The mental click was instantaneous. Sophie, being Sophie, would never have tidily closed her closet door. He tried the knob, readily discovered the lock had been pushed in, and turned it.
The damn cat flew from the darkness, pausing only long enough to brush against him. “Soph…” He didn’t see her, wasn’t sure if it was just the cat who’d been locked in the closet who’d made those thumping sounds, but a patchwork splash of color on the closet floor snagged his gaze.
He crouched down.
She was all curled up, motionless, her arms wrapped tighter around her knees than a taped-up package. Her face had no more color than a doll, and although her eyes were open, they were haunted dark, glazed with shock.
Her lips parted once, then twice. “I didn’t think anyone would find me,” she said hoarsely.
“I’d always find you,” he said quickly, correcting her. “Come here, baby.”
“I’m okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Really. I’m okay.”
She was okay, all right. Like someone who’d been hit by a bus was okay. Her eyes met his-her gaze hooked on his and wouldn’t let go-but she was so frozen in that fetal position that she might as well have been painted there. In his head, Cord started swearing, every four-letter word he knew, strung together like magnets. But that was just in his head.
“We’ll just go at this slow,” he murmured.
Since she seemed to be having trouble moving, he did the obvious, crawled in there with her. He ducked through the clothes, through the shoes and bags and girl debris on the closet floor, and then just pulled her into him, onto him. Her skin was colder than ice. He sat there in the stupid closet, with her clothes dancing around his head and her shoes kicking him in the spine-but it wasn’t as if he cared about that crap.
Her skin started warming up the minute he had her wrapped up on his lap. Her cheek crashed into his shoulder. She didn’t unlock her arms, her knees, but she burrowed into him as if he were a nest. Her nest. Her one safe place in an unbearably dangerous world.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, into his shoulder. “I just need another couple seconds.”
“Hey, we can stay here all night if you want. We can order in. I’ll bet Chinese delivers to closets.” He kissed the top of her head, her temple. Not come-on kisses. Not even kisses for her. He knew damn well they were kisses for him, selfish kisses, self-centered kisses-his need to be able to kiss her, his need to be the one who was there for her whenever the monsters showed up. Any monsters. Anytime, anywhere.
She snuggled so close, she seemed to be trying to glue herself to his chest, his lap, his arms. He stroked slowly, gently, down her hair, down her back. Gradually, her heartbeat slowed to a gallop, which was definitely progress-but worry nagged at him. It was starting to feel normal, sitting in the dark, cramped closet, with her clothes all over his face. Well, not normal. But it was okay. He could have stayed there for hours. Because it was her. Something about Sophie had rearranged his head, his heart, his life, starting from about three seconds after he met her.
Eventually, she found her voice. “I guess it’s a little late to keep it a secret. I don’t do real well in trapped places.”
“I think you’re doing great. Any chance you got a look at who did this, Soph?” He kept his voice casual, easy. He didn’t want her to know that he had murder on his mind, but right then, he knew he was capable of it.
“No. I didn’t even guess anyone was in the apartment.” Her voice was still shaky with shock. “I never heard anything. I came home earlier than usual by several hours. Maybe that was the thing. That the person knew my schedule, chose a time when I wasn’t supposed to be home…”
The damn cat had parked in the closet doorway, was just sitting there, eyes glowing on Cord as if accusing him of something. The feline suddenly, furiously washed his leg, then went back to that vigilant sitting posture.
“The person…hit me in the back with something. I was thrown off-balance, knocked into the clothes. Then I was hit again. Then I heard the door lock. Then…”
He heard the streak of fear building in her voice, intervened. “Okay, that’s enough. Let’s get out of here. Call the cops-”
“No.”
When he started to move, she clutched him even tighter, so he backed off. Even knowing it was nuts to just sit there, still, he held her, still, he warmed and soothed. “All right, Soph. There’s no hurry. We don’t have to call the police until you’re ready to-”
“I don’t care about the police! All this time, stuff keeps happening, and they haven’t really done a darn thing! I want my sister!”
“Okay, okay, Soph-”
“I need to feel safe. I need to be safe.”
He stroked, stroked some more. She wasn’t hysterical. She was just…afraid.
What killed him was how he totally understood. A sister would help her feel safer than a cop-because from day one, the cops had done nothing to protect her. They were so damn dumb, they couldn’t recognize the innocent from the guilty, for Pete’s sake.
But that Sophie wanted a sister instead of him ripped at Cord’s heart.
He’d failed her. All his life, he’d been a problem solver, a doer. Yet now, when something really mattered, when someone he loved was in harm’s way, he’d failed to act. He’d been spinning plenty of wheels, but not fast enough, not effectively enough, to prevent Sophie from being hurt.
“Cord,” Sophie said desperately.
“Yeah. We’re getting you out of here. We’re taking you to a place where you’ll feel safe, where you’ll be safe. Right now,” he promised her.
Chapter 10
Sophie woke up in the strangest dream. She was in a room she’d never seen before. A huge bay window looked over a giant maple in full fall color, its apricot leaves gilded by a blinding midday sun. The room had been decorated à la L.L. Bean. Plank floors were polished to a high gleam. The bed was big enough for Lincoln, with double-size pillows, dark sheets and comforter, and a mighty serious mattress.
The dresser looked like old oak, scarred and unique and interesting. Change was scattered across the dresser, along with a man’s belt. Glass doors led outside to a semicircular deck. She could see a single Adirondack chair on it, a pair of binoculars on the deck edge.
She pushed up on her elbows, trying to fathom where on earth she was-but that small movement brought reality crashing down on her. Pain startled her. Her whole back felt tender and swollen with bruises. Last night came back in a rush of mental snapshots. Cord finding her. Cord furious with the police. Cord locking up and feeding Caviar and hustling her into his car. Cord seeing the welts on her back, swearing, swearing more, bringing her a pill and something to drink and…
The bedroom door abruptly opened. Adding shock on shock, there was her sister, striding in with a tray.
“You,” Cate said, “are going to eat. My God, I thought you’d never wake up. Don’t worry about Pruitt. He’s in the other room, pacing around, yelling at people on the phone. As if that’s enough for all the trouble he’s gotten you into. Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of him-”
“Wait, wait. How could you be there? When did you get here? What-”
“No questions for you. No stress. You eat. Then rest. And those are orders.”
She’d seen Cate and Lily both last Christmas. Cate never changed. The sisters were all blond, but Cate wore her hair wash-and-wear chopped off, and she was typically dressed in worn-out, snug jeans and a skinny long-sleeve T. Cate looked sexy when she woke up, when she went to bed, when she had the flu, when she dressed up and when she didn’t. She attracted men just by breathing. It was the way she moved, the way she was and who she was.