by Nicole Helm
She took a deep gulping breath. “It’s just I usually wake up before he hurts me. But tonight the knives slashed across my face.”
He rubbed his hand up and down her arm. She seemed to need to talk about it, and he had some suspicions now about these dreams. “Knives?”
“A man. He had me. He had this knife or knives with multiple points. He...” She couldn’t seem to swallow down a hiccupped sob. She shuddered, so he pulled her closer until she leaned into him.
She let out a little sigh, and some of the shaking subsided. “I could feel it. The pain. The blood. I don’t know if it was a memory or made up, but it felt real. And I was small. I had my adult brain, but he could cart me around easily. It was a man, but there was also an animal. I don’t think it was a mountain lion. It was more...doglike. And he jumped on the man when he hurt me. That animal saved me, I think.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. I don’t want it to make sense.” She buried her head in his shoulder. “I want the dreams to go away and I want Dad to be home.”
“Of course you do, sweetheart.” He rubbed his hand up and down her back. “So do I.” He tried to keep the grimness out of his voice. But this situation was grim. The more she explained the dream, the more he had to wonder if Rachel knew more than she understood.
And he had to wonder if Duke knew that. If that was half of why he’d agreed to disappear with North Star on such short notice. To keep Rachel out of it.
“I heard that name again. Curtis Washington. Do you think that’s a real person?” She pulled back from him, her gaze meeting his. Her complexion was a little gray, and the faded pink of her scars seemed more pronounced against the brown of her skin. She looked at him earnestly, even though he knew she couldn’t see him clearly. “Why am I dreaming this name? I’ve never thought my dreams were real, but...”
“It keeps repeating. And getting worse.”
She nodded. Her face was close to his. Their noses would touch if he leaned just an inch forward. His arm was still around her and she was leaning into him.
In her bed.
Tucker let his arm slip away from her, though he stayed seated at the edge of her bed. He inched even closer to that edge so that, though he was close, their bodies were not in danger of touching, and berated himself for even the second of inappropriate thought that gripped him.
She was shaking, crying and scared.
And very close to a truth he wasn’t supposed to let her know about.
“I think we need to look into that name. Don’t you? Maybe it has something to do with Dad. Maybe—”
Sarah bustled into the room carrying a tray full of glasses. “I didn’t know what kind of drink so I just kind of brought...”
“Everything.” Rachel smiled indulgently. “Thank you. I think I’ll take the water.”
Tucker slid off her bed. He needed to let Sarah take care of this. Comfort her. He needed to escape before she asked him to do what he wasn’t supposed to do.
He eyed Sarah’s tray, took the shot glass off it and downed the whiskey. He put the glass back, then tried to disappear.
“Tuck, I want to look into the name. I think we have to.”
How could he say no to her? “I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter Nine
Rachel knew that Tucker would look into the name Curtis Washington, and he was a detective so he’d be able to do far more than her. Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t aid him in his search.
If the name connected to everything that was going on, that meant it connected to Dad. And if the dream connected to everything that was going on...
She didn’t know what it would mean.
It scared her. That it might be terrible. That it might be buried deep in her subconscious...
“There’s a lot of junk up here, Rach. I don’t know how we’re going to go through it all,” Sarah said.
Rachel could tell Sarah was antsy to get outside, to do her work on the ranch, even if it was a rainy, dreary day. But when Rachel had mentioned going up to the attic, Sarah had insisted on helping.
“I know it’s overwhelming, but I can’t sit around waiting for Tuck to figure it out. I know it was a dream. This is probably insane, but—”
“Look, that’s some dream. Maybe normally I’d brush it off, but everything is off right now. Dev is being nice to me.” The horror in her tone had Rachel smiling.
“That’s sweet of him.”
“It’s creepy as hell.” Sarah moved through the attic, and Rachel figured she was doing what she had asked—reading labels of boxes and pulling out anything that seemed relevant. “Speaking of creepy, Tuck was totally checking you out last night.”
Rachel nearly stumbled over what she assumed was a box. “What?”
“One hundred percent checking out your rack, sis.”
Rachel sputtered, and she could feel heat creeping up her face. “Geez, Sarah...”
“I can tell him to knock it off if you want.”
“What? No. Oh my God, don’t do that!”
“Why not?”
Rachel tried to work through this insane turn in the conversation. “Because that’s embarrassing and weird.”
“So, not because you’d like Tucker to be checking you out. Tucker Wyatt.”
“I know who Tucker is,” Rachel replied, all too shrilly.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Did you actually have one?”
“Yeah. Are you creeped out Tuck was looking at your boobs, or do you like it?”
Rachel opened her mouth but no sound came out. She wasn’t creeped out, but she wasn’t sure if she liked it, either. She was just... “I don’t know.”
“I mean, in fairness it wasn’t like super creeper ogling. It was like...noticing. Your boobs.”
