74 Seaside Avenue (Cedar Cove #7)

74 Seaside Avenue (Cedar Cove #7) Page 44

She’d worked out that this whole mess had to do with Bobby, but what the thugs had hoped to achieve she could only speculate. Right now, none of that mattered. Because Bruce was with her.

He continued to hold her, murmuring encouragement as they stood in that drafty hallway.

It suddenly occurred to Rachel to ask, “How come you’re here?”

“I phoned Teri. You weren’t answering your cell and I thought she might know where you were.” She felt his shrug. “I wanted to talk to you about…something, but this isn’t the time.”

“What did Teri say?”

“She said I should come to her house, and that was when I found out you’d been kidnapped. I wasn’t there more than a few minutes when James called and I heard you’d been set free. That’s also when I learned you’d be at the sheriff’s office, so I came straight here.”

As if he’d just realized he was holding her—and shouldn’t be—he abruptly dropped his arms.

All at once Rachel was cold again. She wanted Bruce to hold her. She needed him.

She took one small step toward him. “Please…”

He raised his arms, apparently to abide by her request, and then dropped them again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” she asked.

He frowned. “You know why not. How would Nate feel if he could see us like this?”

She knew exactly how Nate would feel. He’d be angry and upset. Jealous. “You’re right,” she began, “but—”

“I have to talk to you, Rachel. That’s why I was looking for you this evening.”

“Talk to me…about what?”

He shook his head. “This isn’t the best time. We’ll talk later.”

She wanted to hear now. But if he wasn’t ready to speak, she was. “I need you, Bruce, no one else. Not Nate. You.”

“No,” he countered sharply, as though afraid to believe her. “You need a warm body. If Nate was here instead of me, you’d want him. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

Her eyes pleaded with him for understanding. Her own feelings were clear now and although she recognized that she loved Bruce and wanted to be with him, she couldn’t say any more. Not yet.

“Will you take me home?” she asked.

“I…” He hesitated.

“Please.”

He nodded, but the look on his face was one of wariness.

After speaking to the sheriff again, Rachel hurried out to the car, where Bruce was waiting for her. He had the heater on, and the warm air welcomed her, enveloped her. She’d been terrified, her sense of security destroyed. What she craved most—other than the comfort of those she loved—was to be surrounded by familiar things. She needed to be home.

The drive took place in almost total silence. When Bruce parked in front of the house, Rachel turned to him, hoping for some word, some gesture of reassurance. He kept the car running, letting her know he had no intention of going inside with her.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said curtly.

It was such an old-fashioned courtesy, and she was grateful for it. He took her house key from her trembling hands and unlocked the dead bolt and then, without looking at her, returned the key.

Before he could stop her, Rachel slipped her arms around his neck and raised her lips to his, showing how much she loved him, now and always.

He resisted, but not for long. His mouth opened to hers, his breath warm and moist. And for the first time since she’d been abducted, Rachel felt completely safe. Completely loved and cherished.

Bruce broke off the kiss before she was ready for it to end. “I’m glad you’re…all right,” he said, his voice husky.

“I am, too. Thank you for being here, thank you for bringing me home and thank you for that kiss,” she whispered.

He stared down at the concrete step and nodded. Then he turned, stumbling in his haste to leave.

Christie wondered why the attendant behind the admissions desk in HarrisonHospital’s ER was being such a grouch. All she knew was that she wouldn’t let some old biddy keep her out. She was going to see James, whatever it took.

“You cannot go inside those doors and if you persist,” the woman said, “I’ll call security.”

“Go right ahead.” Christie figured she had a good two to three minutes to find James before the rent-a-cop located her and tossed her out. A lot could happen in those minutes.

But just as she made her way toward the swinging doors, James stepped out. His face was battered—one eye had swollen completely shut, his cheekbone was badly bruised and he had a split lip. His arm was bandaged and in a sling.

“James!” She breathed his name in a rush of near-panic.

For a moment, Christie thought she was going to be sick. To her horror, tears flooded her eyes. She wasn’t the kind of person who wept easily, but she was weeping now.

“Oh, James…”

“Don’t touch me,” he said hoarsely when she came toward him. “I have two broken ribs and I’m afraid a hug would kill me.”

She blinked rapidly in an effort to forestall the tears, not that it did any good. “Let me help you,” she begged.

He seemed reluctant to have her touch him. “Be careful.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Slipping her arm around his waist, she led him outside. At least the rain had stopped. They walked, step by unhurried step, to where she’d parked her car. “Did the doctor give you a prescription?”

