"A little gardening accident, perhaps? I've heard of people being careless with gardening tools. All kinds of nasty things can happen should one trip over one and fall on, say, some shears."

"Stop it. I won't let you hurt-"

"Then there is that god-awful beast of his. Cats are such easy victims, aren't they? And this one should have been put out of its misery years ago. It so likes its food... it seems to eat just about anything." He leveled a hateful look at her.

He was toying with her now, she knew. Threatening to poison Hambone. Even though she knew what his sick game was, she still couldn't stop the trickle of fear down her spine. She couldn't take it if anything happened to Hambone because of her. She had grown quite fond of the idiosyncratic tabby.

"I don't know how much you care for the wretched beast, but he does, I'm sure."

Tyber. "What do you have against Tyber? I was the one who wrote the article."

"Yes, but he provided the material. I'm not stupid-I know all about Tyberius Augustus Evans. I know his reputation, and I know what motivates him. He figured it all out for you, didn't he? Not his usual type of pastime. I had to ask myself why he bothered; the answer was immediately apparent. You. He wanted you, so he gave you what you wanted."

Zanita stared at him. Was it true what LaLeche said? Did Tyber only help her because he wanted her? She had always assumed it was the other way around; he was helping her because it intrigued him, just as his research did. She kind of came along with the deal.

Had she been blind or was LaLeche just confusing her for his own demented thrill?

Chapter Fifteen.

"Then there is the other-that perfect revenge against both of you."

She angled her chin at him, refusing to be pulled into the sick game. He seemed to be waiting for her to ask him what he intended and seeming put out when she didn't.

"I could take you, you know." His lecherous observation made her skin crawl. She forced herself to remain calm.

"I don't think so, Mr. LaLeche. I'll scream the house down." She infused his name with all the contempt she felt for him.

He rubbed his jaw, contemplating her words as if they were merely having an existential discussion on the topic and he wasn't threatening her with real violence.

"I disagree. I could do it and get away with it. There are no other tenants here this time of day; I checked. Scream all you like. No one will hear you."

Zanita's heart sank to her toes; apparently she and Tyber had been blinded by his traits of greed, dishonesty, and lack of human decency. They had never once considered that when cornered, he would aggressively seek revenge. She was in real trouble here.

"Someone will see you." It was worth a shot.

"No." He shook his head. "No one saw me come in; I'll make sure no one sees me leave. I'll simply slip away into the ether as I always do. No one will be any the wiser. Except you and Doctor Evans. After this, I imagine I'll stay with you for the rest of your lives. Always between you, as it were." He chuckled maniacally at his twisted pun.

Zanita had never faced the prospect of violence before. Somewhat in shock, her thoughts seemed icy clear and removed at the same time. This was about subjugation, control, and revenge. The malignancy of the crime was brought home to her.

What he was threatening would be beyond horrible for her, and it would torment Tyber for the rest of his life. She knew him; he would feel responsible for not protecting her. It was an illogical male attitude, but she was positive Tyber would blame himself.

LaLeche was right-it was a chilling revenge, for if he succeeded in carrying out his threat, it surely would destroy them both.

She had to think of something to put a stop to his line of thinking. There was only one thing her fear-numbed brain could come up with. "There will be evidence...."

" I have a condom right here in my back pocket-what evidence?" He started approaching her again, this time with deadly intent.

She moved around the sofa. Did he think she was going to go down without a struggle? "I'll fight you; I'll make sure there will be bruises, scratch marks, trace evidence-"

"I'll do my best to prevent that, you understand. I'm quite strong; it won't be too difficult for me to subdue a tiny thing like you. And if you should manage a few black-and-blue marks-" He shrugged. "Trace evidence-not much to convict a man on. If you happen to have some bruises-and you will-well, it will look like your boyfriend just got carried away. Everyone knows he's something of a wild man."

He thought for a minute. "Even if you do decide to press charges, there will always be that doubt in everyone's mind: Maybe the illustrious Tyberius Evans abuses women and she's protecting him. Should do wonders for his career, don't you think? He'll have you to thank for that as well. Remember, it will be my word against yours." He moved a little closer to her.

"I think my word would carry the greater weight." She edged into the kitchenette.

"A reporter looking to get her name in the news? Think of what a good lawyer could do with that in a courtroom."

