by Lisa Jackson
There were plenty of reasons to hate her mother, and now one of them was standing on the front porch, and from the looks of his country-boy smile, he was trying to wheedle his way back into Sarah’s good graces.
The one smart thing her mother had done was break it off with Evan Tolliver. Too bad the jerk hadn’t taken the hint.
He needed to leave now, before Walsh showed up and everything blew up. Oh, God, if she could just run away . . .
The thought had barely come into her head when she pulled her broken cell phone from her pocket to text Cody. She’d call him later, but right now, she needed him to be on alert, to help her make a plan.
She was going to leave this old monster of a house and her super-dysfunctional family as soon as she could.
Evan’s eyes softened a little as his gaze met Sarah’s. He was dressed down for him, in khakis, a sweater, and a jacket; he was a handsome, but heartless man. “Hi, Sarah,” he said, offering up a smile, as if that would break any remaining ice from their last conversation. “Long time no see.”
“What’re you doing here, Evan?” Sarah asked. Could there be a worse time for him to land on her doorstep?
“I thought I’d surprise you.”
“Mission accomplished,” she said coolly.
He pretended he didn’t understand as a cold wind blew from the east, scattering dry leaves and burrowing deep into her soul. “I just wanted to see you.”
“I told you—”
“Shhh.” He held up a hand, fingers splayed in front of her nose. “We need to talk.” As if realizing how offensive the gesture was, he dropped his arm and took a step toward her, as if he intended to walk into her house. She blocked the doorway.
“I already told you I’m making a new life here for me and the girls. It doesn’t include you.” Her voice was firm. “I’m pretty sure I made myself clear on the phone.”
“Well, that’s a helluva thing.”
Folding her arms over her chest, she tried to sound calm when she was actually anxious and angry inside. Who did he think he was? “Maybe so, but it’s where we are.” She felt rather than saw her children gathering behind her, then heard a low growl from Xena.
“What’s with you?” His smile shifted to something hard and cruel. Half a foot taller than she, Evan Tolliver could be intimidating.
“Mom?” Gracie whispered.
“Not now, Grace.” Sarah’s gaze didn’t so much as waver as she stared Evan down. “We don’t need a scene. I’m asking you to leave now.”
“I just want to talk things over. You know, face-to-face.”
“I’ve said what I had to say, and this is a really bad time.” It was even worse than he might think as she heard the low rumble of a truck’s engine over the ever-present rush of the river. Clint’s pickup, no doubt. Perfect. “Then again, there isn’t a good time.”
“Sarah—”
“Please leave. Don’t make me call the police.”
Her heart sank as she saw the flash of headlights through the trees. Talk about bad timing. If she didn’t get rid of Evan—and fast—things were bound to get ugly. Or uglier.
“The cops?” He was more angry than wounded. “Are you kidding?”
“No.” She yanked her cell from her pocket. As she started punching out 911, she asked, “What’s it going to be?”
“For the love of . . .” Finally Evan heard the truck and saw the beams of headlights splash against the house. “Oh, wait . . . that’s what this is all about? You’re expecting someone?” He turned to spy Clint parking his old pickup near the garage. “What the hell?”
As the truck’s engine died, Clint hopped from the cab, shouldered the door of the truck closed, and, hands in his jacket pockets, jogged toward the house.
“Of course,” Evan muttered furiously as he skewered Sarah with a condemning look. “Bullshit, no one else.”
No reason to argue. He wouldn’t believe her anyway. “Just go.”
“You played me for a fucking fool. Lying to me and cheating on me. Un-be-lieve-a-ble!” The skin over his face tightened. “You know, I could smell the stink of another man on you—”
“That’s not what happened,” she cut in.
“You moved back here because of him,” He jabbed an accusing finger toward Clint, who’d just reached the weak circle of light from the porch.
“It’s not like that,” she said, then caught herself. “Look, I don’t have to explain myself. You just have to leave.”
Clint took the stairs two at a time. “Something wrong?” he asked Sarah.
