REILLY'S RETURN

by Amelia Autin

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

  Epilogue

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  Chapter 1

  ^ »

  The lock was pathetically easy to pick.

  Reilly O'Neill cursed under his breath as the tumblers fell into place after only a few seconds' work. What the hell was Mandy thinking of, still having such a worthless lock on her back door? Her house was so isolated, she might as well just put up a sign saying Rob Me. This thing wouldn't keep a determined child out, much less someone bent on doing her harm.

  The doorknob turned and the door swung open. Reilly slipped inside. Even after almost twelve months away he remembered the simple layout of Mandy's house, so he didn't need light to guide him. Surefooted, cloaked in darkness, he made his way to her bedroom.

  He'd been shadowing Mandy for the past three days, not wanting to approach her in public, and by now he knew her routine. She'd be home in a few minutes, at about a quarter to midnight. The first thing she'd do was go to her bedroom, strip out of her clothes, and take a shower. And he would be waiting.

  At one time in his life, Reilly would never have been able to wait like this, to see Mandy from a distance and not go to her. But waiting—and watching—had become second nature to him now. Amazing how your priorities change when just staying alive long enough to see tomorrow's sunrise enters the equation. Though the immediate danger was supposed to be over, his instincts said otherwise, and old habits were hard to break. Anyway, it was safer for her this way. The last thing he ever wanted to do was jeopardize Mandy.

  Reilly paused for a moment just inside Mandy's bedroom, as a once-familiar scent came back to him—the lilac fragrance that Mandy always wore. Even her sheets had smelled of lilacs, he remembered now. With that thought came memories of the two of them entwined on her bed, her long, honey-blond hair streaming across his chest, the sheets pulled around them as their bodies cooled.

  A sudden surge of desire hit him, and Reilly cursed again. It had been far too long since he'd held her, far too long since he'd made love to her in this room. Somehow he'd forgotten how the smell of lilacs affected him.

  No, that wasn't right. Not forgotten, exactly. He just hadn't let himself remember, or he'd have gone crazy with longing during all these months away from her.

  He sat on the edge of Mandy's bed, then stretched out, overwhelming his senses with her scent. If he was going to torture himself with memories, he decided, he might as well make it worth his while.

  Mandy. She'd been the best thing that ever happened to him, a vivid patch of color in an otherwise black-and-white world. The months he'd spent with her were the happiest in his life. Now, lying in her bed, he could almost hear her voice, husky with passion, calling his name. No one but Mandy could say "Reilly" quite the way she could.

  It wasn't his real name. It wasn't even the name on the six-month-old California driver's license in his wallet. In fact, he'd lost track of the number of different aliases he'd used in his career. But Reilly was the name Mandy knew him by, so Reilly he would be once more.

  God, he was tired. Tired of running. Tired of waiting. Well, it wouldn't be long now. She'd be here soon, and he'd hold her and love her to his heart's content. And he'd never leave her again. Never.

  * * *

  Amanda Edwards trudged toward her back door, juggling a bag of books, her purse, keys, and a take-out container of food she'd picked up at the Lucky Horseshoe Bar and Grill. She no longer wanted it, but her concerned friends harassed her when she skipped meals, so she figured she'd at least eat a few bites before tossing the rest.

  Once on the back porch, Mandy dropped the book bag beside the door and fitted her house key into the lock. She noted absently that the door was already unlocked when she turned the key, though it didn't really register. She'd always been careless about locking the doors when she left, but in the small town of Black Rock, Wyoming, it wasn't much of an issue.

  Inside, she flicked on the kitchen light with her elbow, then dumped everything on the table, kicking off her shoes at the same time. Her feet, like the rest of her, ached. She headed for her bedroom, unbuttoning her blouse as she went.

  You're pushing yourself too hard, she told herself for the millionth time, as she rotated her tired shoulder muscles to relieve the strain of another late night spent cataloguing her bookstore's inventory and entering it on the computer she'd recently bought. It was a tedious task, made all the more so because she'd turned down all offers of help from her friends. It wasn't so much that she wanted to do all the work herself, but rather to stretch the monumental task out as long as possible. She needed to keep busy, especially at night, so she wouldn't have time to think.

