Jennifer Greene - Secretive Stranger

His dad, even in the brain fog that tore at Cord’s heart most days, had finally said that all this Sophie talk was getting silly. Did Cord even realize he was in love with the woman? When he was he going to bring her around? At the time…

Cord suddenly lifted his head, the coffeepot in one hand, a mug in the other. He thought he’d heard a strange sound. A muted thump.

But when he went completely still, the sound didn’t repeat. He forgot it, carted his coffee into the computer room and started switching on all the electronics. The sooner he dove into every file and floorboard in Jon’s place, the better. There was no talking about the future until this mess with his brother was resolved. Hopefully, when Sophie got here, she’d take on the books. He dreaded the accounting stuff.

He opened a desk drawer, scrounged for a scratch pad…then halted. He heard the same vague thump again. He stood up restlessly, listened again.

Nothing. Weirded out now, he unearthed his cell phone, punched in Sophie’s cell. Naturally, he only got her voice mail. If the cops hadn’t black-inked a worry about those two women friends of hers, Cord wouldn’t think anything of it. She didn’t have a time-clock sort of job. Stopping by the cleaners could have held her up. Anything could have slowed her down.

Still, he was edgy now, too antsy to concentrate. He hiked across the hall to rap on Sophie’s door again. No response. Damn cat hadn’t even shown his face. No light reflected under her door, either.

He’d barely crossed back into Jon’s apartment before hearing that faint thumping. It was real, not in his head. It was just so faint and sporadic. It made no…But it did make sense, he suddenly realized, and charged across the living room. Sophie and Jon’s apartments shared a common wall, the internal wall affecting both the living and computer rooms in Jon’s place. He thumped on his side.

Waited.

And there it was. An answering thump.

Then nothing. No further response. Nothing from the other side, no matter how hard he pounded from either the living room or computer walls. Frantic now, he realized he had no key to Sophie’s place, no way to get in. Calling the police was an obvious choice, but not fast enough. Something was wrong, he knew it. Something was really wrong.

He started toward her place again, then spun around, hustled into the kitchen to paw through his brother’s tray of spare keys. He’d forgotten. Sophie had said Jon took care of her stuff when she was gone, so her apartment key could well be in the mess of others.

He scooped up the three that looked like door keys, chased across the hall, tried the first, failed. Tried the second, got in, called, “Sophie?”

When she didn’t answer him this time, he put on steam, following the east inner wall of her place, checking the bathroom, then into the bedroom where they’d spent that extraordinarily unforgettable night…God, the memory of her wildly coming apart in his arms was sealed in his mind like a secret he’d never give up. Heart drumming hard now, he scanned the room, the wall…the closed closet door.

The mental click was instantaneous. Sophie, being Sophie, would never have tidily closed her closet door. He tried the knob, readily discovered the lock had been pushed in, and turned it.

The damn cat flew from the darkness, pausing only long enough to brush against him. “Soph…” He didn’t see her, wasn’t sure if it was just the cat who’d been locked in the closet who’d made those thumping sounds, but a patchwork splash of color on the closet floor snagged his gaze.

He crouched down.

She was all curled up, motionless, her arms wrapped tighter around her knees than a taped-up package. Her face had no more color than a doll, and although her eyes were open, they were haunted dark, glazed with shock.

Her lips parted once, then twice. “I didn’t think anyone would find me,” she said hoarsely.

“I’d always find you,” he said quickly, correcting her. “Come here, baby.”

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Really. I’m okay.”

She was okay, all right. Like someone who’d been hit by a bus was okay. Her eyes met his-her gaze hooked on his and wouldn’t let go-but she was so frozen in that fetal position that she might as well have been painted there. In his head, Cord started swearing, every four-letter word he knew, strung together like magnets. But that was just in his head.

“We’ll just go at this slow,” he murmured.

Since she seemed to be having trouble moving, he did the obvious, crawled in there with her. He ducked through the clothes, through the shoes and bags and girl debris on the closet floor, and then just pulled her into him, onto him. Her skin was colder than ice. He sat there in the stupid closet, with her clothes dancing around his head and her shoes kicking him in the spine-but it wasn’t as if he cared about that crap.

