Breaking Her (Love is War #2)(30)

The detectives started talking to each other about me, voices pitched low, but not low enough.

Flynn had made clear early on that she thought the whole thing was a colossal waste of their time.

"She's the daughter of Renee Theroux and Jethro Davis," Flynn was saying. "Can we really believe any story she's spinning? What do you expect? Who knows what kind of trouble she got herself into, and with whom. Should we just take her word for it that some homeless guy that's been living in the woods just walked up and attacked her?"

I felt my face getting red, I was so angry.

"It's obvious she was attacked, and that there was a sexual assault," Harris replied. "Nothing else is relevant. We need to figure out who attacked her. And you know as well as I do that this isn't the first time we've gotten a report like this."

"So we're supposed to just start digging around in the woods and grab every homeless guy with a spot by the river?" Flynn said impatiently. "On her word? That girl gets into fights with everyone, all the damn time, now we have to investigate one of her altercations like she's a victim?"

"Yes, we have to investigate it. That's our job. This was an assault, not a fight. Don't forget, we do have evidence, and there are several sex offenders that have gone off the grid around here. Not to mention all of the unsolved cases we're sitting on. It wouldn't be bad for us, in general, to start checking out some of the transients that have set up shop along the water."

Was this what good cop, bad cop sounded like? I'd never experienced it before. All cops were bad to me.

And it didn't make sense. I couldn't figure out why they'd be using this tactic on a victim. Oh wait, that's what it was. Flynn had decided I wasn't one.

God, I hated cops. I hated that I'd even had to call the police, but I was furious and I wanted the creep caught.

"Fine," Flynn said curtly. "Let's get back to the station and start the paperwork."

"Okay. You go ahead. I'm going to have a quick word with her."

I watched Harris warily as he approached me again, looking apologetic. "I'll be back to follow-up soon." He set a card on the high nightstand beside the bed. "Call me if you need anything at all."

I nodded, chewing my lip and looking down at my hands. "Thanks, Detective Harris."

"Call me John."

I didn't particularly want to, but . . . "Thanks, John. Do you think this guy has done this before?"

"I think it's very likely we are dealing with a serial attacker, yes."

"Do you think you'll catch him?"

"As long as you cooperate, I'll make sure we do, Scarlett." That struck me as odd, but I was too distracted to think about it for long. "You take care. I'll be in touch."

He left, and Dante, finally, came in. He moved to me silently, looming over me, then softly took each one of my hands in his.

I couldn't even look at his face after the initial glance. It was like staring into an open wound. I was pissed, hurt, and embarrassed, and again, pissed, but he'd gone into another realm. I knew this was his worst nightmare.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice shaking.

"Yes," I said, because it was true. I'd been attacked, yes, but I knew that it could have ended much, much worse.

"Who was it?" he asked, and I'd known he would.

I closed my eyes. I didn't want to tell him. He was too far to losing it, and if he had a clue just how much the police did not give a damn about finding the guy, he would to do it himself, I knew it. "Don't," I said quietly. "The police will handle it." I didn't believe it myself, but that wasn't the point. "I'm just a little bruised and pissed off, okay? Let's not make this a big thing."

One of his warm hands had moved up to cup my cheek. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. "I don't know what to do. I feel so helpless."

I did not want to talk about it. It felt like I'd talked about it too much, but I figured it would be better to let him know what had really happened than to let him speculate and think the worst.

He gripped my hand a little too painfully amid the retelling, but stayed very quiet and still, and I knew without having to ask that he was going through his own personal hell.

Gram came in soon after. Between the two of them, they made a big enough fuss over me that I felt truly cared for, and, though I was embarrassed by it, I was comforted.

Dante stayed the night with me in the hospital room, even after an initial standoff with my nurse. I think she decided it just wasn't worth the trouble.

I was discharged the next day, and things were almost starting to feel normal again, or at least like normal was on its way.

We were talking as though nothing had happened, joking, teasing each other as I prepared to leave for home.

As Dante was helping me to dress, we had another bad moment when he saw my bruised torso.

I glanced down at my breasts. They were black and blue. No wonder they hurt so damn much.

Dante had been holding my bra but it dropped out of his hands, his breath gone ragged. "Jesus. Look what he did to you. I'll f*cking kill him."

The nurse walked in as he said that, and she sent him a startled look.

"I can't wear a bra right now," I said practically. "Just grab me a shirt."