Chapter nineteen
COMFORT
SNAKE
Double-timing it to the Sheriff’s department with my heart thudding like it wants to escape my chest, I didn’t know what to expect when I got the alert that Saban was there. Housed in the same building as the county courthouse and the morgue could mean anything.
She’d been resting peacefully this morning when I stopped back by before heading back to Birmingham after my appointment with the sheriff earlier.
With the person stalking Kandie still on the loose, and the break-in, I couldn’t be certain if they were focused squarely on her or any woman they think is vulnerable.
My coming to watch over her every night is a deterrent, but when someone is fixated, there is no telling what they will attempt to get their interest’s notice.
Parking around the back, I skirt around the manicured side of the building, bolting up the stone steps of the building.
“Where is she?” I demand walking past a stunned Lydia sitting at the front desk, her finger frozen mid-swipe on the tablet, with barely a nod of acknowledgment.
“The Infirmary.” I hear her say not breaking stride.
Ulysses is noncommittal and won’t even confirm Saban is there. A diminutive, buttoned-up woman is lingering with an FBI badge emblazoned on her jacket. She looks shocked at my presence.
Telling me “you can’t go in there” almost gets Ulysses’ big ass murked.
Acting like he’d do anything different if it came to Kandie’s little messy ass has me rolling my eyes.
Not to mention he didn’t call and tell me about her being here is definitely going to have us moving around some furniture real soon.
“Get the fuck outta my way.” Shoving past him is easier than I realize, but he isn’t really trying to keep me out.
Bursting through the doors and seeing her banged-up like that is enough to bring me up short. Realizing that she did it to herself nearly brings me to my knees.
Powerless to do anything else, I listen as Dr. Everything quietly gives me instructions on taking care of her. “Please make sure she sets the referral appointment with Dr. Kinsington.” Nodding, I don’t take my eyes off her patient, just ready to get her out of this place.
My heart swells full to bursting when she nestles her head into my neck, letting me hold her.
Ulysses gives me a blanket as I leave, letting me out the back to protect her privacy. Wrapping it around her, we shared a look of “we’ll talk about this later” because the FBI agent hovering not far away scrutinizing the situation.
Nodding, I turned from them, heading out, barely registering the heated exchange between them about him not having the authority to override her decision to keep Saban longer.
“Let me,” I say, securing the seatbelt when she tries to fumble for it. Going around to my side, I back out of the parking space in the rear of the building to take her home.
Debating the entire way over to her place, with my need to take her back to the fortress I built to keep her safe warring within me, the short drive to her tattoo shop. Something inside of me says if I do take her to my home I wouldn’t let her leave again not even to work.
I know the man I am. I know his need to protect her, even from herself, is like a bright, vicious thing burning hot in my soul.
It’s in overdrive after seeing her in the infirmary, bandaged from feet to head from the self-harm of a panic attack.
It’s been years since it presented in this horrific manner.
“I got you.” Gathering her tight little form balled-up so tightly on the passenger side, I make sure the blanket is covering her, tucking the sides in before I take the stairs to her loft two at a time.
Unlocking the door, I kick it closed once we are inside, striding over to the bed. Sitting her on it, I come to my haunches, so I can meet the beautiful brown of her eyes.
“How about a bath?” I ask, not missing the caked blood in her fingernails.
Her eyes well, still she nods. I know she’s sunk deep into that place within herself she finds the safest. I know not to press. It never goes well bombarding her with questions of why. If she knew why, we wouldn’t be here. All that matters is I’m here to take care of her the way she needs.
Stepping into the bathroom, I go over to the claw-foot bathtub. I knew she would love when I had it placed here. Filling it with the vanilla-rose bubble bath from the Love Apothecary. The fragrance fills the room as the steam wafts from the sudsy tub.
“Stand up for me, mi amore.” I whisper, kneeling before her small, curvy frame. Slowly, I work the jeans down her legs trying to avoid any bruises I don’t readily see.
“Good girl.” Praising her as she steps out of them, I stand pulling the Henley she normally wears for work over her head. She was closing or opening the shop when they came and got her.
They kept her in that place all day. For what? Knowing now is not the time to ask, instead I lead her to the bath, helping her get in.
“Keep your hands out of the water.”
