Out Of Her League (22 page)

She could almost hear that raspy voice whispering in her ear:
You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man.

Gagging, she stumbled into the bathroom and threw up.

As he left the gym, his cell phone vibrated against his hip. Bryn.

“Hi,” he answered. “You guys done— ”

“You've got to come over right now.”

The fear in her voice hit him like a fist. “What's the matter?” His pulse quickened.

“Someone left Christa a special delivery here while we were away. A gingerbread cookie with a bunch of holes in it, and she freaked out.”

His muscles clenched, heart tripping. He knew what it signified— that note the stalker had left her with the nursery rhyme in it.
Run, run as fast as you can...
"Christ, I don't believe this.” How the hell would he have found them? He ran the rest of the way to the car. “I'll be there in ten minutes. Is she okay?”

“Don't think so. She's still in the bathroom, won't come out. I heard her throwing up.”

God. “Tell her I'm coming.”

“Okay.” She sounded scared spitless. “It was the guy who attacked her, right? Should I call the cops?”

“I'll do it. I'll call Nate right now, let him know.” He tried to make his voice soothing. “I'll be there soon, ‘kay?”

“Kay.”

“Want me to stay on the line with you?”

“No, you'd better make those calls. I'm going to see if I can calm her down.”

“Thanks. See you in ten.”

“Nine,” she corrected, and hung up.

He dialed Nate on the road and filled him in.

“Son of a bitch,” Nate snarled in disbelief. “All right. I'll do what I can on this end, keep you updated if I find anything.”

That's all he could hope for at this point, Rayne admitted bitterly. Pulling up in front of Bryn's, he jumped out and checked the perimeter, looking for footprints, anything suspicious. Nothing. Bryn met him at the door with an anxious expression.

“How is she?” he asked, though he could guess.

“Better. Pretty shaken up, though.” She handed him a plain white bakery box.

The grotesque cookie lay there, its gouged eye sockets staring sightlessly at him. “Yeah, I'll bet.” He studied the puncture wounds, noted the mouthful missing from the shoulder. He thought it odd, that someone would go to the trouble of mutilating a partially eaten cookie. It had to be deliberate.

He told Bryn to put it away in case they needed it for evidence later on, then found Christa huddled on the sofa with Jake, wrapped in a blanket. Her eyes filled with relief when she saw him.

“Hi,” she whispered. The shadows under her eyes seemed even darker in her pale face.

“Hi, darlin'.” He sat next to her and pulled her close. “Feeling better?”

She gave a slight nod against his shoulder, fingers fretting with the edge of the blanket. “Do you think he followed us here? Maybe saw me leaving with Bryn this morning and thought I was staying here?”

He wanted to put her mind at ease, but he had no explanation for it and didn't want to lie to her. “I don't know, kiddo, but I highly doubt it. To get across the border he'd have to have a fake passport— ”

“Which is possible.”

“It's possible, but not likely. I think this was his way of reminding you he's still out there.” He could have left the package himself, but that meant he'd have had to clear customs at the border and stay close enough to monitor their activities. No way. Too risky, and Rayne would have noticed someone watching them. However, the guy
could
have done it without risking capture. Maybe he'd somehow traced them through cell phone records. He could have found Bryn's address that way, then phoned down and had it delivered. But then, what sort of bakery would deliver a mutilated cookie, even if the customer tried to convince them it was a joke?

His phone rang. He sat up and checked the ID. “Hey, Nate.” He met Christa's gaze, waited for the news.

“Customs confirmed Seth has not crossed the border. Not by foot, bicycle, plane, car, bus or ferry, so unless he found a way to beam himself to Lincoln City, he's still up here.”

“He hasn't crossed the border,” he relayed to Christa, and she sagged against the cushions. He squeezed her hand. “That's good news.”

“Yeah,” Nate agreed. “But if he didn't follow you, how did he do it? Did he trace your phone calls?”

“Maybe. Could have hacked into my account, or intercepted my mail I guess. It's all I can think of.”

“And then Fed-Exed the package down?”

“No, it wasn't couriered. He must have ordered it down here somewhere.”

“I can't wait to nail this guy's ass.”