Evan bristled. “You tell me.”
“Evan’s just leaving.” Sarah said tightly, “or I’m going to ask the police to escort him out of here.”
“The police?” Clint’s eyebrows raised.
Sarah glared at Evan as she introduced, “Clint Walsh, this is Evan Tolliver, my ex-boss at Tolliver Construction. He seems to think there was more to it than that. That our relationship was personal.”
“Damned straight, there was.” Evan’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Who the hell are you?”
“Clint’s my neighbor,” Sarah told him flatly.
“And what else?” Evan demanded.
Wedging his body closer to Sarah, Clint said, “Looks like you’d better listen to the lady.”
“Not just yet.” Evan stood his ground, and Sarah wished they all could just disappear. “Sarah and I have unfinished business.”
“No. We don’t.” Sarah wouldn’t give him an inch.
“You heard her, Tolliver,” Clint said crisply. “She wants you gone. And knowing Sarah, the call to the police isn’t just a threat. She usually does what she says. She’s a straight shooter.”
“Is she?” Evan threw back, sizing up Clint while Sarah died inside. A straight shooter? Not so much, Clint would soon find out.
“What you’re doing here is trespassing,” Clint went on. “And if the cops come and maybe the press find out and do a little reporting, it wouldn’t look all that good for your construction company, now, would it? Not exactly the kind of publicity you’d want.”
A muscle worked in Evan’s jaw, ticking off his rage under the bare bulb. He didn’t like to lose. Ever. And he rarely backed down. Sarah knew. She’d seen construction projects go massively over budget, or have to be abandoned altogether because of Evan’s inability to admit he was wrong or give up on something he wanted. But here, on her porch of the old manor house, with Clint calmly stating the facts, Evan actually took a step backward. When he hesitated, Clint advised, “It’s time for you to go.”
Evan’s fists balled, and his lips flattened over his teeth. “Okay,” he finally said between clenched teeth. “Okay,” he finally ground out. “You and Sarah. That’s the way it is.” He made a disgusted sound, cold fury evident in his eyes as he slid his gaze to Sarah’s face. “This isn’t over,” he warned.
“Yes, it is,” she stated firmly.
“We’ll see.” He nearly tripped as he backed to the edge of the porch and half stumbled down the stairs, just catching himself before he could fall.
The muscles in the back of Clint’s neck were tight, his rough-hewn features set as he waited tensely. If Evan didn’t leave, it was clear he was ready to take matters into his own hands.
Evan hesitated, as if he were going to say something more, but, reading Clint’s expression, thought better of it. Turning on his heel, he flung one last threatening glance in Sarah’s direction, then stormed to his vehicle.
“Doesn’t like to take no for an answer,” Clint observed as Evan fired up his truck.
Sarah finally let out her breath and still held tight to her cell phone. “Evan lives in the land of yes, though I did go out with him a couple of times. Big mistake.”
“Mmmm.”
Behind the wheel, Evan hit the gas. His truck lurched forward and made a wide circle, nearly taking out the cherry tree, somehow managing to kick up practically nonexistent gravel.
“You haven’t seen the last of hi
m,” Clint predicted as Evan’s truck’s taillights disappeared into the trees. “He the reason you called me over here?”
“Actually, no,” she admitted, heart in her throat. Now that Evan and his threats were gone, the weight of what was about to go down settled over her shoulders. “There’s something else. Come on in. We need to talk. You and me . . . and Jade.” She hitched her head toward the foyer, where her daughters and the dog were waiting. With Clint following, she said to Jade, “Let’s head to the living room. Clint, if you’ll wait for me there?”
“All right.” His brows were drawn together. He was clearly lost as to her cryptic comments, but he headed for the living room.
Placing her hands on Gracie’s shoulders, Sarah steered her youngest down the corridor leading to the kitchen. “You might want to give us a few minutes. Once I tell him what’s what, then I’ll come back in here. He and Jade may need some time alone.”
“You think it’ll be that easy?”
“Not a chance.”
