Abandoning his mug of tea, Santiago set off for the front door. Even though he knew she could have taken any number of routes, he had to at least try to find her. He yanked the front door open and stepped out onto the porch, then drew up short at the sight that greeted him.
Ainsley was stumbling toward the cabin, her hand on her head and her face twisting in pain with every lurching step she took.
“Ainsley!”
Santiago practically jumped off the porch and ran toward her, pulling her into his arms when he reached her. She sucked in a breath at the contact, but didn’t pull away.
“What happened? Where are you hurt?” He leaned back and looked at her, noting the dirt on her skin and clothes. He didn’t notice any blood, but he hadn’t seen all of her yet...
Ainsley winced as she looked up at him. “My head,” she said, drawing his attention to her hand, which was still cupped around the back of her skull.
“Did you fall?” It seemed his fears hadn’t been unfounded. Moving carefully, he released his hold on her and moved to the side so he could get a better look. She allowed him to remove her hand, but he saw no signs of an injury. With gentle fingers, he brushed past the pieces of dead leaves tangled in her hair and touched her scalp. There was a sizeable lump present, and when he removed his fingers, he saw the tips were pink with a stain of blood.
Ainsley shook her head and winced at the movement. “No, I didn’t fall,” she said. She met his eyes, her gaze intense. “Someone hit me.”
A chill flowed over Santiago, followed swiftly by a rush of heat as anger pumped through his system. “Who?” The word escaped on a snarl, though he already knew the answer.
It must have been Steve, Jenny’s husband. Who else could it be?
“I’m not sure,” she said. “They hit me from behind so I never saw their face.”
Santiago clenched his hands as another wave of anger swept through his body. Not only was Steve a coward who hurt women verbally and emotionally, he evidently attacked them physically—and from behind, as well.
“I see,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you inside.”
Santiago’s movements were stiff as he moved to help Ainsley walk the remaining steps to the cabin. His muscles were so tense it felt like they might snap at any moment, but he couldn’t lose control. Not now, not while Ainsley still needed him.
She leaned against him as they navigated the stairs. Once inside the cabin, Santiago steered her toward the sofa and she sank down onto the cushion with a sigh.
He knelt in front of her, worry temporarily overcoming his anger. “Are you hurt anywhere else? Do you need a doctor?” There was a disturbing amount of dirt on her clothes, making him wonder if whoever had attacked her had stopped with just a blow to the head. His breath stalled in his chest as he considered additional possibilities, each one worse than the last.
“I think it’s just my head.” Ainsley gingerly touched the knot on her skull again, wincing as her fingers made contact with the swollen spot. She glanced down and he saw surprise flicker across her face. “Oh man, I’m a mess.”
“You must have fallen to the ground.”
“I did,” she said. “I just didn’t realize how dirty I’d gotten.”
Convinced she would be all right for at least the next few minutes, Santiago got to his feet. “Stay here,” he said unnecessarily. “I’ll be right back.”
He went to the kitchen and pulled some paper towels free from the roll, then stood at the sink and waited for the water to warm up. He glanced down, surprised to find his hands were shaking.
Santiago dropped his head and focused on his breathing. Deep inhale. Let it out.
Again.
This was getting out of control. The window breaking last night had been bad enough. But now, Ainsley was being physically attacked. It was unacceptable. This had to stop—as much as he loved his sister, Ainsley’s safety was worth more than this investigation.
Feeling marginally calmer, he soaked the paper towels in warm water and turned off the tap. Wringing out the excess liquid, he took another deep breath and prepared himself to go back into the other room. He couldn’t let his temper get the best of him. The last thing he wanted to do was alarm Ainsley—she didn’t need to worry about his emotions while she was hurting.
She glanced up as he approached, a questioning look on her face. He extended the damp towels, and she took them with a small smile. “Thanks.”
Santiago sank onto the cushion next to her as she set about wiping the worst of the dirt from her face and the skin of her arms and legs. “We need to call the police.”
“What?” Ainsley’s head jerked around, making her grimace. “No. We’re not doing that.”
Santiago felt his jaw drop. “Are you kidding me? You’ve just been assaulted. Why don’t you want to report that?”
“Because.” She continued to wipe at the dirt. “If the police show up and start investigating, we’ll be exposed. We can’t let that happen, not when we’re so close to the end of this thing.”