Mike ripped his eyes from her and turned away. The ache in his chest would surely abate eventually. He adjusted his slacks and willed his raging hard-on into submission. No luck there.
Moving on…
The incident with Will Martin, the one that had made Mike want to claim Rachel in the first place, had to be addressed.
“You can’t testify that it was Will who grabbed you?” He glanced over his shoulder to catch the expected shake of her head. Her eyes were dark and filled with sadness. “I need to talk to Sean.”
He left her in the barn. Every step he took toward the house fueled the burn in his gut. This was ridiculous. He had no reason to feel guilty, like he was abandoning her. She’d rejected him.
But damned if he still didn’t want to know what had made her this way—and if the damage was permanent.
Rachel saddled the gray and led him into the barnyard. Her knees weren’t as steady as she’d like, but nothing would smooth her out faster than a good hard gallop—something the antsy horse could also use. Sensing her turbulent emotions, the gray started prancing before her foot hit the stirrup. She gathered the reins and bypassed the ring, jogging instead into the meadow that edged the road. She and the horse both needed to get out of that small, enclosed space and into some open air. The gray pulled for the bit. She kept him to a trot but pushed his stride to lengthen as they looped the large field twice as a warm-up, then worked him through some serpentines.
He collected beautifully under her seat, his supple body flexing and yielding to her cues. Maybe jumping was the wrong sport for this animal. He seemed more cooperative as she eased him through a few basic dressage maneuvers than when she’d put him over fences.
His hindquarters gave a short buck, reminding her that he was full of pent-up energy. She softened her hands. The horse responded immediately, surging forward into a canter. Rachel shifted her weight forward and let him stretch out. But not even the wind in her face or the flow of muscles beneath her could wipe out the memory of Mike’s kiss. Even with her eyes open, she couldn’t forget the image of the pain in his eyes as she’d pushed him away.
Fresh pressure built in her chest. Her eyes burned, and a few tears escaped.
Before she hadn’t known what she was missing. But now…
A tug on the reins brought Rachel’s attention back to her mount. The gray had slowed as they rounded the turn toward the barn. The horse drifted toward the barnyard. Rachel turned his head and applied pressure with her calves to maintain his forward momentum. The gray pulled harder, and Rachel’s shoulder, already exhausted, cramped. She dropped the rein. With a flick of his tail, the horse swerved and ducked his shoulder.
Rachel dropped her heels and butt. “Sorry, buddy. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Seat secured, she scooped up the dangling rein and turned the horse firmly away from the barn.
Everything under her came loose. Rachel sailed from the horse’s back. The grass rushed up. Her body slammed into the ground. Pain ripped through her shoulder and arm. Inside her riding helmet, her head rang at the impact with the earth.
After Mike was sure his hard-on had deflated enough for mixed company, he headed toward the house to talk to Sean. He knocked on the back door. Sarah let him in.
“I’m looking for Sean.”
“He’s working in the den.”
Mike walked through the kitchen. At the newspaper-covered table, the girls were disemboweling a pumpkin with big plastic spoons. The guy from last night, Rachel’s old friend, was at the sink rinsing out a mug.
“David, I’d like to ask you a few questions about last night.”
“Uhm. Sure.” The guy was six-four, two-fifty, and solid as a refrigerator. Brown hair and eyes. Buzz cut. No visible scars or tattoos. But the way David refused to meet Mike’s gaze pricked his suspicion.
“You can use the living room.” Sarah nodded toward the hall.
The room was mostly empty, except for a few small tables, one lamp, and an old trunk.
Mike pulled his notebook from his breast pocket. David frowned at the pile of aged, yellowed papers on the nearest table. “How long have you known Rachel?”
David shifted his eyes to the wall over Mike’s right shoulder. “We were neighbors when we were kids.”
“When was the last time you saw her before this week?”