“Yes, it’s in my pocket. For pain. What I need most, they told me, is rest.”

“And chicken soup,” she added. It was all she could think of. “I’ll get the prescription filled and buy you a can of soup.”

She half expected him to argue. His acceptance of her being there told her how much pain he was in.

Although he didn’t complain, the walk to the parking lot obviously left him in agony. He looked pale and drained by the time she got the passenger door open and helped him inside. Then she dashed around the front of the car and slid into the driver’s seat.

“I would’ve taken a taxi home,” he murmured.

“I’m here.” She put her key in the ignition, then glanced at him. “I should call Bobby and Teri,” she said, “but I don’t have a cell.”

“I spoke to them a few minutes ago,” James informed her. “From a pay phone near the ER.”

She nodded.

“He told me the police have already recovered the limousine. It was abandoned by the railway tracks.”

She shifted the car into gear, watching as even the slightest movement made him grimace in pain. “I’ll drive very slowly.”

Halfway back to the house, she started to cry again, the tears slipping soundlessly down her cheeks. She was shocked that seeing him like this had such an emotional impact on her. She told herself a dozen times a day that she found him a nuisance, but she knew that wasn’t how she really felt. She was falling for this guy. Falling hard.

As soon as she pulled up to the house, Bobby and Teri hurried out to see James.

“He’s badly hurt,” Christie said in a stern voice. “Keep your distance. His ribs are broken.”

“Oh, James.” Teri began to cry, too. “James, stay at our place, okay? Those stairs to your apartment are too much. We have a downstairs guest room and—”

“No,” he insisted. “No. I can manage.”

Christie knew his stoicism and his need for privacy would keep him from accepting Teri’s suggestion, and she understood that, but it was hard to watch him suffer.

“I’m going to make Vladimir pay for this,” Bobby said through gritted teeth. His fists were clenched at his sides.

Christie’s hand was on James’s arm as she turned to look at Bobby. “If you need any help with that, let me know.” She spoke fiercely and she meant every word.

“Is there anything I can do?” Teri asked.

Christie took the prescription out of her purse. “Get this filled and pick up four cans of chicken noodle soup.” She’d seen a grocery store flyer that advertised four for three dollars; having grown up poor, she automatically noticed a bargain.

“I’ll go with you,” Bobby said, following Teri.

“I’ll take you to your rooms,” Christie said, again clasping James’s elbow and gently steering him toward the outside staircase that led to his quarters above the garage.

“I’ll be fine now. Thank you,” he said when they’d reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Forget it.” Christie wasn’t taking no for an answer, and he must’ve realized that because he capitulated without an argument. Bad enough, she figured, that he’d been so stubborn, refusing to stay at Teri’s house. They took the stairs slowly and each one made him wince. When they finally got to the landing, Christie had her arm around his waist and he was leaning against her. The door was unlocked and, as she’d suspected, his quarters were immaculate. He pointed in the direction of the bedroom and she supported him as he hobbled toward it.

His bed was made with military precision and even when he sat down the blanket didn’t wrinkle.

“I’ll be fine now,” he said again, more firmly this time.

“I…” Christie was reluctant to leave.

“I don’t need your help anymore.”

“Do you mean that?” she asked, trying to disguise the pain his comment had inflicted.

He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “You said I’m a stuffed shirt.”

“So? You are.”

“You don’t want anything to do with me,” he reminded her. “You said that…the last time I drove you home…”

“I did?” She couldn’t even remember, although they’d argued about what she’d called his “hovering” and “overprotectiveness.”

“You asked—yet again—that I not drive you anymore.”

She didn’t see that as any big deal. “I’m capable of driving myself, you know.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “And I’m capable of looking after myself.”

“Fine,” she said, hands on her hips. “We’re both capable people. Now climb into bed and I’ll tuck you in.”

“Then you’ll go?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“Good.” He averted his head as he mumbled, “Please leave the room.”

Furious—and not sure why—she stomped out of the room and slammed the door. Then she stood on the other side of the door and waited. Twice, when she heard him stifle a groan, she nearly burst in, but she knew he wouldn’t appreciate the intrusion. Fine, she’d see that he was safely in bed and then she’d take off. If he didn’t want her around, she wasn’t going to make a pest of herself.

After two or three minutes of silence, she asked, “Can I come in now?”

“If you insist.”

“I do.” She turned the knob and cautiously opened the door, to find him dressed in pajamas. He’d apparently taken off the sling around his arm, then put it back on, all by himself. That must’ve hurt. So he was a stuffed shirt and a glutton for punishment.