by Trout, Linda
Without consciously thinking about it, she turned the car in the opposite direction Cat had gone. The day was beautiful and a drive would do her good. However, twenty minutes later she found herself at the Riverbend Memorial Cemetery. They’d found a baby in Jason’s grave, and even though Sara knew all the way to the depths of her soul the baby wasn’t Kaycee, she felt the need to at least say a prayer where the infant had been lain. It might not be any comfort to the dead baby, but saying a prayer would certainly help Sara.
As usual, she didn’t look toward the graves, instead concentrating on the narrow road that eventually passed Jason’s gravesite. She parked and climbed out of the car, hugging her purse to her chest, the big one with room for Kaycee’s bunny. She’d often take it out and caress it after she’d placed fresh flowers on Jason’s grave, as if the simple action made the three of them a family again. The old adage about not appreciating what you have until you lose it was more than true. Once she’d given birth, Sara thought her world couldn’t be more perfect. And it had been. Until a month later when her world turned upside down. Anguish over her missing daughter ate at her every waking minute of every day. Sara functioned, but just barely. At times, only her determination to find Kaycee kept her going.
She would never give up, never stop looking, never accept her child had been buried in Jason’s grave. Not without positive proof.
Partway up the small incline, she glanced toward the grave and came to an abrupt halt. The large mound of dirt on the other side of the open hole brought back the prior day’s nightmare. She took the remaining steps to the side of the grave. Gripping her purse even tighter, she closed her eyes and said a fervent prayer for the mysterious baby as well as Kaycee and Jason. She allowed tears to stream down her cheeks, crying for the loss of an innocent child. Whoever had buried the baby must have had their reasons, but she couldn’t imagine what. Everyone deserved a decent burial.
Finally, unable to bear the anguish any longer, she dried her eyes and took a step back from the opening. Suddenly, someone grabbed her from behind, spun her around, and nearly threw her off her feet. She screamed.
“Whoa there, little lady.”
Foul breath assaulted her. Even worse was the stench of his clothes. The man had blood shot eyes and the few teeth he still had were yellow. His straggly muddy brown hair hung past the tattered shirt collar. She’d been exposed to drunks, but they’d all been in business suits, not someone off the streets. Regardless of how they dressed, a drunk was a drunk and you couldn’t reason with them. She’d quickly learned that lesson at the club. A lot of people thought because they had money, it excused them from acting civil when they thought they were in “private.” Not a train of thought she or Jason adhered to, thank goodness. She mentally shook herself. Right now she had more pressing concerns.
Don’t panic. He’s harmless. Just stay calm and he’ll leave you alone. Please, God, let him leave me alone.
“Thank you for your assistance, but I’m fine now. You can release me.” The urge to pull out of his grimy grasp and run was overpowering. She stood her ground, though, with a strained grin on her face, trying to look grateful, afraid her expression reflected her fear.
“Well, now,” he said before he turned his head to the side, then spit on the ground. “Leaz not be too hasty. I don’ mind a bit of compnee’ and I’ll be right proud to share my bottle wi’ a lady like you.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m late for an appointment and have to leave, so if you’ll just release me, I’ll be going.” This time, she did tug her arm, hoping to get out of his grasp. For a drunk, he had surprising strength.
“Naw. I don’ think so.” He reached into his back pocket with his left hand and pulled out a bottle, shoving it toward her face.
Instinctively, she scrunched up her nose and pulled back.
“Aw, now, don’t be that way, little missy. You think yer too good for the likes of me? Well, ya’ ain’t,” he said as he pressed closer.
Oh, God, oh, God! Heart pounding a mile a minute, she yanked with all her might, trying to pull away from him—only to find his hold turn into a vice grip. Bile clogged her throat as she realized she was alone in the cemetery with this man. If she screamed, chances were no one would hear her. Cat had taught her how to defend herself, but she couldn’t remember any of it, which added to her panic.