  Exhausted, she pushed open her bedroom door. If she had the time, she might have stopped and wondered how her body could make it on so little sleep these days. Maybe it was just as well she didn't sleep much, though, because the one thing she couldn't keep on a tight emotional rein was her dreams. Or her nightmares.

  Without hearing a thing, Mandy suddenly knew she wasn't alone. A shadow moved swiftly in the darkness, and her scream was cut short when a strong hand closed over her mouth. Another arm encircled her waist, pulling her backwards against a hard, male body. Terrified, she clawed at his hand and arms to escape, her heart pounding so hard blood drummed in her ears. Her assailant's iron grip tightened, squeezing the breath from her lungs.

  "Damn it, Mandy, stop it. It's me." The low rumble, a voice once as familiar to her ears as her own, shocked Mandy into stillness. Emotions long pent up burst into life, and she sagged against the muscled arm imprisoning her.

  "Reilly." She moaned the name against the muffling hand, then suddenly her mouth was freed as both arms turned her around and enveloped her lips sought hers—warm, alive, passionate. And for a wild moment Mandy let herself believe, kissing him back with equal ardor. Though a moment ago she'd been desperate to escape, she now sought to get closer. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, as if she could pull him into herself and keep him there, safe, forever.

  Then reality crushed in and she tore herself away. Surprisingly, the man let her go. Mandy's eyes strained to see in the darkness as she fumbled behind her for the light switch. The sudden glare of light blinded her for a second, and she blinked. Then gasped. A stranger stood across from her. A tall, dark-haired stranger with Reilly's voice.

  "You're not Reilly." She couldn't quite disguise her fear, but went on the attack nevertheless. "Who are you?"

  A harsh laugh was surprised out of him, followed by a soft curse as he touched his face. "Damn! I forgot…"

  Pain stabbed through Mandy's chest like a knife thrust. The tone, the inflection, everything about this man's voice poignantly reminded her of Reilly. It can't be Reilly, she thought frantically. Reilly is dead.

  A queer, set expression settled over the stranger's face as he stared at her. "Have I changed so much, Mandy? My face, yes. But when you kissed me, I thought…"

  She shook her head. "You're dead," she whispered. "Reilly's dead."

  "No." His lips tightened into a thin line beneath his mustache. "I've been to hell and back, but I'm alive. And I plan to stay that way."

  Spots danced at the edges of Mandy's vision, darkness closing in. Then her knees buckled, and for the first time in her thirty-one years she fainted.

  Reilly caught her as she fell, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to the bed. He laid her down on top of the pale blue comforter, then took both of her hands in his much larger ones, rubbing them with a surprising gentleness.

  He whispered her name once, and then again. All the while his senses were drinking in the sight, scent and feel of her. She smelled of warm woman and lilac
s, and her lightly tanned skin was petal-soft beneath his scarred fingertips. She was even more lovely than he remembered, yet different somehow, as if suffering had refined the all-American-girl prettiness into womanly beauty. The signs of suffering were obvious: mauve shadows beneath her eyes that had never been there before, tiny lines bracketing her down-curved lips. She was thinner, too, than she'd been twelve months ago, although her breasts, cupped in the lace-trimmed bra revealed by her unbuttoned blouse, had lost none of their fullness.

  But it didn't matter how she looked. She was his Mandy, and that said it all. The only thing that mattered to him right now was that the woman he loved had stared at him as if he were a stranger. Maybe to her he was.

  Damn it, he wouldn't think like that. He'd come back as soon as he could, as soon as it was safe for her. The only reason he'd left her behind in the first place was that he hadn't wanted to put her in harm's way. If she thought she could forget what they'd once had, she'd better think again.

  Just because my face has changed doesn't mean I've changed, Mandy. I'm still the same man inside, the same man you fell in love with before. And I'm the man you'll love again.

  Aloud, he said, "Mandy, wake up!"

  She stirred, her head tossing on the pillow as if she were denying something. But Reilly wasn't about to let her deny him. "Come on, Mandy," he said softly, urgently. "I know you can hear me. Wake up now."

