Guard of Honor by Tracie Delaney

Chapter Eight

I took a major step forward in my recovery today. I went outside. Not into the yard. That doesn’t count. No, I actually set foot outside my front door. There was a kid across the street getting told off by his mom, and cars driving up and down. I could smell the city, almost taste the sheer life force of it. I’ve dreamed of this day, never imagining I’d get here.

And it’s all down to Mack. He’s made a difference in such a short space of time. He’s brusque and curt, and gentle and tender. The contrariness of it all is messing with my head. But I’m beginning to trust him. I shouldn’t. He’s all but a stranger. But I am. It helps because Papa trusts him. Or maybe it’s because he’s the one person in my life who truly understands me. I want to ask him more about his own experience of capture, but I don’t dare. Mack is the kind of man who has to volunteer information. There’s no dragging it from him if he isn’t willing to give it up.

He made me pancakes, and they melted in my mouth. I’ve never had a man make me pancakes before.

That’s the good stuff that happened today.

But bad stuff happened, too.

I put all the pebbles back in order, smallest to largest. I left seventeen beneath the tree. I know I did. I kept wanting to go back out there and check, but I resisted. I’ll check in the morning.

I don’t feel like I’m crazy, but does anyone?

Honor let her journal fall into her lap. She hadn’t written in it for so long, but such a momentous event as putting her two feet outside these four walls deserved documenting. And so she’d dug the thick brown leather binder, with its cream pages and soft pink ribbon marking the page, out of the bottom drawer of her nightstand and opened it. She’d scanned the last entry, made a week after she’d refused any more treatment, and even a cursory glance brought into full focus the starkness of the change in her. The incremental steps had been so small that she hadn’t noticed them, but that didn’t make them any less true. Once the weird stuff happening around here went away, then she might believe she was on the road to recovery.

She opened the drawer and put the journal away. She should start documenting her thoughts and feelings again. Lots of people recommended writing down your innermost thoughts, the likes of which shouldn’t ever be shared.

Flicking off the lamp, she sank against the stack of pillows and stared up at the ceiling. Every time she forced her eyes closed, they sprang back open. Same routine every night. She feared going to sleep, but eventually, exhaustion would reach out and grab her, dragging her under. And then the dreams would come… or the waking nightmare.

* * *

Fear clogged Honor’s throat, like the fingers of doom slowly approaching, an inevitable creep toward a day of reckoning. Her legs were tangled in the covers, and she kicked out at them to free herself. She slammed her hands over her ears in an attempt to drown out the incessant tapping. When she could still hear it, she shoved back the covers and dove into the shower. Turning the faucet to hot, she braced both hands against the tile and allowed the water to cascade over her shoulders. She should tell someone about the tapping and the pebbles. No, not someone. She should tell Mack. He was here to protect her, and he couldn’t do that if he didn’t have all the information available.

Even as the thought entered her mind, so did the negativity. What if he didn’t believe her? What if he thought she were crazy? She wouldn’t blame him if he did. She thought the same. And what would she even say?

Hey, so I keep hearing this tapping sound at my window, but there’s no one there when I go look. Oh, and some pebbles got messed up in my garden.

“One-way ticket to the psych ward,” she muttered.

After drying herself with a warm towel pulled off the rack, she dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt and tied her wet hair into a ponytail. Despite the exhaustion caused by a succession of interrupted nights’ sleep, she opened her bedroom door with every intention of going for a workout in her gym down in the basement. She’d always enjoyed keeping fit, but since being kidnapped, she’d worked harder at it, almost as a way of buying into the illusion that strong and limber muscles would keep her safe. They hadn’t the first time, and they wouldn’t if a second time came knocking, but lying to herself was better than facing up to the truth that she was weak and helpless.

But as she passed Mack’s bedroom door, she paused. Pressing her ear to the smooth, planed wood, she listened. Nothing. Her hand reached for the doorknob. She twisted and opened the door a crack.

“Can’t sleep?” Mack drawled in a drowsy voice.

She recoiled. “You startled me.”

Mack rolled over in bed. She couldn’t make out his face in the dark, only shapes.

“You’re the one perving on me while I sleep.”

The clear teasing note in his voice came across loud and clear, and something warm and wonderful curled in her stomach.

“I am not perving, and you are not asleep.”

“You are, and I was. You woke me when you opened the door.”

