“I lied to you when you called last week,” Sheryl said.
There was a moment of telling silence. “I suspected as much.”
Sheryl’s heart skipped a beat. The woman sounded so cool, so completely undisturbed by the confession. “The files that were stored in the basement of my clinic when I bought the building are worthless, for the most part.”
“You can’t be sure,” Dr. Winston began.
Sheryl didn’t slow down. “But last week I think we found what you were looking for.”
There was a very short pause before Winston said, “We?”
For herself, she’d be better off to let this all die. The danger was over; the man who’d wanted the file on Deanna Payne had what he wanted. She could repair her clinic and get back to her life. The life she had built for herself before Hawk had come storming in. The life where she didn’t have to worry about things like broken hearts. Hers and others.
But this was very much not over for Hawk. The pain in his eyes, the pain she felt when she laid a hand on him and he tensed… No, for him, it wasn’t over.
Sheryl took a deep breath and steeled her resolve. “I have a friend….”
Wednesday morning Hawk threw his clothes into his suitcase and carried the bag out to his truck. Time to go home. Baby was healing, though she absolutely hated the protective collar Sheryl insisted she wear. It was more of a nuisance to her than the healing bullet wound. Once they were down the road he would let her take it off, as long as she promised not to lick her bandage.
Sheryl was waiting for him when he walked back into the house. “Where are you going?” she asked sharply.
“Texas.”
“Not yet!” She looked at him as if he’d told her he was going to the moon.
“Baby’s not ready to make the trip.”
“Yes, she is.”
“I’m her doctor, and I’m telling you she’s not ready.” Sheryl crossed her arms over her chest, trying for a forceful pose.
He knew her too well to be taken in by a sharp word and a straightened spine. She was trying to keep him here. “Sheryl, it’s time—”
“One more day,” she said. A blush rose to her cheeks. “Maybe two.”
This wasn’t simply a reluctance to see him go. Sheryl was trying to stall him. She was obviously waiting for something to happen in one more day. Maybe two. “What have you done?” he asked softly.
She wrinkled her nose, ruining her fearsome pose. “Someone’s coming to Wyatt to see you.”
“Who?” he asked sharply.
“An FBI agent named Liam Brooks.”
“Why?” His question reverberated through the house.
“I’m not really sure,” Sheryl said. “Dr. Winston—Faith—she said it was too complicated to go into over the phone. But Agent Brooks is very anxious to speak with you.”
“Winston’s the one who called asking about the files, right?”
“Yes,” Sheryl answered softly.
“She called again?”
“Actually…” Sheryl looked decidedly sheepish. “I called her.”
For a moment there was dead silence in this house that was never completely still. The truth hit Hawk like a boulder landing in his stomach. “You told her about me.”
“Yes.” Sheryl looked so innocent, so pretty and warm. And it was all a lie. “She understands completely, Hawk, and—”
“What’s next? A phone call to the tabloids?” He had never trusted anyone but Cassie with his secret, and now he remembered why. He’d actually told Sheryl who and what he was, and what had she done? She’d betrayed his trust and called in the freakin’ FBI.
“I’m only trying to help.”
“If this is your idea of help, please don’t.”
He could tell by the expression on Sheryl’s face that her feelings were hurt, but at least her eyes didn’t tear up. Instead, she seemed to grow a bit tougher. “Just stick around for another day or two and meet with this guy. Faith said he had a lot to talk to you about.”
“You talk to him,” Hawk snapped. “I’m going home.”
“This is home, you jackass,” Sheryl snapped right back.
He didn’t argue with her. Maybe because in a way he had never expected, this place did feel like home. It was Sheryl, he knew. She was home to him, in an undeniable way that absolutely terrified him. He had to get out of here before he was in so deep he could never walk away.
He would never live a normal life. He couldn’t have a wife, a family, friends who knew and accepted him. And if he ever did have kids, would they be freaks like their daddy? Was that a chance he dared to take?
At least Sheryl wasn’t pregnant. He couldn’t fathom how he knew, but he did. At night when she was sleeping, he touched her hair and smelled her skin, and he knew.
“I have to go.”
“So this is it, huh?” Now she sounded angry. “You’re just going to walk away? That’s your answer to every problem, isn’t it? You run.”