“It’s a little weird, Mom.”
Sarah said with a humorless laugh, “It’s a lot weird.”
For reasons she couldn’t name, Sarah felt guilty shutting Gracie out of this meeting, but she felt she owed Jade and Clint as much privacy as possible. “Okay. Fingers crossed this goes well,” she said, turning back toward the living room.
“Good luck, Mom. I think you’re gonna need it.” Though Gracie and Xena were in the kitchen, Sarah was certain her youngest would hang near the living room archway so that she could eavesdrop.
Walking back into the living area, Sarah found two sets of eyes following her every move. Jade’s were worried, almost scared. Clint’s, as he stood near one of the pillars guarding the parlor, were filled with questions. “Okay, so what’s going on that’s so important?” he asked. Before she could answer, he smiled faintly and said, “You know, Sarah, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“She probably has,” Jade said under her breath.
“Not now.” Sarah cut off any chance of being derailed. “We’ve got more important issues to discuss right now.”
“Issues?” Clint repeated. “But not with Tolliver?”
Sarah shook her head. “He just showed up, a few minutes before you. Bad timing.”
“Super bad,” Jade agreed.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Clint asked Jade.
Jade lowered herself to the hearth and visibly shrank as she pulled an afghan around her feet. “No . . .” Jade was tongue-tied for once. Rather than explain, she actually looked to her mother for help. “It’s . . . it’s . . . complicated.”
“I’m the one in trouble,” Sarah cut in.
Confusion pulled his thick eyebrows together. “How so?” He slid a supportive arm around Sarah’s shoulders and squeezed her. For just a second, she remembered the smell of him, the easy way she talked to him, how safe she’d always felt when he was around. While life in this old house with her parents and siblings had been an emotional roller coaster, Clint had been rock-steady, an easy friend who had become a passionate lover. Even after they’d officially broken up, she’d found it impossible to resist him. Oh, Lord, this was going to be even harder than she had imagined. But it had to be done. She slid out of his embrace. “Maybe you’d better sit down.”
“Heavy stuff?” he asked, half teasing.
“Very.”
“Yep,” Jade seconded.
He glanced at Jade, and his eyes narrowed a fraction, then, as he sat on the edge of the old couch, his hands clasped between his jean-clad knees, he eyed Sarah with a newfound suspicion. “Okay, go.”
“This isn’t going to be easy,” Sarah said and felt her palms begin to sweat. She cleared her throat. “But I’ll try to explain everything. Not just to you, but to your daughter too.”
A beat.
He stared at her. The fire hissed and popped, and Jade seemed to shrink back.
“My what? My daughter?” He looked at Sarah as if he hadn’t heard right, or that if he had, she’d lost her mind. “I don’t . . .” His gaze moved from Sarah, standing near the pillar, to Jade, propped on the hearth and staring up at him with wide, worried eyes. Her fingers worked the edges of the afghan, and her face was as pale as death.
Trembling inside, Sarah tried to clear up the confusion. “Yes, Clint, Jade’s your—”
“What?” he whispered, disbelief evident in the rough-hewn planes of his face. “What are you saying?” For half a beat he was quiet, thinking, doing the calculations in his head. Then the light dawned.
“Jade is yours,” Sarah said before he could find his voice.
Jade closed her eyes and looked as if she wanted to melt through the floorboards.
Clint’s jaw was rock-hard. “It’s okay,” he said to Jade, and when she didn’t open her eyes, he added, “Give me a minute. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Sarah wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.
“No, it’s not,” Jade whispered, blinking hard against tears and ripping Sarah’s heart in two.
“Goddamn,” Clint said softly. He looked poleaxed, but it was clear he was trying to hold his emotions in check. But when his gaze met Sarah’s, it was cold and hard. “Okay, Sarah. I’m listening.”
CHAPTER 21
The night, as far as Rosalie could tell from her prison cell, was quiet, no sounds of wind in the rafters, no night birds calling. Completely and utterly alone, she lay on her tiny cot and held onto her bits of the nail clippers. All the while she plotted how she would use them.