“When she came home for her mother’s funeral.” David’s grim expression gave Mike the impression that there was a long story behind that statement. One that Rachel wouldn’t share without bright lights, thumbscrews, and waterboarding.
“And you just showed up this week to help her out?”
“Actually, I came to see Sarah.” David didn’t elaborate, but Mike got the picture from the bright red flush that spread across the contractor’s face.
“Why were you at town hall last night?”
“I needed to pick up some building permits for a job.” David’s gaze dropped to the hardwood. Could the guy just be super socially awkward? Or embarrassed that he had the hots for a married woman and was jumping in at the first sign she might be available?
“So, you weren’t there for the meeting?” Mike made a note to check his claim with the township construction department.
“No.”
“Did you see anything unusual?”
“Place was packed. I just grabbed my permits and got out of there. I don’t like crowds much.” Clearly uncomfortable, David shifted his weight and clasped his hands in front of his belt buckle. “I was pulling out of the lot when I heard the alarm and stuff. I went back to see if I could help.”
“What brings you here today, David?”
He crossed his arms over the hardware store logo on his chest. “I repainted the barn for Rachel.”
“Did she hire you to do that?” Mike wanted to know how close David was to Rachel. For purely professional reasons. David had been at the municipal building when the place caught fire.
This had nothing to do with jealousy or with the fact that Mike couldn’t get Rachel out of his head even after she’d held up the big red stop sign in front of his face. He was an idiot, thinking about that smoking kiss and the way her body felt under his hands. Her tight butt had fit perfectly in his palms. He’d wanted to lift her up and—
Forgive me, Father. When was his last confession? He was ringing up sins like Christmas sales at the mall.
David shook his head. “No. I got a couple days between jobs. Goes fast with the right equipment. Thought I’d help her out.”
“Nice of you.”
“I guess.”
“Thanks for your cooperation, David. That’s all for now, but I might have more questions later. Here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else.” Mike snapped his notebook shut. He didn’t like this guy. Was it jealousy? Stupid if it was. Mike wasn’t getting anywhere with Rachel. There was nothing suspicious about an old family friend helping the sisters out.
They went back into the kitchen. David headed for the exit while Mike pushed through the swinging door into Rachel’s den. Unlike the kitchen, which had been uglified sometime in the seventies, this room was an echo of the house’s original beauty. The wide-planked floor underfoot was darkened and worn from two centuries of foot traffic. A huge fireplace dominated the room, its fieldstones still gorgeous despite the need for some masonry repair.
Sean was by drilling a tiny hole in the window jamb. He looked up and silenced the tool as Mike approached.
“I don’t like the low windows here. Especially after Will Martin threatened Rachel last night.” Mike gave Sean the lowdown on the confrontation at town hall.
“This happened right before the fire?” Sean’s eyes went great white cold. “Where does Will stand on the Lost Lake project?”
“Probably for it, considering he’s so buddy-buddy with Troy, whose daddy brought Harmon Properties into town in the first place.”
“So, there’d be no reason for Will to set the fire.”
“I sure as hell c
an’t think of one,” Mike said. “I doubt he’d burn down the entire building, stop Harmon’s presentation, and risk his own neck just to get to Rachel.”
“Probably not. Will’s a lot smarter than the rest of Troy’s crowd.”
“He’s definitely the most dangerous, but who knows what Troy’s other low-life buddies have planned. This house needs to be a fortress.”
Sean scratched his chin. “When I’m done, neither Will nor Troy will be able to get in here. Glass breaks, motion detectors, two exterior cameras.”
The swinging door opened with a squeak. Sarah stuck her head through the opening. “Have you seen the girls?”
“No. Why?” Mike asked.
Sarah chewed on her lip. “I ducked into the laundry room to start a load of wash. They were in the kitchen cleaning their pumpkins. Now they’re gone. I was only out of sight a minute or two.”
“Then they can’t have gone far.” Mike scanned the backyard through the window. “Could they have gone to the barn to see Rachel?”
