She didn’t want to leave the safety of her bedroom—and wouldn’t have—had it not been for her insistent bladder urging her on. There were two bathrooms on the second floor, one was for women, the other for men. She’d come to learn over the past few days, tenants used whichever was closest, and since she had the bad fortune of being surrounded on both sides by male tenants, she knew the so-called ladies room was filthy and reeked of urine. The other bathroom was probably no better.
Still clutching Cole’s card, Savannah cracked open the door and peeked both ways before tiptoeing towards the bathroom.
She made sure the toilet seat was clean before she relieved herself. As she stood washing her hands in the sink, she startled at the pale haunted-looking girl watching her from the mirror before realizing it was her own reflection.
The bulb above her flickered then died. Darkness made her head swim. She sucked in a deep breath and held it as her hands fumbled blindly in front of her, searching out the door. She’d hated the dark. Always had. Her hands still flailing in front of her, she begged herself not to panic.
Savannah swayed on her feet, blinking wildly against the darkness. Before she knew what was happening, she crashed against the wall, and felt a sharp blow ache through the back of her skull as she collapsed to the ground.
Chapter 4
Cole pulled into his underground parking garage just as the storm lit up the sky. An angry crack of lightning pierced the night, followed by a low rumble of thunder. It had been steadily raining his entire drive home, but the storm seemed to double its force within a matter of seconds, sheets of water pouring from the sky.
He was maneuvering into his assigned parking space when the call came in. His phone had been eerily silent all weekend, not even Marissa had been in touch. And at this late hour on Sunday, he didn’t know who it could be. Fishing the phone from his center console, he noted the Dallas area code, but didn’t recognize the number.
He couldn’t understand her at first, her voice was high with tension, and barely above a whisper, but he soon realized it was Savannah. And she was asking him to come back. He pulled a u-turn and gunned the engine before her words even registered.
Keeping her on the line as he drove, he wanted to bombard her with questions, to find out if something had happened, but he resisted. Even as all that flashed through his mind, he’d found himself calming her, saying he would be right there, and flooring the gas pedal to get back to her. After ending the call, he slammed a fist against the dash. Damn, he shouldn’t have left her at that place. But what choice did he have?
He thumbed the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change. He had to get her out of that house; probably check her into a hotel for the night. That would be the right thing to do, yet he knew with absolute certainty what he really wanted to do. He wanted to bring her home with him, where he could have her under the same roof and ensure she was safe.
When Cole arrived, he pressed the buzzer at the front door for the after-hours entrance. He was greeted by an older man, the night guard, he presumed.
“Where’s Savannah?” He stormed past the man, following the sounds of soft sobs toward the back of the house. Entering an office, he found an older woman seated behind a desk, and Savannah crumpled in a ball on the chair across from her. “Savannah,” his voice rasped.
She looked up and Cole nearly staggered a step back. Christ. It looked like someone had used her face as a punching bag. Her swollen and busted lip was encrusted with blood and her left eye was already darkening with a bruise. When she met his eyes she let out a soft sigh, seemingly comforted by his presence.
“Shh. I’m here.” He weaved his fingers under her hair to cradle the back of her neck. Then he turned his attention to the woman behind the desk. “What the hell happened here?”
“Have a seat, Mr.….?”
“Cole Fletcher.” He took the chair next to Savannah.
She crawled into his lap, burying her face in his neck as little sobs racked her chest. His arms, working of their own accord, wound themselves around Savannah and shifted her to a more comfortable position on his lap.
Once Savannah was settled, his training kicked in and he began firing questions at the facility coordinator. She explained they’d briefly lost power in the storm, and when they went upstairs to check and make sure everyone was secure, they found Savannah unconscious on the bathroom floor, where she’d apparently fainted and smacked her head on the porcelain sink on her way down. His fingers automatically threaded into her hair, smoothing the bump he found on the back of her head.
The coordinator seemed unconcerned, like she’d dealt with these situations too many times. But he hadn’t, and neither had Savannah. Vacant eyes stared at the wall across from him. He was worried that shock was beginning to set in. He soothed a hand up and down her back, not quite sure what to do to comfort her.
The woman behind the desk looked over the top of her glasses, mouth twisted into a disapproving frown. Cole could tell the woman was wondering exactly what kind of relationship he shared with Savannah.
His tone and questions were professional, yet Savannah’s body currently wrapped around his said it was something else entirely. He chose not to identify himself as an agent, and let the woman think what she wanted.
Once in situated in his lap, Savannah’s breathing returned to normal, and the steady thump of her heartbeat against his chest told him she was recovering. She was alright. Thank f**king God. He didn’t understand why his presence calmed her – not like he had a lot to offer – but he wasn’t about to question it. Not when she was so fragile.