It had taken a long time for Anna-Grace to relax around him. She’d been understandably wary of him. But he’d patiently outwaited her, slowly and carefully wearing down her defenses until she’d finally let him in.
But even so, she hadn’t confided her past until recently. Some hurts were too private. Too painful. Telling him hadn’t been a relief, like ripping a bandage away quickly. It had been the most difficult, most heartrending thing she’d ever done. And afterward, she hadn’t been able to face him for days. She’d hidden, embarrassed and mortified at what she’d confided in him.
Only when he’d forced a confrontation and been firm with her that nothing had changed between them, that he was still her friend, had she finally acted rationally and accepted his offer of . . . friendship.
She wasn’t a fool. She knew Wade’s interest had been more personal when they’d first met. But after she’d finally confided in him her terrifying past, he’d never again suggested there be anything more between them than close friendship.
Going forward he’d been her rock. Her best friend. Even as she chided herself for allowing anyone close to her, for trusting someone again, she’d been unable to help herself. She needed human contact. Twelve years of isolation had worn on her, beating her down and dragging her further and further away from humanity. Wade refused to let her continue to hide. He’d pushed her, encouraged her and refused to let her shut him out.
He called her name again.
Her eyelids flickered open and she frowned at the effort it took. The entire room was fuzzy and for a moment she forgot where she was. She turned her head to the side, seeking out Wade, and the pain that splintered through her head reminded her of just where she was. And why.
Tears welled, stinging her eyes. Weakly she lifted her hand, flailing outward in an attempt to grab Wade’s arm. Then his warm hand curled around hers and she was imbued with his strength and support.
“Thank God,” she whispered hoarsely.
She frowned harder when she heard her raspy voice. Her free hand flew to her throat to massage absently at the sore muscles. It felt as though her throat was nearly swollen shut. Remembering the huge hands wrapped around it, squeezing, nearly choking her time and time again, she understood why it hurt so badly now.
Her attacker had wanted her to believe she was dying. He’d closed off her airway until she nearly passed out, only to relax his grip so she could gulp in more air. Then he’d done it all over again until she’d lost count and had prayed to lose consciousness so she could escape her current hell.
“Wade?” she croaked.
He bent and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Yes, Anna-Grace, it’s me. You’re safe now. I swear it on my life.”
Tears streaked hotly down her cheeks and she gulped back a betraying sob.
“The police are here, sweetheart. They need to talk to you. Ask you some questions. I know you hurt. I know you’re tired. But it’s important that we catch the bastards who did this to you. If I help you sit up some, can you try to answer a few questions at least?”
Her heart pounded violently and her entire mouth went dry. Police? Questions?
She cast her fearful gaze to the side only to collide with two tall, somber looking men. Both wore short, clipped hair that made them look more military than plainclothes detectives.
“Miss Hill,” one of the detectives said politely. “My name is Detective Briggs and this is my partner, Detective Ramirez. We’d like to talk to you about the attack on you. Are you up to answering a few questions for us?”
She almost said no and took the coward’s way out. But determination gleamed in the policemen’s eyes and she got the impression that even had she said no they wouldn’t have simply given up and walked away.
So she nodded hesitantly.
“I’m not certain I’ll be of any help,” she said in a low voice. “It all happened so fast. I mean on one hand it seemed to last forever. I thought they were going to kill me. I thought I was going to die. I wanted to die,” she said painfully, closing her eyes in shame.
Beside her Wade cursed, and she could swear she heard it echoed from across the room.
“When I try to remember, it’s all one big blur. I don’t know who they are or what they wanted.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to accuse Zack. To tell them they should be questioning him. But she was too afraid of retaliation. She had to leave this city. She wasn’t safe here. He knew where she was. God, he’d said he’d looked for her. Why? Hadn’t he been determined to get rid of her? Or maybe the men who’d raped her were supposed to have killed her. Silence her for good. And for what? For loving him? What had she done so wrong that he would have such a terrible thing done to her?
She closed her eyes and more tears spilled over the swollen, scratchy rims of her eyes. Wade curled his hand around hers and squeezed reassuringly. Then he slid his arm behind her and eased her upward while telling one of the detectives to elevate the back of her bed.
A low whirring noise sounded and soon the bed was elevated enough that she could sit up without too much pain or discomfort.
But then she got a good look at her hospital room. Her gaze homed in on the two people who stood in the background, beyond the foot of the bed close to the door, and she froze, fear paralyzing every muscle in her body.
Completely stricken, she stared helplessly at the monster who’d haunted so many of her dreams. Standing beside a woman who was vaguely familiar to Anna-Grace. She let out a low whimper of terror and desperately clung to Wade’s hand, her only anchor in a sea of madness.
Her nightmare come to life was standing at the foot of her bed staring intently at her.
The man she’d loved with every fiber of her being. The man she’d given her heart and soul to. The man she’d saved herself for, vowing she’d never be with any other man, only to have that precious gift ripped from her in a violent, horrific, soul-shattering act.
Zack.
SIXTEEN
ZACK felt as though he’d been punched right in the gut. All his breath left him and pain rolled over and through his chest—his heart—and tightened every one of his nerve endings. As soon as Gracie’s gaze found him, her expression turned to one of stark fear . . . and then utter revulsion.
God, he couldn’t bear the fact that she thought . . . He couldn’t even repeat it to himself. The very idea of orchestrating her rape—the rape of any woman—was so repulsive that nausea rose from the depths of his stomach and swelled in his throat. What kind of sick bastard would do such a thing?