“That was always the plan. I didn’t come here to settle down. To be honest, I’ve already been here too long.”
She shook her head slowly, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Do you think ignoring everything that’s happened between us will make it go away?”
He didn’t know how to answer that one. “I’ll mail you a check.” He lifted Baby and carried her out the front door, half expecting Sheryl to follow.
She didn’t.
From the bushes across the street Ricky watched as the big fellow carried his dog to the truck. He wasn’t supposed to let him leave, but how could he stop the man? Especially in this condition.
Ricky glanced down at his trembling hands. He didn’t feel good; he didn’t feel strong. He felt as if he was falling apart, his mind and his body, one molecule at a time. Something was wrong. Dr. Sheridan had said no more than one shot a day, but that wasn’t enough. And sometimes the injections had no effect at all.
Dr. Sheridan had ruined him with that damned drug of hers. He’d always liked her. Always, from the first. She was smart, and while she wasn’t dishy like the veterinarian, she was certainly striking. He had always been able to tell, even when she wore those lab coats, that she had a killer body. He’d always imagined that one day she’d get tired of that stick-in-the-mud Titan and turn to a younger, more handsome, more attentive man. Someone like Ricky Driggs.
She’d left town before they’d had dinner. How rude of her. How inconsiderate.
Yes, he’d once liked Dr. Sheridan quite well, and what had she done? She had ruined him. She had killed him.
What had Titan said before he left? Don’t hurt the man, but the girl is expendable.
The truck pulled away from the curb, and Ricky turned his attention to the little yellow house where the veterinarian lived. A curtain fluttered, but that was the only sign of life.
She hadn’t walked her friend to the truck, but she was home.
Since the boss had obviously used and betrayed him, Ricky didn’t feel any obligation to follow the orders he’d been given. As if he could stop the man in the truck now. It was too late. In fact, he rather hoped that the big fellow showed up where he was least expected to give Titan and Janet a nasty surprise.
No…what was he thinking? Ricky pressed shaking fingers to his temple. Of course he would do what Titan had asked of him. The boss would reward him when the job was done. He’d make sure Ricky was never without the drug he needed.
The woman he’d been watching for days finally was alone. There would be no muscle-bound lug to get past.
Maybe she had something in there that would make him feel better. Something to take away the pain. Gathering what little courage he had left, Ricky left the bushes where he’d been hiding and walked toward the little yellow house.
Chapter 15
When the doorbell rang, Sheryl’s heart skipped a beat. Had Hawk forgotten something? Or had he just come back to torment her a little bit more?
She had almost reached the d
oor when she realized that something was wrong. Laverne was not pacing anxiously in the entryway, but standing well back and watching the door warily. Neither of the dogs or the other cats had even bothered to rush to the door to greet Hawk.
Which meant it wasn’t Hawk ringing her bell.
She could very well imagine who was out there. Debbie had seen Hawk leaving and wanted all the details. Problem was, Sheryl wasn’t ready to share those details with anyone. She’d started out by having a purely sexual affair with a studly guy, and ended up falling in love with a man who had more problems than she could even imagine.
What kind of idiot was she?
Since she wasn’t in any mood to talk to anyone, she didn’t answer the door. Debbie would understand. Not now, maybe, but later, when Sheryl could talk about Hawk Donovan without making a fool of herself by sniveling like a pathetic girl.
The ringing of the doorbell was replaced by furious knocking, and then a shout. “Let me in, luv! I know you’re in there!”
Could Agent Brooks be here so soon? She guessed it was possible, but the man at her door certainly didn’t sound like an FBI agent. He had a British accent, and a fury in his voice that kept her well away from the door. No way would she open the door for this obviously frantic man. Whoever he was, he had the wrong house, and he would realize it soon enough.
But he didn’t. The knocking was replaced by a kick that splintered the door. Sheryl turned and ran for the kitchen and the phone, but she hadn’t gone far before a second kick all but took the door off its hinges. The door flew in, Laverne hissed and fled, and the man who’d been shouting burst into the house. He gave chase and caught Sheryl from behind two steps before she reached the phone.
He was breathing too fast and his heart beat too hard. She actually felt that pounding of his heart as he clasped her to him tightly. The hand that clamped over her mouth when she tried to scream was clammy. But that hand was also strong.
