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I didn't particularly want to, but . . . "Thanks, John. Do you think this guy has done this before?"
"I think it's very likely we are dealing with a serial attacker, yes."
"Do you think you'll catch him?"
"As long as you cooperate, I'll make sure we do, Scarlett." That struck me as odd, but I was too distracted to think about it for long. "You take care. I'll be in touch."
He left, and Dante, finally, came in. He moved to me silently, looming over me, then softly took each one of my hands in his.
I couldn't even look at his face after the initial glance. It was like staring into an open wound. I was pissed, hurt, and embarrassed, and again, pissed, but he'd gone into another realm. I knew this was his worst nightmare.
"Are you okay?" he asked, voice shaking.
"Yes," I said, because it was true. I'd been attacked, yes, but I knew that it could have ended much, much worse.
"Who was it?" he asked, and I'd known he would.
I closed my eyes. I didn't want to tell him. He was too far to losing it, and if he had a clue just how much the police did not give a damn about finding the guy, he would to do it himself, I knew it. "Don't," I said quietly. "The police will handle it." I didn't believe it myself, but that wasn't the point. "I'm just a little bruised and pissed off, okay? Let's not make this a big thing."
One of his warm hands had moved up to cup my cheek. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. "I don't know what to do. I feel so helpless."
I did not want to talk about it. It felt like I'd talked about it too much, but I figured it would be better to let him know what had really happened than to let him speculate and think the worst.
He gripped my hand a little too painfully amid the retelling, but stayed very quiet and still, and I knew without having to ask that he was going through his own personal hell.
Gram came in soon after. Between the two of them, they made a big enough fuss over me that I felt truly cared for, and, though I was embarrassed by it, I was comforted.
Dante stayed the night with me in the hospital room, even after an initial standoff with my nurse. I think she decided it just wasn't worth the trouble.
I was discharged the next day, and things were almost starting to feel normal again, or at least like normal was on its way.
We were talking as though nothing had happened, joking, teasing each other as I prepared to leave for home.
As Dante was helping me to dress, we had another bad moment when he saw my bruised torso.
I glanced down at my breasts. They were black and blue. No wonder they hurt so damn much.
Dante had been holding my bra but it dropped out of his hands, his breath gone ragged. "Jesus. Look what he did to you. I'll fucking kill him."
The nurse walked in as he said that, and she sent him a startled look.
"I can't wear a bra right now," I said practically. "Just grab me a shirt."
"I'll do that," the nurse told Dante, her tone sharp, as he renewed his efforts to dress me.
He was gently sliding my arms into an oversized T-shirt as he tersely replied, "I've got her." The two didn't get along. It'd been awkward since their standoff about him staying the night before.
But the nurse only cared to a point. She clearly decided that we weren't worth the hassle and left us to it with one last glare.
We didn't even discuss it but he took me straight to Gram's house instead of mine, and she was waiting for us, a large corner suite upstairs prepared for me. I pulled Dante into bed with me and went instantly back to sleep.
"I fucking hate that guy, the male detective," Dante said abruptly at dinner.
I was surprised. "He's the only one that seems like he's trying to help me."
"I don't like him. I don't trust him. There's something wrong with him."
I was so used to him being jealous that that was the first conclusion my mind jumped to. Detective Harris was a very good-looking man, even distracted and shaken I had noticed, and then he'd had the nerve to keep Dante from me for hours after the attack. Of course Dante didn't like him. I didn't much like him either.