“Sorry.”

He sat up in bed. “What do you need, Honor?”

You. I need you.

“Company.”

Instantly, Mack threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. She sucked in a sharp breath. Oh my freaking God. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark just in time to watch a buck-naked, downright stunning figure of a man stride over to the chest of drawers in the corner of the room. Her hand hovered by the light switch. One flick. That was all it would take. But no, that wasn’t fair. If he did the same to her, she’d rightly be pissed off. But the temptation…

While she dithered, he opened the drawer and pulled out what looked like a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. As he stuck his legs into the pants—commando—she caught a glimpse of his dick hanging down between his legs.

Holy cow. That thing would cleave a woman in half, and he wasn’t even hard.

“Want a closer look, Red? All you gotta do is ask.”

Her cheeks flamed with heat. Caught, red-handed, gawking at the bodyguard’s junk. Classy, Honor. Real classy.

“I’m good.”

He let out a low chuckle. “If you say so.”

He tugged the T-shirt over his head, hiding the ropes of muscle that covered his chest and arms, and those shoulders… damn, they should be illegal. He ducked into the bathroom, returning a couple of minutes later smelling all minty fresh. They set off downstairs with Mack right beside her. Seeing him naked, even in silhouette, had fired up her imagination, and with it, her hormones. Hot prickles coated her skin, and a pulse beat between her legs, while flutters in her stomach refused to let up. Mack appeared not to notice her heightened state of arousal, and she sent up a silent prayer of thanks for small mercies. Caught ogling his impressive penis while also admitting her growing attraction to him hadn’t been on her list of things to do today.

Mack indicated for her to sit at the kitchen table while he put on a pot of coffee. She stepped over to the window, the urge to check that the pebbles were still where she’d left them yesterday overwhelming.

He set a cup in front of her, but as he pulled out a chair, she rose from hers.

“Do you mind if we go into the living room?”

Out of sight, out of mind… maybe.

“Sure.”

She followed him and settled on the couch, tucking her feet underneath her. She expected him to take the chair by the fireplace. He didn’t. Instead, he set his cup on the end table and sat beside her. Crossing one ankle over his opposite knee, he rested an arm along the cushion behind her head.

“I’m sorry to get you out of bed so early.”

He glanced at the clock over the fireplace. “Four a.m. isn’t all that early. I’ve had much earlier starts.”

“Okay.”

She nibbled on her thumbnail. Small talk wasn’t her forte, and by all accounts, it wasn’t Mack’s either. She couldn’t remember now why she’d even opened his door and disturbed him. The gym would have been a far better idea.

But the steady sound of his breathing soothed her, and she let her head fall against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. When she reopened them less than a minute later, she found Mack in exactly the same position, his gaze fixed on her, his relaxed posture still in place.

“I don’t know what to say.”

He pulled his lips between his teeth. “Why do you feel the need to say anything?”

She fiddled with the hem of her T-shirt. “I’m not sure. I guess silences have always unnerved me. When it’s quiet, I can hear him, breathing, watching, ignoring my screams and pleas to go home. I hate it. I hate this so much, but I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Time,” Mack said. “Talking helps, too, but only when you’re ready. It’s not something that can be forced.”

She thought about that for a minute. Maybe that was why her therapy sessions had been a complete bust. She simply wasn’t ready to vocalize what had happened to her. Did writing in her journal for the first time in six months mean she might be ready this time?

“Did you talk to someone after what happened to you?”

He reached around for his coffee and held it by the rim to take a sip. “Eventually, but not before I’d almost pressed the self-destruct button. Don’t do what I did, Honor. It’s a long road back, and the casualties you leave along the way have a lasting impact on you, and them. If it weren’t for Loris, I’m not sure where I’d be right now.”

Ah, the infamous Loris.

She wrinkled her nose, faking ignorance. “Who’s Loris?”

“My boss. And the man who led the team that rescued me.” He cut his gaze to the window. “Intrepid Security Services is his company. After I left the Royal Marines, I drifted for a while. Destroyed a lot of shit along the way, including my liver.”

He smiled at his attempt at a joke, but it didn’t come from the heart, or reach his eyes.

“He offered me a job on the proviso that I clean myself up. He came along in the nick of time. If he hadn’t, I’d probably be dead or doing a long stretch inside. Working for Intrepid is the best job in the world.”

