She sighed and set down the coffee to circle the porch column with one arm, resting her forehead there. She couldn’t deny that Rafe had some feelings for her. They were nowhere normal, they were twisted just as he was, but he had them. Perhaps if she’d been older she might have been able to help him, but she was far too young and terrified of his reprisals.

“Kitten.” Eli’s arms stole around her. “What are you doing out here? It’s three in the morning.”

She never ever heard him walk. He was a big man and she should be able to hear at least a footfall. He pulled her back into his arms so her back was to his front, his hands clasped at her waist. His chest was bare, but he had pulled on some soft cotton drawstring bottoms.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Catarina apologized. “You don’t sleep as it is.”

He rubbed his face in her hair. “I sleep when you’re in my arms, baby,” he said softly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She turned her head to look over her shoulder. “You tell me.” Her eyes met his. “Do you think I don’t know you well enough to know that you’ve been hiding something from me for the last three days? Actually, it started before that. When we went to see Jake and Emma – you’ve been pensive ever since.”

She felt his response more than saw it. His expression remained the same. His focused gaze didn’t so much as flicker, but somewhere inside her, she felt him flinch.

“I should have known I couldn’t hide anything from you, Cat.” He sighed and dropped his hands from her waist to slide his palm down her arm to catch her wrist.

She always felt shackled when his fingers settled there. Shackled and then fluttery when he stroked caresses on her inner wrist so gently. He went for the chairs. She followed because she had no real choice in the matter. When Eli moved, she moved with him.

“Sit down, Kitten. You’re right, of course. I’ve heard some news and I’ve considered the best way to tell you.”

Tiny knots formed in her belly. She felt each one like a spike settling deep. She knew. She knew it was bad. And she knew it was Rafe. Her heart pounded, slow and hard, hammering in her chest as if trying to destroy her. The coppery taste of fear was in her mouth. She sank into the chair, grateful that Eli’s fingers were around her wrist, holding her to him. She needed the connection, needed his strength and confidence. There was a reason Eli was arrogant.

“Just tell me, Eli. When Rafe is involved, there’s no way to pretty it up.”

His hand swept through her hair. His eyes went soft. “No, there isn’t. I wanted to spare you, Cat, but I also don’t like keeping anything from you. It smacks of deceit, and I promised myself I wouldn’t deceive you no matter what the issue was. Even if that meant we clashed over it.”

She was grateful to hear that. She’d known he was bothered and brooding. “I prefer to know everything when Rafe is involved. I probably know him better than anyone else. If anyone can predict his movements, it’s me.”

“Cordeau found Poetry Slam.”

He shifted position, his hand slipping from her wrist, the connection lost. She heard herself scream. The sound never came out of her, but it was there inside, a long, low wail of pain.

“Who did he kill? How many?” She looked down at her hands. How much blood did she have there? How could she ever wash it off? Scrubbing her skin didn’t work, she’d tried. The skin had come off, but not the blood.

“David Belmont, and Bernard Casey. He also killed the man, Jase Fulton, who made a pass at you that one night. David was supposed to have gone on vacation. I warned him. He said he would, but he didn’t. I guess he was afraid of losing more business and he went back after a couple of days. Malcom is safe. I hadn’t considered Cordeau might think Bernard or Fulton were any threat to his hold on you.”

She shook her head. “You say that so gently as if he stole softly into their rooms, the silent angel of death, and just struck them down in their sleep. He tortured them, didn’t he?” She looked up, her gaze meeting his. “Didn’t he?”

She saw the answer in his eyes. The wariness. The sadness. He was watchful of her, knowing how she felt. She waited. She knew, but she waited anyway. The silent screams kept coming but no one heard them but her.

“Yes, Cat,” he said on a soft sigh. “He tortured them.”

Her heart took a battering. Sore. Bruised. Her chest hurt. “How close is he to us? To Jake and Emma and their children?”

“He can’t touch them. I warned Jake. He won’t find us.”

“He’ll find us. You know he will, Eli. He’s close. I can feel him. We have a connection. His leopard and mine. You don’t want to hear that, but you know he made certain of our connection. She’s out now. I let her run every day. Your leopard teaches her how to fight. His leopard feels her and he’s coming after me that way. It’s the only way he had, but he’s using it.” She knew with absolute certainty.

Eli winced. He didn’t like knowing about the connection between the two leopards. He didn’t like knowing any man or their beast had a thread to his woman. She was hurting. He had known she would. He wanted to protect her from it, but deceiving her would have hurt her more.

“Give me the rest, Eli. Knowing Rafe killed three people because of me has to be the worst of it, so just tell me the rest. Whatever Jake told you.”

Eli studied her face. She looked fragile. Vulnerable. He wanted to gather her into his arms and shelter her from everything, but she held herself too still. She didn’t want his touch. She didn’t want him close. Her body was stiff and her eyes too bright. Her teeth tugged hard at her lower lip, biting down until he feared she’d draw blood.