Page 118 of The Redemption of Remy St. Claire

After a pause, she nodded.

As he suspected, the pain had knotted her muscles. He couldn’t do anything more than use gentle and long strokes.

“How did you know?”

“Deductive reasoning. I saw the way you hunched over.” He continued his gentle ministrations, careful not to press too hard. “You’ve had your period before, but it’s never been like this.”

“You know everything, don’t you?” There was a tinge of exasperation in her voice.

“Again, Remy, I lived with three sisters. I learned to read between the lines. Don’t be embarrassed.”

Another long sigh, but her muscles were loosening. “I usually take my muscle relaxants, and things are okay. With everything that happened today, I forgot.”

“Did you take them tonight?”

She nodded, but nothing more was forthcoming.

“And?” He hated nagging, but he needed to know.

A violent shudder. “They came back up along with the pizza.”

He closed his eyes. He hated feeling so powerless. “Is the back rub helping or making it worse?”

“I don’t think it can get much worse.”

It probably could, but he wouldn’t point that out. “Don’t tempt the fates, sweetheart.”

She sighed yet again. “Today was such a good day.”

“Can you talk about it?”

Shifting, she eased herself onto her back, but kept the compress laying across her abdomen.

He propped himself on one elbow, gazing down at her. Her face was less pinched. Still wan and pale, but at least her tear tracks were dry. He leaned over and placed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I should be shouting from the rooftops, because we nailed him. That poor excuse for a human being will never see the light of day again.” Her eyes were clear, blue, and bright. “I’ve put away a few bad guys, but none of them hold a candle to this guy. I think, no, I know there are more victims out there. Some might even be dead. I don’t believe that he woke up at age thirty-six and decided to start raping and even killing young women. If Danica had died…” Her eyes widened and she stared at him. “I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

He stroked her hair, easing it from her brow. “You know you never have to worry about me. I’ll never betray your confidence.”

“It’s just…” She paused. “I’ve never had anyone to talk to before. I’ve never had to watch my words with anyone because there wasn’t a special person in my life. It’s weird. But a good weird.” Her brow furrowed.

“I get it.” And he did. It’d been a long time since he’d had someone to confide in as well. It reassured him that they could keep each other’s secrets.

She grabbed his hand. “Thank you.”

“What for?”What the hell?

“For knowing. For sensing. For doing that thing you do.” Her eyes darted up as if she searched for the right word. “Empathy.”

He squeezed her hand. “Born of long practice.”

“Sissy?”

Talking about his ex-wife in his marital bed was so completely inappropriate, but he felt compelled to explain. “Mira wasn’t planned. An unexpected gift, you might say. Sissy’s pregnancy was anything but. Her morning sickness was so bad she’d get dehydrated. Several times she almost wound up in the hospital. We learned every trick in the book to keep her from vomiting. It eased once she was into her fourth month, but it never completely went away. Sometimes I think some of it might have been psychological. She had so many doubts about whether she could be a good mother.

“Then came the ninth month and her crippling back pain. I’d spend hours massaging her back. I’d have done anything to go through that for her instead of watching her suffer.” He closed his eyes, beset by memories. “We had good times, but I associate those memories with the bad. We held fast that once she gave birth everything would be okay.”

“But it didn’t work out that way.”

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