Chapter 24
If Kane hadn’t had his hands full, he might have socked the concierge. “Call the cops,” he barked at the man. “And an ambulance.” The concierge seemed to come out of a trance and reached for the phone. Kane set his jaw against the horror of all the blood on Ellen and took her upstairs.
Carl was waiting at his front door; he looked pleasantly curious until he saw her. “God,” he exclaimed. “What happened?”
“The fuck would I know?” Kane snapped. “Can’t you see she’s fainted?” Carl stepped inside, and Kane laid her on the couch, holding her as gently as he could while he removed her coat. The blood was spattered across half her face and chest. Her perfect cheek was hidden under a welt whose bruise got worse as he watched. Her lip was swelling under the cut, her hair dirty and lank on her face. He sat back on his heels and looked at her, tears coming into his eyes.
Carl picked up a throw blanket from another chair, put it over her, moved to Kane’s room, and brought out his comforter to add to it. Then he got out his cell phone and called the police.
Kane didn’t stop him, was only dimly aware of all this, though he was grateful that the thick layers of warmth seemed to be stopping some of Ellen’s shivering. She was still gripping a bloody set of keys in one hand. There didn’t seem to be a single part of her he could touch without hurting her, so instead he scraped his hand through his hair and kept it there, his head down, while Carl moved around, doing something practical, no doubt.
Ellen stirred, and her eyelids fluttered. The light made her wince. Kane gestured to Carl, and he turned everything off but one lamp across the room. Kane could see the glitter of Ellen’s eyes as she focused on him. “I’m okay,” she whispered.
“No, you’re not,” he stated, not caring that he had tears on his face. “This is not okay.”
Into his line of sight came a glass of brandy, followed by Carl, who crouched down next to him. “Hi, Ellen,” Carl said.
“Hi, Carl,” she said, and unbelievably, smiled a little. “Nice to meet you.”
Kane could feel his heart rate slowing just from having Carl there. All Kane could think about was how deep the injuries went, and why Ellen in particular had been targeted.
“Kane,” Carl said. The brandy hovered in front of his face. “Drink this. Drink it,” he insisted when Kane pushed it away because it was between him and Ellen. Kane obeyed, but it just seemed to make his blood burn even more at the sight of her.
“The police’ll be here soon,” Carl said to Ellen. “We can’t get you cleaned up until then, okay?” She nodded. Carl paused, then said delicately, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“Just my leg,” she said. Kane didn’t think he could stand to look at her. That wasn’t what Carl was asking, and the potential answer was killing him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Oh,” she said, and reached out to Kane. It was the hand with the keys in it, so he still didn’t touch her. “No. They just took my bag.”
Kane rocked back so he was sitting on the floor and hid his face in his hands. The relief was agony. He heard Carl say, “They?”
“I parked my car farther away,” she explained, her voice still low and hoarse. “Because it’s late. They took my bag... and then they...” She stopped. After a few seconds he heard, “They thought they’d seize the day.”
“You’re covered in blood,” Carl said.
“Mmm.”
Kane managed to look at her. She was examining her forearm and hand. “One of them hit me, and I hit the ground pretty hard.” She said it so calmly it made Kane groan. “Don’t worry—”
“Don’t worry?” he broke in, his voice cracking.
“I got him back.” She gave that small smile again. “Kicked one in the nuts—you know I’m rather good at that—and got the other one with these.” She shook the hand holding the keys. “I think that’s why there’s so much blood.” It was still seeping from her arm and leg onto the couch. Ellen suddenly went to sit up. “Oh, Kane, your sofa!”
It was so absurd he just gaped at her. It was Carl who said, “No one cares about the couch, Ellen. Just relax.”
The concierge rang up then, and soon the police were in the room. Ellen sat up, and Kane even saw her make an attempt to smooth her hair, which exasperated him and hurt his heart all at the same time. The detectives called back to have someone go to the street where she’d been attacked, and then spent the next several minutes asking him and Carl exactly where they’d been tonight, even with Ellen saying with increasing force, “It wasn’t them. Hello. It wasn’t them.”
Kane had been so pissed today, at himself mostly but also with her. What she’d said would happen had finally happened: a news story so damaging she really could have lost her job. And she’d shut him out. After the week they’d had: the intimacy they’d shared, not just physically but emotionally, in those hours when they’d talked about their lives; when he’d told her about his relationship with his father and she’d talked about the hurt she felt whenever she spoke to her mother; after all that, he thought she’d come to trust him, even to rely on him the way he did her. Even, God help him, to consider a future with him. But today she’d gone right back into the cold, aloof Ellen who shut away all emotion. And he didn’t know how to get her back.
And now... this. He’d felt scared and helpless when his mills had been attacked; when he’d closed the plant thirteen years ago and had to let people go; when he’d been told his father had died and knew that if he didn’t do something, the company was going to die too. But it was nothing compared to this. She had been attacked because of him, he was sure of it, because he’d dragged her into his crazy life in front of cameras and with journalists ready to believe anything they liked about her sex life, just because she was with him. He couldn’t even bear to look at his own hands.
But when the police talked about going to the hospital, it was Kane she turned to, her eyes pleading. She tucked her head into his neck and held him so tight his breathing was restricted, but he held her even more closely. “I don’t want to go,” she said into his shoulder.
“I know, hon,” he said, his voice still rough. “But let’s help them catch these assholes, huh?” He brought up one hand to stroke her hair.
“Don’t leave me there,” she whispered.
“Not for one second.”
“I’m sorry about your sofa.”
