Beneath Her Skin Read online

  The corner of her mouth lifted. “Because your way is working out so well?” she asked with sarcasm. “Hiding behind all the security in the world won’t stop whoever is doing this. They have proven that.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Damon, but I won’t place another person in the hospital. I can’t do it.”

  He drew a cool mask over his expression, his lips tightening. “Your freedom isn’t compromised—you can still come and go as you like.”

  She huffed. “With conditions, of course,” she said, crossing her arms.

  Damon inclined his head. “Yes, with conditions. I won’t allow you to place a bullseye on your forehead.” He dared take a step closer, tracing his fingertip over her lips. “I’ll fight even you—to keep you safe.”

  “This isn’t just about me—”

  His finger pressed against her moving lips. “Yes, it is. The reason you are still alive and in front of me is because they can’t get to you, so they are targeting those you care about.” He kept going when she tried to speak, “So, I’ll increase security around your family and friends. Don’t even think about going solo on this. I can’t lose you, Brooke.” The sincerity in his eyes burned bright.

  God, he had yet to talk to her about last night, and how he admitted he loved her. His alcohol stupor had taken all his inhibitions. Had she noticed?

  Her expression softened. “Damon…”

  “Brooke?”

  Both Damon and Brooke peered at Marla West, her expression anxious. “The doctor said we can visit Jennifer. Why don’t you take the first turn while Dean and I speak with her doctor?”

  ****

  As Brooke entered Jennifer’s hospital room, their eyes connected. She tried to contain her gasp, but Jennifer appeared so small, like a broken china doll. Her red hair was a bit mussed, and her left eye was swollen shut with black and blue bruising.

  Tears gathered in Brooke’s eyes, and she willed them away, but they fell without any restraint. She was happy she had asked Damon to wait outside. If she was going to fall apart, she didn’t want him to witness her meltdown. With quiet steps, she moved to her friend’s bedside, grasping her hand.

  Jennifer shook her head. “Don’t cry, baby doll,” she said, her voice gravelly.

  “I can’t help it,” she rasped. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  Her friend tried to smile, but winced. “Are you kidding? I’m not butt-hurt over this. I’ll get time off from work and get pampered by my parents. I say its win-win.”

  Brooke took in a sharp breath. “I can’t help but think it’s my fault.”

  “How, exactly?” she asked with a glare. “Some nutjob did this, and then stole my purse and Carson’s wallet and watch.” She paused. “Speaking of Carson, did you meet him yet?” Her good eye glowed with blue excitement.

  Her shoulders hiked up and down in a slight shrug, pushing back the remnants of her tears. Leave it to her friend to lessen the uncomfortable moment. “Not formally.”

  “Just at a glance, isn’t he dreamy?” Jennifer smiled, and kept going, “Well, he’s awesome. He’s been waiting to see me.”

  “How do you know that?” Brooke asked with a frown. “As far as I know, I’m the first of your family and friends to see you.”

  There was an awkward pause as Jennifer’s gaze slid to the door, and then looked back at Brooke with a hint of mischief lurking in her expression. She pulled her phone out from under her blanket. “We’ve been texting,” she said with a wink and a dismissive wave of her hand. “He says we can run away together and join the circus. I told him I can’t do my high wire act yet, but he’s certain his clown routine will win everyone over. We’ll be stars. How are things with Hottie Sinclair?”

  She wanted to know about her love life? Now? The woman had just been beaten to a pulp, yet had the wherewithal to ask after her.

  Brooke inclined her head toward the door. “He’s outside waiting for me.”

  Jennifer sighed. “What a guy! Escorting you all the way here—”

  “Flew me in his helicopter, actually.”

  “Even better. He’s scoring mega points,” her friend said. “Any luck on finding out who vandalized your apartment and business?”

  Brook blew out a breath. “No leads, but I feel certain your attack is linked, especially after Harry was hurt.” Her friend squeezed her hand.

  “Even if it’s related, there’s no reason for you to feel guilty about this.” Her chin jutted out, determination lighting up her face. “Just because some sicko jumped me and my date, doesn’t give you the right to drown in a guilty conscience, doll face. No way, José.”

