Even though Brittany had slept off the bottle of wine over most of the day, she hadn’t had a good night’s rest and she struggled to keep her eyes open as the clock struck 2:00 a.m. After first being nonplussed by the attention she’d received when an officer whose name she didn’t remember came looking for the lieutenant and found her instead and then being upset all over again by Bryson’s visit, she’d gotten snatches of sleep. Still she couldn’t quite relax, her mind reliving the moment with Trey when she’d lost all control. Everything had been so perfect until her memories had rushed back and ruined it.
But the more she thought about what had happened, the more she realized Trey’s immediate release of her when she’d started to protest showed her he was worthy of her trust. Of course protest was much too mild a word.
Trey had brought her to release but had been denied his own and she wasn’t naïve enough to believe he wouldn’t find a way to spend himself with a woman. Bryson insisted he’d made love to Sylvia by the time she’d joined them but Brittany didn’t believe it. If she’d tarried in the bathroom much longer, things might’ve progressed to that point.
She rubbed her temples. What did she want from Trey? One thing she knew she didn’t want was Trey going to another woman’s bed. She wanted to be the one to give him what he needed. She just wasn’t sure if she wanted a temporary liaison or something more permanent. Going for permanency with Trey presented all kinds of complications.
First and foremost, she’d have to reconcile with what happened to her and she’d have to do it on her own. She also risked creating a chasm between Trey and Bryson if she pursued Trey; for that matter, she risked the same between Bryson and herself.
Finally, there was Trey himself. He was in full protective mode with her and against a serious relationship with anyone. She might overcome the latter and convince him he should spend his life with her—well, maybe it wouldn’t be that easy—but the former would be hell to get around.
Laying her head on her arm where it rested on Lieutenant Thomas’ desk, she swirled her finger around the battered old desk, just as the door swung open and Lieutenant Thomas sauntered in holding a mug, steam curling up from its contents. Coffee, she thought, as the strong smell hit her. She hadn’t seen him in hours. He’d remained in the office for two minutes after Bryson left and had checked on her once more before now. Raising her head, she stretched and smiled tentatively at him.
“Bryson is a big goon, isn’t he?” she asked, shy and quiet.
Lieutenant Thomas paused for a moment, a brow raising, before the hard line of his mouth curved in an answering smile. He threw a ring of keys on the desk. “Yes, Miss Donovan. But he loves you very much.”
She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I know,” she mumbled, wanting something she hadn’t craved in a long while—company and conversation. She looked at him. “Call me Brittany.”
He smiled again at her, approval in the depths of his eyes. “Brittany then.” He sipped his coffee then set down the mug. “How long have you known Trey?”
“You mean how long has Trey known me?” she countered, watching as he sat. Mitchell Thomas was tall, lean and trim with a coiled power he hid beneath the veneer of his smart dress. “Because Bryson and Trey met two years before I was born.”
He struck a thinker’s pose and frowned at her. “Wasn’t there someone else always with them?”
A shiver traveled through her, shaking her being. “Karl.”
Lieutenant Thomas’s eyes sharpened, searching her.
She glanced away. “Karl,” she repeated in a stronger voice. “Trey’s cousin.”
“I take it you don’t have a very high opinion of Karl.”
She got the impression Mitchell Thomas was a human recorder, hearing and seeing every little detail and never forgetting one of them. “Um no, I never said that. I don’t have an opinion of him one way or the other. I don’t know how you can detect how I feel or don’t feel about him, anyway, since I’ve spoken three words about him. His name and his relationship to Trey, Lieutenant Thomas.”
“Mitchell, please.” He shrugged. “It’s my job to detect what people are feeling. Body language says what words cannot.”
“So what’s my body language saying about the way I feel about him?”
“Him?”
“Karl.”
Rearing back in his chair, Mitchell folded his arms. He smiled a smile that didn’t reach his glacial eyes. “You think he’s an asshole.”
She snorted a surprised laugh. “That’s what you’re reading in my body language? He’s Trey’s cousin.” Mitchell was dangerous. One wrong word from her to the man seated across from her would collapse her house of cards. “However I feel about him is a moot point.”
He reached for his mug and took another sip. “I understand but I’m sure even Trey knows a few assholes.”
