Anger and lust boxed for dominance inside him. No, she'd never thanked him. Not in the hall of the police station and not with a phone call afterward. But then again, what would that apology have sounded like? Thank you for fucking me for over five hours, or else I wouldn't have had a solid alibi. He smirked. Yeah, he'd pay good money to hear those words on her oh-so-genteel lips.
"The papers said you claim to have no memory of what happened. Is that true?"
Her lashes lowered, her teeth sinking into the plush curve of her bottom lip. He'd licked her right there where the skin became tender, slick, and wet.
"Yes, it's true. The doctors believe my memory may return at some point, but they can't say when or for certain. As of now, it's a huge black hole."
Interesting. "Go on about the letters."
"They continued to arrive, and I finally notified the police. They collected the ones I kept but they really couldn't-can't-do anything."
"Their hands are pretty tied with what they can do. If no threats were made in the letters-just names-all they can do is file a report, because they would consider it harassment," he explained. "Do you still have a couple?"
"Yes, I have the two from last week."
"Good," he murmured, his mind already turning over options. The police were constrained not just by the law but by budget, time, and resources. An anonymous letter wouldn't rank very high in importance when compared with a murder, rape, or assault. But Rafe could send them to a private forensic laboratory his firm occasionally used and see if the technician could find prints, saliva, or any evidence on the letter or envelope. "Have the letters been the only form of contact? Anything else?"
"Yes. Until today. I figured before now the person sending the letters was some disgruntled, bitter fanatic with time on their hands and a grudge against people they considered ‘rich.' But after this morning … " She crossed her arms, and the defensive gesture wasn't lost on him. Her folded arms covered her midsection where the baby slept. He gritted his teeth against the wave of protectiveness that surged within him. "When I left for my doctor's appointment this morning, my car had been broken into. The side window was shattered, my tires slashed, and on the driver's seat was another letter and a d-doll," she stuttered. "The eyes had been removed, the lips blackened with what looked like a black marker, and the body torn open."
Horror and shock punched a hole in his gut. A hot, blazing anger quickly filled it up like lava gushing up a volcano and pouring over the lip. He shot to his feet and stalked away from his desk, dragging his fingers through his hair. Son of a bitch. Son. Of. A. Bitch. A mutilated doll, for chrissake. Who would do something so-so sick? This was more than an intimidating letter; this was a direct threat against not only Greer but her baby. An innocent baby.
"Did you call the police?" he rapped out.
"Immediately. They took our statements, pictures, filed a report, and bagged the doll for evidence. They said they'll open an investigation and have the patrol cars in the area drive by our house as well as do a few walk-throughs. But I don't hold out hope they'll find anything."
She was right to be concerned. With the vandalism of her car, the harassment would have escalated to criminal mischief, and the police could do a little more, but not much. The officers in that sector would pay special attention to the area, circle the house a few times on foot, maybe take down the license plate numbers of the vehicles in the area. Hell, serial killer David Berkowitz was eventually caught as the result of parking tickets, so the routine wasn't pointless or just lip service to calm her. But they would only keep it up for a week or so, and the person behind the letters and the latest, more personal act seemed patient. Four months he'd been pursuing Greer. What was a week's time-out?
"Does your brother's building have a security camera?"
"Yes, but my car was parked farther down the block from his home."
"Which this person knew." He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, swore softly. "We can install cameras in the windows of his house that face farther down the street as well as in his and your car. It's a long shot, but if this bastard comes back, maybe we can catch an image."
"Whoever this is-he knows where I've been staying, maybe even my movements. Raphael," she murmured. "I know I'm the very last person you expected to see or probably want to see. But … " She paused, and for the first time a tremor entered her voice, betraying her fear. "I'm scared. And I don't know who else to turn to. The police can only do so much, and I could hire someone for protection, but I don't … trust as easily as I have in the past. I don't trust that whoever I hired wouldn't leak what's going on with the letters and threats to the press. Paranoid? Yes. But I've just gotten my life back … " She shook her head. "We don't know each other that well, but you've stood up for me-protected me-in the past. I hoped … I'm asking a lot of you, I know."
No, she had no clue what she was asking of him. She couldn't begin to fathom how her presence-who she was, the news of a pregnancy, claiming he was the father-was dragging him back into an abyss he'd barely managed to crawl out of the first time.
"Rafe, don't get me wrong. We had a lot of fun. But you're not marriage material, much less father material."
The incredulous words replayed in his head on a vicious loop. He could recall the disdain and pity-fucking pity-in that soft, cultured voice as if he'd heard them seven minutes ago instead of seven years.
He'd been deceived, played for a fool, then left shattered as he stood helpless, watching his joy-his fucking heart-stride out the door. And he'd paid one hell of a price. His soul couldn't afford to pay the cost again. He couldn't endure it again. He refused to do it again.
Yet, damn it, he couldn't just walk away. Not with the very real threat to her looming in the darkness. Without knowing how serious the danger behind the letters and mutilated doll was, he couldn't throw her to the wolves. Or an inept security agency. Besides, as much as he resented it, he was personally invested. He'd been inside her body, kissed her, pleasured her. Held her while she trembled in orgasm. He wasn't that much of an asshole to abandon her now. Especially if there was a chance …
No! Not going down that road.
Shit. The need to strangle the breath from the person responsible for the threats bombarded him. Hell if he could decide whether the desire to hurt and maim stemmed from the cowardly stalking or the clusterfuck the bastard had brought into his life. Growling a curse under his breath, he retraced his steps and dropped into his desk chair.
"You're going to be okay. I'm not going to let anything happen to you or your baby. I promise."
He caught her slight flinch before she controlled it. Wondered if she recoiled because of his deliberate attempt to distance himself from her and the child she claimed was his. Hurt she would've most likely denied flashed in her eyes before they, too, cleared of all emotion.
"Thank you," she murmured. "Another reason why I came to you? You're the scariest person I know."
He arched an eyebrow. "Baby, you'll turn my head with such flattery."
She snorted, but relief softened her features, edging out the traces of fear and weariness. Her mouth eased into a small half smile.
Fuck.
There went that indigestion again.
Chapter Seven
For the first time since Greer had woken up next to a dead body with a gaping hole in her memory months earlier, safety wasn't a distant memory but a real possibility. Relief flooded her, and if she hadn't already been sitting down in Raphael's office chair, her knees would've weakened, taking her to the floor.
Thank God for small favors, because the last thing she wanted was to embarrass herself in front of him. Not that strolling into his office after not having any contact with him in months and announcing she was carrying his baby had been a proud moment. More like one of the more humiliating in her life. And considering all she'd suffered since the December night she'd found her ex-fiancé stabbed to death on the floor of her apartment, that was a pretty high bar.
Not that he believed her.
Damn, she hadn't expected that. Or the pain his skepticism inflicted. " … it seems more likely he would be the father than me." "I'm not going to let anything happen to you or your baby." "I used protection, Greer."