Jack turned toward the door. "Let's find out," he threw over his shoulder.
Olivia sat in the back of the ambulance, wrapped in a scratchy gray blanket. An earnest patrolman, freckled-faced with glasses and jutting ears, hovered on the periphery, waiting to get her statement. She couldn't imagine anyone she'd like less to tell what happened.
She felt stupid. Kidnapped by an ex, how clichéd.
With shaky hands she took the cup of coffee the EMT handed her. Another medical attendant worked on cleaning the scrapes on her legs while a third tilted her head backward and flashed a light in first the left, then the right eye. "Some uneven dilation," he murmured.
Possible concussion was what he meant. She must've banged her head on the ground at some point during the abduction, either at her house or during captivity. She thought of Bill's twisted expression and possessive hands. Bastard!
She turned away from the EMT and leaned her shoulder on the edge of the open van door. A wave of nausea engulfed her right before she threw up.
Gradually, she brought her queasy stomach under control, and she found the methodical workings of the paramedics calmed her. She was safe now. She had survived and everything that could be done for her was being done. Even though the reprieve was brief and by sheer chance, Bill hadn't killed her. But she'd read in his eyes the hard knowledge that he wanted to, that he'd come close to it, and that he'd try again.
She knew that with absolute certainty. Not today or tomorrow. Maybe not even next month, but sooner or later, she'd look over her shoulder and find him stalking her. Or carelessly open her door and feel the bottom drop out of her world again.
When Jack and Slater arrived minutes later, their faces looked strained and worried with an underlying anger that unsettled her. As soon as Jack spied her, he reached her side in an instant and briefly touched her shoulder. He didn't speak, but the heat of his large hand on her bare skin made her feel safe.
After she gave a brief statement to the patrolman, Jack tried to bully her into going to the hospital, but she refused. Merely bruised, scraped, and sore, with nothing broken, she had no intention of spending wasted hours in an emergency waiting room.
"I want to go home and clean up," she insisted, pulling the blanket closer around her.
"Ma'am, they'll want to do a rape kit," the young EMT cautioned, his steady hazel eyes kind. "You really should go to the hospital."
Olivia flinched at the words and felt Jack stiffen beside her. "It's not necessary," she said firmly and repeated, "I want to go home." She clamped her teeth together to keep her jaw from quavering.
"Olivia," Jack began.
"No!" She heard the near hysteria in the rise of her voice. She felt as though she were holding herself together with nerve and sheer will, which was ironic, she thought. She hadn't been seriously hurt, hadn't been assaulted, or…
The fragile control she'd maintained began to unravel. "Get me out of here."
"Okay, I'll drive you home," Jack muttered, no doubt eyeing the stubborn set of her jaw.
Good. She wasn't the young girl he'd once known. She wouldn't be pushed around by a baby-faced EMT or a man who no longer had a real place in her life. As she eased into the truck, mindful of her sore ribs and abraded legs, she saw Slater draw Jack aside and speak quietly to him. Jack nodded once, glanced her way, and said something back.
"What did he say?" she asked suspiciously when Jack slid into the driver's seat.
"Nothing. Just business."
Sure, she thought. Business, my ass.
"Did they find him?" She'd identified her kidnapper as her ex-husband and given the particulars. A judge had issued an arrest warrant and deputies were attempting to serve the warrant right now.
Jack shook his head. "No luck so far. Slater's riding back in a patrol car. I'll take you home." His eyes flashed like volcanic glass. "Christ, Olivia, why didn't you tell me about Bill Gant?"
"It was nothing," she retorted snidely, "just business – my own business."
His hands clenched on the steering wheel. "You could've been hurt, raped, killed." He glanced at her and his voice softened. "I was worried about you."
"I'm a big girl," she reminded him, feeling like a child instead.
"So you keep saying," he muttered and fell silent.
At her home in Sacramento Jack walked Olivia around to the rear of the house and fidgeted on the porch while she fumbled to find the spare key. If possible, she was edgier than ever. She'd overheard the patrolmen talking about Ted Burrows and the way he'd been caught. How could she have been such a bad judge of character about both her graduate student and her ex-husband?
Once inside she went straight to her bedroom upstairs, leaving Jack in the foyer. She wanted a hot shower, needed to scrub off the slimy feeling Bill had left on her. It was so strange, she thought, that she'd slept next to her ex-husband for nearly a year, had eaten countless meals across the kitchen table from him, made love with him, laughed sometimes, argued more frequently.
And now all she wanted to do was wash the scent and touch of him off her body. In the shower, after she scrubbed with soap and shampooed her hair, then washed all over again with a light lemony scented liquid, the shock of it all finally hit her. She collapsed to the floor, the water pounding on her from above, unable to control the sobs that overtook her.
Jack found her huddled under the running water of the shower. "Livvie." He grabbed a towel off the rack, reached in to shut off the now-tepid water, and wrapped her body tightly. "You're freezing." He rubbed her arms and legs vigorously.
By now her crying had subsided to sniffles and he set her on the toilet seat to flick on the heated overhead lamp and blot her hair dry with a smaller towel.
She shoved at his hands. "I'm not a baby. You don't have to treat me like an infant."
"Then stop acting like one," he answered in a controlled, matter-of-fact voice.
Her face hardened and he knew that he'd used just the right tone to pull her back from the edge of hysteria. She straightened her shoulders.
"I'll give you time to dress," he said quietly and closed the bathroom door behind him.
Downstairs he prepared hot chocolate. No coffee, she didn't need a stimulant. He'd try to give her a tranquilizer so she'd get some rest, but he suspected she'd resist. Slater promised to put a deputy on her door in case her ex-husband came back.
When Olivia slipped down the stairs twenty minutes later, she looked calmer, her hair was smoothed back from her forehead and twisted at her neck, and she wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She didn't look at all like she was going to bed even though her smooth face was free of makeup. He frowned, but said nothing, and handed her a mug.
They sat at the kitchen table while he explained about the guard and tried to reassure her. "Here," he said, handing her a capsule. "This will help you sleep."
She stared at the pill in his hand. "I'm not taking drugs and I'm not going to bed."
"Stop being so damn stubborn."
She shook her head. "I'm going wherever it is that you're going."
"How do you know -? Never mind," he said, jamming his fingers through his hair. "I'm going back to the police station and you're not."
She stared hard at him, her eyes darkening to the forest green they took on when she prepared for battle. Oh, he knew her mind. She'd heard about Burrows' arrest. He tried another tactic. "Be reasonable, Olivia. You can't sit in on the interrogation of a murder suspect."
"I want to hear what Ted Burrows says."
"No, that's police business."
"I knew him, thought he was a harmless overgrown boy," she argued. "I want to know why he… why he did what he did. And if he's the one who hurt Keisha."
"He's not."
"You don't know that for sure."
Jack shoved back from his chair. "Burrows is just another pervert who gets off on using helpless women." He swiped his hand over his jaw, noting the thick growth. "He had nothing to do with Keisha's death."