Page 113 of Protected from Malice
“I have his photo. His license. With Tyler’s help, we can find him anywhere.” My jaw grinds painfully as I continue, “I wanted to… Here. You know. But it’s her work. There are too many people…”
“I know.” Something hard thuds. “Shit. I know.”
“I can handle it. You know I can. Fuck. I want to.”
Part of me cautions to hide this from Eden. The dirty, bloody part that most people wouldn’t approve of. But she accepted it before. If we’re going to have a future together, which I damn well hope we will, I don’t want to start it with lies.
Will I tell her the details of it? Of course not. But when Kurt Wilson mysteriously disappears, she’ll know, anyway.
After a brief pause, Indy says, “I know you can. But she’s my sister. I wasn’t there for her before. This time…I’mtaking care of it.”
“Okay.” I kiss Eden’s head. “We’ll talk more about it later. Right now, I’m getting Eden out of here. We’ll be home shortly.”
Indy’s silent for a second. Then his exhaled breath gusts over the phone. “Thank you, Wayne. For protecting my sister. I can’t tell you—” He stops.
“I know.” As I kiss Eden again, my chest goes tight. “I love her. And I’ll do anything for her.” Swallowing against the lump in my throat, I add, “I’ll send Tyler the photos. We’ll be back soon.”
Once I end the call, I hug Eden and ask gently, “Are you ready to go home? We can sneak around the back so you don’t have to see anyone. Would that be okay?”
She nods. Then she lifts her gaze to mine. “Thank you, Rafe.” She stretches up to press her salty lips against mine. “I love you, too.”
CHAPTER 19
EDEN
“Doyou want anything else to eat, Eden?”
Rafe covers my hand and gives it a little squeeze. “I can grab you another cinnamon roll,” he offers, “or some more of that hickory smoked bacon.”
As I turn to look at him, I notice the lines that have been carved into his features for the last couple of weeks are nearly gone. His eyes are brighter. Happier. The weight dragging down his shoulders seems to have eased.
Seeing the difference in his demeanor from when we got here to now makes some of my own lingering anxiety fade.
When we arrived at the Refuge last week, it was impossiblenotto know how worried he was. It was in everything he said and did—how he hovered around me, protectively tucking me against him whenever anyone he didn’t know came near, how he constantly checked to see if I needed anything, if I felt okay, if I needed to talk to the counselor again… And it was the look in his eyes. Not just worried, but fearful. Like he was afraid I’d be yanked away from him at any moment.
I get why he’s been concerned about me—if the positions were reversed, I’d be worried sick about him—but I can’t help feeling bad about it, too. I don’t want him worrying all the time. I don’t want him feeling guilty over something that wasn’t remotely his fault.
He couldn’t have known about Kurt Wilson. No one could. Icertainly never dreamt that I’d come face to face with my attacker right there at work. Not as an employee, but the fraternity brother of the owner’s son; just visiting for a weekend like he’d been doing periodically for years.
Just as he’d been that night nearly two and a half years ago, when he happened to be walking across the parking lot at the same time as me. When he decided to take something that never should have been his just because he could.
Is it still hard to think about? Absolutely. In the days following our chance meeting in the employee lounge, it felt like I’d been thrown right back to those first, horrible daysafter. When I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t hear a simple noise like the heat kicking on or an incoming text chiming without jolting in fear.
So I certainly understand why Rafe was worried about me.Iwas worried about me.
That’s why we’re here at the Refuge, a retreat in New Mexico for people struggling with extreme PTSD. Rafe knows the guys who run the place; in particular, two former Night Stalkers he worked and trained with, Owl and Spike.
Those aren’t their real names, of course. Owl is Callen and Spike is Gus, but I’ve discovered they tend to go by their nicknames more often than not.
Although I know Indy and Rafe’s old nicknames, I can’t imagine using them myself. Indy has always been Indy, save for the times growing up when I’d call him jerk or bossy or my personal favorite when I wanted to insinuate that he farted,Windy. And Rafe is just Rafe. My Rafe. The man who’s become everything to me.
That’s why, when he brought up the idea of coming to the Refuge for a couple of weeks, I agreed, even though I really didn’t want to take a break from my research. Rafe staged a mini-intervention of sorts, with Indy there as backup, as he earnestly explained all the reasons it was a good idea.
“You’ve been through a lot of trauma,” he reminded me gently, “and it’s normal for your body to struggle with that. For your PTSD to flare up. You’re not getting enough sleep, Eden. You pick at your food. And your nightmares…” Agony darkened his gaze. “Itkillsme to hear you suffering through them.”
“You can’t expect to just go back to work like nothing happened,” Indy added. “You say you want to finish up your project, but I’m worried being back in that building will make you sick.”
“Just a couple of weeks,” Rafe coaxed. “I’ll go with you. We’ll take long walks. The scenery there is gorgeous. They have a barn with all these animals you can visit and help take care of. And Owl tells me the food is fantastic. That it’s guaranteed to bring back anyone’s appetite.”
