Chapter 9

"Kitten, I know you don't want to talk about this, but we're quickly running out of time. Since we're downtown, it would make more sense to handle it now than to go home and come back."

"Talk about what?"

"I want you to go to the police department and press charges."

"No." My position on this remained firm. It would destroy who I was.

"Cameron..." He drew my name out like my father used to do when I was in trouble. I'd hated it then just as much as I did now.

"No, Dax. Absolutely not. I need to go back to work, not be defending myself in a courtroom or pushing away unwanted sympathy or accusing glances."

"Well, you aren't going back to work anytime soon, so you won't be defending yourself anywhere or shaking anything off-accusatory or sympathetic."

"I'm going back to work tomorrow. I've been out for over two weeks. I have a job to do." This was another point I wouldn't budge on-I'd worked too hard to get where I was.

"I'll let you go back to work tomorrow if you press charges." He gave me a smug glance.

"I'm not bargaining with you. I'm not pressing charges, and I'm still going back to work."

"Okay, let me make a deal with you that meets both our needs."

I sighed. Dax apparently hadn't heard my last sentence-I wasn't bargaining.

"I'll take you to the station. Fisher is there and can arrange the lineup. If you can go in and identify the man and still not want him to be charged, I'll let it go-never mention it again. If you can do that and come back out without breaking down, I'll drive you to work myself tomorrow."

"Really? That's all it takes to appease you? Just walk in, identify him, and walk back out?" This was too easy.

"Without breaking down," he clarified his stipulation. "Yes, that's it."

"Deal."

"Don't be so quick to sell your soul, Cam. If you lose it, you press charges while we're there, and you don't go back to work until I think you're ready." His eyes turned a steely green-he was serious.

"Dax, you haven't met Boardroom Cameron. I can put on a show for anyone. All you said I had to do was get out without breaking down. You didn't say I couldn't do it in the truck."

"Fair enough. Let the show begin." That smug smile returned to his face, but I was determined to get my way.

Fisher met us at the front of the police department before taking us back to an interrogation room to wait while they lined the men up across the hall. I'd then have the opportunity to view them through one-way glass.

The knock on the door caused Fisher to lean back in his chair to turn the knob while he kept shooting the shit with Dax, completely unfazed. When the door opened, his chair hit four legs again, and he stood. "They're ready. Come on, guys."

Once again, I stood, but Dax remained in his seat like he had at Dr. Wright's office.

"Come on, Dax."

"I'll wait here, kitten. It's just right across the hall."

"You're not coming with me?"

"No. You said you could handle it."

"I didn't know you weren't going to be with me!" I hollered my disbelief, but his expression didn't waver.

"I told you not to sell your soul too quickly, Cam. You didn't ask any questions, you just told me you were good-Boardroom Cameron could put on any act. If you truly don't want to press charges, then you need to be comfortable walking the streets alone. I can't be with you every second of the day. If you go back to work, you have to be able to defend yourself from eight to five. I'm not trying to be mean, baby, but this is what you said you want. You need to prove it to me."

"Fine. Once I do, I want to go home."

"That, my dear, was not part of the negotiation. Let's get past one hurdle at a time, then we can talk about your living arrangements."

With that, I walked across the hall-without Dax-determined to get through this and back to work. Fisher was here. I'd be fine. He closed the door, and I sat in a shroud of darkness illuminated by the dingy room on the other side of the glass panel. The lines on the wall to mark height seemed almost comical until the prisoners filed in. I didn't have any idea what the man looked like-I'd never seen his face. There had never been enough light. I could have identified him by smell, but I doubted very seriously any court would allow me to positively ID someone based on scent. I waited in the shadows, but that pungent scent hit my nostrils with a force I didn't recognize and hadn't seen coming. The illumination on the other side of the glass dissipated as darkness encroached my vision.

I tried to remain focused on the things I could see to keep the demons at bay. The aroma that permeated my nostrils choked me as it filled my mouth and lungs. The men came in as I began to cough. They all stood single file with their right shoulder in my direction. I hadn't seen him that night, but my subconscious identified him instantly. It might have been the bandage on his neck or actual recognition, I didn't know, but suddenly, my mind took me there again-nuzzling into his neck, waiting for the only opportunity I had to free myself.