  They visited for another ten minutes until Jennifer’s parents came. A niggling feeling wormed through Brooke’s stomach. Despite Jennifer’s protest that this was a random attack, she couldn’t pass this off. It was almost as if she could feel the breath of her impending attacker as he moved in closer for the kill. She almost welcomed his strike, wanting an end to all of this madness.

  ****

  Shem met Brooke and Damon at the entrance of the Bel-Air Hospital in the Hummer. Once again in the backseat, she felt a calmness settle over her. However, not long ago, she wondered about Damon’s intentions toward her, but now, she felt safe here as they traveled back to Washington, D.C. She had wanted to stop to see Harry, but he was visiting some of his Army friends down at the VA hospital. He did that twice a month for as long as she could remember. At least he was safe.

  She noticed Damon had grown quiet as they traveled down the highway. Glancing his way, she found him studying her. A crimson flush spread over her cheeks and she reached up to twirl the hair at her ear. Heat swarmed her, making her shake as his face lit up with a lazy grin. His sea beauty eyes shone bright. He threw her off balance with his intensity, and she felt like the first day she met him—gangly and awkward.

  “Stop it,” she said softly, wanting to look away from him, but that was like asking the sun not to rise—impossible.

  It was a fact that she could never intentionally walk away from him. He drew her in and calmed hopeless storms. He was the invisible glue holding her together. He held her attention, even if he was a man trapped by the loss of his wife. A ghost haunting him day and night. How could she compete with her.

  His smile slowly faded, his gaze sharpening. “I wanted to apologize for last night. I wasn’t myself and I’m sorry if I worried you.”

  Brooke nibbled on her bottom lip, not sure how to respond. She felt him deep in her heart, and his grieving spirit made her nervous. How hard would it be to hold his love? While he had rambled out of head, he had also mentioned his love for her. She was not naïve to assume he meant his words, drunk as he had been.

  Damon reached up, tugging her captive flesh from her teeth, smoothing his thumb over her lip. “Don’t be nervous,” he whispered, a small sigh following. “I wanted to thank you for looking after me. You were incredible.”

  The tenderness of his voice made tingles net across her skin. His honesty wasn’t lost on her and more heat swarmed her cheeks. “It was nothing,” she said, looking away.

  Damon scooted closer, grasping her chin. He gently forced her to meet his gaze again. His touch blazed a hot, welcome trail across her skin. She hated that she loved his closeness with his delicious scent taking her prisoner. He loomed next to her, making her feel small and protected.

  “You don’t understand me, baby.” He cocked his head, caressing her face. He blinked a few times, as if trying to formulate his words. “I meant what I said—”

  Her back went rigid, and she pulled back. “Maybe we shouldn’t analyze your words too closely. You were blitzed and not in your right mind. I won’t hold you accountable.” She winced when his expression morphed into disgruntled.

  “Is that what you think?” he asked in a dark tone.

  Rolling her eyes, she tried to lighten the seriousness of the conversation. “We haven’t known each other long. I doubt we can call this ‘love,’” she said, using air quotes.
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  Damon shifted, resuming his seat. The loss of his body heat washed over her in a cold rush. His disappointment was like a stabbing dagger to her heart. She ached to retract her words. Deep down, she knew she had lied to him… and herself. Her feelings for him were real and growing each day.

  “And your profession of love?” he asked, raking a hand through his dark hair, his mouth set in a hard line. “Was I imagining that? Or shall I file your words in a BS file?”

  His words stung her heart of lies, but she tried to appear unaffected. She twirled her hair and wrapped a curl around her finger, shrugging. “I’d rather not say.”

  A bitter laugh rattled his chest. “Why? Afraid to admit the truth, or are you running from the inevitable?” he taunted with an even darker whisper. “Running from me?”

  “I’m not a sure thing, Mr. Sinclair,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

  How obtuse could he be to think she would actually admit anything? Now of all times?

  “In case you’ve forgotten,” she said. “I’m on the run for my life—”

  “Sir! Hold on!” Shem exploded.