She continued jerking against him. Stench from his breath gagged her. She tried to knee him in the groin. It was a feeble attempt at best, and she knew she’d made a mistake the minute she did it. His eyes flared as he pitched the still closed bottle to the side and grabbed both her arms, tightening his hold. The halfway smile that had been on his face was replaced by a scowl.
“You’ll pay for that, bitch.”
She continued to fight him, tearing her sleeve in the process. But the silk shirt was the least of her worries.
“Let. Me. Go.” Increasing her attempt to get away, she started kicking him anywhere she could, striking him numerous times in the shin. He howled and hopped around, releasing one of her arms. Sara twisted away from the open hole, slapping and kicking the man as he cussed her.
Surprisingly, her purse still hung from her shoulder. When he grabbed the handle, Sara lost all self control and immediately latched onto the body of the bag, unwilling to let him have Kaycee’s rabbit. She yanked the handles out of his grip, then holding the purse firmly with both hands, lashed out at him with all the pent up anguish from the last few months. The first frantic swing caught him on the side of the head. He released her and brought both arms up as a shield.
Ignoring his yelps, she continued to bombard him, causing him to step back with each blow. Sara lost all sense of time and place as she lashed out blindly. All the hurt, the pain, the never ending loneliness from the last six months consumed her. She didn’t know how many times she hit him, when suddenly he stopped. Eyes wide, he looked behind him in disbelief, swinging his arms wildly.
And fell into the open grave.
The man’s scream ended with a loud thump. Ashamed and pleased at the same time, Sara hoped she hadn’t killed the wretched beast. Peering over the edge, she saw a slight movement. At least he was alive. But the six foot drop had to have hurt. Even in his drunken state.
The adrenaline rush gone, her legs turned to rubber. With unladylike grace, she plopped into the dirt. I did it. I really did it. She grinned, mentally patting herself on the back. She’d never been in a situation where she had to physically defend herself before. Even though her actions had been clumsy at best, she now had a greater sense of self confidence. She’d led a fairly sheltered life, didn’t have any “street smarts,” yet when faced with a dire situation, she’d been able to take care of herself. At least to a certain degree. Extremely proud of herself, she wanted to bask in the moment.
“Sara!” came a deep, gravelly voice.
Startled, she twisted around. Morgan stormed toward her. Ignoring her hammering heart, she sat quietly, waiting for him as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
He stood over her, glaring. And looking downright terrifying. Hands fisted, his eyes were narrowed, lips thinned, and his jaw set. He looked every bit the predator he’d reminded her of the day before. Danger dripped off him in droves. For some reason, Sara wasn’t the least bit afraid.
“What the hell is going on here?” His voice had a hard, cold edge to it.
Leaning back and craning her neck, she couldn’t resist the impulse to take in every inch of his rock hard body as she gathered her composure. Today he had on cowboy boots, faded jeans, and a denim shirt. He didn’t look anything like an investigator. She should know—she’d dealt with enough of them. She made a point of looking over her shoulder, and as if on cue, the drunk groaned.
Quite casually, she said, “What it looks like, I suppose. What do you think is going on?” For emphasis, she raised her eyebrows.
He took a step to her side, peering into the grave before turning back to her. “Do you know how lucky you are?”
Sara didn’t reply. She knew it had been more luck than expertise that had saved her. If the man hadn’t lost his footing and landed in the hole, and if Morgan hadn’t shown up, she still could have been in a lot of trouble. She hated being so vulnerable, but was glad it had all worked out. This time, anyway. She made a mental note to practice those moves Cat had taught her a little more often.
Extending her hand, she waited for him to help her up. He finally took hold and pulled her to her feet in one swift motion. Pain shot through her arm. “Ow!” He let go so fast she almost tripped. Suddenly his hands circled her waist, holding her close. Lost in his dark eyes, she simply stood for a long moment and stared. Another groan from the hole broke her stupor, and she stepped back. What was wrong with her?
“You’re hurt,” Morgan said.
Looking through the tattered sleeve, she studied the bruise forming on her upper arm, knowing there was a similar bruise on the other arm. That explains it.
