Kiss a Stranger (18 page)

             
“He has kept his work separate from you.”

             
I shook my head again. “So you’re telling me this man worked for Ben, and I’m still trying to understand what you’re getting at.”

             
Now he scoffed and leaned back into his chair. “Come on, darling, do I have to spell it out for you? Your attack was a set up.”

             
My heart lurched. “A set up for what? What would Ben gain out of it?”

             
He pointed at my face. “
That
, Claire.”

             
The walls around me were really starting to cave in. I continued to shake my head, denial overtaking every emotion inside of me.

             
“This is ridiculous and pathetic,” I retorted. “You really think I’m going to believe Ben told one of his men to seduce me in order to have me attacked by a bunch of women?”

             
Hardman opened the folder again and pulled out a different photo. “This here is Melinda Warren.”

             
The name shot through my system like an ice cold current. Melinda. The name Jamie had dropped the night I met him.
She’s pretty. Prettier than Melinda.

             
Hardman placed the photo right over the man’s. I looked down at a smiling photo of a beautiful blonde with bright green eyes.

             
“She was beautiful, right?” he said. “Just like you. Sort of even looks like you.”

             
“Again,” I numbly let out, “what relevance is this?”

             
Hardman exhaled slowly, looking more and more troubled. “That’s not all.”

             
I raised my brows, waiting for the rest.

             
Opening the folder once more, Hardman looked between me and the photo he’d yet to show me.

             
“And this,” he said in a low voice, “is what she looked like after
her
attack.”

             
I shook even long before the photo was placed before me. I already knew what was coming, and I was moving my head in all kinds of directions as the fear of what might be in front of me took over.

             
Hardman slid it down the table and rested it next to Melinda’s picture.

             
Teeth chattering, I stared at him for the longest time, trying hard to prolong the inevitable. Then I swallowed and looked down.

             
My vision blurred and tears fell as I observed Melinda’s new face. One half perfect and untouched, and the other half marred and broken.

Chapter Nineteen
My heart hurts

“You need to breathe,” he kept telling me. “Just breathe, Claire.”

              How was I meant to breathe when the reason I’d been breathing in life was nothing but a lie?

             
The panic attack had me red in the face. My stomach churned and my head felt light. I gripped the table with both my hands, waiting for my vision to steady itself.

             
“Please tell me this isn’t true,” I begged him as the tears kept falling. “Please.”

             
The look of remorse on his face was answer enough.

             
Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

             
“We learned a long time ago that he has a thing for scarred women. He’s been known for frequenting whore houses in different countries, always looking for the marked ones. And you and Melinda aren’t the only ones he’s responsible for… marring.”             

I put a hand over my mout
h in shock. My world tore itself apart from all around me. I stood up and paced the room, shutting my eyes as the oxygen found a way inside my lungs. I pushed away the thoughts, and I pushed away the emotions. I didn’t want to crumble in front of someone.

             
“What is it that you want from me?” I demanded hysterically. “You’ve given me the truth, but at what cost?”

             
“Costigan is a monster,” he told me firmly. “He needs to be put away.”

             
“What makes you think I’m going to sell him out after all he’s done to me? This just makes me want to run away.”

             
“He won’t let you get away. In his eyes, you’re his property. He’ll kill you, Miss Landon, just like he killed Melinda.” My eyes widened. “Oh, yeah, don’t look so surprised. He had this piece of fluff for six months before she disappeared without a trace. This is what he does. He likes his woman marked. You’re his trophy, for now. He’ll shower you with false love, make you believe the man he pretends to be around you. Then he’ll tire of you, and it’ll be too late for you when that happens. We want to be there for you
now
.”

             
He’d kill me? His property? How the hell had I missed those signs?

             
But then again, it made a little sense. He’d have known the attack made me vulnerable and depressed. Then he’d showed up out of the blue and dived right into me, taking advantage of a person that was desperate to feel beautiful and loved.

             
I felt like such a fool.

             
I swallowed the bile in my throat and rested my back against the wall. I crossed my arms, facing him. “What do you want, Detective? Get to the fucking point already.”

             
“Costigan holds enormous power. He’s the most sought after banker in the underworld. He possesses unlimited information, enough to bring down a whole network of criminals. It’s crucial we have evidence against him. We need to know when and where he makes his next business transaction.”

             
“He keeps that part of him locked up tight. I didn’t even know that was happening. There’s no way I’m going to know about his meetings. The fact you haven’t managed to get close enough is alone to tell you how impenetrable he is.”

             
“Yeah, but you’re with him most of the time. Now we know he uses burner cells. He probably changes his phone once every few days. If you can get a hold of one, we need to know about any text messages, all numbers in his phone,
anything
at all.”

             
“What do you mean burner cells?”

             
“Prepaid phones. The small crap kind you buy for thirty dollars or less from the store. Know what I’m talking about?”

             
I swallowed a lump. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.” There went that mystery.

             
“If we can catch him on this next exchange, it’s not only going to ensure the safety of the public, but yours too. And that’s all we’re trying to endeavour to do here, Miss Landon.”

             
I didn’t say anything for the longest time. I wiped the tears that had escaped and fought to stop them from falling. I didn’t allow the revelation to digest just yet. I needed to be alone first.

