“Back in a minute.” In the guest room, she stripped out of her jeans and t-shirt, and opted for pajama pants and yet another t-shirt. If Nash hadn’t been run off by the story of what she’d been through, he could probably stand up to her in comfy clothes.
“Rowan.” His voice echoed down the hall.
“Hang on, I’ll throw these in that load.” Bundling the clothes in a wad, she joined him in the hall.
He stood in front of the washer, something navy in his hands.
“What is it?”
“Is this yours?” He held up what she recognized as her Houston Astros hoodie.
Rowan frowned. “I don’t remember pulling that out of my bag.”
Nash lifted the sleeve and pointed to the splash of red on the cuff. “It’s got the same paint from the truck.”
The bottom fell out of her stomach. “Where did you find that?”
“In the washer.”
“I didn’t do this.” Even she heard the thread of desperation in her tone as she lifted her eyes to his. Would he believe her?
“I know you didn’t. You were never out of my sight for more than a few minutes at a time. I walked over tonight. It’s possible that whoever did this didn’t know I was here and didn’t count on you having an alibi during the time in question.”
He believed her. Without question. Relief made her shake.
“Oh baby.” Nash dropped the hoodie and wrapped his arms around her. “You haven’t had any allies in this, have you?”
“No.” Because it felt so good, she let herself lean, for just a minute. “Nash, whoever did this has been in the house.” If the truck had been vandalized during dinner, that meant someone had come in sometime between then and when Ethan had left. That was both ballsy and terrifying.
“Yeah, I thought of that.”
They checked for signs of forced entry, inspecting doors and windows, looking for tracks, but as expected, there were none.
“Tomorrow we pick up those cameras on the way to the hospital. I can get them set up and do the monitoring from my place. That way Robert doesn’t have to know.”
“Okay, good. That’s good.” Rowan scrubbed a hand over her face. “Thank you for being here, for believing me.”
“Of course.” He stroked a thumb over her cheek. “You’ve been through the wringer. Get some sleep. We’ll talk about it more in the morning.”
She nodded again, starting to feel like a bobblehead doll. But it was so wonderful to have someone else to help, to make some of the decisions.
“I’ll sleep in The Chair.”
“You what?”
“You’re not staying here alone tonight.” His tone brooked no argument.
In no mood to argue, and more grateful than she could say, Rowan squeezed his hand. “I’ll get you a pillow and blanket.”
At the blood-curdling scream, Nash bolted upright, promptly crashing to the floor in the dark. For a few seconds, he didn’t remember where he was or what was going on, but he scrambled to his feet, lifting his hands in a defensive position and listening. Had he dreamed it?
“No!”
Rowan.
Nash ran for the hall, his bare feet slipping on the hardwood floor. She was still screaming as he burst through the bedroom door. But there was no shadowy figure crouched over her on the bed, no man fleeing through an open window or hiding in a corner. There was only Rowan, thrashing in the covers.
Nightmare.
Shifting gears, Nash circled the bed, grabbing at her flailing arms to try and shake her awake. She lashed out, a fist catching him against the temple.
“Ow, shit. Rowan. Rowan, wake up. It’s me, Nash.” When she only continued to thrash, he used his body weight to pin her. “Wake up!”
She sucked in a lungful of air, and he thought she might scream again, right in his ear. “Nash?”
The fear in her voice shredded his guts. “Yeah, it’s me. It’s okay. You’re safe. You were having a nightmare.”
“Off. Off!” Panic drenched her tone.
He backed off, way off, letting her go, though every instinct shouted to hold her. As soon as she was free of his grip, she scuttled away from him, until her back pressed against the wall. Her breath came too fast, too shallow, and her eyes showed white in the dark.
“I’m gonna turn on the light now.” He clicked on the lamp at the lowest setting.
Her skin was slicked with sweat, and she was shaking. Nash took a step toward her.
“Don’t.” The word lashed out like a whip, effectively holding him back.
He curled his hands to fists to keep from reaching for her. She was fucking terrified and didn’t want to be touched. What was she dreaming of? Or was she remembering?
Her breath sawed in and out, as if her very throat was sandpaper rough. After the screaming, it probably was.
“You need to slow your breathing down or you’ll hyperventilate.” Nash perched on the edge of the chair and kept his eyes fixed on hers. “Come on. Slow it down now. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”
It took a few minutes. The only sounds in the room were her ragged breath and the faintest ticking from his watch. As each inhale grew deeper, Rowan drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and dropping her head. Her whole body trembled.
“Did I say anything?”
“Just ‘no.’ Nothing more specific.”
She made a motion that might have been a nod. It was hard to tell with her curled up in a ball.
“Rowan—”
“Could you get me some water?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be right back.” He wondered if she’d take some hot tea. That’s what his mom always used to do when he woke up from a bad dream. Somehow, it seemed an ineffectual response to...whatever that had been.
In the kitchen Nash put ice in a glass and filled it from the tap. As he caught sight of the table, he remembered what she’d told them during her report. The gang members who’d shot her partner hadn’t killed her immediately. Which meant they’d either intended to use her for some kind of leverage or they’d had more nefarious uses for her because she was a woman.
She didn’t want to be touched. Oh Christ. Had they raped her?
Now he was the one who needed a minute to get his own rage under control. When he was sure he didn’t look like he was ready to commit murder, he took the water to her. She hadn’t moved from the corner, but her breathing was steadier.
She unfolded enough to take the glass. “I’m sorry. When I agreed you could stay, I didn’t think about...this.”
“It’s a recurring nightmare?”
“Yes. I haven’t had it in nearly two weeks, definitely not since I got here. I thought maybe I was past it. I guess with the vandalism and having to go through everything again with Chief Greer, it all got stirred up again.”
“The night your partner died.”
“Yes.” She sipped at the water. “I just keep seeing it, stuck on a loop. Every time, I try to do something to stop it, to change it. Every time, I fail, and David ends up dead.” Tears spilled over, sliding down her pale cheeks.
Nash couldn’t take it anymore, he moved to the edge of the bed. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but I just—tell me what I can do.”