  Mandy's eyelids flickered, but she resisted, not wanting the dream to end. How many times had she dreamed she heard Reilly calling her name, then surfaced to face harsh reality with tears streaming down her face? It seemed so real this time. If she could only keep from waking, maybe, just maybe…

  "Damn it Mandy! I said wake up!"

  Her eyes flew open, her hand instinctively touching the old-fashioned gold locket she wore around her neck, her talisman against the nightmares. But this wasn't a dream. It was frighteningly real.

  "Reilly?" Her brain said no, it couldn't be. Yet her heart, which she'd thought was dead inside her, said yes. Yes!

  How could it be him? Mandy blinked, her gaze focusing on the stranger's face, moving from feature to feature, searching for proof that her mind could accept. His eyes. Yes, those were Reilly's eyes, tawny-brown like a cat's, with tiny flecks of green. But nothing else was recognizable until he smiled at her. She caught her breath when the smile beneath the dark mustache revealed gleaming white teeth, perfect except for the slight overlapping of the front two. Just like Reilly's.

  "Hey, lady." He relaxed a little, and his smile deepened. "When you fall for a man, you really fall, don't you?"

  Her eyes slid closed for an instant at the memory of another man saying those same teasing words to her so many heartbreaking months ago. Her lashes were damp when her eyes opened again.

  In wonder and disbelief she reached for him. Then doubt seized her a split second before she touched his cheek, and she pulled her hand back abruptly. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No."

  The stranger's smile faded, his lips settling into a grim line. Suddenly Mandy realized how vulnerable she was. Her pulse kicked into overdrive and she panicked, scrambling from the bed. To her surprise, he made no move to stop her, not even when she put the length of the room between them.

  Mandy blushed when she noticed that her blouse was gaping open. She rebuttoned it as fast as her trembling fingers allowed, then confronted the stranger her heart kept insisting was Reilly.

  "I don't understand," she said, as much to herself as to him, her voice shaking slightly. She took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. "I saw it." And for a brief moment she let herself remember the horror of seeing Reilly's Blazer burst into flames, with him trapped inside. Her voice shook again as she whispered, "I saw you die."

  His brows snapped together and he frowned as if perplexed. He started toward her, his hand outstretched. Then something crashed through the bedroom window, shattering the glass and the silence. "Get down!" he yelled, diving for her, knocking her off her feet. He rolled her into the corner, shielding her with his body.

  There was the smell of gasoline followed by a whooshing sound, and the whole room ignited. Mandy watched in horror as rivulets of fire streaked in all directions, following the gasoline's path across the hardwood floors. Flames lapped everywhere—her great-grandmother's braided rag rug and white lace curtains, the hem of Mandy's chenille robe hanging from a hook on the closet door. Just that quickly, smoke began swirling around them.

  The stranger slid to one side. "Come on," he yelled above the crackling roar. "We've got to get out of here!"

  He crawled toward the door, dragging Mandy beside him. Too shocked by everything that had happened, and with no time to think clearly, she followed him blindly. They avoided the grasping edges of the fire and rapidly made their way toward the kitchen, but when Mandy would have stood up to open the back door, he dragged her back down.

  "No. It's not safe. They're probably waiting out there." He coughed to clear his lungs. "We'll have to use the trapdoor," he rasped, heading for that corner of the room.

  Mandy blinked at him, baffled by the first part of his speech. The last part she clearly understood. She didn't know how he knew, though. She'd never told anyone, not even Reilly, about the trapdoor leading to the root cellar her great-grandfather had dug into the side of the mountain behind the cabin. But now wasn't the time to ask. She'd have to add it to her list of unanswered questions, which was growing longer with each passing minute.

  He had the trapdoor open now, and was beckoning to her. Mandy hesitated for only a second, but it was one second too long. Glass exploded inward as the window over the kitchen sink shattered, followed by the now terrifyingly familiar whooshing sound. She screamed. A searing wall of flame sprang up almost instantly, dividing the room, and Mandy scuttled backward to escape. She wasn't quick enough. A tongue of fire raced toward her with horrifying speed, and caught her.