If she got the chance.
If she hadn’t been left here to die of starvation and thirst.
She hated how dependent she’d become on him.
Why, oh, why, hadn’t her mother come? Did her dad even know she was missing? Had Sharon thought to call him? Had she gotten the police involved? Or was she so wrapped up in jerk-face Mel that she didn’t care?
No, that wasn’t right. Just her mind all turned around. She couldn’t let the loneliness make her nuts. She had to have faith.
She looked up and saw a glint of light in the windows high above, then told herself she was probably hallucinating. No . . . wait. Was that the soft purr of an engine? Not the roar of a truck, but . . . oh, God, maybe someone had found her!
Leaping to her feet, she was about to shout, to scream for whoever it was, for her saviors to help her, but just before she said a word, she stopped suddenly. Maybe whoever had shown up wasn’t a friend. So far, her captors hadn’t harmed her, not really, though she knew their motives were sinister, but someone unknown might be worse.
Was that possible?
Poised to kick and pound on the door, to scream at the top of her lungs, she finally heard voices and footsteps crunching on gravel. All of her senses went into overdrive. Please, please, please, let it be someone who has come to rescue me!
The lock clicked and the door banged open.
Her heart pounded.
Snap! The lights came on, throwing an eerie glow over the open areas high above the stalls and along the tiny gap between the floor and the door to her cell.
Footsteps and muffled voices arrived.
Friend or foe?
Shrinking back into the corner, Rosalie hid the pieces of the clippers in her palm, just to be ready, as she recognized her captor’s voice.
“Move it!” he yelled angrily, and she realized he wasn’t alone.
What was he planning? What was he going to do to her? A cold sweat slid down her spine.
“Come on, come on!” he ordered. “We haven’t got all night. Get her in here!”
Get who in where?
Was he talking about her? Was he ordering the other person to unlock the door and “get her” into the main area or . . . ?
She heard a second set of footsteps as another person entered and, over the uneven tread, the soft sobs of a woman or girl, she couldn’t tell which.
Her heart sank. They’d captured another victim? For what? Yes, she’d h
eard them talking but hadn’t believed it would actually happen. What the hell was their plan? Tiptoeing to her door, she tried to make out the muffled conversation.
“Give me a fuckin’ break, man!” Scraggly Hair. She recognized the nasal tone of his voice. “She ain’t no lightweight.”
Rosalie bit her lip, and her mind whirled. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. If there was another captive and they left her here, there was a chance that she and the girl could work together. Once alone, they could hatch a plot to escape. Unless . . . She froze as she considered the fact that now that the kidnappers had two victims, they might change their tactics. Maybe they wouldn’t leave them alone together, or worse yet, maybe now, with the capture of the new girl, their plan for them might be put into motion. There was a chance they would be moved soon . . . or worse. Rosalie’s mind spun with horrid, painful scenarios.
Don’t borrow trouble, So far, so good, and now you have someone to help you, Swallowing back her new case of fear, she clenched her fingers around her minuscule weapon. Please, she thought desperately, please let us find a way to escape,
“Not there!” the man in charge yelled as the stall door next to hers creaked open. “We don’t want them close to each other!”
“What?” Scraggly Hair said.
“Use your head, man. Take her down there, to the far end. Away from Star. She’s Lucky.”
“She’s what?” Scraggly Hair asked. A Rhodes scholar, he wasn’t.
“I said, she goes into Lucky’s stall, there on the far end. See the name over the door? Yeah, that one!”
“Sheeeit.” Scraggly Hair wasn’t happy.
The door to the next stall was slammed shut, and Rosalie’s heart fell to the floor. She’d hoped the girl would be closer so they wouldn’t have to yell to communicate.
“Okay, okay, that’s better. Yeah, as far away from Star as possible, and make it quick. I got more work to do tonight. Places to be. This just doesn’t happen, y’know. It takes planning and working out details and timing. What the hell’s wrong with you? You got shit for brains?”