Page 26 of The Chief's Captive

I'm livid, pacing my bedroom floor and calling over and over again. When suddenly, someone picks up, I'm ready to shout and scream their head off, but I hear sniffling and a woman's voice and I pause.

"Mr. O'Rourke…" It's Butcher's wife, Marylin.

"Yes, this is Ronan." I stop and stare at the open bathroom door. I hear the shower turn off and rustling. Maeve is drying off now. For now, her severe vomiting has passed and I don't feel as concerned about that. What's concerning me the most is why Marylin answered instead of the doctor.

"He's gone, Ronan. They gunned him down in cold blood." Marylin sobs into the receiver, and the shock hits me in the gut.

"He was what?" Who would go after my doctor? And why? This has Eamon written all over it.

"I told you!" she screams. "I told you this was bad. I told you he'd get hurt." Marylin is a sweet woman, petite and aging. I picture her outrage, and it outrages me.

"I'll get to the bottom of this," I tell her, and I hang up. I know the only thing I'll get from her anymore is pain and screaming.

None of my enemies would go after my doctor. I'd be surprised if any of them actually knew who my trusted men were. Dr. Butcher has been with this family for the typical cold and flu things for years. Why now, after all this time, would someone target him unless it was Eamon? I know he's behind this, and I need to find out why, and then I need to find a new doctor.

When Maeve is tucked back into bed with orders to Brigid to bring her something light for breakfast, I go to my office and call my brothers. I've had enough. We're going to hunt that snake down and cut off his head, and I won't stop there. I'm going to throw him in the fire and burn him alive. He's crossed way too many lines.

18

MAEVE

Ican't get enough of these steak and eggs. After the exhaustion and everything I've gone through, I know this is what I need, and I'm devouring them. I'm starving too, so it's good that Brigid is so willing to do anything I ask as long as Ronan approves.

The doctor left a few moments ago, someone new. I don't know why Dr. Butcher didn't come but this new person, Dr. Olivia Burnside, was very nice. She asked me all the questions Dr. Butcher asked me and came to a very solid conclusion. She says I'm suffering from stress-induced exhaustion and maybe a touch of anemia since I've not been eating. Since I lied to her about my last period, there is no reason for her or anyone else to suspect that I'm pregnant. I like to keep it that way.

And since she clearly has been forcibly conscripted into Ronan's service, as was I—I could see the terror in her eyes—she probably came to a logical conclusion that I was here against my will too. Ronan hovered the whole time, which gave me zero chance to speak up, but what would I say, anyway? The second she saw my face, she knew who I was and addressed me by name. It madeRonan tense, though, so I wonder if I'll ever see her again or if they'll kill her just for knowing it was me.

As I chew my bites of sirloin carefully, I wonder what they did to make her come here. Did they kidnap her the way they did me? Was she here against her will? Did they take a family member or loved one and threaten them with death if she didn't cooperate? I shudder as I swallow and feel badly for being so sick, for needing a new doctor. It makes me worry for the original doctor.

"How are you feeling?" Ronan asks as he sits on the foot of the bed.

In his strange, twisted way, he really does care. If he didn't care at all, he would have left me vomiting on the bathroom floor the other night. Or he'd have beaten me and dragged me back to bed. Providing medical care and waiting for me to feel better, putting off other work to be here for me, they're all signs that somewhere in that black hole he calls a heart, he cares. It's endearing but scary too. I know what he does for people he cares about and what he'd do to make them protect him too.

"I'm okay… better," I assure him as I take another bite of food. Red meat and green, leafy vegetables are the best way to get my body to make more blood. That’s the only way to reverse this extreme fatigue, though I'm not sure how to combat the worst of the nausea except the Zofran, but the new doctor thinks that was a tummy bug. No new prescription for that.

"That's good…" He smiles, and it's a warm expression. "I was worried about you."

It's sweet of him to hover. Given any other circumstance, a man like this would be my dream. Waiting on me hand and foot—or having his staff do so because he's so wealthy he doesn't have tolift a finger. Both options are a dream come true. And the tender way he watches over me and wants me to do the right self-care habits the doctor gave me is slightly annoying but very caring. It's like I don't know who he is.

The image I have seared into my mind is the violent anger in his eyes when he saw that bloodied man. The flash of his fist all bruised and cut when his men dragged me back into the house after running. I know he hit that man. Who knows whether the man is alive now. And the way he shouted at me—it terrified me. How am I supposed to reconcile those images with the tenderness of this person sitting in front of me?

"You were?" I ask, disbelieving. It's such a stark contrast between his two selves. How can he be so extreme on both ends? Where is the balance? And would I ever be happy with a man right down that center line? Would he lean too far to the angry side and never be what I need? And why am I thinking like this instead of thinking about going home?

"Yes, I was. And I'm glad it's just exhaustion. I think we need to get you out of this room and do things you enjoy. I've given the order to my men to give you more liberty. A walk through the garden or a hot bath now and then. If you want to take a dip in the pool or stroll through my library and read, anything you want."

I take another bite of eggs and look up at his sincere expression. He's trying so hard for reasons I don't understand. Of course, I saved his life, but this isn't how a grateful man acts. This is how a man acts when he's in love. But is Ronan O'Rourke even capable of love? Is he even able to feel something for someone else at all other than contempt? And if this isn't love, which I highly doubt it is, then is it an attempt to manipulate me into staying so hedoesn't feel bad about it? So he feels like he has control over my emotions?

"Do you know what I really want? What do I really need?" My question is a very sincere one. Because I could love a dark man. I could love a man who has hangups and sins. I could even look past some of those horrible things if I thought for a single second that he actually cared about my heart and how I felt. That's what's important, not the actions he takes, but the sincerity of his feelings and how he responds to my feelings.

Ronan sits in quiet contemplation as I continue to eat. I cut the meat meticulously into bite-size pieces and chew thoughtfully. The meat is savory, melting on my tongue. The eggs are almost cold now, though not getting rubbery yet. The orange juice tastes fresh squeezed, and when I'm finally finished and I set my tray aside, he sighs and nods at me.

"I do know what you deeply want and need." There's a tone of resolve and yet disappointment as he speaks. I take the napkin and wipe my mouth before I speak again.

"And what do you feel like I want and need?"

I lean back against the headboard and pull the covers up over my chest. I'm cold, and I know it's what Dr. Butcher said, that my thyroid is adjusting to the shift in hormones. If I were prescribing things, it would be healthy food, good exercise, and regular hormone checks, but I can't reach out for those. The idea that I'm carrying his baby is still too frightening. I'm tormenting myself about how to handle all of this, especially since he seems so adamant that I have to stay here.

Ronan takes a deep breath and stands, walking over to the window. He slides his hands into his pockets and watchessomething going on outside. His shoulders are squared, but I can tell his attention is still on me. Like he's agonizing inside over what it means to me to live my own life outside of his complete control. I can't even say at this point that I'd run away anymore. Maybe I would return to my life as a doctor and still be at his beck and call for sex, or for surgery… Maybe.

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