REILLY'S RETURN

by Amelia Autin

  "Okay."

  "There are men out there who want to kill me. Why is not important. The less you know, the safer it is for you. Suffice it to say that these men traced me to you. They didn't follow me. There's a difference. But the fact that they know about you means your life is in danger, too. That's why I don't want anyone to know you're still alive. As long as they think we're both dead, we've bought a little time."

  "Who are 'They'?"

  "I can't tell you that."

  "Why do they want to kill you?"

  "I can't tell you that, either."

  "So much for those questions." A touch of sarcasm laced her words. "You're not telling me any more than you told me last night, and that was nothing." She folded her arms across her chest and her foot began to tap the floor. "Are you in trouble?" At his ironic laugh, she shook her head impatiently and clarified, "I mean with the law. Have you done something illegal?"

  "No."

  Her exasperated expression turned puzzled. "Then why can't we go to the sheriff? Cody would help us. I know he would."

  Reilly considered how best to put it. "It's a risk, Mandy. One I don't choose to take until I've had a chance to think it through."

  After a moment she said, "That's not good enough." She jumped to her feet and began pacing the room. "First you tell me there are men after you who want to kill you, and me, too, but you won't say who they are or why. Then you say you're not in trouble with the law, but you won't go to the sheriff." A short bark of sarcastic laughter escaped her, and she turned to confront him. "Can you give me a single reason why I should believe you?"

  Emotions roiled within him, and he gazed at her for several seconds, willing her to remember a time when he had given her every reason in the world to believe him.

  She breathed sharply and her eyes widened, as if his message had somehow gotten through to her, then she shook her head in angry denial. "It's not going to be that easy."

  "What do you want me to say?" He stood and kicked his chair aside. "I know it sounds crazy, put like that, but you're forgetting one thing. Last night happened. It wasn't a dream, it wasn't something I made up. It was real, damn it!" His eyes pinned hers, forcing her to remember that, too. "I would have thought by now you'd realize this isn't a game they're playing."

  Pictures from last night rose in Mandy's mind, pictures she'd subconsciously repressed because she wasn't emotionally ready to deal with them. Then for a searing moment she was back in the blazing inferno, smoke filling her lungs, flames scorching her skin, as everything she cherished burned down around her. "No," she whispered, suffering the loss of her home all over again. "I know it's not a game." Silence stretched taut between them, until she raised a stricken face to his. "So what happens now?"

  Reilly hesitated, wondering how much he should volunteer. He hated having to remind her of what she'd lost last night, of how close they'd come to dying, but at the same time it seemed to have diverted her mind from the fact that there were things he hadn't explained yet. Like why he'd been in her house in the first place.

  "The first priority," he said, "is to make sure you're safe. Now that they've traced me to you…" He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't dare let you go back to Black Rock. If you turn up alive, they'll know I'm alive, too. They've already proved they're willing to take you out to get to me. They wouldn't scruple to kidnap and torture you to find out what you know. And if they have any smarts at all, they'd hold you for ransom."

  "But I don't have any mon—"

  "Not money. Me. They'd offer to release you in exchange for me." He watched as that registered with her.

  "What … would make them think that would work?"

  His lips thinned as he fought his instinctive response. Didn't she know? he thought. Hadn't she already figured out that's why he'd left her twelve months ago?

  Obviously not. "If they found me in Black Rock—and we know they did," he said aloud, "—then they know it would work." Let Mandy make what she would out of that statement.

  "So what are we going to do?"

  "We're not going to do anything."

  "What do you mean? I'm involved in this, too."

  "I'm uninvolving you."

  "That's not your choice to make!"

  He gave her a deliberately cool look. "Isn't it?"

  "No! I was in that fire, too, you know. I could have died. Doesn't that count?" She was getting angry again. "That was my home they destroyed. Maybe you don't understand what that means. Maybe…" Her voice trembling, she struggled for the right words. "Maybe home doesn't mean anything to you." He flinched, but in her anger she didn't see it. "I grew up in that house. My whole life was there." She was shaking all over. "Not just things. Memories. Photos. Little reminders of—" Her hands covered her face and she sobbed once. Then she furiously scrubbed the tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands. "All of it gone. Do you think I can just walk away from that as if it never happened?"

  Heat surged through his body. As long as he lived he'd remember her like this, her head thrown defiantly back, her body in her borrowed clothes radiating energy that had no outlet but her tearstained eyes, her voice. If things were different, she'd be in his arms so fast it would make her head spin. He'd have her on that double bed in the corner before she knew it, and he'd give her a constructive use for all that fire.

  But he couldn't change the past, and the reminder of the sacrifices he'd made, and would make again, roused his temper. He took a step toward her, quivering with anger spawned by fear for her. "Listen to me, Mandy, and listen good. These are killers we're talking about. They don't play by the rules. They've killed before. They'll kill again. But it's not going to be you. Do you understand? I won't let it be you!"

  They stared at each other for stunned seconds, then Reilly slammed out of the cabin.

  He didn't have a destination in mind; he just knew he had to get away before he revealed anything more. Once he was outside, however, his old training took over, and he circled the cabin, checking the mantraps he'd set early that morning.

