Royce nodded. “In the mountains, along that side road you shot out of onto the highway in front of me.”
“Did I?” Megan swallowed. “I...I never saw you.”
“I know...now.” His smile was faint, but encouraging. “Please, go on.”
“We had a great reunion, and a lovely dinner.” She paused, and then rushed on. “I had two glasses of wine, but that's all, only the two small glasses.”
“Easy.” His tone soothed. “I got the results of your blood-alcohol test.”
Megan released the breath she'd been holding, relieved to know that at least she wouldn't be facing a drunk-driving citation in addition to yesterday's experience.
“Continue,” he said gently.
“After dinner, my friends decided to stay for the music, do a little dancing. I...I was tired, and said I'd pass on the entertainment. I left...and...” Megan shut her eyes as memory swirled, filling her mind with a replayed image. “The parking lot was already filled when I'd arrived, and I had to park way in the back, at the edge of the forest,” she explained in a reedy whisper. “But when I left, the lot had emptied out. My car was the only one back there.”
Megan hesitated, drawing in short, panting breaths. With her inner eyes, she could see the lot, see her car, see herself hurrying to the car, unlocking it, sliding behind the wheel, inserting the key in the ignition even as she tugged on the door to pull it shut.
“I was closing the car door when...suddenly it was yanked wide open again...jerking my arm...pulling me down and sideways, nearly out of the car.” Her breathing was now shallow, quick, and the words were tumbling out of her parched throat.
“Then there was a large shape looming into the opening. A hairy-backed hand grabbed my shoulder...shoved me down...and back inside.” She was trembling, uncontrollably, and she was unaware of her fingernails digging into the flesh of the hand clasping hers. “My face...the side of my face scraped the steering wheel as I was pushed down...down...”
Reliving the horror, Megan didn't hear the door to her room open, didn't notice the figure of Dr. Hawk standing just inside the door, quiet, watchful, poised to go into action should she deem her patient in need of her attention.
“He was all over me!” she cried in a terrified croak. “The hand that had grabbed my shoulder moved down to clutch at my breast! His...his other hand...” She was gasping now, barely able to articulate. “He shoved that hand between my legs!”
“I'm here. You're safe.”
Soft. Rock-steady. Royce's voice penetrated the ballooning fog of panic permeating Megan's mind. The fog retreated. Her entire body shaking from reactive tremors, she clung desperately to his hand and purged the poison from her system.
“Somehow I managed to work one of my legs up, between his. I...I...rammed my knee into his groin! He cried out, 'you bitch!' and hit me, in the face... Then he pulled back...just enough so that I could raise my leg farther. I worked my foot up to his belly. And then...and then, I pushed again, as hard as I could. He...he fell back, onto the macadam.”
“Go on.”
“I—I—” Megan choked, coughed, sniffed, swiped her free hand over cheeks wet from tears she was unaware of having shed. “I...don't remember, exactly. I turned the key as I struggled up, behind the wheel. I drove away from there...from him...with the door wide open. I don't know when or where I thought to pull it shut. All I knew, all I could think, was that I had to get away!”
Megan heard wrenching sobs, and didn't even know they came from her tight, aching throat.
“I don't remember hitting the guardrail!” She blinked, stared, and found sanctuary in the compassion-filled blue eyes staring back at her.
“I don't re— I don't re—”
“It's over,” he inserted in a low, calming voice. “It doesn't matter. Let it go.”
“Yes. Yes.” Megan's chin dropped onto her chest, and she began to cry, not harsh, wracking sobs, but a quiet weeping of utter exhaustion.
They let her cry, the state cop and the doctor, let her weep the catharsis of healing tears.
Megan fell asleep with her hand still gripping his.
Three
Damn, she was tall!
Megan Delaney was being released from the hospital this morning. Royce had offered to drive her home.
He felt a tingling thrill of pleasure as he stared at the woman standing next to the hospital bed—a thrill of pleasure that contained a hint of attraction. Being so tall himself, Royce did appreciate height in a woman, but there was more entailed here, something beyond mere appreciation, something Royce didn't want to examine or even acknowledge.
The very fact that he was taking pleasure from such a simple thing as a woman's height startled Royce. What did Megan's height have to do with anything? he asked himself, frowning in consternation. And the other underlying sensation...that didn't bear thinking about.
Dismissing his reaction and the unmentionable accompanying sensation as unimportant, Royce focused on Megan Delaney. Yes, she was tall, and she was unquestionably attractive, but at the moment every inch of her slender form was taut, visibly tense.
Royce repressed the sigh that rose to tighten his throat. Megan had gone through an extremely nasty experience, and it showed.
Royce recalled that, during her stuttered and disjointed recitation, he had been shaken by a startling conflict in the emotions tearing at his senses and sensibilities. His intellect had been outraged by the disclosure of the details of the attack on Megan. Assailed by fury, he had had to impose restraint on an overriding urge to jump up and dash from the room to search out, find and personally destroy the bastard who had terrorized her.
At one and the same time, his emotions had responded in an unprecedented way to a sudden and strong sense of attraction at the touch of her hand clinging to his.
Though Royce had pushed aside the unusual sensation then, as he did now, the memory lingered, a wisp of flotsam tossed about by an overwhelming wave of compassion.
Royce felt a deep, almost compulsive need to help her, in some way to ease the frightening mental and emotional aftereffects he knew she was suffering.
Frustration ate away at Royce like acid; Megan looked so damn vulnerable.
But how to help? The question had nagged at Royce for more than twenty-four hours. What could he do? He was a trained law-enforcement officer, but that certainly did not qualify him to deal with in-depth mental or emotional problems.
The only options that presented themselves to Royce seemed puny weapons of combat in relation to the magnitude of the inner battle tormenting Megan.
He could extend his hand for grasping. He could volunteer as a shield of law between her and the world at large. He could offer his strength as protection.
Puny, indeed, but...wait, Royce thought