My god, he's going to hurt me. Too late she realized that he had backed her into a corner with no escape. Before she could think what to do, he was on her.

He tore at her clothes, slamming her hard against the wall. Zanita fought back with all her strength, screaming. LaLeche had been right about one other thing-she was no match for him physically. He had her at his mercy with ridiculous ease. Zanita sobbed, feeling utterly helpless against his aggression. Tyber, her heart called to him. Tyber...

LaLeche unzipped his pants, holding her captive with one powerful arm across her throat, blocking her air passage. She couldn't stop him. Nothing was going to stop him.

Later, she could never figure out what had caused her to blurt out what she did. At the last possible second, she screamed, "We have a file on you!"

LaLeche froze. He raked her with a contemptuous sneer. "What kind of file?"

Zanita was shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face.

"Answer me, dammit." He grabbed a hank of her hair, slamming her head back hard into the wall. Little spots appeared before her eyes. Zanita willed herself not to pass out, afraid that if she did, she might not get the chance to wake up.

"An-an FBI file. They know all about you, LaLeche. They've been after you for years. They'll find you. And when they do, you'll pay for what you've done to innocent, trusting people."

LaLeche paused, thinking over her words. "Did they trail me here, or was this investigation strictly your idea? Tell me or I'll end this here and now." The dire threat paralyzed Zanita.

He slapped her across the face, splitting her lip.

"It-it was my idea, but they-they know we have the file."

"Then they probably haven't been trailing me...." A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. "They don't have anything on me, you know. Not a damn thing. Still... It's best I don't press my good fortune." He abruptly released her.

"Today's your lucky day, Zanita. It appears I must be on my way again." He strode quickly to the door and opened it, cautiously checking to see if the coast was clear. He turned back to her. "I'll be seeing you... sometime."

He was gone as quickly as he had come.

Zanita slumped down to the floor, clutching her stomach. The aftermath of shock would soon be setting in. A roil of nausea flipped her stomach. Her insides churned. She rushed to the bathroom, just making it.

She vomited repeatedly into the commode. When the spasms had passed, she automatically rinsed her mouth out and brushed her teeth, not even thinking about what she was doing. When she noticed a toothbrush in her hand, she couldn't remember how it had gotten there.

She sagged back against the wall. Her only coherent thought was: Tyber.

As soon as her wobbly legs could support her, she rushed out of the bathroom, grabbed her purse where it had been knocked to the floor, and ran out of the apartment as fast as she could.

She needed to-had to-reach Tyber. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she wasn't thinking rationally.

She was probably in shock. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except reaching Tyber.

Somehow, she was in her car, driving to the mansion. Horrifying, disjointed thoughts raced across her mind. What if LaLeche had headed out to the mansion? What if he had already harmed them? These tortured thoughts hammered at her as she sped along the highway to the house, miraculously not stopped by a trooper for speeding.

Overlying everything was the gut-wrenching irrational fear, the unqualified need to see Tyber. To have him hold her. For him to rub her back and whisper in her ear in that special way he had, telling her not to worry, that everything would be all right.

Fumbling in her purse, she found the gate opener, letting herself onto the grounds. She turned into the curve of the drive, her tires squealing as the car braked to a stop. It was still rocking when she slammed the door, racing up the stairs and into the house.

Passing the parlor, she noted Hambone lying in the sun in front of the large picture window. She closed her eyes in relief, not stopping her frantic search. She headed toward the rear of the house and the kitchen. Before she could get there, the hall door swung open.

Tyber padded out of the kitchen in stockinged feet and jeans, a half-eaten brownie in one hand, a stack of computer sheets in the other. He didn't notice her right away because his attention was focused on the readouts in his hand.

He looked so completely normal, she had the absurd desire to cry.

When he realized that she was standing there, he stopped, staring at her in controlled silence. His raking glance did a swift survey of her torn clothes, her cut and swollen lip, the already purpling bruises.

"Where's Blooey?" she demanded in a quivering voice.

Tyber regarded her intently. "He's out in the far acreage planting spring bulbs. What happened to you?" His voice was evenly modulated steel.

Her bottom lip began to tremble. Suddenly she covered her face with her hands and sank to the floor, sobbing.