Despite herself, she smiled at Mitchell’s sardonic tone. He lapsed into silence, opening the file he’d placed on his desk earlier and taking notes for a few minutes.
“What does Karl look like?” He didn’t look up, his gaze traveling between the file and his legal pad.
Annoyance rose up in her at his pointless questions. “Why?”
He took another sip of his coffee, jotted another note. “A relative of Trey’s visits from time to time to see both him and Bryson. I don’t care for the man too much.”
“Karl’s very likable,” she murmured, licking her lips and gliding her shaking fingers through her hair. “He’s quiet and seems to be very calm.”
Mitchell frowned and picked up a sheet from the folder. He studied the paper a moment, then set it back on the top of the stack and wrote something else on his legal pad. “Still waters run deep. The man I’m thinking of has light-brown eyes, a goatee and a light-brown complexion.”
Ofcourse Karl would visit Trey and Bryson. Now that her emotions were reconnecting with her mind, how could she face him again?
“Sound like the same guy?”
She was staring at him as if he’d turned into an extraterrestrial. If she didn’t speak soon, as a cop he’d know she hid something. “Yes.”
“Do Trey and Bryson know you don’t like Karl?”
Oh what a loaded question. She changed the subject. “How often does he visit?”
“The station?” he asked, still acting unconcerned, his attention divided between her and his note taking.
“Yes.”
“Every seven or eight months.”
“And when did he last visit?”
“Who knows? Come to think of it, I don’t believe I’ve seen Karl around here in over a year. His ministry keeps him quite busy.”
“I suppose it does.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Mocking light-brown eyes gleamed in a face she’d term pretty rather than handsome, even with the neat goatee he liked. His big hands reached for her and she jumped. Her eyes flew open, her head throbbing and her stomach roiling.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said weakly.
“You don’t have to look like such a wounded little doe, Brittany. I mean I don’t like the guy. I think he’s an arrogant ass. But that doesn’t mean he’s some criminal who’ll hurt you in any way. You know what I mean?” His brows lifted before he narrowed his eyes.
Her pulse skittered. He’d guessed her secret.
“Did you have some type of romantic interest in the guy and he spurned you because you were Bryson’s little sister?”
She started, surprised at how far off the man’s assumptions were. “I’ve always liked Trey,” she confessed, damning her honesty when amusement lit Mitchell’s eyes. Mitchell was a master at his game, lulling people to talk to him about very personal things. Trey was a much better subject, although she still had to speak with care. “Don’t tell anyone.”
He drained his cup then crossed his heart and raised his right hand. “My lips are sealed. You have my word.”
“Bryson has warned Trey away from me.”
“I can’t say I blame him. If you were my little sister, I’d do the same thing.”
“Trey’s a fine man,” she huffed, “and I resent you and Bryson saying otherwise. Neither of you are giving him credit for being a gentleman. You don’t know him like I do and neither does Bryson.”
“Christ, I hope not,” Mitchell grunted.
Brittany should’ve been insulted or even embarrassed at what his words insinuated but he sounded so affronted she couldn’t help but laugh. The tension between them deflated, and Mitchell joined her in laughter.
“Do you understand, Miss Donovan, anything worth having is worth fighting for?” he asked after the light moment passed.
His tone held no censure, just a sagacity she couldn’t ignore.
“Trey is worth fighting for, Lieutenant Mitchell.” The words resonated in her mind and in her heart.
Mitchell contemplated her. “Trey’s a tough sonofabitch.”
“Compared to?” Before he answered, she laughed and added, “You do remember Bryson is my brother?”
“Touché. However, while you love Bryson with all your heart, you aren’t in love with him.”
She started to say something—she just wasn’t sure what. The world around Mitchell was in sharp focus so a denial from her would be pointless. Mitchell noticed everything.
“Trey’s an excellent police officer,” he continued when she remained silent.
“Being on patrol is very dangerous.”
“Which is exactly why Trey refuses to commit to any woman. He has a dangerous job, one that took his father’s life, causing his mother to nearly die from grief. But he’s damned good at his job and he loves his work.”