  "No!" The man who called himself Reilly was there before Mandy knew it, passing through the inferno as if impervious to its touch. He smothered the flames licking at her clothes with his bare hands, ignoring the pain he must be feeling, ignoring his own clothes' smoldering edges. But even though she was nearly in shock, Mandy had the presence of mind to do what she could to help him by slapping at the glowing embers.

  He didn't seem to need her help. He dragged his shirt off, crushing it between his powerful hands to finish the job she started. Crouching beside her, he reached over and jerked open the refrigerator door, letting it swing wide. Jars and containers scattered, falling helter-skelter as he pulled out a half-full water jug. He uncapped it and soaked his shirt, then splashed the rest of the water over Mandy's hair and clothes. The sudden coldness surprised a gasp out of her, but he didn't stop there. He draped his wet shirt over her head, then swept her into his arms.

  "Hang on."

  She couldn't see a thing, could only trust him. She clung tightly as she felt him duck down, gather his strength, then leap through the flames again.

  This time when he passed through the fire he grunted in pain, a sound that reverberated in Mandy's soul. It seemed like an eternity, but it was actually only seconds later that he set her down and stripped the shirt off her head. She barely had time to recover her balance before he began pushing her through the trapdoor.

  The fire raged on, the intense heat and smoke pressing against them like a mighty hand. Mandy glanced upward, saw paint shriveling on the walls beside them, and knew they had only a few seconds left. She grasped the sides of the ladder, refusing to acknowledge the blisters that had formed on her palms, praying that the wood hadn't rotted in the years since the last time she'd gone down this ladder.

  The rungs held, and she descended quickly into darkness, counting each rung automatically, just as she'd done in childhood. Above her, the stranger with Reilly's voice began his own descent, blocking out most of the light with his body. Then he pulled the trapdoor shut, cutting off the last of the light.

  The acrid
smells of singed hair, wood smoke and musty, damp earth closed around Mandy in the dark, and a disorienting wave of queasiness washed over her. She swayed, then swallowed hard, telling herself she had only two rungs left to go, but it took her last bit of courage and strength to take those last steps. When she finally made contact, the solid earth beneath her questing foot had never felt so good.

  Light-headed, coughing and wheezing, she collapsed to her knees and put her head down between them, hoping she wouldn't faint again. Then a strong arm came around her, calming and steadying her, and she knew she was going to make it. When she felt and heard the sudden, wracking coughs shaking his body, her first-aid training came to the fore.

  "Breathe deeply," she said, trying to take her own advice. She strained to see him in the stygian darkness as she reversed their positions, but she didn't need to see to know that he tried his best to follow her instructions. She could hear each tortured breath he drew into his smoke-filled lungs as a counterpoint to her own.

  "We can't … stay … here," he managed between wheezes, and Mandy knew he was right. Any minute now, the planks above could burn through and collapse on top of them. There was only one place for them to go.

  Her eyes were finally adjusting. Enough light seeped through the minute cracks above that she could make out shapes. She thought about standing up, but quickly discarded that idea. Without light to guide them through the tunnel, they were better off crawling, especially since the dirt floor was rough and uneven.

  Mandy wrapped an arm around his bare shoulders. "Come on," she urged. "Follow me."

  She couldn't have carried him. She couldn't even have dragged him very far, although she would have tried, if necessary. He had saved her life upstairs, twice, and she owed him. Even if he hadn't, she wouldn't have left him behind to fend for himself—it would have been unthinkable. But it was a good thing that he was able to make it without much help from her.

  Mandy pushed up the crossbar that guarded the door at the entrance to the tunnel and it thudded to the ground. The door swung open, hinges creaking ominously. She tried not to think about spiders, poisonous snakes, or any of the other creepy crawlers they might encounter in the passageway. As a child she'd been fearless in her explorations of the cellar and the connecting cave, but that had been years ago. Most children have no sense of their own mortality, and Mandy had been no different. Now she was all too aware that life could be snuffed out in a heartbreaking instant. Never again would she take chances she didn't have to take. But she didn't have a choice right now.