Rayne grunted. “Take a number.”

“I'll check out the bakeries in the area, see if I can find out anything more. How's Christa holding up?”

“As well as can be expected.”

Nate grunted. “All right, that's all for now, but I'll keep in touch. Tell Christa we're on top of everything.”

“Will do.” He set his phone down and blew out a breath, glanced down at her. “That's a relief.”

She opened her eyes. “No kidding.” Sighing, she rolled her neck around, looked to Bryn standing in the doorway.

“Want some hot cider or something?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

He studied Christa's profile, the warm imprint of her body burning through the layers of cloth separating them. So strong, to bear all this and not break into a million pieces. She continually impressed him with her courage. He kissed the top of her head. “You stay here and relax for a while and I'll help Bryn.”

The warmth in her grateful smile wrapped around his heart like a fist.

When Rayne followed Bryn back into the living room carrying a tray of steaming mugs, he stopped dead at the sight of her, staring, and Christa realized the blanket had been hiding her hair. “You cut your hair,” he blurted.

She pushed the blanket off her shoulders and fingered the chin-length bob. “I was having a moment,” she confessed as he set the tray down.

He stroked where the sweep of hair touched the curve of her jaw, leaving tingles in his wake. “I like it.”

“She's been thinking of doing it for forever,” Bryn piped up, “So I encouraged her, and took her to a stylist friend of mine. A few snips and she's a new woman.”

Christa spared him an uncomfortable glance. “My long hair was so much trouble. And this way no one will ever be able to grab me by my braid.”

He held out a hand to her. “Brave girl. You look gorgeous.”

The compliment warmed her all the way to her toes, even more than the cider. After drinking it she felt much better. The icy terror was gone, replaced with confidence her attacker was still across the border, and that she was safe while in Rayne's care. The gingerbread man had been a hideous reminder of what he'd already done to her, what he'd like to do to her. But for now, anyway, she was safe.

Safe and on vacation with a gorgeous man, and she was damn well going to enjoy the rest of it. No way would she let today's gruesome incident set her back.

Rayne and Bryn were wonderful with her, letting her quietly gather her nerves and then drawing her into more lighthearted conversation to take her mind off the incident. A couple of hours later when Rayne asked if she felt up to walking home, she agreed. She could use some fresh air, and they'd pick up the rental car tomorrow.

They said goodbye to Bryn and started up the beach toward home, tossing sticks into the foaming surf for Jake, who plunged into the chilly water without a care and raced back to them sopping wet, prize clenched between his teeth. The tide was out, leaving bands of seaweed and driftwood washed up in tangles of green and gray ribbon. Gulls winged in the cerulean sky, gliding past wisp-soft clouds in the salty breeze. Children laughed and splashed in the waves, chasing rainbow colored kites carried on gusts of wind, parents sitting on blankets with picnic hampers as they supervised the construction of sandcastles. Rayne slid his arm around her shoulders, as if trying to accustom her to the contact without scaring her. She appreciated his concern, but he didn't need to treat her like spun glass. It wasn't his touch that frightened her, especially after spending the night in his bed with him wrapped around her like a living blanket. She was afraid being intimate with him would trigger the memories of the attack and provoke an anxiety episode.

Now she barely tensed, though she stayed acutely aware of the warmth and strength of that hand on her bare flesh, her skin buzzing with sensation. She dug into her bag and took a bite of the caramel apple she'd treated herself to.

“So did y'all have a good time shopping?” he asked, gliding his hand down her arm to catch her hand, lacing their fingers.
Please
don't let her palm get sweaty.

“Mm-hmm,” she replied around another mouthful of caramel. It stuck to the corner of her mouth and she licked it away, the cut in her lip stinging. She covered the wince and he watched her with something close to amused adoration.

“What?” she demanded.

“You missed a spot.”

She went to wipe it with her hand but he caught her fingers in his.

“Let me.” He brought both hands up to cup her face, bent his head and touched his lips to the side of her mouth, absorbing the jolt that went through her. Her hands flattened against his chest, the caramel apple falling to the sand at her feet.

“Rayne?” Her heart stuttered. Could she possibly be misinterpreting this?

