Cat's Lair
Page 27
Catarina knew he told the truth, because he always did. The stark truth. He never tried to soft soap it. There were no such things as white lies. Her mother, or rather stepmother, really had done all those things. She was the only mother Catarina had ever known. Catarina, for whatever reason, was under Rafe’s protection. She’d been threatened and he’d removed the threat. Just like that.
That hadn’t been the only time he’d “protected” her. She’d been sixteen and had become a little rebellious. Not with Rafe. Never with him. But she always had shadows on her. Men who went everywhere she did. She’d gone to a movie and had slipped into the woman’s bathroom and she’d stayed there deliberately for a very long time, forcing one of the two men to come in to retrieve her.
She detested Marcel. He’d been the one to help kill April. Marcel had dragged her out and refused to allow her to see the rest of the show. She’d kicked up a fuss. In public, a serious break of the rules. He’d slapped her the moment they were away from prying eyes.
She never told Rafe, but he knew before she got home. He was there and his anger filled the room. Filled it. She stood in front of him, bowing her head, terrified of his wrath, kicking herself for being so stupid. She hated having men following her everywhere. She didn’t have friends to attend movies with, and she’d overheard the two men talking about how pathetic she was. She’d been crushed.
Rafe caught her chin with two fingers and tipped her face up for his examination. He pressed his palm to the cheek Marcel had slapped. Then he’d raised his eyes to Marcel and jerked his head at two of his personal bodyguards. The last she’d seen of Marcel, he was struggling as he was dragged from the house.
Don’t hurt him, Rafe. I was upset with them, something they said about me, and I acted stupid.
No one has the right to put their hands on you but me. Never, Catarina, not for any reason. I won’t stand for it. If you need to be punished, that’s for me to decide, no one else. Any man touches you, you tell me.
That had been the first time he’d ever touched her gently. His hand had skimmed her face and then moved to her hair. His eyes, usually so cold, held something for one brief moment she couldn’t understand. But she knew she would never, ever, tell Rafe that someone hit her, slapped her, or put his hands on her. She knew it was a death sentence.
Tuttle returned with the water and Catarina drank it down and then pulled her feet up on the chair beneath the table, sitting tailor fashion. She rocked gently, trying to soothe herself long enough to get through this.
“I’m sorry those things happened to you, Ms. Benoit.” Tuttle even sounded sorry. His eyes were gentle. “Are you certain you didn’t see the face of the man who killed April Harp?”
She swallowed down painful memories and shook her head. “I was forced to face her at all times.”
Rafe hadn’t tried to comfort her afterward. He’d taken her directly to her room and locked her in, bloody hands and all. She’d spent hours in her shower, sliding down the wall and crying while she scrubbed the palms of her hands raw. In the end she couldn’t tell if it was April’s blood or her own on her hands.
“You ran away again when you were seventeen.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid of what Rafe wanted from me. He looked at me differently. He watched me all the time. I didn’t know why and I was afraid. So I decided to try to get away again, but without anyone’s help.” That wasn’t the entire reason, but she wasn’t going to tell him the rest. She didn’t have proof. She never had proof, but she knew.
Rafe came into her room at night, his eyes on her. Watching her. Wholly focused on her. Waiting for something. She had no idea what it was, but she could tell he was becoming impatient.
She hadn’t left because of that. She’d left because of the women. The nights he came to her room, prowling around, his eyes glowing at her, she’d held her breath expectantly. He hadn’t laid a hand on her. But then, after he left, a car would pull up and a woman would get out. She didn’t know for certain, but she never saw the same woman twice, and she never saw them leave. Not even when she waited up all night.
“I didn’t get very far. Rafe has eyes everywhere. He found me within hours.” It was more than that, but she wasn’t going to reveal any secrets that would get her locked up. She knew Tuttle could try to lock her up for not reporting April’s murder, but she’d been a virtual prisoner and it wouldn’t stick. They both knew it. “He was angry with me.”
“What did he do? And why didn’t you go straight to the police?”
“I was his ward,” she reminded him. “He had every right to haul me back. He didn’t kidnap me. And he owned half the police department.” She knew that. She’d seen the fat envelopes that were handed out.
“What did he do?” Tuttle persisted, not denying that Rafe had owned cops. It was common knowledge.
She moistened her suddenly dry lips. For the first time she couldn’t look at him. There was nowhere to look so she stared down at her wrists. Already bruises were forming. She had very fair skin and she’d always marked easily.