Every breath I took sucked more of the life from my lungs. The air was rancid, but I couldn't escape from the scene playing in my mind to retreat into the fresh air of another room. As I bit down in memory, my head slammed against the brick wall, and I begged for my life. "Please...God, please don't hurt me."

"Dax!" Fisher screamed when he opened the door-and even though I could hear him-it was as if he was down a long tunnel. "Dax!"

"Dax. Dax. Please, Dax. Please keep him off of me."

"Jesus, Fisher!" Dax screamed before turning his attention toward me-pulling me off the window. His large hands grasped my jaw, stopping it from hitting the window again. But I continued to fight my attacker. Kicking, punching, begging him to let me go.

"Cameron. Open your eyes."

I couldn't get to the voice I craved and gave into the blackness that drowned the memory.

"Cameron. Open your eyes and look at me." Dax's controlling voice boomed, but I had no idea why he'd used it with me. "Cameron, baby, open your eyes and talk to me."

I blinked in the darkness and stared at the ceiling and Dax looming over me.

"It's just me. Can I pick you up?"

Marred by confusion, I simply nodded. When Dax lifted me from the floor, Fisher's face looked like he'd seen a ghost. I had no recollection of what had happened in that room, but for a police officer, Fisher didn't seem capable of handling much.

Dax took a seat in a plastic chair with me in his arms. Stroking my hair, he whispered, "Cam, baby, what happened?"

"What do you mean? You wanted me to identify that guy."

Fisher spoke, presumably because Dax hadn't been in the room. "Cameron, you complained about how bad the room smelled the moment the men started walking in. I don't know if you recognized him or not, but you set your sights on the one we picked up from the scene and started gagging and choking. When the screaming started, you pounded your head against the glass and begged Dax to make it stop. By the time I'd gotten him in the room, you'd blacked out. He couldn't get you back from wherever you'd gone."

The unsettled look on Dax's beautiful face disturbed me, but those grassy-green eyes always brought comfort. "I could smell him. As soon as they walked in, the odor overwhelmed me. It was suffocating. I choked on him. It was like a song transporting me to a memory, but this wasn't a good recollection. That smell-it was all over his neck. I'd waited for him to get close enough to bite him, the entire time, willing myself not to vomit. It was the second guy from the end." Looking back through the glass to the empty, lighted room, I glanced at the numbers, before uttering, "Number six."

Dax didn't give me a ration of shit. He didn't say I told you so. He didn't gloat at all. I couldn't be sure-and I certainly wasn't going to ask-but I'd bet money he had known something would cause an episode, confirming my need to be with him. Instead of using the opportunity to prove anything, he just held me, tracing circles on my back while my pulse settled, and my breathing slowed. I loved his ability to calm me but hated it in the same regard. I'd always been my own calming presence-this left me feeling like a fish out of water with my entire life up in unusable air.

Dax was right.

If I couldn't do this without going into hysteria, there was no way I could go to work alone for an eight-hour day. Pushing those thoughts aside, I dealt with one situation at a time. Right now, I needed to give Fisher a statement. Then I would need to contact an attorney and set a meeting with the Executive Committee at the bank to discuss my immediate future. My dad used to tell me when faced with consuming an elephant, you had to do it one bite at a time-those words had never been more true. My statement to the police was the first bite of a multi-course meal.

Finishing up at the police department, we climbed into the truck. "Hey, Dax?"

"Yeah?"

"I have a few things I need to do. Do you want to go with me or take me to get my car?"

"I'll take you. Where do you need to go?"

"I need to go to the bank-I have to do something about my job. I can't leave it in limbo. I need to call an attorney. Then, I need to get a new cell phone and go to my house. Oh, and I'm supposed to get a journal to start writing."

"Send the Executive Committee an email letting them know you're taking a leave of absence. I'll arrange an attorney. We can get you a new phone and a journal and then stop by your house. You're right, you need to get some of your things."

"Dax, I need to go in to talk to my colleagues."

"No, Cameron, you don't. You've been through a traumatic ordeal, and you haven't been released medically. If anything, you need to contact HR about FMLA."