“I need this conversation to be over,” Rachel muttered. Her face was hot, her heart was hammering and they had way more important concerns at hand. “Whatever we’re looking for, it’s not going to be in a box. If it’s such a secret that Dad had to disappear, it’s going to be somewhere...like in the wall. Or out in the stables or something. It’d be hidden.”
“But who would go through all this stuff? Wouldn’t hiding it in plain sight work just as well?” Sarah asked, thankfully moving away from the subject of Tucker.
“Not if you expected someone to go looking for your secret stuff. If Dad had secret stuff—the kind you run away from so your children aren’t in the middle of it—it’d be hidden somewhere. Which means there’s not going to be a box labeled secret stuff. It’s going to be harder than that. Sneakier than that.”
Sarah blew out a loud breath. “I really hate this.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
They worked in silence for a while. Sarah went through reading labels on boxes and checking the contents of those unlabeled. Rachel went around the attic perimeter feeling the walls, trying to determine if there was any place that could be hiding something.
She was about to give up when her hands landed on something metal in the corner by the door. It was some kind of box, but instead of cardboard or plastic, it was a heavy metal.
“What’s this?”
“Huh.” Sarah stepped closer. “It’s a locked cashbox type deal, but there’s a little piece of masking tape on it that says buttons.”
“Who would lock up buttons?”
“Mom loved collecting buttons, but I don’t think there’d be any reason to lock them up. Here, give it to me.”
“If it’s locked, how will you—” Rachel began.
There was a squeaking sound and then a crash—like tiny buttons falling across the floor.
“Oops,” Sarah said. “Lock was a little easier to break than I thought. But it is just...buttons. Everywhere now. Here, take the box so I can pick up the ones that fell.”
Still, touching something of her mother’s had her eyes and nose stinging with unshed tears. She blinked them back as she dug her fingers into the buttons—and touched something with a sharp edge. She cradled the box in her elbow and pulled the item out of the buttons. Using both hands, she felt around the edge of it. Much bigger than a button. Maybe an oddly shaped belt buckle?
“Sarah?”
“Wh—Oh my God.”
“What? What is it?”
“It’s a police badge.” It was snatched out of Rachel’s hand. “It says Officer. Chicago Police.”
“Chicago? Why would there be a Chicago police badge in a box full of buttons?”
“A locked box full of buttons,” Sarah pointed out. “If we’re looking for secrets, I think we might have found one.”
“Are you guys up in the attic?” Tuck’s voice called from below.
Rachel felt Sarah press the badge back into her palm. “Your call. You want to hide it, I will. You want to tell him, I’ll be right behind you.”
“Why are you leaving it up to me? He’s your father, too.”
“They’re your dreams, Rach. And Tucker seems to be your thing. Let’s face it, you’re the calm, rational one between the two of us. Whatever you want to do is what we should do.”
Tucker’s form appeared in the doorway. “Hey. Dev’s looking for you, Sarah. What are you two doing up here?”
Sarah didn’t answer him. Because she’d put it all on Rachel.
“We wanted to poke around and see if we could find something of Dad’s. Get some idea of what he might be keeping a secret.” She held the badge behind her back, the box of buttons in the crook of her arm. What else might be in there?
And did she want Tuck to know about it?
“I’ll go find Dev. See what he wants.”
Rachel heard Sarah’s retreat as she let her fingers trace the outline of the badge. Chicago Police? Could she picture her father as a police officer?
Or had he had some kind of run in with a police officer? Was this darker? More awful? Should she want to hide it from everyone so they never knew?
But how could she bring her father home without help? Without Tucker’s help. Why wouldn’t she trust Tucker Wyatt with everything she found? He was...a Wyatt. He was a good person. He didn’t lie. He was a detective who searched for the truth, who’s father’s sins weighed on him even when they shouldn’t.
He was a good man.
Tucker was totally checking you out last night.
“You okay?”
She nodded and cleared her throat. “We found a box of my mom’s buttons.”
His hand was on her shoulder, giving her a friendly squeeze. “That’s a nice thing to have. Even if it makes you sad.”
She nodded, because she agreed. Because she knew he didn’t have anything from his mother, whatever complicated feelings he might have had about her. And he wouldn’t want anything from his father. She had two good, supportive, loving parents who hadn’t just loved her but had fostered or adopted five other girls over the years and made them all a family.
“I miss her most around this time of year,” Tuck said, his voice gentle. “She was always rounding us up, trying to help Grandma Pauline get us ready for school rather than show up the first day looking like feral dogs.”
“She used to say you boys needed love, education and a hardheaded woman to keep you on the straight and narrow.”
He laughed. “Grandma Pauline did all three. So did your mom.”
It was strange to talk to Tucker about her mom. She knew Eva Knight had considered the Wyatt boys part of her own brood. She’d helped Grandma Pauline corral them as much as she could. Mom had loved them. She’d cared about people who needed help, and love, and she’d given hope to those in the darkest places.