Her skin started warming up the minute he had her wrapped up on his lap. Her cheek crashed into his shoulder. She didn’t unlock her arms, her knees, but she burrowed into him as if he were a nest. Her nest. Her one safe place in an unbearably dangerous world.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, into his shoulder. “I just need another couple seconds.”

“Hey, we can stay here all night if you want. We can order in. I’ll bet Chinese delivers to closets.” He kissed the top of her head, her temple. Not come-on kisses. Not even kisses for her. He knew damn well they were kisses for him, selfish kisses, self-centered kisses-his need to be able to kiss her, his need to be the one who was there for her whenever the monsters showed up. Any monsters. Anytime, anywhere.

She snuggled so close, she seemed to be trying to glue herself to his chest, his lap, his arms. He stroked slowly, gently, down her hair, down her back. Gradually, her heartbeat slowed to a gallop, which was definitely progress-but worry nagged at him. It was starting to feel normal, sitting in the dark, cramped closet, with her clothes all over his face. Well, not normal. But it was okay. He could have stayed there for hours. Because it was her. Something about Sophie had rearranged his head, his heart, his life, starting from about three seconds after he met her.

Eventually, she found her voice. “I guess it’s a little late to keep it a secret. I don’t do real well in trapped places.”

“I think you’re doing great. Any chance you got a look at who did this, Soph?” He kept his voice casual, easy. He didn’t want her to know that he had murder on his mind, but right then, he knew he was capable of it.

“No. I didn’t even guess anyone was in the apartment.” Her voice was still shaky with shock. “I never heard anything. I came home earlier than usual by several hours. Maybe that was the thing. That the person knew my schedule, chose a time when I wasn’t supposed to be home…”

The damn cat had parked in the closet doorway, was just sitting there, eyes glowing on Cord as if accusing him of something. The feline suddenly, furiously washed his leg, then went back to that vigilant sitting posture.

“The person…hit me in the back with something. I was thrown off-balance, knocked into the clothes. Then I was hit again. Then I heard the door lock. Then…”

He heard the streak of fear building in her voice, intervened. “Okay, that’s enough. Let’s get out of here. Call the cops-”

“No.”

When he started to move, she clutched him even tighter, so he backed off. Even knowing it was nuts to just sit there, still, he held her, still, he warmed and soothed. “All right, Soph. There’s no hurry. We don’t have to call the police until you’re ready to-”

“I don’t care about the police! All this time, stuff keeps happening, and they haven’t really done a darn thing! I want my sister!”

“Okay, okay, Soph-”

“I need to feel safe. I need to be safe.”

He stroked, stroked some more. She wasn’t hysterical. She was just…afraid.

What killed him was how he totally understood. A sister would help her feel safer than a cop-because from day one, the cops had done nothing to protect her. They were so damn dumb, they couldn’t recognize the innocent from the guilty, for Pete’s sake.

But that Sophie wanted a sister instead of him ripped at Cord’s heart.

He’d failed her. All his life, he’d been a problem solver, a doer. Yet now, when something really mattered, when someone he loved was in harm’s way, he’d failed to act. He’d been spinning plenty of wheels, but not fast enough, not effectively enough, to prevent Sophie from being hurt.

“Cord,” Sophie said desperately.

“Yeah. We’re getting you out of here. We’re taking you to a place where you’ll feel safe, where you’ll be safe. Right now,” he promised her.

Sophie woke up in the strangest dream. She was in a room she’d never seen before. A huge bay window looked over a giant maple in full fall color, its apricot leaves gilded by a blinding midday sun. The room had been decorated à la L.L. Bean. Plank floors were polished to a high gleam. The bed was big enough for Lincoln, with double-size pillows, dark sheets and comforter, and a mighty serious mattress.

The dresser looked like old oak, scarred and unique and interesting. Change was scattered across the dresser, along with a man’s belt. Glass doors led outside to a semicircular deck. She could see a single Adirondack chair on it, a pair of binoculars on the deck edge.

She pushed up on her elbows, trying to fathom where on earth she was-but that small movement brought reality crashing down on her. Pain startled her. Her whole back felt tender and swollen with bruises. Last night came back in a rush of mental snapshots. Cord finding her. Cord furious with the police. Cord locking up and feeding Caviar and hustling her into his car. Cord seeing the welts on her back, swearing, swearing more, bringing her a pill and something to drink and…