He parked behind her BMW and waved to the cop in the cruiser who’d parked on the street. Kate had just opened the front door when he caught up with her. She turned on the living room light and worked off her coat on her way to the coat closet. Without looking at him, she hung it up, then walked into the kitchen.
Frank removed his own coat, then draped it over the chair in the living room. He found her in the kitchen, standing at the sink, looking out the window as if the darkness beyond held answers she desperately needed to know. Even from across the room he could see that she was still shaking. Her shoulders drooped slightly, as if the weight of the world were resting upon them.
She looked traumatized standing there in her black turtleneck and jeans, and for the first time it struck him that even her clothes had been chosen for what she’d attempted to do tonight. And still he couldn’t reconcile Kate Megason the ADA and Kate Megason the woman who’d tried to kill a man.
“You look like you’re going into shock,” he said.
She didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge his words, just stared through the window, her slender shoulders bowed.
Torn between impatience and sympathy, he crossed to her and edged her aside to get a glass from the cupboard. He filled the glass with ice then put it under the tap and handed it to her. “Sip this,” he said. “It’ll help.”
She looked at him and took the glass. “I’m not going into shock.”
Putting his hand over hers, he guided the glass to her mouth until she sipped. “We need to talk about what happened,” he said.
“I don’t know what I can say, Frank. I tried to kill a man.” She lifted her shoulders, let them drop. “It was premeditated.”
“I think this is a little more complicated than that,” he said.
“I wish I’d succeeded.”
“No, you don’t.”
Her mouth tightened. “How did you know?”
“Jack Gamble called me.”
A mosaic of emotions fractured in her eyes. “He had no right. I’m . . . a client. The work he does for me is supposed to be confidential.”
“You’re a hell of a lot more than a client to him, Kate. He cares about you. So do I.” The admittance made him flush. He hadn’t intended to say that. But he’d been thinking it, feeling it.
Tears shimmered in her eyes when she looked at him. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”
“I’m here because I want to be here.”
“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”
“Depends on how we handle it.” It disturbed him that he’d covered up a serious crime. Disturbed him even more that he would continue to do whatever he needed to do to protect her.
“The good news is that you have an alibi,” he said. “The police won’t find the gun. The bad news is that Danny Lee Perkins can ID you.”
“He didn’t remember me.”
“Isn’t he the one who’s been stalking you?”
Kate blinked at him as if she’d forgotten about the stalker, a testament to just how horrific this night had been for her. “It’s not him,” she said.
“Are you sure? Maybe you didn’t recognize—”
“Danny Lee Perkins has a speech impediment. He rounds his r’s. I’d forgotten about it until I was there and heard him speak. The person on the phone does not have a speech impediment.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
Frank let the thought bounce around in his brain for a moment. “If Danny Lee Perkins isn’t the stalker, who is?”
“Whoever it is, they know about what happened eleven years ago.” Her eyes were dark with an emotion he couldn’t begin to fathom when she looked at him. “It’s not common knowledge, Frank. My parents were part of Houston society. They went to great lengths to protect Kirsten and me. Our identities were never revealed. The police assigned us pseudonyms. We moved to Dallas just a few weeks after it happened so nobody would ever know. A new city. A fresh start.”
But Frank had been certain the man who’d raped her was the stalker. “If the stalker isn’t the man you shot tonight, then who is it?”
She wrapped her arms around herself as if the question had chilled her and walked to the dining room and sat at the table. Frank watched her, wishing he could find a way to reach her, to comfort her. But she was as distant and cold as the moon.
After a moment he followed her and sat across from her. “I think you need to talk to someone about what happened to you eleven years ago.”
“I’ve talked to enough shrinks to fill the Dallas phone book.”
Leaning forward, he took her hands in his, found them cold to the touch. “Kate, you lost control tonight. You tried to kill a man.”
“You’re right on one count.”
When he only continued to look at her, she sighed. “I didn’t lose it, Frank. I knew exactly what I was doing.”
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, the sound of his palm scraping against his whiskers reminding him that it was late. “Kate, you’re no killer. Whatever drove you . . .”
She stared at him, her eyes slowly filling. “Frank, what those men did to us that night—” Her voice broke with the last word, and for several excruciating seconds she struggled for composure. “We were only seventeen years old.”
“Kate, I’m not inferring that he shouldn’t be punished for what he did.”
“The statute of limitations for sexual assault in the State of Texas is seven years.”
“But this is an open case—”
“My parents wanted the whole thing to go away. They brought in the family lawyer; with some legal wrangling the whole thing was swept under the rug. They told me it had been done to protect Kirsten and me. But I always suspected they didn’t want their society friends to know what had happened.”
Realization dawned as cold and bitter as a winter storm. Frank stared at her and for the first time thought he understood some of what drove her. “I’m sorry.”
She closed her eyes tightly, fat tears squeezing through her lashes. “I knew if those men were ever going to be made to pay, I would have to do it myself.”
“That’s a heavy load for a seventeen-year-old girl to bear.”
