverson’s thugs had left on her golden skin, he realized that he was going to take great pleasure in ripping Iverson apart with his bare hands. Had Caro thwarted him? What had happened?

Caro’s shoulders shook and he tried to cool his anger. His Caro—because she was his, even if she didn’t know it yet—his proud and feisty woman, had been turned into a little mouse by Iverson. It cut him to see her like this but Eric was under no illusions. He wasn’t a therapist or a doctor. He couldn’t help her like that.

He was, however, a soldier. Soldiers were trained to take out threats.

First, though, he had to keep her safe. “Caro.”

She shook her head, her dark waves swishing against his chest. It wasn’t going to be easy to get the rest of the story.

“Iverson didn’t come to you yesterday because you know me, did he?”

She shuddered in his arms. “I’m a different person now. I…” She took a deep breath. “I…”

A resounding knock came at the wooden library door. “Sire, the power should be on in several hours.”

Eric cursed the interruption but Caro shook her head and blinked as though she was coming out of a dream. She pulled the robe tighter around her body.

“I got in the way of his business once,” she said. “Iverson. Then he saw me on the street here and recognized me.”

As he suspected. It was typical of Iverson to turn to violence to remove any barriers. No doubt he thought that a woman he’d already hurt would be too frightened to say no to him now. “Listen to me. I’m going to tell you straight because you need to know. You need to stay here. I can protect you here.”

Her back stiffened so fast it was as if she’d been jerked on a chain. “I said I’d do one night and see.”

Eric exhaled slowly. Beaten by Iverson she might be, but Caro had an independent streak a mile wide that nothing could take away.

“You can’t go back to that apartment.”

“I’ll move.”

She didn’t understand. Her association with Eric could mean her death warrant. If it wasn’t for him, she would be safer. Iverson would fuck with her head, terrorizing her to revel in her fear, but probably not kill her. Stopping her on the street was only the beginning. “He’ll find you.”

“No, he won’t.” She sounded too confident. Eric gently pulled her around until she faced him.

“Why not?”

“Because he won’t know what I look like.” Caro paused and it was as though she had to force the next words out. “I’m going to learn to take on a masque. If that’s what I need to do to stay safe, I’ll do it. You’re going to teach me.”