All My Broken Dreams (Locksley Hall #1)

Chapter Four

H e glanced over the darkened alley at her clothes that had been strewn everywhere.

“I don’t think they stole anything. Your wallet is still there. They might have got the money. Where’s your passport?”

“In my coat, in the inside pocket. I have a credit card there too. Harry said if I ever got better, he wanted me to visit him. He told me to put my passport and a credit card in a separate pocket on my person.”

“Smart guy,” Deacon said, encouragingly. Talking seemed to be calming her down. “He sounds like a good brother. Were you sick or something?”

She made a snorting noise. She could probably use a tissue, he thought, and of course, he didn’t have one.

“In a way. I have a condition. Don’t worry; it’s not catching. I don’t like being in open spaces. I wasn’t always like this. Panicking over the least little thing. When those guys started hassling me, I should have run but I couldn’t. The way ahead was open and the alley was a confined space. Believe it or not, I felt safer here. What kind of fucked up thinking is that?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. You couldn’t have outrun them anyway.”

Her body relaxed, slumping against his, like she was falling asleep. “If you hadn’t come along, I’d be dead by now. Even if they didn’t kill me, I would be dead because I would never leave my apartment again. I haven’t since my dad died. That was my life for more than a year and now look at me. My therapist’s star pupil.”

She started to laugh, hysterically. “I mean think of it! If a dead father was enough to drive me over the edge, just imagine what a rape could do.”

Her laughter was unnerving. Deacon held her as tight as her wounded shoulder would allow. Her tights were torn at the knees and her skirt was askew. The filth of the alley cobblestones were smeared on her clothes and face.

He had to keep her away from Dugald Croft for the weekend. Those were his orders. Robbie Listowel was in no position to argue. Her injury gave him the upper hand, no pun intended, he thought wryly. She was going to do whatever he told her to do.

He shifted her weight gently to one side so he could slide out from under her without jarring her shoulder.

“Where are you going? Are you leaving me?”

“No.” He laughed in spite of himself. “No. I’m going to pick up your stuff, put it back in the suitcase and get anything else they left behind in their haste to be away.”

Robbie giggled and wiped her eyes. “You talk like a poet. Are you a poet?” Then her eyes cleared. She caught his arm before he could get away. “Hey…. I know you. I’ve seen you before. You were in the bookstore reading a book of poetry.”

Her central nervous system was settling down. She was beginning to regain her faculties, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

“I was,” he said carefully. “I don’t remember seeing you though.”

“Liar.”

Her eyes caught the light and glowed. They were like pools of blue ink. Staring into them, Deacon felt the ground beneath him shift.

“Yes, I’m lying,” he said. “I saw you in the bookstore.”

She sat up in alarm. “Were you following me? Is that how you turned up so suddenly, right in the nick of time? Were you in on the attack?”

He shook his head and grimaced. “You watch too many movies. I remember you from the bookstore because you’re a girl and I tend to notice girls. I’m not ashamed of it, but it’s not something I’m going to brag about either. I left the shop long after you did. It was just luck that I happened to be going in the same direction as you. I’ve never seen those shitheads before in my life, but if I ever see them again, I’ll kill them.”

She gazed at him with a look of fear and alarm in her eyes.

Deacon’s passionate rage was always on a slow boil like a kettle on the back of the stove. He was able to control it most of the time, but when he looked at Robbie Listowel and imagined how close she came to being violated by those animals, it exploded out of him like a volcano.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Adrenaline,” he said apologetically. “If I was going to kill them, they would be dead by now. Do you think you can stand up?”

“I think so. My legs are okay. But they’re weak. I feel like I can’t walk.”

“You’re in shock. Lean on me.” He lifted her under her good arm to her feet. She pressed against him with her full weight.

“I’m sorry I accused you of following me. Why would a poetry lover follow me out of a bookstore? I overreacted, reading too much into an ordinary encounter between two people. I haven’t had many of those in the past year. To be honest, I haven’t had any.”

She squinted at him. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Deacon. Deacon Wake.”

“Pleased to meet you, Deacon.”

She shook his hand, giving him a keen look of appraisal that went right through him. Her hand was warm and dry, and much smaller than his. It took him an embarrassingly long time to release it.

“Where are you staying? I can get you a cab.”

“I was supposed to be staying with my brother. I didn’t arrange for a hotel. Besides, I have to be nearby; I have to stay near Locksley Hall Academy in case I run into Harry. The hotels are too far away.”

“Okay, okay, no problem. There is a youth hostel not far from here. It’ll be vacant at this time of year.”

“I can’t stay in a hostel.” Panic edged her voice. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help but I can’t be in a place with people and no privacy. If you take me to Dugald Croft, I’m sure I’ll find Harry there and I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine as soon as I’m with Harry.”

Harry Listowel wasn’t at Dugald Croft. Harry Listowel was miles away on the Isle of Arran being reprogrammed. On rare occasions, a member of Fuil Bratach would balk at the rules or demands or even resist the Order itself, questioning its value. When that happened, the member would be taken to Arran for ‘recalibration’, as Alastair called it. Indoctrinating members like Harry Listowel who had lived outside of their privileged bubble was a challenge. Harry had his own ideas about power and its purpose–ideas that conflicted with Fuil Bratach.

Harry would be back when he understood where he was going wrong. Soon , Deacon thought uneasily. It had been a long time. Too long.

“Look, I have an idea,” he said aloud. “My place is not far from here. I can put you up for a night or two until your arm heals. If you need a reference, I can give you a number to call. Mrs. Cameron, my building supervisor, will vouch for me.”

“No, I don’t need to call anyone. I like how you talk. How you phrase things. It’s very old-fashioned. Thank you, Deacon. Thank you for not leaving me.”

Suddenly, she clung to him like he was her last hope. His heart raced and he didn’t know why. She was beautiful, at least to him, but he knew many beautiful women and none of them made his heart race and lump in his throat.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said gruffly, pushing her away. “Wait until you see my place. It’s nothing to get emotional about.”

Deacon began throwing her things in the suitcase that was the size of a space shuttle, not wanting to hold any garment for too long out of the uneasy sense that it would bring her too close.

“I’m sorry,” Robbie said. “I don’t want you to think you’re going to be stuck with me forever. My sole reason for accepting your offer is to find my brother. A good night’s sleep is all I need. Then I’ll go to Dugald Croft and be out of your hair, I promise.”

“Away we go, then,” he said, straightening, his spirits lifting. “I’ve got a fireplace and strong drink; what more do we need?”

“Nothing,” she said with a glance at him. “It sounds perfect.”

He snaked her arm around his waist to help her walk and with Harry’s sister under his protection, Deacon relaxed. By the time she recovered, Harry would be back and she wouldn’t be the wiser.

Nothing bad would happen to her. For once, nothing bad was going to happen to anyone.