“Hmm?” he murmured, nibbling at the caramel, a grin tugging at his lips.

“What are you doing?” Her face was burning up between his hands. If he was teasing her again, she'd die.

“Giving you a second to get used to how this feels,” he whispered, “so you don't panic when I kiss you for real.”

“Oh... ” Good God, he was going to kiss her for real? She might not survive it.

He skimmed his thumbs across her cheekbones and brushed his lips over hers, testing, asking, as if he could feel the nervousness warring inside her, her body tensed for flight.

This is Rayne, and he cares about you, keeps you safe
. She held her ground as he lowered his head and kissed her slowly, adjusting the angle and pressure until she rewarded him with a gasp, her fingers digging into his shirt. Her heart beat so hard and fast she was afraid it might stop. His mouth coaxed hers, making her toes curl in her sandals. His tongue slid across her bottom lip, stroking inside to tease hers. The roar of heat rushed through her body to the pit of her stomach, stunning her, left her reeling for breath and balance. Her shaking hands gripped his shirt as though it was a lifeline. He released her mouth, pulled back just enough to give her room to breathe, and gazed down into her face.

His eyes blazed with hunger. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

She nodded, then shook her head to correct herself. If he'd done that to distract her, he'd succeeded. Breathing was a supreme effort.

But oh, God. If he kissed her like that again she wouldn't be able to stop.

He let go of her hand at the back door while she toweled Jake off, couldn't think straight he was so starved for her. God. He wanted to back her up against the door and kiss her until she let out that little gasp and dug her fingers into him again, until her knees gave out and she slid to the floor. Beneath him.

Since that would scare the living hell out of her, he busied himself putting away the dishes, the mundane chore clearing his head. Had he pushed too hard, too soon? She hadn't panicked and shoved him away, but the fear in her eyes had almost stopped him. Like a deer in the headlights. Had he really taken her so off guard?

She came into the kitchen and washed her hands, flashing him a brief, sweet smile. That haircut was damned sexy on her. It made her eyes look even bigger, bluer somehow. He could drown in them.

Blushing under his hungry stare, she removed a box from her bag and held it out to him. “I got you something.”

“What for?” The last thing he wanted was for her to feel indebted to him.

“Just because.”

He opened the velvet box to reveal a medallion. Stunned, he lifted the gold chain from its satin bed, rubbing his thumb over the image.

“They didn't have any Saint Christophers,” she explained, her heart in her eyes, “but this is Saint Michael, the patron saint of police officers, so I thought it would be even better. I had it engraved on the back.”

He turned it over in his fingers.

To my knight in shining armor. May this always keep you safe from any dangers you face. Love Christa
.

He stared at it in wonder. Imagine her remembering the story about his mom's gift to his father. He'd only mentioned it once.

“I wanted to give you this because, through everything— ” her voice thickened, and she swallowed. “Through everything that's happened, you've been there for me every single time I needed you. Including today.”

He gazed down into her earnest face, let himself tumble into the wide blue pools of her eyes.

She reached up to hug him, turning her face into his throat. “So that makes you
my
hero, Rayne. Thank you for everything you've done.”

“Chris... ” he said into her hair. “Sweetheart, I'll always be there.” He pulled back to meet her gaze, made sure she knew he meant it.

She blinked away the moisture, ventured a watery smile. “So, do you like it?”

He couldn't bear to say she shouldn't have bought him anything, not when she was looking up at him with such heartbreaking uncertainty. “I love it. Put it on for me.” He stood still while she reached around his neck to clasp the chain, breathing in the freshness of her hair and tingling at the brush of her fingers against the nape of his neck. It was all he could do to stop himself from burying his face in the curve of her shoulder and kissing her breathless. Instead he smoothed the crown of her head and said, “Thank you.”

He let his hand rest there, loath to stop touching her in even that small way, convinced his chest would explode. Eventually he gave in and leaned down to kiss her, just a slow taste of her, enough to make their breath shorten.

His cell phone buzzed on his belt.
Leave it
. Her lips were so warm and welcoming.
No, it might be important
. Tearing himself from her, he checked the caller ID.