“I didn’t hear the door open.” Sarah stared through the windows that looked over the backyard.
Sean pushed past Mike. “I’ll go check.” He brushed past them on his way outside.
“Why don’t you search upstairs again?” Mike suggested. Sarah’s quick footsteps thudded on the stairs. He went into the kitchen. The table was still littered with pumpkin innards, the chairs pushed back and left that way. He leaned over and picked up a few slimy seeds from the floor. The girls had left in a rush.
But where did they go?
The door opened and Rachel walked in, still clad in riding clothes. “Any sign of them?” Her face was pale, the skin drawn tight as a drum.
Had his kiss messed her up that badly? Or was she worried about her nieces?
“No,” he said.
“Sean and his guys are checking the yard and outbuildings.” She brushed past him to the hallway. Mike followed, not liking the stiffness of her gait. A door at the end of the hall stood ajar.
“Where does that door go?” he asked.
“The basement.” Alarm laced her voice.
He followed her to the door. On the jamb, a foot from the top of the door, a large hook dangled loose from its eye closure. An end table had been dragged across the pine floor as a makeshift ladder. So much for Rachel’s childproofing efforts.
“Smart little buggers,” Mike said wryly.
“I put that lock on the door for a reason.” She turned to him with eyes that were more than worried. “They could fall down those stairs and break their necks.”
“True.” He pulled the basement door fully open and stared down. No bodies lay at the foot of the steps. “But they didn’t. Is there any other way out of there?”
“No.”
“Then they’re down there. We just have to find them.”
“There’re all kinds of tools and who knows what else stored down there.” Rachel’s voice cracked. “Nothing’s been sorted through since my grandfather died ten years ago.”
“We’ll find them. It’ll be OK.”
Rachel grabbed a flashlight from the closet. Boards creaked underfoot as they navigated the steep and narrow staircase single-file, stepping down into a dirt-floored room that spanned the width of the house but only half its depth. She yanked on a short chain. Bare bulbs strung along overhead joists lighted the area. Exterior walls were made of rough-cut fieldstone like the house’s foundation. Interior walls were a hodgepodge of plaster and brick construction. Workbenches and hanging tools lined one wall of the large main space. There wasn’t anywhere to hide in the open workshop, but the rear portion of the cellar was sectioned off into multiple rooms in a rabbit-warren fashion that spoke of several generations’ additions with emphasis on functionality, not aesthetics.
Mike ducked to avoid a thick beam. “How old is this house?”
They passed through the first area, shelved for long-term storage of canned goods and rarely used kitchen equipment. Mike scanned the space for the girls. No sign of them. The boxes along the walls all bore a thick, undisturbed coating of dust.
“Over two hundred years.” Rachel squatted to peer behind a large box marked Christmas Decorations in faded block letters. “They could be anywhere down here.”
“I have an idea.” Mike jogged back up the stairs and out of the house. In the yard, he scooped up an ecstatic Bandit. When he returned, he set the wiggling dog down. “He has a great nose, right?”
“Sure, for food. But it’s worth a try.” Rachel encouraged the pup. “Where’s Alex, Bandit? Where’s Em?”
Bandit snuffled along the floor. Mike and Rachel followed him toward another doorway in the back of the room. Rachel darted ahead into another, smaller space crammed with junk. She pointed to a steamer trunk marked by tiny handprints on its dusty surface. “They’re probably in there.”
Bandit agreed, putting his nose to the crack of the trunk and wagging his tail.
Mike bent his neck to avoid the low header. The wall behind the trunk was stone, like the foundation, but it didn’t look exactly the same. The proportions of the room didn’t feel quite right either.
Rachel tried the lid. “It’s locked.” Her voice rose with nerves.
Mike moved closer. “We’ll open it. Relax.”
“But they can’t breathe.”
“Plenty of air for the five minutes they’ve been missing.” Something moved behind the trunk. Mike leaned down. “They’re not in it. They’re behind it.”