"Ugh. You're so infuriating. This is my life. Do you get that? Do you understand how hard I worked to get where I am? This one incident could destroy everything I've accomplished."

"Or, it could close that door and open another. Don't make life's path so narrow. It's a broad road with lots of side trails-enjoy deviating from the path sometimes. You'll be amazed at the beauty you might find."

I gawked at him in utter disbelief at his flippant regard for my livelihood.

"Cam, your job doesn't define you. The public opinion of you doesn't either. What matters is how you feel about yourself and the people who love you. Your life has forever changed in the last two weeks. I'm not downplaying the things that are important to you, but I'm trying to make you see that you are more important than those things."

He turned the key in the ignition without any further discussion. My errands hadn't kept us gone long, but I felt connected to the world again with a new phone, while lost with a journal. And when we finally got to my house, I didn't see the point in arguing with Dax about staying at his house. After last night and today-I didn't want to be away from him. But, I had stipulations.

Before I got into those, I pulled up my email and composed a letter to the EC at the bank, describing in as few details as possible what had happened over the last two weeks. Without a medical release, I was unable to work-even though I didn't think a broken arm and a few lingering bruises were reasons to stay home from a desk job, but Dax believed the head injury was. I closed the email with a request for an undetermined amount of leave while offering to work from home. I copied Human Resources and requested any necessary paperwork I needed to complete.

I cringed the second I hit send, knowing an era of my life had just ended with the click of the mouse. The reality of the situation was mentally, I wasn't ready to return-so regardless of their decision, it was a step I had to take...even if I hadn't been ready to admit it to myself.

Dax sat on my bed petting Mr. Whiskers, one of my two Persians, but Sassy Sultenpuss stared him down from the corner of my desk, unwilling to welcome the stranger. The next task was determining what to bring with me.

"How long are you making me stay at your house?" I asked, baiting him.

"Indefinitely."

"Dax, I'm not staying forever. Be serious. How much do I need to pack?"

"I'm serious, kitten. I'm not putting a timeframe on it."

"I don't know why I bother talking to you sometimes," I huffed.

"That makes two of us. Just do what you're told and things will go a lot smoother. Are you bringing the fleabags with you?" His playful tone did nothing more than further ruffle my feathers.

"If you are referring to Mr. Whiskers and Sassy Sultenpuss, then yes. I can't expect my friends to come take care of them. And you will find I don't follow instructions well, Mr. Cooper."

"That is not a new revelation, love. You fight even when you're wrong just for the pleasure of arguing." There was a smile in his eyes-he liked my spunk, even if it tended to drive him a little nuts. "Seriously, pack what you need for a while. I think you should bring your car, too."

My bags went in the back of my SUV, and my kitties and their supplies in the back seat. After locking the house, I stared at it for a moment, wondering how long it'd be before I felt safe returning. I loved my home, but I knew, for the time being, I was fighting the inevitable-I needed to be with Dax. For whatever reason, the idea of isolation was more terrifying than the loss of control.

Dax took my bags in when we arrived while I unloaded my precious cargo and got them settled inside. But when I went upstairs to unpack my things, they weren't in my room.

"Dax, where are my bags?" My voiced traveled around the room and down the stairs.

"In our room."

My heart skipped a beat in panic and swooned with lust all at once.

For years, I had wanted a man who would take charge, who took the burden of decision-making at home off my plate, not just sexually, but in every way possible. A man who was strong enough to take me head-on but would always have my best interest at heart. Never in a million years would I have believed Dax Cooper would have been that man. I trodded down the hall, shaking the thoughts from my head, and when I got to our room, I dug through my bags until I found comfy clothes to lounge around in while I attempted journaling. I hadn't written the first word, and I was already tired.

Reluctantly, I trudged down the stairs to the family room with my journal and a pen. Dax held out his hand in a silent request to join him in what I guessed was his chair-it seemed to be the only place the man ever sat. With a gentle tug, he pulled me into his lap careful of my cast, and I tossed my stuff onto the floor. I didn't have a clue how to react to the sudden affection that hadn't been brought on by a panic attack.