  The tires screeched.

  Brooke lurched forward.

  As the Hummer swerved hard right, Brooke was thrown into Damon. She screamed. They hit another vehicle. The vibration was so fierce, it jarred her bones, making her teeth rattle and her vision swam. His arms banded around her as they smacked.

  Time hung suspended for Brooke, as if every muscle in her body weighed a thousand pounds of heavy rocks. The sudden impact between the two vehicles had jolted her body. A mental check revealed she was okay. Nothing broken. Nothing damaged. The distant sound of yelling made her brow scrunch. She lay across Damon, his arms still clutching her tight. He shifted under her, pushing her ponytail behind her shoulders and his gaze pierced her with his livewire eyes.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, running his hand over her face.

  She shook her head, not trusting her voice.

  Chapter 11

  As Brooke and Damon sat up, the Hummer door was yanked open. A man appeared with worried concern over his face, holding a gun, which he holstered immediately. The man wore black fatigues with a shaved head. She gasped, leaning back heavily into Damon.

  He squeezed her closer, and murmured, “Easy, baby. This is Donavan, head of my security detail.” He gave the man a dark look. “What happened?”

  Donavan’s brown eyes narrowed. “No time, sir.” He waved his hand for them to move closer and out of the Hummer. “We need to get you and Ms. Stone out of this car like yesterday! Our car is ready and I’ve also requested air support. It looks like Shem is injured. We’ll get him flown to the hospital.”

  With Damon’s help, he scooted Brooke forward and into Donavan’s arms and he lifted her out easily. Her legs nearly buckled under her, but another man, dressed in similar black clothing, grabbed her around the waist and held her steady. He was bigger and scarier with a scowl etched over his brow.

  Damon pulled her close as he got out. There was no time to hash what went down as Donavan ushered them inside another Hummer, only this wasn’t as luxurious and more military standard. In less than thirty seconds, they were on the move again. The sound of emergency services echoed in the distance, but they spun out, heading away. A glimpse at the accident had Damon’s Hummer smashed up by another SUV. And no else seemed to be in the vehicle.

  “What the hell happened?” Damon fumed.

  Donavan reported from the front seat. “Two SUVs were inbound and one swerved into your lane. Shem hit the distress button, which alerted us. He took the brunt of the impact.”

  Brooke gasped and Damon’s arm snaked around her shoulders, squeezing her close.

  “How was the other driver?”

  Damon asked his question in a calm tone, though one glance up his face revealed his anger.

  “By the time we secured the Hummer, he had scrambled into the other SUV and took off. My guess,” Donavan said in a grave tone, “it was planned. You were lucky Shem managed the distress button before impact.”

  “Get him the best doctors and keep me informed of his condition,” Damon ordered.

  The other man gave a curt nod, looking down. Brooke noticed that he tapped his fingers over a phone.

  “Air support has him inbound to Bel-Air Hospital. They think he’ll be okay, but we’ll know more soon.”

  She leaned close to Damon, and whispered, “Maybe you should drop me off at S-Tec, then go see about Shem. I’ll be fine.” Though she hated the idea of being away from Damon.

  He lowered his head, capturing her gaze. “I’m not leaving you. Donavan is good at his job and Shem will have the best care. Don’t worry, baby.” He caressed a hand over her cheek. “I need to be with you—assure myself you’re okay. We’ll go to my house.”

  Brooke snuggled closer to him, praying for Shem, Jennifer, Harry, and anyone else caught up in the hellhole called her life.

  ****

  At Sinclair House, Brooke excused herself to her room upstairs. Damon watched her with a heavy heart. He had failed her on so many levels. First with protecting her. Second, with his lies. He was no closer to discovering who was behind everything or coming clean about who she was. No matter how much he ached to give her all the answers, they wouldn’t slip over his tongue. Self-loathing was a cruel beast, but fear was deadlier.

  He asked Mrs. Prestridge to set dinner in his office upstairs, then he went for a drink. He needed several after the events of the day, but only allowed himself one. The burn down his throat coated his choices, but didn’t lessen his vexation. He truly hated lying to Brooke. She deserved so much better than this circus.