  He'd made the trip to the truck just as dawn was breaking. He'd automatically searched for signs of tampering and had satisfied himself that it was still safe. Then he'd retrieved several coils of rope and wire, and some other innocuous-looking odds and ends he always carried in the back of the truck, and had rigged his own version of an early-warning system all along the outskirts of the cabin clearing.

  The methodical routine of checking their perimeter calmed Reilly down and let him regain his perspective. He made a mental note to warn Mandy about the traps before she accidentally stumbled into one. Then he took himself to task.

  Don't let it get to you, he reminded himself sternly. An emotional man gets careless. And a careless man gets dead real quick.

  It was hard to be emotionless around Mandy, though. He had few defenses against her, and the ones he had didn't amount to much. "That's no excuse," he muttered to himself. "Do you want Mandy to pay the price of your carelessness?"

  There was only one answer to that.

  * * *

  Inside the cabin, Mandy wondered half-hysterically what had ever happened to her ordinary, peaceful life. Ever since she'd first met Reilly a year and a half ago, her life had been an emotional roller coaster. She'd gone from a placid existence to intense happiness to intense grief in less than six months. She'd survived, barely. She'd just begun rebuilding her life, and now this. She didn't know how much more she could take.

  Something was going on here that she hadn't quite figured out. The bare-bones story Reilly had told her rang true—the charred wreckage of her home proved much of it—but he'd only touched the surface. She wanted to know what he was holding back, and why.

  Now that her system was no longer reeling from last night's emotional and physical shocks, there were other questions she wanted to ask. Questions of a more personal nature. Questions whose answers could tear her apart.

  Had he been using her all along? That one hurt, striking where she was
most vulnerable. She didn't want to believe it, but it would explain why he'd left her a year ago and why he'd come back now that he was in trouble again.

  But if that's true, why did he pretend he loved me? Why did he go so far with the charade? she asked herself. That's what I can't understand.

  It was easy to see why he'd slept with her. She'd all but thrown herself at him eighteen months ago, and he was a man, after all. But the rest—the tender looks, the shared confidences, the way he held her after making love—those were the things that had seduced her into believing herself loved. Those were the things that made no sense now.

  Then again, nothing made sense right now.

  Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten much in the last twenty-four hours. Lunch yesterday had been a sandwich and an apple at the bookstore, munched on in snatches between waiting on customers and restocking the bookshelves. As for her late-night supper, it had gone up in flames with the house.

  She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear, pushing her unanswered questions to the back of her mind along with thoughts of her house, just as she'd done last night. She couldn't dwell on them now, she knew, because if she did she'd either fall apart or drive herself crazy.

  Food, she thought, pulling a pot out of the kitchen cabinet. The universal panacea. That's what I need right now. Nothing ever looked quite so bleak on a full stomach.

  As Mandy studied the well-stocked pantry, it occurred to her that for the first time in almost a year she was actually looking forward to a meal. Eating had become a necessity, something you did at regular intervals—like combing your hair or brushing your teeth—but not something you gave a lot of thought to. Now she found herself seriously debating the merits of beef stew from a can versus oatmeal with evaporated milk. She chuckled at the absurdity, but deep inside, a tiny corner of her heart acknowledged the source.

  Suddenly impatient with the direction her thoughts were taking, she told herself to make up her mind. She checked her watch, and when she saw it was only midmorning she decided on the oatmeal.

  She would have cooked enough for Reilly, too, despite their argument and his stormy exit, if she hadn't seen that he'd already eaten breakfast. A pot and spoon had been used and washed, then left on the draining board to dry.

  She started making up the bed while waiting for the water to boil, wincing when she accidentally ruptured one of the blisters on her hands. She stopped and fetched a Band-Aid from the bathroom, then continued where she'd left off.

  As she tucked in the last corner and fluffed the pillow, she wondered how long she and Reilly would have to stay at Cody's cabin. Not that Cody would mind, she knew, even if they cleaned out the pantry and ran the fuel tank dry. She and Cody had known each other ever since they were toddlers, and they'd been friends all the way through high school.

  Of course, they'd grown apart somewhat in the intervening years, she mused, sitting down on the newly made bed. Cody had joined the marines out of high school and she'd gone away to college, but when he'd returned to Black Rock a few years ago, they'd picked up the threads of easy friendship again.

  She grimaced. Friendship on her part, she admitted. Cody's emotions had run deeper. There'd never been anything more between them, though. At least there hadn't been until—

  A hissing, spattering sound broke her train of thought, and Mandy dashed for the stove, where the water was boiling over. She quickly removed the pot from the burner and turned down the heat, then stirred in the oatmeal. As she did so she couldn't help thinking about the mistake she'd made in not recognizing the truth where Cody was concerned.

  Things aren't always what they seem, she reminded herself, spooning oatmeal into a bowl. You have to look below the surface, and that's what you didn't do because you'd labeled Cody a friend. It was different with Reilly, remember? It was hard getting past his emotional defenses, at first, but you kept at it until—

  She gasped. The spoon dropped from her suddenly nerveless fingers and she sank into the nearest chair to consider the idea that had just occurred to her.

