Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(101)

With his digital camera in hand that documented every bump and bruise that mars her, he moves my way. “You guys can head out, but I have to stay while they process the scene. The FBI agents in charge are also headed in right now.”

“FBI?” I startle at the word. “What does the FBI want with this?” I rack my brain and can only make assumptions.

“I had the same question when Ms. Sanders asked me to contact them.” He shakes his head. “I got off the phone with them a few moments ago, and it seems the senator was under investigation for some things. Ms. Sanders here was the one who gave them the information to bring him down.” His smile is tight, his expression stoic, as my mind races out of control. “You didn’t hear that from me, but it might help to explain things a bit more.”

I stare at him as if I’m really listening. As the past few weeks and Vaughn’s sudden changes in demeanor run through my mind. Is this what was going on the whole time? Was she a pawn in this game of theirs?

Then it hits me: the call log.

Is that what this is all about?

So many questions but none that I can ask him, so I just nod as if what he said makes sense when it abso-fucking-lutely doesn’t.

I look over to where the officer is finishing up with Vaughn. The white bathrobe swamping her frame and making her seem so innocent is in contrast to the red welt on her cheek.

“How’s she doing?” I ask, hating that they want me away from her while they interview and question and document what that bastard did to her.

“She’s a tough cookie, I’ll give her that. He’s got a good hundred pounds on her, and she held him off. If it weren’t for you, though . . .” He shakes his head and glances back at her.

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“Neither do I. You’re free to go now, Vaughn,” he says and then moves over to the scene investigators.

I watch her move toward me. Her gait seems a little ginger, and her soft smile is one of reassurance that I’ll tell her I don’t need, but hell if it doesn’t make me feel a little bit better seeing it.

“You okay?”

“I think I’ve been asked that a hundred times in the past hour.” She smiles a bit wider. “I’ve been better.”

“Well, at least you’re honest.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and gently pull her against me. A million questions run through my mind, but I know now is not the time or place. “The detective said the FBI is on their way.”

She tenses momentarily and nods. “Mmm-hmm. There’s so much I need to tell you.”

I bet there is.

And it kills me to know that whatever the hell was going on, she was going through it alone. That she couldn’t tell me. That I couldn’t help her. That I wasn’t the one protecting her from it all.

But I shove it down.

“Let’s get you home,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

“I need—I need a few minutes to myself, please.”

There are people from the crime scene milling in the hallway, but I turn to look at her. My hands are on her face, my eyes level with hers. She still looks scared, still lost, still traumatized, and I hate that I don’t know what the fuck to do to help her right now.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you. Do you want me to drive you home? Do you want my driver to take you home so you can have some time to yourself on the way there, and I’ll follow alone? Do you want me to ride beside you and just hold on and not let go?”

The third has my vote, because her being out of touching range isn’t an option for me . . . but this isn’t about me right now. This is about giving her whatever she needs so she can manage her emotions.

This is about her having some kind of control in this situation when I’m sure she feels like she has none.

“Will you stay with me?” she asks, her voice trembling and my goddamn heart breaking.

“You’re not going to get rid of me that easy,” I murmur and press a kiss to her forehead.

“I still need to be alone. To process. To . . . to just—I don’t know.”

“Okay. Whatever you need, Vaughn.”

“Can you have Al take me home while you grab your things? I just . . . I just need a shower and to be in my place . . . and I want to know you have what you need to stay a few days with me.”

I fight back the tears that threaten when I don’t fucking cry. Vaughn’s vulnerability is such a foreign thing on her that I hate seeing it.

I hate that this fucker did that to her.

I hate that I let him.

“Of course,” I finally say when I collect my cool enough to be able to speak. “Of course.”





CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Vaughn

Al doesn’t drive very far before everything hits me.

Six blocks maybe before the tears come.

All of them.

The scared-shitless ones.

The self-pity ones.

The I-was-almost-raped ones.

The ones for the concern on Ryker’s face when he looks at me.

I’m lying across the rear seat of the town car, my palms on the leather, my face on the backs of my hands as my shoulders heave and my soul hurts.

And I cry for what almost happened and what could have happened.