She grinned. “Even when you have to babysit spoiled little heiresses?”

“Yeah, even then.” He took another swig of coffee. “I guess you’re not so bad.”

“Gee, thanks.”

A more comfortable silence descended while she mulled over what he’d said about talking. As nice as her original therapist had been, the woman just hadn’t grasped the enormity of what had happened to her or known how to deal with Honor’s blind panic when she’d flip out. But Mack got it. He truly got it.

“When I woke up in that hole, I was so scared that I… I wet myself. And he left me there lying in my own mess. I counted five days before he provided a bucket of water and soap, and a change of clothes.”

Mack’s jaw flexed, but apart from that one signal that what she’d said angered him, his expression remained flat. “Can you remember anything about him?”

She shook her head. “I never saw his face. He wore a ski mask and dark clothing. The only thing I could tell the police was that he was maybe a couple of inches smaller than me, around five feet, seven inches, and wiry.” She wrapped her arms around herself, chills racing through her bloodstream. She hadn’t even been able to tell the police the color of his eyes. It had been too dark to make out those kinds of details.

“There wasn’t much space where he kept me. I’ve never suffered from a fear of enclosed spaces, or been afraid of the dark, but now, both terrify me. Even when I take a shower, I have to leave the bathroom door open. And it was so cold and damp. My legs used to cramp something terrible. I could sort of stand up, but only if I kept my head bent. And then my neck would ache.” She rubbed it and took several deep breaths. “I thought I was going to die without ever seeing my father again.”

A sob crawled into her throat. She swallowed it down, but not fast enough. It spilled out of her, a strangled noise that sounded like an animal in agony.

Mack shuffled closer, and his arms came around her. “Dig deep, Red. You’re here. You’re safe. He isn’t going to get at you.”

“You don’t know that.”

His hands curved around her face, and he used his thumbs to tilt her chin up. “Fuckin’ A, I know it. As long as I’m here, nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

“But that’s just it,” she whispered. “You won’t be here forever. And what then?”

His piercing blue eyes stared back at her, unwavering. Their mouths were so close, and she swore a spark of electricity passed between them. She parted her lips in silent invitation, just as she had the last time she’d felt this connection.

Kiss me. Just kiss me already.

He leaned forward an inch, and then he let her go, shuffling away. “We’ll work it out.”

Unsure of whether to be relieved or crushed at his rejection, she brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

She took a deep breath. Do it. Tell him. “Weird things have started happening around here.”

He sat up a little straighter. “What kind of weird things?”

“Every night, I get woken up by this tapping noise at my window, but when I look out, I can’t see anything. And then the other day, I found a pebble in my bathroom cabinet.” At his incredulous raised eyebrow, she filled him in on the significance of the pebbles, what they meant to her, and how she found them yesterday. “I put them back in order last night, and now I can’t stop thinking about them. I’m desperate to check them. To make sure they’re still there, in the order they’re supposed to be.” She swept a hand over her face. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“How long ago did the tapping start?”

She looked up at the ceiling, trying to work backward. “Close to two weeks, maybe. I lose track. I’ve also misplaced one or two things and then discovered them later in odd places. Places they shouldn’t be.”

“Red, that’s happened to everyone.” He got to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go check these pebbles. Put you out of your misery.”

“It’s not light yet.”

“Then we’ll use a torch.”

She hung around at the foot of the stairs while he went to grab his cell phone. They walked into the backyard together and headed over to the red oak tree. Mack shined the light at the base of the trunk.

There were no pebbles.

“Wh-what’s going on?” she stammered. “There should be seventeen. They were here last night. I put them in order myself. Where are they?” She fell to her knees and began clawing at the soft, peaty earth. “They have to be here. They have to.”

“Honor.”

Mack dropped to a crouch and rested a hand between her shoulder blades as she continued digging like a starving dog who’d buried a bone and a pack of hungry wolves was charging over to steal it.

“I’m not crazy,” she cried. “I’m not. They were here. I know they were.”

“Honor, stop. They’re not here.”

She caught his expression, one of sorrow mingled with doubt, and she launched to her feet. “You think I’m losing it, don’t you? You think I’m crazy. I’m not fucking crazy!”

He said nothing. Heat flushed through her as she glared at him. Muttering, “Fuck you,” she hurtled into the house and slammed the door behind her.