‘I figured. Nobody’s contacted me. Thank you, Uncle Trace. I owe you.’
‘Don’t say that, Scarlett,’ he warned. ‘You might not like the marker I call in.’
She sighed. He’d ask her to come back to the Church. She knew it. Right now, she was so grateful to him for finding the women that she felt it was the least she could do. ‘I’ll get to Saint Barbara’s as soon as I can.’
She threw the cop clothes on her bed and picked out a pretty sundress and flats. She got dressed, brushed her teeth, grabbed her hairbrush and went in search of Marcus.
‘Marcus?’ she called, going down the stairs, but there was no answer. She checked her garage, but her car was there. She’d seen from her bedroom window that the Tank was in the driveway, so unless he’d taken a cab or called someone to get him, he was still here somewhere.
‘Zat? Here, boy. Wanna go outside?’ But there was no staccato sound of her three-legged dog running to go for a walk. When she got to the kitchen, she saw the remnants of a sandwich, so at least Marcus wasn’t hungry, wherever he’d gone.
The only place she hadn’t looked was the basement, and sure enough, the hook-and-eye latch was open. She’d installed it the day she’d gotten Zat, worried that she’d accidentally leave the door open and he’d tumble down the steep steps. The house was so old that none of the staircases were built to code, and the staircase to the basement was the worst.
She started down the stairs, relieved to see Zat curled up on the rug at the bottom. She’d started to call Marcus’s name, when she heard a sound that silenced her. Hard thuds, interspersed with the vilest curses she’d ever heard, uttered by the most beautiful voice she’d ever known. She got to the bottom of the stairs and watched him, not sure how to approach him.
Marcus was shirtless and shoeless, wearing only a pair of gym shorts that were soaked with sweat and her brother Phin’s boxing gloves. Sweat poured off his body as he pounded the ever-living hell out of Phin’s old punching bag. He must have found the hook that had come with it, and screwed it into the ceiling beam.
She winced at the sight of his broad back. A big bruise covered a quarter of his skin, the result of the bullet that had been stopped by his Kevlar vest the morning before. He didn’t seem to be letting that hold him back, though. She had to admire the athleticism it took to keep the punching bag at a constant angle, but worried that he’d hurt his hands, even while wearing the gloves.
Abruptly he stopped, leaning against the bag, hugging it awkwardly as his shoulders sagged. ‘I can smell honeysuckle,’ he said quietly, his breaths coming hard and fast.
‘I woke up and you were gone.’
‘I couldn’t sleep. I walked your dog. Fixed the leaking sink in the kitchen. The dripping was driving me fucking nuts.’
‘Thank you.’ She took a step closer, but he lifted one gloved hand.
‘Don’t. Don’t touch me. Please.’ The ‘please’ sounded shaky, almost like a sob.
‘Marcus?’ she said gently, respecting his wish for the moment. ‘Is it Phillip? Or Edgar?’
‘No. They’re both still unconscious.’
‘Then what are you doing?’
‘Had to work it out.’
‘Work what out, baby?’ she asked, although she thought she knew. I shouldn’t have pushed about that damn gun. He told me he was putting it away. That should have been enough.
But even as she said the words in her mind, she knew they weren’t true. Marcus needed to confront whatever was haunting him.
He lifted his head, looked around the room without looking at her. ‘What is all this stuff? You’ve got gym-quality equipment here.’
She walked around him, giving him a wide berth, and sat down on the weight bench he’d found in the back room. He’d found the weight set as well. She tallied the sum of the plates at a glance and bit back a frown. He’d been lifting far more weight than a man without a spotter should have been.
‘It was all Phin’s.’
He still wasn’t looking at her. ‘Your brother. The one with PTSD that left home.’
‘Yes. My twin. When he cleared out, he didn’t take anything with him. All this stuff was the contents of his apartment. It was either bring it here or have the landlord haul it to the dumpster. I keep hoping Phin will come home and reclaim it.’
Marcus leaned his forehead against the bag. ‘I hope for your sake he does. For his sake too.’
Scarlett needed him ready to roll, physically and emotionally, but she knew that right now, that wasn’t a possibility. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘This is my fault. You weren’t ready to answer my questions about that stupid gun and I forced you. I’m sorry, Marcus.’
He shook his head, his forehead a pivot point against the bag. ‘No, it’s not your fault. It’s mine. You had every right to ask. I just didn’t know how to tell you.’
‘But you did. You were a terrified child and it was your talisman.’ She winced. ‘I hope it wasn’t loaded when you put it under your pillow.’
He pushed off the bag to lean against the wall, sinking to sit on the floor, elbows on his bent knees. Just as he’d done yesterday when he’d talked Stone down from whatever episode his brother had had. And just like yesterday, she joined him there, sliding down the wall to sit beside him. She tucked her knees under the full skirt of the sundress.
‘You’re pretty in that dress,’ he whispered.
‘Thank you.’ She didn’t tell him why she’d dressed this way. Not yet. ‘Talk to me, Marcus. Please. I want to help you.’
‘To fix me, like all those broken chairs upstairs, or rescue me like your mutt? He’s a nice dog, by the way. He likes salami.’
Her lips curved. ‘It gives him gas. I’ll let him sleep on your side of the bed tonight.’
He huffed a weary chuckle, then bowed his head. ‘God, I’m fucked up.’
‘Then let me help un-fuck you,’ she said, and he laughed, but it sounded forced. Feeling helpless, she stroked his arm and he pulled away.
‘I’m sweaty. Your dress is too pretty to be messed up.’
‘I have others, and I don’t mind sweat.’ Tentatively she stroked him again, shoulder all the way down his arm to his glove. She tugged at the Velcro strap and pulled it off, then repeated it with the other. ‘Let me see your hands.’ She held them to the light. ‘Oh Marcus, your knuckles are already starting to swell. Stay here and don’t hit anything else.’
She slipped into the basement’s utility room and sent a quick text to her uncle saying they’d hit a snag and would be at least an hour later than she’d expected, then lifted the lid of the big chest freezer that had come with the house and rearranged the microwave meals and bags of frozen veggies until she found a couple of gel packs. Her phone buzzed as she closed the freezer lid, a text from her uncle telling her not to worry, that the women had fallen asleep and that he’d watch over them.
Secure in Trace’s word, she returned to sit in front of Marcus, putting the ice packs on his knuckles and watching him wince. He said nothing for several minutes, so neither did she. Finally she took the ice packs off and kissed his knuckles, one at a time, and felt him shudder.
‘Marcus, I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.’
‘You can’t help me.’
The finality of his statement made her heart ache. ‘Then let me hurt with you.’
He lifted his head, unshed tears in his eyes. ‘I won’t do that to you.’
She got on her knees and took his face in her hands. ‘I won’t give up.’ She kissed him softly. ‘I can’t give up. I don’t know how. My mother always said I was intractable. All those cop genes. But I can wait until you’re ready to tell me.’
He pulled free of her touch, but gently, bowing his head again, his hands hanging limply between his knees. ‘The kidnapping was an inside job,’ he said, startling her.
‘That’s what the newspapers said, that one of the kidnappers was thought to be part of a handyman crew working in your apartment.’
‘My father hired them.’
Her gut did a queasy roll at the tone of his voice, remembering how bitter he’d been when he talked about his father. Which was the start of the emotional distance that led up to this. This was not going to be good. ‘Hired them how?’