The computer papers and brownie fell unheeded to the floor. Instantly, Tyber was beside her, kneeling down, gathering her in his arms. "What is it? What is it, baby?" He rocked her in the security of his embrace.

"It-it was LaLeche." She sobbed.

Tyber went still. "What did he do?"

"He-he cornered me in my apartment. I don't know how he found me-he must have been watching me." The very idea brought tremors. Tyber rubbed her back, silently urging her to continue, dreading what he was about to hear.

"He said he wanted revenge... against both of us. He said he could-he could d-do whatever he wanted to me and there was nothing I could do about it." She clutched his soft flannel shirt in an iron grip. Above her bent head, Tyber closed his eyes in pain for what she had suffered.

"Are you hurt, baby? Let me take you to a hospital."

"No! I want to stay here with you! I don't want to go anywhere!" She seemed almost hysterical. Tyber tried to soothe her.

"I understand, sweetheart, but if he... hurt you, you need to go to the hospital."

"He didn't... get that far. I was so scared, Tyber. I told him we had a file on him. He stopped. I don't know why. Before he left, he told me he would come for me again. He-" She couldn't go on.

So LaLeche hadn't raped her as he had feared. Tyber sent a silent thank you heavenward. Silly, he knew, but faith showed up at the oddest times.

No, LaLeche didn't rape her, but he had scared her witless. She would carry the scars of this for the rest of her life. It would be a long time before her spunky confidence came back. She had lost a lot of her bright-eyed innocence today. And the bastard had physically hurt her, used violence against his baby....

Tyber wanted to kill him.

"What if he comes here, Tyber? He threatened Blooey and Hambone-said he would poison the poor cat." Still clutching his shirt, her tear-streaked face beseeched him. Tugged at him. When he looked at her, he wanted to cry himself.

The bastard had really done a number on her.

He would pay. But not now. Now he needed to take care of her, reassure her as best he could.

"Don't be frightened, baby; you're safe here. I would never let anything happen to you." To reinforce his words, he pressed kisses tenderly against her eyes, her forehead, her cheeks. His tender ministrations opened up a flood of emotions in her, and she sobbed in great wracking spasms; she broke his heart.

He scooped her up in his arms and carried her upstairs to their bedroom. Afraid she would go into shock, he gently removed her clothes, placing her tenderly under the heavy quilts.

Knowing that his own body heat was the best remedy, he quickly shed his own clothes, getting under the covers and wrapping her to him.

"Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry." He rocked her in his arms. "You're safe. I won't let him touch you, I swear. I love you too much to let anything happen to you. Kiss me, Curls- that's right. Again. So sweet. You're so sweet."

"Hold m-me, Tyber."

"I'm holding you. See? I'm holding you right against me; there's nothing to be afraid of."

"You won't let him-" She shivered against him.

"No. Never." He held her tightly to him.

She put her arms around his neck, drawing him down to her. "Make love to me, Tyber, please. Erase his touch, his memory, his words. You won't let him hurt me?"

"Shh." He kissed her gently on the mouth, cognizant of her emotional and physical fragility.

Her lips clung to his in need, in passion, in reaffirmation of all that was good and decent in her life. This was Tyber, her safe haven.

He came over her, covering her with himself. A human blanket of warmth and security.

His lips played with her ear. Lulling. Calming.

"What did I say to you?" he whispered.

"You-you said you loved me."

Tyber did not want her to think of anything but his words to her. He wanted her thoughts only on him; he wanted to eradicate the ugliness, the horror she had experienced. He inserted his leg between hers, opening her to him. "Tell me again, baby."

"You said you loved me-Tyber!" He entered her with one sure, even stroke.

"Yes, I love you," he breathed softly in her ear. Purposely, he moved in her, gently at first, his stroking actions, designed to be soothing, slowly became more powerful with each drive against her.

"Again," he insisted of her, wanting her to know him now, to feel him and never forget that he was the one.

She moaned against his shoulder. "You said you loved me."

His tongue swirled around her lobe; his hands slid down under her derriere to cup her hard against him. He rocked tight to her, locked deep inside.

His hand came up now to caress the side of her face, pressing it flush to his own so her lips were against his ear, and his against hers. In this intimate pose, he asked her the one and only thing he wanted to hear. His voice was a hot vibration against the inner folds.

"Tell me," he demanded breathlessly.