“There was a lot driving me, Frank. This terrible guilt that just wouldn’t go away.”
“You had no reason to feel guilty about what happened.” As an ex-cop, he knew that many times victims of sexual assault experienced feelings of guilt. He knew the emotion was common. And torturous. “You know it wasn’t your fault, don’t you?”
“Intellectually, yes. But on another level . . .” She looked at him, tears shimmering, her voice trailing. “It was my idea to sneak out of the house that night. Kirsten didn’t want to go, but I made her.”
“That doesn’t make it your fault.”
“If I hadn’t insisted, she wouldn’t be lying in that bed.”
He was out of his chair and rounding the table before even realizing he was going to move. She looked startled when he took her hands in his. Frank wasn’t sure what he was going to do; he’d never been good at giving comfort. He wasn’t even sure if that was what she needed. The only thing he knew was that something inside him could not stand by and do nothing.
She made a sound when he pulled her to her feet. Only when he looked into the fathomless blue of her eyes did he realize there were tears on her cheeks. That there was more at the gate. That the gate was about to burst.
“Come here.” He didn’t wait for her to comply and pulled her to him.
A hundred sensations rushed his mind when her body fell against his. He was keenly aware of softness, of a woman’s curves, and the coconut scent of her hair. A shudder moved through her when he wrapped his arms around her. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said.
She felt incredibly small and fragile cocooned in his arms. Her hair was like silk as he stroked the back of her head. He could feel her trembling and the urge to pull her closer was strong, but he didn’t. She felt too good against him, and he did
n’t want the moment to change into something it wasn’t.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated. “You understand? You were seventeen years old. You were a kid. You were being a typical teenager. You didn’t know predators existed.”
A tremor went through her. Frank held her and tried to absorb it. He tried to absorb some of her pain. He wanted her to stop hurting. Wanted her to stop blaming herself for something she’d played no part in.
“My parents blame me,” she whispered after a moment.
Frank eased her to arm’s length and made eye contact. When she wouldn’t look at him, he put his hand gently beneath her chin and forced her gaze to his. “What makes you think that?”
“My relationship with them changed after that night, especially with my mother. She . . . became distant and cold. She started drinking. And sometimes when she looks at me, I see it in her eyes.”
“Kate, sometimes when we’re traumatized, we read emotions and motives into things that aren’t there. I’m no shrink, but you’re probably suffering from survivor’s guilt.”
“I know about survivor’s guilt. I know you’re right. But I also know my mother. She blames me for what happened.”
Anger surged through him at the thought of what that would have done to a seventeen-year-old girl who’d already been hurt so violently. “Why does she blame you?”
“Kirsten was always the good daughter. The one who followed the rules. She was studious and always on time. She was bright and pleasant and . . .” The smile she gave him broke his heart. “I was . . . well, I was me.”
He smiled, but it felt sad on his face. “You were the hell-raiser, huh?”
She choked out a laugh. “A terror.” She closed her eyes. “A few weeks after it happened, I took some of my mom’s sleeping pills. I had to go to the hospital and have my stomach pumped.”
“You tried to commit suicide?”
“Stupid, I know. But I really didn’t want to die. I think it was more of a cry for help. After taking the pills, I called one of my friends. The paramedics got there in time. But I was a mess. I just couldn’t live with what had happened to Kirsten. Not to mention what had happened to me.”
“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t enough, but he didn’t know what else to say.
“Don’t get me wrong, Frank. My parents are not monsters by any stretch of the imagination. They’re kind and generous, and they were good parents.”
He wanted to point out that kind and generous parents didn’t blame their child for being victimized, but he held his tongue, knowing she needed to get this out in the open.
He thumbed a tear from her cheek, and even though he was angry with her parents for what they had done, he moved to let them off the hook. “Sometimes people mourn the one who’s lost more than the one who has survived. It’s the way grief is.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
“I mean it.”
They were facing each other, standing less than a foot apart. Even pale and with tears in her eyes, she was incredibly lovely. At some point the moment had become intimate, but Frank knew now was not the time for his thoughts to go there.
Never taking his eyes from hers, he took her hand and led her to the sofa. He sat down next to the arm, and she sat down beside him. He put his arm around her, and as if in unspoken agreement, she leaned into him and put her head on his shoulder.
They sat that way for so long he thought she’d fallen asleep. He was surprised when she spoke.
“We were going to a frat party.” Her voice was hoarse and barely a whisper, but Frank was close enough to hear the words, and they broke his heart.
“I was so excited. I’d primped for hours. We had a six-pack of beer and a pack of cigarettes. My idea.” The sound that squeezed from her throat was half laugh, half sob. “Kirsten had wanted to stay home and study. She had this big test coming up. So did I, but with me tests weren’t a priority. I talked her into sneaking out of the house. I pouted and cajoled until she agreed. We took my mom’s car. And we were on our way.”
She paused for so long that Frank thought she wouldn’t continue, but she did. “We were living in Houston at the time. I took a shortcut through a warehouse district. There were railroad tracks. We were stopped at a stop sign when the car hit us from behind.