  A commotion at the front door drew his attention.

  The sound of raised voices escalated until Chantal rounded the corner. A heavy thud knocked against his heart. He didn’t want to deal with her. He had asked her to stay away until he broke the news to Brooke, but here she stood, arguing with Mrs. Prestridge.

  She was the epitome of too much money. Her navy sheath dress was elegant, her pearls laying against her throat, and not a blonde hair out of place. As he strode closer, her expensive perfume filled the foyer, something rich and throat-gagging.

  Pasting on a loose smile, he handled the situation. “It’s okay, Hannah. I’ll speak with Mrs. Wilson-Elson.” As his housekeeper left, he turned his attention to Chantal, frowning. “I thought I asked you to keep away,” he said, not bothering to sugarcoat his displeasure.

  She brushed her hands together, shrugging. “I couldn’t stay away, Damon darling.” She closed in, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “I had to see you. It couldn’t wait.”

  With an inward sigh, he stepped aside and lifted a hand for her to proceed into the living room. Her heels clicked on the tiled floor as she walked by, and then his gaze strayed upstairs. He hoped he could satisfy Chantal before Brooke made an appearance. He closed the double doors, sealing himself inside.

  He faced Chantal, hoping to diffuse her worries. “It’s not a good time.”

  The other woman sniffed the air, waving a hand. “Please, darling, I haven’t heard from you in a while. The waiting was torture. Is she okay?”

  “Brooke is fine.”

  She nodded. “Is she here? May I see her?” she asked in an urgent, hopeful tone.

  He sighed, heading for the wet bar. Maybe another drink was in order. “Would you like something?” he asked, pointing to crystal decanters lined up.

  “No, thank you.” There was a slight pause. “Please, Damon. I have to know.”

  As he downed another shot of bourbon, he turned to face her. “What will this accomplish, Chantal? Hmm? She isn’t aware of her family connections and she’s under a lot of stress. I can’t add to it.” He set down his glass, hoping he sounded firm enough to offset her inquisition.

  Chantal’s elegant brow drew into a frown, taking a seat on the sofa. “Stress? What do you mean?”

  He crossed the room, standing beside the mantel. “Someone is targe
ting her. They’ve ransacked her apartment, her business, and they’ve lashed out her friends and family.”

  She pouted. “But I’m her family,” she said in a petulant tone. “Why haven’t you explained me? Let me see her and I’ll help protect her.”

  Damon shook his head, hating how Chantal only focused on herself, rather than hearing him outline why Brooke was fragile. She was always the same: self-centered and self-absorbed. “No. I won’t pile more unnecessary strain on her.”

  A few moments of silence ensued. “Have you heard about Jim Bartley?” she asked. “He was found murdered.” Tears formed in her eyes and she hastily withdrew a tissue from her bag, wiping away the wetness. “What will happen now? He was the only one willing to share tidbits of Brooke with me.”

  Snorting, Damon shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “He had no right to share anything.”

  “But you’ve kept me in the dark, darling. I had to know.” She stowed her tissue, looking forlorn, yet she blinked and looked composed. “She’s my only remaining family.”

  He inwardly sighed, taking a few steps toward her. He reached out a hand to help her stand. He figured he only had minutes. “Give her time, Chantal.” He kept going when she tried to protest, “Look, I know this is hard on you, but you have to be realistic. She has no idea about her biological family. I’m not in a rush to confuse her or make her run away.”

  She gave an indelicate snort. “Is this your concern speaking, Damon, or your selfishness?”

  He cocked his head, his gaze narrowing. “I won’t dignify that remark with an answer. You’ll either dig deep and find understanding or you’ll meet with disappointment. Either way, you’ve overstayed your welcome.” Her lips parted as if she wanted to refute him, but he said, “I’m serious, Chantal. Brooke needs peace in her life and I plan to give it to her.”

  With an incline of her head, she smiled softly. “Just don’t wait too long, darling. She’s my last connection to family.”