Chances Are - By Christy Reece Page 0,69

Angela finally gave herself permission to let go. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and allowed darkness to swallow her one last time.

Chapter Nineteen

Guilt clawed his insides like a rabid wolf in a feeding frenzy. God in heaven, she had been tortured.

Jake leaned against the wall outside Angela’s room. A doctor was with her. He had no real clue of her condition. Within a couple of minutes of finding her, an ambulance had arrived and whisked her away. She had still been unconscious but he had seen enough of her injuries to know that she had been through hell.

Clarissa Eaton appeared to be in much better shape, at least physically. Her only visible injuries were ligature bruises on her wrists and ankles plus severe dehydration. Mentally and emotionally she might never recover. She had gone into hysterics when Angela lost consciousness, shrieking and crying as if she were still in danger. McCall had managed to calm her down but she’d become hysterical again the instant the EMTs had placed her on a gurney.

The bastard was in the hospital too, under armed guard. He had briefly regained consciousness and claimed to know nothing about how the women had gotten into his home or what had happened to them.

Delacourte would be put away for life. That should be good enough, but it wasn’t. Jake wanted him to suffer as much as those women had suffered. And he wanted to beat the ever-living shit out of the monster for what he had done to Angela.

The door opened beside him and two women walked out. One of the women, distinguished looking with gray hair and a slight limp, had the nametag with Dr. Lucia Bittner pinned to her white coat. The nurse standing beside her was middle-aged, stocky and reminded Jake a little of his grandmother. Both women wore the same dismal expressions on their faces.

“How is she?”

In lightly accented English, Dr. Bittner said, “Considering what she’s been through, better than one would think. She has a concussion and multiple bruises all over her body. She also has some minor knife cuts to her torso that required a few stitches. Scarring should be minimal. Her feet are probably her most painful injuries. They have first-and second-degree burns, along with some shallow cuts. She won’t be able to walk for several weeks.”

Hell, the freak had only had her for two days but had apparently spent hours torturing her. Jake closed his eyes and swallowed back bile.

Dr. Bittner continued, “The tattoo can be removed but I would suggest she wait until her other injuries are healed.”

“Tattoo?”

“Yes.

Confused, Jake shook his head. That was something Delacourte had never done before. “What kind of tattoo?”

“A rose. Unfortunately he wasn’t a talented artist. It’s quite crude.”

“Where is it?”

“On the back of her neck.”

He took in a shaky breath. Tattoos could be removed, burns would heal, scars would fade. But what about the inside where no one could see? What kind of psychological damage had the monster inflicted?

“Can I see her?”

“In a minute. A nurse is getting her more comfortable.”

Jake nodded and thanked the doctor. Then slumping back against the wall, he covered his face with his hands and wept.

Angela opened her eyes, stretched gingerly and winced. She was still sore and despite the pain medication, her feet still hurt. But it was bearable. And, for the first time in days, her head was clear and her thoughts coherent. What a blessing.

A slight movement to her right brought her gaze to the man lying on the sofa against the wall. His six-foot-five frame was much too large for the short, uncomfortable looking piece of furniture. She had tried to get him to go back to his hotel room and he had refused. Other than when the doctors and nurses came in to perform their duties, Jake had been with her. She knew he had to be exhausted but he told her he wasn’t leaving until she left. The tenderness in his eyes shut down her protests. She was definitely not going to complain if he wanted to stay with her.

At the sudden knocking at the door, Jake sprang to his feet. On his way across the room, he shot Angela a concerned, protective look—the same expression he’d had on his face since she’d woken in the hospital days ago. She had a feeling it was going to be some time before he let her out of his sight again.

He opened the door to reveal Noah, who entered carrying a tray