             
“I need to go,” I told him. “Please, this is all too much for me right now.”

             
He nodded in understanding. “Absolutely. I can imagine how hard this must be for you. If you need time, we’re more than happy to give that to you, but please understand that we need you more than anything right now. Like I said before, we don’t want to work against you, but the people I’m working with right now are desperate enough to do just that. I’m trying to protect you, Miss Landon.”

             
“I know. I understand. I just… I need to be alone for a little while and I’ll get back to you about this. I just don’t know how strong I can be –”

             
“He’ll be back in a week, right?”

             
“Yeah.”

             
“Yeah, well, he’s going to see you, and he can’t know about any of this. For your safety, you need to endure, and I swear to you, Claire, the second you get that information we need, you’ll be free of him.”

             
Free of him? Free of the man I’d fallen so unbelievably hard for?

             
But he’s not really that man, is he?

             
“Okay,” I said vacantly. “I don’t know if I can do what you’re asking, but I’ll think about it, just… give me some time for me to accept all this.”

             
I wasn’t sure if time ever could.

*****

It was as though I pressed pause on life. From the police station to my way back home, I was frozen. Nothing went through my head. I kept the feelings shut out and my mind empty.

             
But the second I stepped foot in my house, the barrier I’d put up crumbled to a million pieces, and I sank to the floor and sobbed.

The pain! Oh, my fucking god, the pa
in was too much. I curled up in the corner and cried, wishing more than anything for it to go.

Crying used to be cathartic. It used to help. Like bleeding an animal dry, I used to feel the pa
in slowly seep out of me until I was empty of all of it. But it didn’t work this time. Instead, the tears just kept falling, and the knife-like pain in my heart twisted, leaving me breathless and quaking.

He was responsible for the hell I went through for nine whole months, but that was nothing compared to the hell
I was feeling at this revelation. How could he do this to me? How could he damage me like this? How could he look me in the eye and tell me he loved me? Everything that had been said to me started to make sense.

He likes broken things.

You’re exquisite. A work of art.

Are you aware of how beautiful you are to me?

I love different.

I stood up and climbed the
stairs. Anger and pain merged and had me shaking with adrenaline. I slammed open the door of my bedroom and grabbed the sketchpad off the dresser. I tore the pages of him out and ripped them to pieces before flinging the book across the room. I felt savage. I wanted nothing more than to rage and smash things to pieces in the hopes of materializing the pain. As if making it tangible could somehow rid me of it.

I swiped the make-up off the dresser and pushed the television off the stand. I tore apart my room bit by bit, screaming out loud how much I hated him. How much I wanted him to die.

And then when all was screamed and done, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my miserable reflection. All those days learning to accept my appearance, learning to move on and embrace my scars – it had been all for nothing.

I touched the left side of my face, tracing over the harsh lines, remembering the pain I felt in that alleyway. The panic attacks, the depression, the fear that made me throw up every morning and sob until my breaths t
urned short and fast and my heart constricted…

All because of him.

“Why?” I whispered to myself.

It wasn’t why to one thing in particular. It was so many why’
s that ran through my mind too fast to stop and analyse.

Why had I chosen him to kiss that day on the train?

Why did I give him my wallet?

Why didn’t I value myself throughout life enough to avoid that man in the bar?

Why did I agree to see him in the club?

Why did I let him into my house?

Why did I sleep with him?

Why did I fall in love with him?

Why did I believe him when he told me he would never lie?

And why the hell
was I blaming myself for all of this?

This was
his
fault, right? This was all on him, yet somehow I felt like I’d contributed to it just as much. I willingly went along with everything he had thrown my way, ignoring the dark part of him and choosing to live in ignorance because of a selfish need to feel loved.

I played with fire, and it finally set me ablaze.

I just never thought it’d hurt this much.

*****

I sat on the ground of my bedroom for who knows how long. The sun’s rays disappeared, casting darkness into every corner of the room. My body continued to shake, my eyes ached, and my stomach growled from hunger.

             
Oh, how the world could change in such a short amount of time!

             
Its unpredictability was impressive, because I truly thought I had my road in life all mapped out. I expected potholes, sure, but I never anticipated sinkholes big enough to swallow me whole.

             
“Claire?”

             
The bedroom door creaked open, and I looked up in my flustered state to see Emily standing in the doorway. She stared at me with this tender concern that I wanted nothing more than to rip off. Had she hurt me too in some way I didn’t know about? Had Mom? Had anyone I’d ever gotten close enough to misused my trust and gotten away with it?

             
“Go away,” I told her hoarsely.

             
“What’s happened?”

             
I shook my head in response and felt the angry tears drop. Where were they coming from? What part of me had this endless supply of tears that refused to turn off? My face felt raw from it all.

             
I heard her footsteps in the room. She dropped down next to me and put an arm around my shoulder.

             
“Claire, please talk to me,” she pleaded. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

             
I looked at her. The softest blue eyes I’d ever seen stared back at me.

             
No, I thought, she’d never hurt me. Nor would Mom. They weren’t monsters. They’d never used me. They’d never want me to hate myself.

             
“My heart hurts,” I simply told her.

             
She took me into her arms and I cried, feeling it come from the shattered soul of my being. I had fallen so hard, and from the start, no one was ever going to be there to catch me.

             
I was broken.