“At least you aren’t bleeding this time,” he said with a wry smile.
She grinned, remembering the episode in the study. “No, thank goodness. However, this ‘gentleman’ was determined I have a drink with him. He didn’t much care for it when I politely refused.”
Morgan’s glare darkened a bit more when he looked at her torn sleeve again.
After she tucked her purse back on her shoulder, she rubbed each of her upper arms with her hands. “He’s stronger than he looks.”
The corner of his mouth quirked upward up for a brief moment. “You surprised me. When I saw y’all going at it, I thought you didn’t stand a chance. Looks like I was wrong.”
“A new concept for you?” When he ignored her, she asked. “Well?”
He stepped back. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
A voice floated up from the open hole. “Hey! Whadda ’bout me?” Hic.
Morgan scowled as he looked into the grave.
“Get me outta’ here, man. And keep that bitch away from me. I should have ’er arrested for bodily harm. Oooh. I don’ feel so good.”
Sara peered down at the drunk, sitting cross legged in the dirt, holding his head. She almost felt sorry for him. But not quite. He’d brought it on himself. And now that she thought about it, the man was lucky he’d fallen into the grave. From the expression on Morgan’s face when he’d arrived, he would have done more to the drunk than dump him in a hole. So, in a way, she’d done him a favor.
Without a word, Morgan punched a number into his cell phone. “Yeah, Reece. Send a unit out to the cemetery. Mrs. Adams has just been assaulted.”
She didn’t want the drunk arrested. He probably just needed to sleep it off, so there was no need for the police.
He looked her over critically before turning his attention back to the phone. “She’ll be all right. I’ll make sure she comes in to fill out the paperwork.”
“No,” she protested. Morgan ignored her. What was it with men? Was he deaf? “I don’t want you to—”
His scowl cut her off. “Yes, you will.”
Temper flaring; using some of the moves Cat had shown her seemed like to really good idea. Only this time, on Morgan. How dare he tell her what she would or wouldn’t do?
“No, not you, Reece,” he said into the phone. “I was talking to Mrs. Adams. Oh, and they’ll need to bring a ladder—the man’s in Adams’ open grave. Nope, it wasn’t me. She’s the one who put him there. Didn’t know a purse could be considered a lethal weapon. Until today.” He grinned again as he carried on the conversation without taking his eyes off her.
Sara started to fist her hands on her hips to get her point across, but the bruises on her arms protested. Loudly. Before she turned to go, she leaned over the edge of the grave and cleared her throat. When the man glanced up, looking as if he might pass out at any minute, she shook her finger at him.
“Let that be a lesson to you. Never accost another woman. Do you hear me?” When he nodded his assent, she started to step back.
“Lady? Can I have my bottle?” the man pleaded.
She couldn’t believe it. “No!”
“Well, damn.” His head lolled to one side, then he passed out, landing with a soft plop in the dirt.
Serves him right. With chin held high, she marched down the slope toward her car.
After a couple heartbeats, Morgan caught up with her, matching his steps to hers. “Um, Mrs. Adams—Sara—you might want to brush yourself off.”
His comment took her by surprise, and she turned to face him. “What do you mean?”
He widened his eyes as he craned his head to look at her backside. She twisted around to find herself covered in dirt.
“Oh.” Dust flew as she swiped at her pants.
“Much better,” he said as he checked the results of her efforts.
Heat crept up her cheeks. The man took perverse pleasure in making her uncomfortable. “So glad it meets with your approval.”
“What are you doing out here? There normally isn’t staff on site all the time, and any number of things can happen. It’s also a favorite hangout for some of the local winos.” Even though he attempted to sound business-like—professional—there was still a bit of humor left in his voice.
“Until the last twenty-four hours, I’ve never had a problem coming to my husband’s gravesite. Now I’m being assaulted in more ways than one.” She stopped to look at him, trying her best to ignore his dark, mysterious eyes.
“Except he’s not there.”