“It never crossed my mind that it was anything but an accident,” she said. “I didn’t know that’s how criminals got cars to stop. I got out of the car. I was wary of the driver, but he seemed normal. We were going to exchange insurance information. I told Kristen to stay in the car.”
“You were looking out for her,” Frank said.
“I’ve always had pretty good instincts. And even at the age of seventeen, I sensed we were vulnerable.” She sighed. “I took my driver’s license and my insurance card back to his car. I started getting nervous when I saw his passenger walk up to Kirsten’s window. The next thing I know the guy has me against the car and—” Her voice broke.
Frank didn’t know what to say or do. He wasn’t sure if he was qualified to help her through this. The only thing he was certain of was that she’d finally lanced the wound that had festered inside her for so long.
“It’s all right,” Frank said.
She took a deep breath. “I tried to fight, but he was strong. I got away once and tried to run, but he was . . . incredibly violent. He struck me several times, and I must have passed out for a few seconds. When I came to, my hands were tied behind my back. He . . . he tore off my shirt. Pulled down my jeans. Made me feel so dirty I wanted to die.” Another long pause. “The whole time he was raping me I could see the other man hurting Kristen. I could hear her screaming. I could see him hitting her and kicking her.”
Outrage rose in a dangerous tide inside him. Frank could feel his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. He’d seen a lot of things in his lifetime. Back when he’d been a cop he’d seen the horrors that violent men were capable of. When he’d been in the Middle East, he’d seen things he could not let himself recall even now. But listening to Kate speak of what had happened to her that night filled him with such fury that he wanted to drive back to Perkins’s apartment and finish the job she’d begun.
“It was dawn by the time we were found. A passing motorist, I think. My hands were still tied, but I’d managed to crawl on my belly over to Kirsten. I remember talking to her. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t there. I remember thinking she was dead and I felt so alone.” Her voice broke with the last word.
Tightening his arm around her, he drew her close. “It’s over, honey. You can put it behind you now. You did what you needed to do, and now you have to let it go.”
“I almost killed a man tonight,” she whispered.
“You didn’t.”
“I would have if you hadn’t stopped me.”
“You’re no killer, goddamn it.”
“Maybe I should turn myself in. Tell the police everything.”
“Aw, Kate, don’t do that.” Frank pulled away and gazed into her eyes. “I don’t know if you were in any frame of mind to notice, but there were drugs and paraphernalia in Perkins’s apartment. Plastic bags. A scale. It looked like he was cutting cocaine. At the very least this guy is a drug dealer. You know he’s a rapist capable of extreme violence. Is that the kind of guy who should be on the street?”
“No. But that doesn’t change what I did.”
“Yeah, it was wrong,” he said, indignant. “But let me ask you this. How many other lives would he have ruined if you hadn’t? How many seventeen-year-old girls would he rape? How many kids would get their hands on the drugs he sold? How many lives would be ruined?”
When she only continued to stare at him, he sat up straighter, a new anger spreading through him. “Don’t give up your life for him a second time.”
The dam broke in a rush. Her face crumpled. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of tears, but it was useless. Giant sobs choked from her throat. Violent tremors racked her body. “I’m sorry,” she ch
oked.
Frank held her tightly. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
And she went to pieces in his arms.
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 11:46 P.M.
It had been a long time since Kate cried. Once the gates were open, the tears had come in a violent, choking rush. All the while, Frank held her. He talked to her and caressed her and told her everything was going to be all right. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, Kate believed it would.
At some point complete mental and physical exhaustion overwhelmed her and she dozed. She had expected nightmares. The usual fare of that hot and violent summer night in Houston. The night she’d lost her innocence. Her faith in the goodness of people. Her conviction that good always prevailed over evil.
But the dreams that came to her had little to do with that blackest of nights. It was as if by holding her tightly, Frank was able to stave off the nightmares. And instead she dreamed of the man who held her in his arms.
She was seventeen years old and as wild and free as the South Texas wind. She and Kirsten were at the frat party. Kirsten was laughing and Kate was so happy her young heart was bursting.
“It’s time for you to forgive yourself, Katie.”
It was Kirsten’s voice that came to her out of the shadows, but when Kate turned to look, it was Frank Matrone standing there. And then she wasn’t seventeen years old anymore. She was a woman with a woman’s needs, and she could feel those needs pounding through her body with a force that shocked her.
“She never blamed you.” Frank held out his hand. Kate took his hand, and the next thing she knew she was in his arms. But it wasn’t comfort she felt this time, but heat. The kind of heat she’d never felt before in her life. The kind of heat that could burn a woman alive if she wasn’t careful.
It was as if her entire body had gone up in flames. She was aware of his mouth on hers. Flesh against flesh. His hands on her breasts. His body moving within hers. She’d expected pain. He gave her ecstasy like she’d never imagined and so much more. She could feel the crescendo building inside her, and she wanted to scream with the sheer joy of it.