“Alex? Em? Please come out.”
Fabric rustled and a small white face peered out from the dark space between the trunk and the wall. Breath whooshed out of Rachel, and she wobbled next to him.
“Come on, baby.” Rachel knelt in the dirt and extended a hand.
The smallest child crawled out and clambered onto Rachel’s lap. “I told Awex we didn’t hafta hide. You’d protect us.”
“From what, Em?”
“Daddy.”
Mike’s heart dropped into his stomach. They’d overheard his conversation with Sean.
Rachel brushed a streak of dirt from the child’s cheek, then turned back to the darkness. “Where’s Alex?”
Alex’s head popped out of the space. “We found a good hiding place this time. Like the slaves on the underground train.”
“What?” Mike asked.
“Sarah found some documents that claim the house was part of the Underground Railroad,” Rachel explained. “Just come out of there, Alex.”
Alex stopped halfway. Her tiny forehead crinkled. “I’m stuck.”
Mike pulled at the trunk, sliding it away from the wall. The hem of Alex’s jeans was caught on a protruding stone. The little girl pulled. Crumbled mortar rained down. Stones shifted.
Mike reached for her shoulders. “Don’t move.”
But Alex’s eyes went wide and she scrambled, jerking her leg free. Mike threw his body across hers and waited for the wall to collapse on them. Nothing but a small cloud of dirt and dust descended.
The dust cleared as Mike sat up. “What the…?”
A two-foot square section of the wall had swung open toward them like a small door. After lifting the child to her feet and dusting her off, Mike crawled to the dark opening and shone the beam of the flashlight around the hidden space. In the center of the room was a long, narrow depression in the dirt, the approximate size of an old grave.
Chapter Seventeen
Rachel focused on the strange expression on Mike’s face. “What is it?”
He shook his head.
“Is someone down there?” Sarah’s voice came down the stairs.
“We found them,” Rachel yelled back. “Why don’t you two go see your mom?”
The girls scrambled to their feet. Pain rushed fresh as Rachel stood and ushered them back to the foot of the stairs. “I’ll explain later,” she said to her sister.
Sarah, already on her way down, hugged the children hard before herding them back up the steps. Rachel he
ard Sarah asking gentle questions as voices faded.
Relief at finding the girls cut into Rachel’s adrenaline overload. Unsteady, she sat on the bottom step.
“You OK?”
She lifted her head. Mike was squatting in front of her. She’d have to tell him what had happened. But first… “What did you see in there?”
“I don’t want to say until I check it out. Could be nothing.”
Rachel squinted at him. “I don’t need sheltering, He-Man.”
Mike sighed. “I think there might be a grave in there.”
“That’s absurd.”
“I could be wrong.” Mike frowned and shined the flashlight on her arm. “You’re bleeding. Why are you always bleeding?”
“It’s just a scrape. Must’ve hit a rock or something when I fell.”
“Fell off what?”
“The gray horse.”
“You just fell off a horse?” His voice took on an urgent edge, and he started running his hands over her legs.
“My legs are fine. I walked down here, remember?”
“You’re stubborn enough to walk on a broken bone.”
Rachel couldn’t argue with that.
His hands moved up to her hips and back. “What did you hit?”
“Landed on my back.”
His fingers slid through her hair as he prodded her scalp.
Rachel brushed his hand away. “My head is fine. I was wearing my helmet.”
“Good thing.” Cool air played over her skin as he lifted her T-shirt and shined the flashlight over her ribs and back. “You need to go to the ER.”
“Nah.” She shook her head. “I’ll ice it. It’ll be fine.”
“You already have some swelling. You could have broken something.”
“I am well acquainted with what broken bones feel like. Mine are intact.” But how had her Cyborg parts fared? She’d been warned that her titanium tidbits could shift, and that it wouldn’t be a good thing.
“You can’t even stand up.”
She Can Tell Page 15