Her nails are torn, and bleeding like my baby was fighting for her life. I guess in a way she always has been — only from demons that have haunted her for years.
Sitting on the edge of the tub, I take her hand, cleaning her nail bed and underneath, knowing how important it is for her to keep them clean for her work. She’ll be horrified to see them not pristine in the morning when she wakes.
Her fingers start trembling, then her whole body shakes uncontrollably. The moment it registers, I’m shucking off my clothes and getting into the tub with her.
“Shhh, I got you.” Pulling her tightly into my arms, I hold her, ignoring the way the hot water is scorching my sac. For long minutes, I hold her until her small frame processes the adrenaline racing through her body.
With soft, simple instructions not to put her bandaged hands in the water, I navigate through the rest of the bath.
We stand together, letting the water sluice off us.
Dabbing her and then myself with a bath sheet, we step out.
Making her stand still, loading her toothbrush and moisturizing her before re-wrapping her in a dry sheet and tucking her in bed.
Going back to the bathroom, I finish my night routine before joining her. A little smile breaks free despite everything when she snuggles close to me.
Luminous eyes search mine. I see how haunted she is by all that’s happened, and it shatters me just knowing what the cause is but not knowing what triggered the present episode.
“Will I ever be free of this, Hadrián?” The forlorn plea cuts deep into my heart. I don’t have the answer to that, so I say instead with gentle strokes through her locs. “We will keep working on it until we find a way. You’ll never be free of me, and I’m not giving up on you.”
“Do you think you can draw the tattoo you saw?” I ask Saban the next morning as I spoon oatmeal loaded with pecans into her bowl after she bravely tells me of all she endured the previous day.
“Sure.” Getting up from the little eat-in, two-seater table in the smallish kitchen, she pads over to the living room, pulling tracing paper from a stash inside the drafting table she uses to sketch her designs.
Retrieving an art pencil, she comes back to the table and quickly sketches out the design of the phoenix rising from the flames of the crown.
“Damn.” I say, looking at the image. “That’s the tattoo the girls from the trafficking ring Rudy’s crew was running wore.” Meeting her steady brown gaze, I watch as the realization sharpens her soft features.
“Ah, that’s why it was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
I got only a glimpse of it that night at the warehouse.
That lady — Dr. Spencer — was so sure I was lying trying to protect someone.
That’s why she wanted me held until I broke down and told them the truth.
I didn’t see the girls log enough for it to register last year.
” She sounds like she’s apologizing, and I don’t like that.
“It’s not on you.” Cupping her chin, I stroke the side of her cheek with the pad of my thumb. “The people behind this are the only ones responsible for the death of that girl.”
The day is sunny despite the gloom of the realization.
Rising, I call Angel to fill him in on the new information surrounding the death of the child. This has now become el Diablo business, and as in all things, we’ll handle it in-house.
“Aye, a trafficked kid was found in the Tombigbee, and she had a wrist tattoo like some of the girls Rudy’s crew brought over.” I tell him as soon as he answers the phone.
After a string of invectives, he asks. “Do they know how long she’s been here? Was this before or after the last time we intercepted one of their shipments?”
“Not sure. Saban says, her nails were freshly painted, and they said she was from Blount County, but all she saw of her was her hand and wrist.” I tell him.
“The fuck was she doing to know this?” he demands, clearly upset that Saban is involved. He loves her like a sister despite the trouble her not trusting us did to him and Easy.
“Nothing other than opening her shop. Ulysses came by asking her for help in identifying a tattoo. Only he took her to the morgue, where a FBI agent and the body of the kid were. Dr. Spencer didn’t feel like she was being forthcoming enough, so decided to keep her until she changed her mind. Then the storm hit —”
“Dammit.” He swears, well aware of Saban’s history with night terrors and panic attacks. “When I see his ass today at the event for Mathias, I’m going to have a word with him.”
“You’ll have to beat me to it. He’ll need the security we set up more than the soon to be Senator Shelby if I have anything to say about it.” I grumble.
“Bring Saban. It will be good for her to get out, and the food is guaranteed to be good. Mama-Pete has everyone in the county who can cook bring something, and The Camellia will have a tent. That alone should put Mathias over the top in this election.”