REILLY'S RETURN

by Amelia Autin

  They moved out of the cellar and into the tunnel. The surrounding air felt cooler almost immediately; away from the smoke it was easier to breathe. Mandy scoured her memory as she moved awkwardly through the tunnel on hands and knees, with one hand groping the wall, feeling her way, and tried to remember how far it was from the cellar to the cave. But she'd never traversed the passageway in total darkness before, and her memory played her false. The wall ended without warning. Off balance, she pitched forward on her left side, scraping her elbow and bruising her shoulder.

  Strong hands pulled her to her knees. "You okay?" The rough, smoke-damaged voice held deep concern. Mandy nodded before realizing he couldn't see her.

  "I'll be fine," she said quickly, rubbing her damaged arm to relieve the sting.

  He coughed, then asked, "Can you go on?"

  A loud explosion rocked the earth before she could answer, and Mandy found herself knocked flat, once again shielded by the body of the man who claimed to be Reilly. Small rocks and clods of earth rained down on them, jarred loose by the explosion. They waited for endless minutes while a fine powder of dirt sifted down from the cave's ceiling, but no other explosions were forthcoming.

  "Must have been the propane tank," he said at last, so matter-of-factly that Mandy's anger flared momentarily.

  Who did this man think he was, taking the destruction of her home in his stride?

  Her home.

  She'd been born and raised in that house, had lived there most of her life. Every possession she owned, every memento lovingly created or collected by four generations of her family was burning to ashes even as they spoke, and she could do nothing to stop it.

  Sudden grief rose in her, pushing aside the anger, and she blinked back unexpected sears. She'd lost so much a year ago that the loss of her house should have paled in comparison, but it didn't. Maybe it was because she'd lost so much already that this latest blow assumed even greater significance.

  Mandy scarcely noticed when the body almost crushing hers against the hard cave floor moved away, but when warm arms closed comfortingly around her and lifted her up, she reacted instinctively.

  "No," she said, struggling out of his embrace.

  "Are you okay?"

  That husky voice in the darkness, so reminiscent of Reilly's, sent shivers of elemental awareness through Mandy, and without thinking she sought the locket at her throat. The delicate, filigreed gold, warmed by her skin, comforted her as it always did. I haven't lost everything, she reminded herself. I still have this.

  "I'm fine," she answered, dashing her tears away, smearing the gritty silt on her skin into a muddy paste. Wonderful, she thought wryly, gathering strength as she took stock of her situation. No shoes, nylons in shreds, burned clothes and now filthy to boot. She wanted to laugh, but was afraid she'd turn hysterical once she started. And she had no idea how the man beside her would react if she did.

  "Are you sure you're okay?" He sounded doubtful.

  She forced conviction into her tone. "I'm sure."

  "Then we'd better get moving." He shifted, and Mandy thought she heard a muffled grunt of pain.

  "What is it?"

  "Nothing. Let's go."

  He was lying. She didn't know how she knew, but she did. It was pointless to pursue the matter now, though, because she couldn't see to prove it. When they got out of the cave she'd check him out thoroughly, no matter what he said.

  She started off, crawling along the left outside wall of the cave, hoping she wouldn't disturb a sleeping rattler or something equally dangerous, only to find herself unexpectedly held back.

  "I'll go first this time."

  He didn't wait for her consent. His big body just brushed past her in the passageway and took the lead. She followed close behind, hands and knees protesting at the rough surface under them. As they felt their way, Mandy wondered how he seemed to know exactly where to go. Like his knowledge of the trapdoor into the cellar, his knowledge of this cave was unexpected and alarming. She made a mental note to ask him about it when they got out.

  She no longer trusted her memory to tell her how far they had to go to reach the outside entrance, so she wasn't surprised when he stopped abruptly. He stood, then pulled her to her feet. "Wait here," he ordered.

  Mandy was startled enough by his air of command that for a moment she obeyed him. Then she whispered, "The hell with that. I'm not staying behind in the dark," and turned the corner just as he had done. Moonlight glimmered beyond the entrance, silhouetting his powerful frame, and she headed for the light, and him.

  He swung around. "Damn it, I said to wait in the cave!" His words came out in an angry hiss, and Mandy drew back sharply.

  "Why?"

  "Because whoever firebombed your house could be waiting to blow our heads off. That's why!"

  Faced with that, all Mandy could think of to say was, "Oh," then felt extremely foolish. This time when he told her to wait, she did, her heart pounding fiercely as she counted the seconds until his return. She had no idea what was going on, but she wasn't stupid. There was danger out there, danger that threatened both of them.

  She didn't know what she'd do if she heard gunfire. Go after him, she supposed, although what she thought she could accomplish against armed men was beyond her. Still they, whoever they were, had destroyed her home and almost killed her. Maybe it was better to go down fighting than to cower in the dark, waiting for death to find her.

  The gunfire never came, but he did. Mandy heard a faint sound, and then he was there beside her.

  "All clear," he said softly. "You can come out now." He took her hand in his much larger one and led her to the opening.