“Let’s just say, I didn’t defy him again until I was very, very certain I could get away and he wouldn’t be able to track me.”
“You lived with him all those years, Ms. Benoit. You had to have seen him committing a crime. We need you to be frank with us.”
That hadn’t been the only time he’d “protected” her. She’d been sixteen and had become a little rebellious. Not with Rafe. Never with him. But she always had shadows on her. Men who went everywhere she did. She’d gone to a movie and had slipped into the woman’s bathroom and she’d stayed there deliberately for a very long time, forcing one of the two men to come in to retrieve her.
She detested Marcel. He’d been the one to help kill April. Marcel had dragged her out and refused to allow her to see the rest of the show. She’d kicked up a fuss. In public, a serious break of the rules. He’d slapped her the moment they were away from prying eyes.
She never told Rafe, but he knew before she got home. He was there and his anger filled the room. Filled it. She stood in front of him, bowing her head, terrified of his wrath, kicking herself for being so stupid. She hated having men following her everywhere. She didn’t have friends to attend movies with, and she’d overheard the two men talking about how pathetic she was. She’d been crushed.
Rafe caught her chin with two fingers and tipped her face up for his examination. He pressed his palm to the cheek Marcel had slapped. Then he’d raised his eyes to Marcel and jerked his head at two of his personal bodyguards. The last she’d seen of Marcel, he was struggling as he was dragged from the house.
Don’t hurt him, Rafe. I was upset with them, something they said about me, and I acted stupid.
No one has the right to put their hands on you but me. Never, Catarina, not for any reason. I won’t stand for it. If you need to be punished, that’s for me to decide, no one else. Any man touches you, you tell me.
That had been the first time he’d ever touched her gently. His hand had skimmed her face and then moved to her hair. His eyes, usually so cold, held something for one brief moment she couldn’t understand. But she knew she would never, ever, tell Rafe that someone hit her, slapped her, or put his hands on her. She knew it was a death sentence.
Tuttle returned with the water and Catarina drank it down and then pulled her feet up on the chair beneath the table, sitting tailor fashion. She rocked gently, trying to soothe herself long enough to get through this.
“I’m sorry those things happened to you, Ms. Benoit.” Tuttle even sounded sorry. His eyes were gentle. “Are you certain you didn’t see the face of the man who killed April Harp?”
She swallowed down painful memories and shook her head. “I was forced to face her at all times.”
Rafe hadn’t tried to comfort her afterward. He’d taken her directly to her room and locked her in, bloody hands and all. She’d spent hours in her shower, sliding down the wall and crying while she scrubbed the palms of her hands raw. In the end she couldn’t tell if it was April’s blood or her own on her hands.
“You ran away again when you were seventeen.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid of what Rafe wanted from me. He looked at me differently. He watched me all the time. I didn’t know why and I was afraid. So I decided to try to get away again, but without anyone’s help.” That wasn’t the entire reason, but she wasn’t going to tell him the rest. She didn’t have proof. She never had proof, but she knew.
Rafe came into her room at night, his eyes on her. Watching her. Wholly focused on her. Waiting for something. She had no idea what it was, but she could tell he was becoming impatient.
She hadn’t left because of that. She’d left because of the women. The nights he came to her room, prowling around, his eyes glowing at her, she’d held her breath expectantly. He hadn’t laid a hand on her. But then, after he left, a car would pull up and a woman would get out. She didn’t know for certain, but she never saw the same woman twice, and she never saw them leave. Not even when she waited up all night.
“I didn’t get very far. Rafe has eyes everywhere. He found me within hours.” It was more than that, but she wasn’t going to reveal any secrets that would get her locked up. She knew Tuttle could try to lock her up for not reporting April’s murder, but she’d been a virtual prisoner and it wouldn’t stick. They both knew it. “He was angry with me.”
“What did he do? And why didn’t you go straight to the police?”
“I was his ward,” she reminded him. “He had every right to haul me back. He didn’t kidnap me. And he owned half the police department.” She knew that. She’d seen the fat envelopes that were handed out.
“What did he do?” Tuttle persisted, not denying that Rafe had owned cops. It was common knowledge.
She moistened her suddenly dry lips. For the first time she couldn’t look at him. There was nowhere to look so she stared down at her wrists. Already bruises were forming. She had very fair skin and she’d always marked easily.
“Let’s just say, I didn’t defy him again until I was very, very certain I could get away and he wouldn’t be able to track me.”
“You lived with him all those years, Ms. Benoit. You had to have seen him committing a crime. We need you to be frank with us.”
