“He smelled a little,” I recalled. “Like stale sweat.”
The police left with grim faces and Caine’s hand was gripping mine so hard I had to ask him to ease up on me. I knew my attack had shaken him up, and I had to admit that took a little of the sting out of his rejection. He didn’t love me, but he at least cared about me, and that was enough right then. Because right then I was scared, and he was the only thing that made me feel safe.
I didn’t want him to leave.
I could tell he didn’t want to leave me.
So, even though I didn’t think I owed it to him, I gave him a reassuring smile and told him I’d be fine.
“I’m tired anyway. I’ll just be sleeping. And you do have Stallone and Schwarzenegger stationed outside my door.”
“I’ll be back in the morning.” He reluctantly shrugged on his jacket and leaned down as if to press a kiss to my forehead. He hesitated and instead of brushing his mouth across my temple, he bent lower and brushed his lips across mine. “Get some rest.”
Dazed, I nodded and watched him leave, all the while wondering what the hell that had been about.
The next morning I woke up before visiting hours in pain. Angela, my nurse, gave me Percocet and told me to stop wriggling around so much if I could help it. I couldn’t help it. I’d had approximately three hours of sleep. I’d woken up at every little noise and then had almost suffocated as I subconsciously held my breath while I attempted to hear over the sound of blood rushing through my ears.
I’d remind myself I had my own commandos outside and then I’d doze off again, only to be woken up by the sharp, burning pain in my belly.
Restless sleep did not go hand in hand with a knife wound.
Caine showed up at morning visiting hours and he came brandishing pastries and coffee. He snuck them to me, and I swore if he had wanted to, I’d have married him right there and then.
“Thank you.” I threw him a soft smile in gratitude.
“You sleep okay?”
“Fine. You?”
“Fine.”
We were both lying. He looked exhausted and I could only imagine I looked like shit.
“I have a few things I need to do, but Effie said she’s dropping by this afternoon. I called Rachel and let her know what happened. She said she’d be here soon. I’ll drop by again this evening.”
“Thank you,” I repeated. “You really don’t have to take care of me, you know.”
He looked instantly annoyed.
“Not that I’m not grateful,” I hurried to assure him.
“There’s a possibility that the person who did this did it to get to me.” He stood up abruptly and started shrugging into his jacket. “I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
All I’d been thinking about was who the possible culprit was. I knew my father was capable of some pretty shitty things, and that mixed with how I’d treated him for the last seven years, plus not knowing what my mother’s death might have done to him … but it was ridiculous. I shook the thought off right away, disturbed that I’d even considered it. It plagued me that I’d considered it. So I desperately tried to think of who else it might have been. And although I hated to think that Caine was right, something occurred to me. “What about that woman you were talking to on Saturday night? She sounded like she was threatening you.”
Caine frowned. “I’m almost positive it wasn’t her, but I’m looking into it.”
“We should tell the police about it.”
“No,” he snapped.
I blanched, feeling that ugly suspicion that I’d felt on Saturday night coil in my stomach. “Why not?”
“Just … trust me. Please.” He stared me down until I nodded my uncertain agreement. “I’m doing everything in my power to find out what was behind your attack, whether it was random or has something to do with me. I won’t stop until I uncover the truth. You can believe that.”
“So you’re taking care of me out of guilt?”
“I’m taking care of you because it’s the right thing to do.”
I narrowed my gaze on him. He’d gone all “preknifed Alexa” on me. “Wow, that makes me feel so special.”
Caine sighed. “The smart-ass is back,” he muttered. “Someone’s feeling better.”
“Yes, some mystery assailant did a drive-by slicing on my belly. I’m positively perky.”
He cut me a dark look.
I huffed, “You’re allowed to be concerned about me, you know. I’m not going to take your concern as an avowal of love.”
We glared at each other for a few seconds and then Caine gradually softened. “Sorry. I’m being an ass. Of course I’m concerned. I’m taking care of you because I’m concerned, no other reason.”
Grateful at his admission, I reassured him, even though it hurt my heart to do so. “As your friend, and nothing more, I appreciate it and understand where it’s coming from. I’m not expecting anything to change because I got stabbed in the gut.”
“Would you stop saying that?” He gritted his teeth. “I keep seeing it every time you say it.”
“Sorry.”
He sighed again, but his lips had curled up at the corners, so I knew he wasn’t irritated anymore. “I’ll be back tonight.”
As soon as he walked out the door, I slumped against my pillows and felt tears burn my eyes. I hated to admit it to myself, but the truth was, after his behavior yesterday, I’d let that hope sneak back in again. I’d hoped that his tenderness, his affection, his irate reaction to what had been done to me meant that he finally realized how he felt about me.
God, I was such an idiot.
“When Caine called I was so freaking worried.” Rachel slumped on my bed beside me. “And then I stepped out of my door and saw this.” She slapped the tabloid newspaper on my knee.
A photograph of Caine and me occupied the lower half of the front page with the headline CARRAWAY’S PA ATTACKED OUTSIDE CARRAWAY FINANCIAL HOLDINGS.
“Oh my God.”
“Oh, it gets worse.”
I pulled the paper up toward me and began to read out loud, “ ‘Yesterday afternoon, busy workers in the financial district were horrified during lunchtime rush hour to witness Caine Carraway’s PA, Alexa Holland, loaded into an ambulance. Although there was no actual witness to the event itself, it has since been reported that Miss Holland, who is pictured above with Mr. Carraway at the Delaneys’ Alzheimer’s Benefit on Saturday evening, was brutally stabbed outside Two International Place. Miss Holland is said to be in recovery while the police search for the attacker.
“ ‘It is not clear whether Miss Holland was the victim of a targeted attack, or was just simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, but what is clear is that Mr. Carraway, of Carraway Financial Holdings, is pulling out all the stops to bring justice to his employee. An insider reports that he has hired private security to watch over Miss Holland while she’s in the hospital, and that he is working diligently with the police in tracking the culprit. Questions are being asked not only about the nature of the relationship between the beautiful PA and the wealthy CEO, but also of the mysterious secrecy revolving around Miss Holland’s family. Our investigator reports that Miss Holland is in fact the daughter of Alistair Holl …’ ” I trailed off, sucking in a breath.