Trey was adamant about not involving himself in a committed relationship but whether they were intimate or not, if anything ever happened to Trey, a light inside of her would die and her world would dim even further than it had these last few years. Her devastation would be hard to overcome, but Trey did love his job and if she wanted him, then she’d have to accept him as he came, dangerous job and all.
Shaken at the thought, she gazed at Mitchell. “Are you married?”
“Quite. With four children and another one on the way.”
He winked at her and even his large nose seemed just right for him. Mitchell was to the point and full of life and in that moment, an unwavering trust in him began to build within her.
“You wouldn’t be the first young lady whose heart has been broken because I’m off the market,” he added.
Brittany giggled. “You’re impossible.”
“Yes but very irresistible.”
“At least to your wife if you have four and a half children.”
“Four and three quarters,” he corrected her. “The baby is due in seven weeks.”
“Congratulations.” Her stomach growled, loud and embarrassing in the quiet office.
Mitchell looked at her in horror and thrust his hand through his luxuriant hair. “Christ, you should’ve told me you were hungry. Trey is going to skin me alive if you end up fainting from starvation.”
“I-I didn’t know I was hungry,” she confessed. Her appetite had long ago deserted her. “Pangs just seized me.”
“How about we have some Chinese food delivered to us?”
“Chinese food?” she echoed, unable to remember the last time she’d had Chinese. Her mouth watered at the thought. “I’d like nothing better.”
“Then consider it a date,” he teased. “Just don’t tell my wife or your brother. They might not take too kindly to that. Neither would Trey, if I haven’t missed my mark, and I rarely do.”
Well he had earlier, believing she’d had a romantic interest in Karl. As Mitchell’s attention drifted back to the folder, she chewed on her lip, sobering as she realized she’d sequestered herself from the world, as if she’d pressed a pause button on her life. She couldn’t ever reclaim those years. She’d given up her dream of forensic pathology as some type of misguided restitution. Trey insisted she wasn’t to blame but she hadn’t bothered to dig out a robe before she’d answered the door. Anyone could’ve been there. Guiltily, she’d been looking for a visit from Trey.
She’d shared a few clumsy kisses with a few clumsy boys but she’d wanted Trey to teach her about kissing and lovemaking. She’d only really begun to get sexual urges—all of them centering around Trey—a few weeks before that fateful day. If Trey had visited that night, she would’ve enjoyed tormenting him in her little orange nightgown. When she’d seen it at the store, she’d even imagined putting it on just for Trey.
A light clicked on in her brain. Remembering some of the looks Trey had begun to give her, she realized he’d wanted her then. And he still wanted her. She had to get another opportunity to show him she could handle being his lover.
Trey’s whore. She jerked at the taunt, the words flashing through her mind as if someone shouted them. Maybe she was a whore. Her whole body numbed at the thought. By the time she’d begun to desire Trey, she’d let two or three boys kiss her. Even more shameful, the night of her assault, Karl had manipulated her clit until she’d had an orgasm, despite her pain and shame.
A tremble passed through her.
“Are you still with me?” Mitchell asked.
“Yes. I’m perfect.”
He slid a menu across the desk toward her. “Tell me what you’d like.”
After making her selection and listening as Mitchell placed the order, she asked directions to the ladies’ room. A few minutes later, when she stood at the sink to wash her hands, she kept her eyes averted from the mirror.
Other than quick glances and the day Karen marched her up to the mirror, she’d studied herself in front of one a handful of times since…then. She couldn’t bear to see the reflection staring back at her.
Shoring up her courage, she raised her gaze, only to grow startled when she saw a hint of the Brittany Donovan she’d been, once upon a time. Odd-colored eyes, sadder now and without the sparkle of life they’d once held. A small mouth, high cheekbones and a small, straight nose. Café au lait complexion, the skin beneath her eyes black with fatigue. Long, dark, curling hair she’d once loved but now detested.
Nothing extraordinary about her—just a regular girl with regular issues.
She turned from one side to the other, not finding a scarlet letter or the words Trey’s Whore branded anywhere on her skin. No R, either, to indicate she’d been raped. But there was an invisible V, imaginary and smothering.
V for victim. Therein lay the crux of the matter.
Reverend Karl Wilson, Bryson’s friend and Trey’s cousin, had victimized her and forced her to do unspeakable things, but it was she, herself, who’d turned into a victim.