Something shiny glinted against light. A knife. But it wasn’t the weapon that frightened her – it was the pitch black of his eyes that spoke of his intentions to kill her that scared the shit out of her. Elsa scrambled back until her shoulders hit a wall behind her, and screamed again.

After everything she had been through… this is how her life was going to end? In a dirty alley in the middle of winter? To hell with that…

***

A quick GPS tracking of her phone brought Victor to Elsa’s location. He parked his car near hers when he spotted it, and exited to seek her out. The wind died down just long enough for him to hear the edge of hysteria in her voice as her scream tore through the air. The urge to protect her washed over him and his brain kicked into high gear as his feet carried him to her. A man standing just over six feet tall, brandishing a knife, had just lunged at her.

His mind whirled with everything he had been trained to do and his FBI instincts kicked in. In an attempt to subdue the man, he threw the weight of his body against him, upsetting his equilibrium. Elsa scratched at his face and delivered a knee to his balls, giving Victor the split second he needed to pull his knife-wielding arm away from her.

The frigid, night air filled his lungs as he fought against the man’s thrashing movements. He pulled the man’s arms behind him, and staggered backwards when the wind slammed against them, causing him to lose his footing on an icy patch. He spun his body as they tumbled to the ground, landing on top of the man. With one of his arms pinned beneath the man, Victor pounded into his kidney with his free hand.

The perpetrator fought ferociously against Victor and his grip on the knife was unrelenting despite Victor’s best efforts to free it from his hand. Victor managed to tear his arm out from underneath the man and throw it around his neck. He pulled back against the man’s throat to try and choke him unconscious, but he was strong. So strong. He was thin and Victor outweighed him by at least thirty pounds, but he had the kind of lunatic strength only seen in psychopaths. The man coughed and sputtered, but twisted his body into an unnatural position making Victor lose his hold as they rolled around on the snowy ground.

He was quick and lithe, and jumped to his feet only to lunge at Elsa again, determined to kill her. Clambering to his knees, Victor reached into his waistband for his Glock, thankful that it hadn’t been knocked loose.

It wasn’t something he generally carried on short trips outside his home, even though, technically, he was required to. But for some reason he had brought it along. The lingering feeling that something was going to happen had been eating away at him since the night before, and still had him on high-alert. And it was a good thing.

The man saw the gun, but made no attempt to yield. Instead, the hostility in his eyes turned to vehemence. He wildly swung the knife in Victor’s direction and then Elsa’s, as if not caring that he would be shot dead. He was truly psychotic. So be it. If he wanted to die, then Victor would accommodate him. He steadied his freezing cold hands, aimed and gently pressed against the trigger, waiting for the shot to jolt through him.

“Victor, no!” Elsa shrieked.

When Victor wavered, the knife-wielding man grinned with a malevolence that turned his blood to ice water. His gut clenched again with another foreboding sense of doom. He had only seen a smile like that on one other person: his father.

Time seemed to slow as the man dropped his hand to his side and turned to run. Readjusting his aim, Victor squeezed the trigger until he felt the click. An earsplitting shot echoed through the alley and a shock wave ripped through him. Then, the smell of sulfur.

***

Seeing someone get shot in the movies didn’t compare to the real thing. Hell, it didn’t come anywhere close. The shot was louder. The blood redder and thicker; the smell, ferrous and pungent. The screams, more horrifying.

Elsa had just witnessed Victor shoot a man down in her defense. The man wasn’t dead, though. Victor had merely maimed him.

Seeing him in action shone a whole new light on him. She knew what his job entailed to a certain degree, but to see him fight a man and risk his life for her, made her yearn for the kind of man she could never have; for the man she could never have… Victor.

Police and emergency services were quick to respond, whisking away the asshole who had been hell bent on taking her life. Confused at why he had been so determined to hurt her and still stunned, she waited in a police cruiser while Victor spoke to several officers. It wasn’t long before the news reporters showed up and Victor kicked into action once more, removing her from the scene and away from all the prying eyes.

The drive to the police station was unbearably quiet. When she opened her mouth to speak, Victor put his hand up to silence her.

“I’m thinking,” was all he said.

The vehicle was dark and only the dash lights shined on his face, but even in the darkness, Elsa could see his gears turning. His hair was wrecked and he was covered in dirt and mud from his tussle, but he never looked more handsome in her eyes. He had fought for her. He had saved her. And Mr. Black was nowhere to be seen.

Once delivered into the hands of the police, she sat with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as the scene replayed on a continual loop in her head. Wind. Snow. Black eyes. A knife. Fear gripping her. A scream. Victor. A gun. Blood. Victor’s arms around her. His calm voice calling the police on his cell phone. Waiting for the authorities. His soothing voice whispered in her ear as she shook from the adrenaline rush. Pained moans from the stranger. Victor’s fingers in her hair. His mouth on hers.

The next five hours were a blur of questions and written statements. Nail scrapings. A physical exam. More questions. The same questions. Over and over. She just wanted to go home and forget about the fact that someone had tried to kill her.

Just after eight o’clock that evening, Victor carried her from his car into 2500 East Grace Street. It seemed he was always content to carry her as if she was a fragile child who couldn't stand on her own. And always, she was content to oblige him.

Everything about Victor was just a trick of light. The way he held her. The warmth of his breath against her cheek as he laid her down in his bed. The softness of his flesh against hers…

Cradled in his arms, she inhaled his masculine scent and wondered if there would ever come a day when she could smell his cologne without being reminded of their past. Or if there would ever be a time when she could look into his brilliant eyes without seeing Mr. Black lurking behind them.

But where did the woman in his apartment and the man in the alley fit into all this? Or was everything just random? A seed of doubt lingering in her mind began to rapidly grow out of control as she recalled the scene yet again. Victor’s perfectly timed entrance… The smile exchanged between the two of them… The slight adjustment of his aim… His calm demeanor after the event…

There was no such thing as random in Victor’s world. Everything was deliberate. Always.

He truly was a man of many faces. Her stalker. Her punisher. Her Dominant. Her savior. And the man who was wrecking her life. Again.

15: Denial

Victor lay in bed for hours, restless and wrestling with what had happened in that dark alley. Giving up on the hope that he would get any rest, he dug out his case files and pored over every last detail, praying he would see the one thing he had missed.

He woke late on Sunday morning after having dozed off next to Elsa. When his eyes opened, she was seated next to him, fully dressed and watching him intensely. She had a look of distress on her face and the only sound in the room was her quick and shallow breathing.