Rachel didn’t have any dark places. Not really. Even her dreams were just dreams—even if they were pointing to something. She wasn’t like Liza and Jamison who had survived the Sons, or Felicity who’d survived an abusive father both as a child and then as a woman. She wasn’t any of the Wyatt boys with the horror they’d grown up with and escaped.
She’d had a good, mostly easy life. So, Mom had always tasked her with helping, providing for, being the hope.
If there was any hope in this situation with Dad, it was that they could get him home. Secrets wouldn’t do that. Being suspicious of Tucker wouldn’t do that.
Rachel took a deep breath, feeling around the edge of the badge one more time. Then she held it forward. “I found this in the box of buttons.”
* * *
TUCKER STARED AT the badge held out in Rachel’s hand. Chicago PD. He didn’t know how to react. He knew, of course, that it was Duke’s, though Rachel probably didn’t. Wouldn’t.
He wanted to tell her. Not just about her father’s past but about everything. North Star and where Duke was.
An equal part of him wanted to laugh it off, stop her from probing into this, from entwining herself in trouble. He wanted to wrap her up in a safe bubble so she didn’t have to worry about all this.
But he remembered all too well that terrifying scream that had woken him in the middle of the night. Some of this mystery and danger was inside her subconscious somewhere. No matter what he did—he couldn’t protect her from that.
“It’s a police badge,” he said, his voice a shade too rough.
“Yes. Sarah told me it says Chicago Police.” She pressed it into his palm. “It has to mean something.”
Boy, did it. “Did you check the rest of the box?”
“I haven’t had the chance. We’d just found this when you came up.”
He frowned over that. “Why didn’t Sarah say anything?”
“She said she’d give me the choice whether to tell you or not.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
Rachel shrugged. “I did tell you, though.”
He wasn’t sure that was much of a comfort, but he supposed it had nothing to do with the issue at hand. He set the badge aside, then took the box of buttons from her. He found an empty mason jar to dump the buttons into. As he poured them into it, he let the buttons fall over his fingers. There was nothing else big, but as he came to the end of the buttons, a key fell into his fingers.
He held it up, looking at it on both sides. “Nothing else in there except a key.”
“A key to what?”
“I don’t have a clue. It’s just a key.”
“It can’t just be a key.”
“Well, no. It was in with the buttons and the badge so it has to be something, but there aren’t any hints as to what.” Tucker examined the box. It was a rusted out cashbox, nothing special about it. No space for any kind of false bottom.
“A badge and a key. A missing father. Dreams that feel way too close to real.” She blew out a breath. “Anything else life wants to throw at me?”
“Please don’t go taunting the universe like that.”
Her mouth curved. “You don’t honestly believe in curses and jinxes?”
“Believe might be a strong word. Let’s say I have a healthy respect for the possibility.”
Rachel shook her head, though she was still smiling. A beam of sunlight shone in front of her, making dust motes dance around her face. He’d always known she was pretty, but something about doing all this made him feel it.
Maybe he wholeheartedly believed in curses and jinxes, because his sudden attraction for Rachel felt like both.
She frowned. “Did you hear that?”
He hadn’t heard much of anything except his own stupidity. “What?”
“I’m not sure. Like an engi
ne, but...” She trailed off and he strained to hear what she heard. Everything was silent, but he felt the need to hold himself still, and continue to strain to hear long after the moment had passed.
Creak.
Rachel’s frown deepened, and she opened her mouth, presumably to say something, but Tucker laid his hand gently over her mouth.
She’d heard an engine. He’d heard the creak of a floorboard under the weight of someone. If it was any Wyatt or Knight, they would have announced themselves—or they’d know which boards to avoid.
Tucker scanned the attic. Maneuvering Rachel to hide her would make noise. Everything would make noise, and whoever or whatever had creaked the floorboard had gone silent again. He was too far from the tiny window letting in the light to see through it and scan the surroundings.
He didn’t wear his gun around the house because he was afraid it would make Sarah and Rachel nervous, and now he mentally kicked himself for caring more about feelings than safety.
He’d have to fight off whoever was at that door. He’d need the element of surprise. And to do it all while keeping Rachel out of the way.
There was only one way to do it, since once the attic door opened it would open this way and give whoever was on the stairs clear sight of Rachel.
But if he hid on the other side of the door, he could come at whoever it was from behind. They might know he was up here, but Rachel would be a momentary distraction he’d use.
He pressed his mouth as close to her ear as he could. Spoke as softly as humanly possible. “You’re going to stay right here. Don’t move unless I tell you to. Squeeze my hand if you understand.”
When she squeezed, he squeezed right back. He was loathe to let go of her, to do what he knew he needed to do. He wanted to promise her things would be okay. He wanted to be a human shield between her and hurt.
But he had to stop doing what was most comfortable, and start doing what was the safest. He moved in absolute silence to the opposite side of the door.
He waited, counting his heartbeats, keeping his breathing even. Rachel’s life rested in his hands, so he could not focus on panic or worry or that heavy responsibility. He could only focus on eradicating the threat.