“And why isn’t he, Mr. Daniels? What’s the reason for exhuming his body and disturbing his final resting place?”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he turned into one of those stone pillars again, expressionless. She hated that about him. Granted he’d come to her rescue—twice now—and she’d seen a more human side of him when he had. A side she wouldn’t mind getting to know a bit better. But when it came to discussing her husband, Morgan turned as cold as a slab of marble.
He ignored her question, his voice all business now. “You shouldn’t be out here alone and certainly not today. Reporters are probably following you everywhere.”
Ah. So he’d seen the paper, too. Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she turned and continued walking. Clouds floated across the sky, and a lawn mower was running somewhere off in the distance. She caught a whiff of the fresh cut grass drifting on the soft breeze. And Morgan’s aftershave. To the casual observer, it was just another normal spring day. For Sara, there was no such thing as normal, only the constant hum of uncertainty and loneliness.
Morgan was right, of course, but she didn’t want to admit it to him. She’d forgotten about the picture and hadn’t thought of the possibility of being followed. It had just been so automatic to gravitate toward where she’d always gone to talk out her troubles. And she would be in a better mood, more able to handle the burdens she’d inherited after she’d sat and talked to the headstone a while. Funny how she could talk to Jason’s grave when, for months before his death, they hadn’t had many conversations that didn’t revolve around the baby. It did give her a small degree of comfort, though.
Her habits may be strange to some, but to her, Kaycee, and to a smaller degree, Jason, were still her world. And that she couldn’t, wouldn’t let go for anyone.
She turned to face Morgan. “What would you have me do? Go into hiding with my tail between my legs?” The thought of running revolted her. Suddenly, the adrenaline surge wore off and she wanted to sit back down in the dirt. Instead, she headed to her car again, and for the first time, noticed his vehicle parked at an odd angle in front of hers. She hadn’t heard him drive up or seen him approach, she’d been too terrified.
Then a thought hit her. “Wait. How’d you know where I was, or that I needed help?” He always appeared out of nowhere whenever things were happening to her. Which didn’t start until after they’d exhumed Jason’s body.
“I followed you.”
Her jaw dropped at his open admission. “You what? From w
here?”
“From the restaurant.”
“And did you follow me there, too?” This was too much. Would she never have any peace again? She’d only met him twenty-fours ago, yet everywhere she turned, there he was.
“No. I happened to be eating at the burger joint across the street and saw you leave the parking lot. Decided to see where you went, but you got away from me in traffic.”
“Oh, you did.” She didn’t try to hide her displeasure.
He shrugged. “Yeah. Good thing.”
The ire drained out of her. “Well, it could have been worse.”
“How?”
“The grounds crew could’ve covered the grave and I wouldn’t have had a way to get the drunk away from me.” She inwardly shuddered as she chose not to think of what might have happened.
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure their boss will have a word with them about that little oversight.” He paused, then asked, “Why’d you come out here?”
Focusing on anything but him, she evaded the question. “Does it matter?”
“Maybe.”
She blew out a weary sigh. What difference did it make if he knew? He wasn’t going to relent until she told him something. “I feel connected to Jason here. I talk to him and when I leave, I feel as if he’s given me strength to go on for another day. That’s all I need, usually. Just to be able to endure one more day in a world without my baby and husband.” When she paused, she realized that wasn’t what she’d intended to tell him. She’d intended to be vague—tell him basically what she thought he’d want to hear. But the truth just slipped out. Let him believe it or not.
“Besides, I wanted to pray for the dead baby found there. I’m sure it didn’t have a decent burial and someone needed to say a prayer for it.”
“So you visit the grave fairly often.” He didn’t pose the statement as a question.
“Yes,” she said simply, not looking at him.
They were almost to the car, and she was more than ready to leave. This was no longer the peaceful place it had once been. The gaping hole in the ground served as a silent testament to the turmoil she was going through. She had a suspicion it would no longer be her quiet refuge, regardless of the outcome of the police investigation. Despite everything, the urge to press her cheek to Jason’s cool headstone once again tugged at her. Except it lay on the ground…up the hill…next to the empty grave.