  The cave entrance was some distance from her house, and faced away from it. When Mandy clambered out, she knew she shouldn't turn around to see the destruction of her family home, but something inside her made her look.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  Crackling orange flames, stark against the night sky, leapt around the skeletal frame of Mandy's home in a macabre dance of destruction. A swirling wind fed the fire and dispersed the smoke in all directions. Mandy watched in horrified fascination for just a few seconds before she had to turn away, shaken and trembling, but it was long enough for the picture to be forever etched in her memory. She'd known in the cave that her home was gone, but there was knowing, and then there was knowing.

  Sirens split the night, and from her vantage point Mandy saw headlights making their frantic way up the mountain road from town. Small though it was, Black Rock boasted a volunteer fire department with the most modern fire-fighting equipment available. Someone must have seen the flames or heard the explosion of the propane tank and called it in, she thought. Too late, of course, but somehow the realization comforted her. She'd lived here all her life, had helped her neighbors through their disasters. Now it was her turn, and they were quick to respond. Out of everything she'd lost, that, at least, was something salvaged.

  She steeled herself, then resolutely turned back toward the fire and started down the incline. She had plenty of questions that needed answers, the foremost being who had done this, and why. But that could wait. Her friends and neighbors couldn't. Even though it was too late to save her home, they could still keep the fire from spreading.

  "Come on," she said over shoulder as she started down the hill.

  A strong hand grabbed her before she'd taken three steps, and swung her around. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

  "I'm going to help."

  "No way."

  Mandy tried to shake free of his grasp, but to no avail. "I can't just do nothing! You said it was all clear." She gestured toward the people spilling out of the trucks and cars that had pulled up a safe distance from her house. "I have to at least let them know I'm okay."

  He shook his head emphatically, keeping a firm grip on her arm. "No. It's better if people think you're dead. For now, anyway."

  She stared at the stranger as if he we
re crazy. "I can't do that!"

  "I can't let you do anything else." His tone was implacable, and Mandy suddenly realized that he'd stop her any way he could.

  "What if someone's injured trying to rescue me?"

  The man who claimed to be Reilly hunched one shoulder and grimaced ruefully. "Someone was."

  For the first time Mandy saw the blood oozing down his arm. "Oh, my God! You are hurt!" She reached up, turning him a little so she could see how bad it was. The wound was jagged and ugly, and still bled sluggishly, but thankfully didn't appear to be too deep. It would need stitches, she guessed, and would probably leave one heck of a scar, but she didn't think it was deep enough to cause any permanent muscle damage.

  "How did this happen?"

  He shrugged, and Mandy cast her mind back. He'd shielded her with his body when the propane tank blew. Was that it? Everything had happened so fast, and she'd been so shook up she could hardly remember.

  "Sit down," she said, and to her surprise he obeyed, settling his large frame onto a convenient boulder. Without stopping to think, she reached for the half-slip she wore beneath her skirt and slid it off. She tried to rip it, then caught her breath when her blistered hands protested in pain. Impatiently she set her teeth in one corner of the stubborn material and worked at it until she was rewarded with a tearing sound.

  Reilly submitted to Mandy's gentle ministrations, welcoming the few minutes it gave him to come up with some kind of justification for why she couldn't let anyone know she was alive. How much should he tell her? How much could he tell her? His plans were all shot to hell now.

  Damn it! I should never have gone to her house tonight, should never have taken the chance. I should have listened to my instincts in the first place.

  He knew why he'd ignored his sixth sense. He'd never needed anyone before Mandy, hadn't even believed that kind of need existed. But from the first time he'd seen her, from the moment she'd literally tumbled, laughing, into his arms, he'd known she was trouble.

  Even now, with dirt and tears smearing her face and her long, golden hair tangled and filthy, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Not every man would agree with him, but then, they'd never lain naked with her in the moonlight.

  His woman. Then. Now. Forever. It was that simple. He'd returned because he couldn't stay away. Now Mandy had paid the price of his weakness.

  How do I tell her that this is all my fault? And after destroying her home, how do I tell her that to protect her I may have to leave her again, this time for good?

  "There. That should stop the bleeding for now." Satisfaction colored Mandy's voice as she tied the last knot. "But it needs to be disinfected, and you're going to need stitches. Black Rock doesn't have a doctor, but—"

  "No. No doctor." Reilly shrugged his left shoulder, testing its mobility in the makeshift bandage.

  "What about Cody Walker, then?" she said, and Reilly recognized the name. Mandy's friend was the sheriff of Black Rock. "Cody's had paramedic training, and—"

  "No. No doctors and no cops. There isn't time and it isn't safe. We've got to get out of here. They'll be back."

  "What do you mean, they'll be back? Who are they anyway? And why did they firebomb my house?" She shook her head, scowling. "I don't understand any of this."

  "I know you don't," he said softly. "I wish I had an explanation for you, Mandy. You'll just have to trust me for now."

  "Trust you?" She lifted her chin in an all-too-familiar gesture that Reilly knew meant she was about to dig her heels in. "I don't even know who you are!"

