“Tell me, Eve. Do I have any chance of making you trust me? And if asking for your trust is too much, will you at least accept the help I’m offering? Can you give me your word that you’ll stop running and give me—my brothers—the chance to help you?”
Slowly she nodded, though she wasn’t sure which part she’d agreed to. Maybe all of it. Maybe she already did trust him. Otherwise, would she be here? Not that she’d had much choice in the matter, but she hadn’t fought. Hadn’t even attempted to turn down his aid.
Satisfaction burned brightly in Donovan’s eyes, and his shoulders seemed to sag. In relief? He reached forward, touching her face with his fingertips, and she shivered at the warmth his touch provided. She was starved of affection. Of having someone touch her in such an intimate manner. Walt had touched her, yes, but every part of her had shriveled. She’d shrunk away from his touch, not wanting him anywhere near her. And Cammie. God. Nausea still rose in her stomach every time she imagined that precious little girl in the hands of a monster.
Thank God Travis had called her. Thank God for the maid who’d been willing to help them. If not for her, Cammie—and Travis—would still be under Walt’s control. Eve herself would be under his control. She shuddered at what could have been. What might have already been.
She’d questioned Travis and even Cammie, albeit very gently and very vaguely. She hadn’t wanted to traumatize Cammie, but she’d needed to know the extent of what Walt had done to her. If he’d ever touched her or, God forbid, gone even further. What kind of sick, twisted man could possibly do such a thing to his own daughter?
To make such overtures toward Eve was one thing. Sick, yes, but it wasn’t the same as forcing his attentions on a four-year-old daughter. He’d never made a secret of his distaste for Eve and the fact that she was his wife’s daughter from a previous marriage. Which made it hard for Eve to understand why Walt would suddenly make sexual overtures toward her. Maybe it had always been there. Maybe it was why he’d gone to such measures to control every aspect of Eve’s life. Perhaps he’d always planned to get rid of his wife as soon as she gave him the daughter he wanted. Which made Eve wonder why he’d wanted another child. Was it so he’d have his own plaything? An outlet for his twisted desires?
She couldn’t even dwell on it further because it made her sick to her soul.
“What are you thinking about, honey?”
Donovan’s gentle voice broke through the horror of her thoughts and brought her back to reality. She blinked, finding his gaze. He was staring thoughtfully at her, his brow furrowed as if he were trying to see inside her mind and know what she was thinking.
“H-him,” she stammered out, fighting back the wave of revulsion even speaking of him caused. She couldn’t bring herself to say his name. As if by saying it he would be conjured up and standing in the room with her.
He stroked her cheek, cupping her chin with a tender grasp.
“I don’t want you to think of him any longer. He can’t hurt you here. I won’t allow him near you or your brother and sister.”
She nodded, but the horror had yet to fade. In retelling Donovan everything, the first she’d spoken of the chain of events to anyone, the memories burned bright in her mind. Grief over losing her mother welled in her soul and threatened to overwhelm her. Months of running, of being afraid that at any moment Walt would find them and take them back had beaten her down until weariness—bone-deep fatigue—had blanketed her, suffocating her until she could barely breathe.
“You need to rest,” Donovan said gently. “And I need to get some food down Travis and Cammie. Want to help me wake them up and see if they’re up to eating? I thought you could sit with Cammie while she eats, and I’ll take Travis his food and give him another dose of pain medication after he eats.”