  "What if he wasn't pretending back then," she whispered. "What if he did love me?"

  * * *

  Mandy had just finished washing up her breakfast dishes when Reilly walked through the back door. She turned toward him, and he paused in the entryway, his searching gaze gauging her mood.

  "We have to talk," he said slowly.

  She folded the dishcloth and draped it over the faucet to dry, then leaned one hip against the counter and said, "I know."

  He surprised her. "Can you handle a gun?"

  She blinked and straightened. "Yes. Why?"

  "I mean really handle a gun."

  She nodded. "I was target-shooting with a pistol by the time I was ten. It's been awhile, so I'm probably rusty, but yes, I can handle a gun."

  "Good." He bent down and tugged up his jeans leg, then straightened with a gun in his right hand. Her eyes widened. He checked the safety and opened the slide, then reversed the gun and held it out to her grip first. When she took it, he said, "That's a Smith & Wesson semiautomatic, nine millimeter. There's a round chambered, and eight in the clip."

  Mandy closed the slide and cradled the gun in both hands, careful not to point it in his direction. The metal was still warm from its proximity to his body. "What do you expect me to do with this?"

  He ignored her question and strode to his duffel bag beside the fireplace. He dug inside and brought out a box of ammunition and a spare clip, both of which he carried back and placed on the counter beside her. "If I wasn't afraid of attracting attention, I'd have you shoot a few rounds to get the feel of it," he said. "But we can't chance that now. That gun has been my backup gun for a long time, and it's never let me down," he continued, "but it's got a kick and it pulls slightly upward. Aim low, just above belt high, if you're not sure." He paused, then added, "I've set traps around the clearing's perimeter for your protection. If nothing else they'll at least give you enough warning time to be prepared. I'd prefer it if you stayed in the cabin, but if you have to go outside for some reason, don't wander far. I don't want to come back and find you in one of my traps."

  "Come back? Where are you going?"

  "I have some business I have to take care of. It might take some time, but I should be back before dark."

  "I see." Mandy carefully placed the gun Reilly had given her on the counter next to the clip and the box of ammunition, then thrust her suddenly shaking hands into her pockets to hide them. "You're just leaving me here, then?"

  His face was grim. "There's no phone in this cabin, Mandy, and even if there were, I wouldn't use it. I have to make some calls, get some information, set some things in motion, but I don't want anything traced back here. You should be safe enough here, safer than being out there with me."

  She gestured toward the counter. "Then why the gun?"

  "Because I'm not taking any chances. Not with you."

  Her eyes darted to his shoulder holster. "What about you? If it's not safe for me out there, it's not safe for you."

  She swallowed hard and her voice was scarcely more than a whisper when she asked, "Who'll watch your back?"

  "I can take care of myself," he said, and when Mandy started to argue, he added, "It's not open for discussion."

  She stared at his set expression for a full minute, trying but failing to read something, anything of what he was feeling in his face. Then, in a flat tone carefully wiped clean of emotion, she said, "You're not coming back, are you." It wasn't a question. Bitterness welled up inside her, crept into her eyes, edged her voice. "You're just going to walk away, leaving me to put my life back together. Again." She swung around and stared unseeingly out the window over the kitchen sink. Her fingers closed on the edge of the countertop, needing desperately to hold on to something. "Go, then."

  Let it go, he told himself, fighting the urge to justify, to explain. Maybe it's better if she believes it. Maybe it'll be easier for her down the road if she thinks I'
m the kind of man who'd desert her when she needs me the most.

  He couldn't do it.

  "Mandy." Her whole body stiffened when his hands descended on her shoulders, and she resisted his efforts to turn her around. "I'm coming back. You have to trust me on this. I'm coming back," he insisted, then added the silent rider, unless I'm dead.

  The thought terrified him. Not that he might die, but that by dying he would leave Mandy stranded, alone and helpless. But it was too dangerous to take her with him out in the open, exposed, where the killers who were after him could get to her.

  "Just go," she said tightly, and Reilly knew she didn't believe him. He searched for a way to explain without involving her further in the mess he was in. The right words wouldn't come. Words had never been easy for him where his emotions were concerned.

  His hands dropped to his sides and he took a step back. He stood there a moment more, cataloging in his mind the way her blond curls grazed her shoulders and tumbled down her back, the way her waist curved softly inward above the flare of her hips in the ill-fitting jeans, the way her small bare feet betrayed her vulnerability.

  Buried deep in his aching soul was the impossible wish that she would turn around and smile once more in the way that had captured his heart so long ago. He wouldn't ask, though. It had to come from her.

  She never turned, not even when his footsteps sounded like a death knell across the cabin's plank floor as he made his way to the front door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob for one final backward glance, hoping against hope that she would soften and look his way. If this was his last sight of her, if death prevented him from returning as promised, then he wanted her picture vividly imprinted in his mind so that his last dying thought would be of her.

  "Mandy?"

  "What?" The gruff sound held echoes of past pain, and Reilly realized anew how much she'd suffered the first time he'd left her. Was that why she wouldn't, couldn't, watch him walk away again? Maybe, but the knowledge didn't help.