  "You know me." He deliberately used his bedroom voice, and her eyes flickered away, then back, as if unsure. "You were perched on a ladder, trying to dust the tops of your bookshelves the first day I walked into your bookstore," he continued. "I startled you, and you fell off the ladder, right into my arms. I said, 'Hey, lady, when you fall for a man…'"

  "'…you really fall, don't you?'" Mandy finished for him in a voice scarcely above a whisper. "I thought I'd imagined it before." She swallowed visibly and squeezed her eyes closed, then wrapped her arms around herself against the cool night air and the memories that he sensed were swamping her. The same memories that had tortured him for so long.

  When Mandy finally looked at him again she was trembling, and once again Reilly cursed himself for putting her through this. It was too late to change things, though. All he could do now was make sure nothing else happened to her. He grasped her arm and pulled gently. "Come on," he said. "My truck's beyond that ridge over there."

  * * *

  Afterward, Mandy would blame her state of shock and confusion. That was the reason she went with him without further protest. The emotional and physical battering she'd taken in the last hour had left her numb, and she scarcely remembered the trip from the mouth of the cave to his pickup truck. At one point she stumbled. Reilly—and it was Reilly, she now acknowledged, although she shied away from everything that meant—Reilly glanced at her bare feet, then swept her into his arms over her feeble protests. He cradled her against his bare chest and carried her the last hundred yards. She almost felt as if it were happening to someone else, that it wasn't she who laid her cheek against his shoulder, that it wasn't she whose heart pounded in rhythm with his.

  Reilly set her down a short distance from his truck, which was parked off the shoulder of a little-used dirt road. "Hold on a second," he said. He circled the vehicle, obviously searching for something, then returned to pick her up again.

  He placed her inside the truck's cab, then reached for the leather jacket slung over the back of the seat and wrapped it around her. "Buckle up," he said, and she obediently did so while he fished behind the seat and dragged out a worn duffel bag. He pulled out a rumpled flannel shirt, which he shrugged on and buttoned, then a clean pair of socks. He slipped the socks on Mandy's bruised feet. The socks were much too big, of course, but the thick cotton was soft, warm and welcome.

  Reilly's truck looked the worse for wear inside and out, but the engine roared to life with a throaty growl when he turned the key. It reminded her of his old Blazer. The Blazer had looked just as battered and disreputable, but he'd babied that engine like nothing she'd ever seen, and it had responded for him just as this one did.

  Mandy blinked. Thinking about the Blazer reminded her of the last time she'd seen it. Engulfed in flames, with Reilly inside.

  They drove for several minutes in silence. The numbness was wearing off now, and with its departure came a host of questions. She blurted out the first one that occurred to her. "What were you looking for back there?"

  "Footprints."

  "Did you find any?"

  "Yeah."

  She shook her head. "I guess I don't understand. If you found footprints, then I would think—"

  "I found my footprints. That's all. If they had tampered with the truck and then tried to erase any sign that they were there, they'd have erased my footprints, too."

  "I see." She digested Reilly's answer, then grabbed another question from the top of the list. "Who are these people you keep referring to as 'They'?"

  Reilly spared her a glance before turning his attention back to the road. "I'm not sure."

  Was he telling the truth? She couldn't be certain. The truck ate up another half mile of road before she asked, "Why did they burn my house?"

  He slowed and downshifted as the truck rounded a curve. "I don't know."

  Now she knew he was lying, and anger surged inside her. If he thought she was going to let him get away with it after all she'd been through, he'd better think again. "Where are we going?"

  "I don't know that, either."

  Anger bubbled over. "That's not good enough," she said. "I want some answers, and I want them now." He ignored her, and her anger grew. "Stop this truck and let me out!" she demanded, unbuckling her seat belt and twisting in her seat. "I'm not going another inch with you unless I get some honest answers!"

  He cursed under his breath and hit the steering whe
el in frustration, then winced. He braked suddenly and swerved onto the shoulder, but left the engine running.

  "Damn it, Mandy," he said, "I'm trying to keep both of us alive long enough to give you some answers." His gaze pinned her in the dark. "You're not making it easy."

  "I just want to know what's going on here," she continued gamely. "I haven't even started asking questions."

  "Like what?"

  "Like where have you been all this time? What happened to your face? Who's after us? Why can't we go to the police?" She paused for breath, then added, "I think I deserve to know that much, at least. Don't you?"

  Silence stretched between them, and after a minute he ran his hand over his face and sighed. "Yeah, I guess so. But it's a long story, and I don't know all of it yet. Just trust me a little, okay? I promise you, I'll answer your questions as best as I can when I'm sure we're safe."

  She believed him. There were a million reasons why she shouldn't, and only one reason why she should. But that one reason carried more weight than all the others combined.

  She glanced at his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, remembering his wince when he pounded the steering wheel, remembering those same hands slapping at the flames that had threatened her less than an hour ago. Impulsively she reached across and slipped her fingers beneath his, turning his palm over. She felt the blisters even before she saw them, angry red even in the pale moonlight.

  Blisters notwithstanding, a shock of recognition jolted her when she fitted her palm against his much larger one, and without thinking she entwined her fingers with his as memories came flooding back…