to clean apartments and do odd jobs to earn money for food.
Which is how Jaci had learned of her.
Where the heck was Justin?
Merlene’s boyfriend released her long enough to open the rear door of his vehicle. And that’s all it took. With a look of absolute panic she lunged at Jaci, clamping her arms tightly behind Jaci’s neck. “Don’t let him take me,” she cried out.
Jaci slid her left arm around Merlene’s waist and plunged her right hand into her pocket to retrieve the canister of pepper spray she’d placed there earlier. “You are not going anywhere without me,” Jaci said. Meaning it. Prepared to do anything within her power to keep Merlene safe.
The first blow struck Jaci in the left posterior ribs, an intense, stabbing pain only minimally less severe than the closed-fisted punch to the right upper arm that felt like it shattered her proximal humerus.
The pepper spray clattered on the asphalt.
He was strong. Angry. And not wasting his time with words.
Well, Jaci was no stranger to the pain of abuse. And if Merlene could deal with it day after day, Jaci could put up with it until Justin arrived. She wound her other arm around Merlene’s waist, locking her fingers together, and took a stand.
“Don’t hit her,” Merlene pleaded, releasing Jaci, trying to push her away.
“No.” Jaci tried to hold on. The over-sized bully grabbed her by the wrists, wrenched her hands apart, and pushed her to the side in the same manner he’d probably treat a pesky toddler. The force made her stumble. Her heel caught the edge of a huge pothole filled with water and she went down with a splash. Both hands slapped the cracked, pebble-ridden pavement. Stung. Pain shot through her right arm, which gave out.
Merlene screamed.
The flashing lights of a police cruiser lit up the sky, its headlights illuminating Jaci where she lay.
She tried to get up. “Stay down,” Justin yelled, running from his vehicle. His weapon drawn, aimed at Merlene’s boyfriend. “Release her,” Justin ordered.
Once free, Merlene ran to Jaci and dropped to the ground beside her. “I’m sorry. So sorry,” she cried.
“It’s not your fault,” Jaci said, putting her left arm around Merlene’s shoulders. “You’re safe now.”
Another car sped into the parking lot.
Carla ran toward them. “Are you okay?”
“How did you get here so fast?” Jaci asked.
“When you didn’t show up on time I thought you were in trouble. I was already on my way when I called.”
And that’s why she loved Carla. “Merlene needs medical treatment,” Jaci said.
“What about you?”
“I’m fine. Sore, but fine.”
“Let me help you,” a vaguely familiar masculine voice offered as large hands grabbed her from behind and lifted her to standing position.
Jaci couldn’t control a yelp of pain at the pressure on the exact spot where she’d been punched minutes earlier.
“I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her. “I didn’t mean—”
“You are not fine,” Carla yelled.
“He hit her,” Merlene sobbed. “Her arm might be broken.”
“That son of a bitch hit you?” the man asked with rage in his voice.
“Nothing’s broken. See.” She lifted her arm overhead and across her chest, despite the pain, to prove to Carla she was fine.
“Stay here.” The man stormed over to Justin who yelled, “I told you to stay in the car.”
That’s when recognition dawned. The broad shoulders filling out his dark windbreaker. The confident stride, camouflage pants and short military-style haircut.
Another one-two punch, this one invisible, knocked the wind from her lungs.
Ian Eddelton.
A good friend and, when he was in town, an occasional roommate of Justin’s, making him her on-again, off-again upstairs neighbor. He’d been her good friend, too, or so she’d thought. Until she’d thrown sex and the word ‘marriage’ into the mix and he’d run like she’d asked for a kidney donation then whipped out a salad fork and a steak knife intending to harvest the organ right there on her bed.
That was the last time she’d seen or spoken to him, supporting her brother’s claim that no man in his right mind would willingly marry her without a monetary incentive. Men wanted her money and/or her body, but no one wanted her.
Jerk.
Jaci wiped the rain from her face. “I’m going home,” she said to Carla. “I’ll stop by the center tomorrow to exchange cars.”
Carla touched her wrist gently. “Are you sure you don’t need an X-ray?”
“I’m sure.” Even if she did, she wouldn’t go to the hospital now, couldn’t risk anyone recognizing her or associating her name with an actual crisis center rescue. Because anonymity kept her safe. Because socialites on the fundraising circuit didn’t dirty their hands with actual in-the-trenches work. Because Jerald X. Piermont III would have an absolute hissy-fit if his wayward sister wound up in the online gossip blogs. Again.
Knowing Carla would see to Merlene, and Justin would see to Merlene’s butt of a boyfriend, Jaci headed for the car. Suddenly chilled, she needed to get home to warm up with a hot bath and a cup of tea.
She wrapped her arms around her middle to contain a shaky, uneasy feeling.
“Funny,” Ian said from behind her. “I never took you for the type to slink off under the cover of darkness.”
“No. That’s your M.O.” She picked up her pace.
“I told Justin I’d drive you home,” he said, ignoring her retort. “He’ll stop by your place tomorrow to take your statement of what happened.”
She turned on him. “Why are you here?”
“Justin asked me to bring him some dry clothes down at the station. I was there when your friend called.” He held out his hand. “Give me your keys.”
Home from Iraq for at least three weeks and it’d taken a coincidence and a call for help to get him to talk to her? “Go to hell.” Jaci turned, took the last few steps to the car, and opened the door.
Ian stopped her from climbing in with a gentle hand on her waist which he used to ease her back into his chest. “I’ve already been there,” he said just loud enough for her to hear. “I’m sorry I left the way I did.”
No one was sorrier than Jaci.
Because