“Not running away from me, are you, luv?” he asked breathlessly.
Gradually the hand over her mouth relaxed. Sheryl knew if she screamed or spoke too loudly, he’d just clamp the hand down again. “What do you want?” she asked.
The intruder dragged her back to the front door, and while he held her in place with one hand tangled in her ponytail, he shut the broken door so it might look normal to anyone passing by.
The man looked like a vagrant. His blond hair was oily and mussed, his clothes were dirty and there was a smudge of dirt on his face near his long, pointed nose.
Had anyone seen or heard him break in? Sheryl wondered. Or was she on her own?
Bogie and Howie came running into the room, barking frantically and dancing back and forth on their short little legs. They moved in as if to bite the man and then scurried away.
“Make them shut up,” the intruder ordered, no less frantic than the dogs.
“I can’t,” Sheryl said. “They’re frightened.”
Laverne burst from the corner, where the other cats cowered, and latched herself to the man’s leg with her claws. She hissed while the blond man tried to shake her loose. She had some skin under her claws, but had latched on mostly to denim. The protective cat was more of a nuisance than a pain to the man who held Sheryl tightly.
It was the noise that seemed to hurt him most of all. Howie and Bogie barked; Laverne hissed. And the man who held Sheryl flinched as he tried to fight off the noise.
The intruder pulled a gun and aimed it at Bogie. “You make these nasty pets be quiet, or I’ll shoot them all.”
“I can lock them in the bedroom,” Sheryl suggested quickly. She couldn’t bear to see another animal wounded, not if she could prevent it from happening. “Besides, the gun will make a lot of noise if you fire, and all the neighbors will come running over to see what’s going on. You don’t want that, do you?” Would he listen to her, or was he beyond reason?
The hand that held the gun shook slightly. “No,” he said gruffly. “I don’t want to alarm the neighbors. I can’t deal with that complication at the moment.”
The intruder held on to Sheryl by the hair, jerking her this way and that as she removed Laverne from his leg, shepherded all the animals into her bedroom and closed the door. The barking didn’t stop, but the sounds were dulled by the closed door.
The man with the gun hauled her down the hallway and into the living room, obviously trying to get away from the sounds that disturbed him. “What about that thing?” He wagged his gun toward the parrot in her living room.
“He’s in a cage,” Sheryl said calmly. “He can’t hurt you. And you don’t have to worry about Bruce making any noise. He’s a very quiet parrot.”
The man laughed, short and hoarse. “Bruce. What kind of a name is that for a bird?”
For once, Bruce was wisely silent.
“I don’t know,” Sheryl said. “He already had the name when I got him.” The gunman’s pupils were dilated, and judging by his jerky movements and his obvious distress, the clammy hands and the sweat, she assumed he was a junkie looking for money or drugs. She hadn’t even known there was a drug problem in Wyatt until it had burst through her front door. Somehow she had to calm him down so no one got hurt.
“What’s your name?” she asked gently.
“Why?” He latched pale-blue eyes on to hers. There was no life in those eyes, just a dull chill.
“I have to call you something, don’t I?” She tried to keep her voice serene, completely nonthreatening. “My name’s Sheryl.”
“I know,” he said gruffly.
Sheryl swallowed hard. She had been so hoping it was chance that had brought this man to her door, but if he knew her name, apparently trouble hadn’t left town on Hawk’s heels.
“Ricky.” Those odd pale eyes swept over her from head to toe. “Ricky Driggs. My mum used to call me Richard, but she was the only one. I haven’t seen my mum in a long time,” he added almost dreamily. “These days some people call me Rick and some call me Driggs, but most call me Ricky. You can call me Ricky.”
He didn’t mind at all telling her his name, which either meant it was false, or he didn’t expect she’d ever have an opportunity to speak to the police about this incident. “Okay, Ricky. Why are you here? What do you want?”
He leaned in close, placing his face much too near hers. He still had a gun in his hand, which kept her from fighting back. Yet. She had a feeling she was not going to be able to talk him down. She was going to have to fight, as soon as the opportunity arose.
“Before we get started, I need a little bit of something to take the edge off,” Ricky said. “Something to make me feel better for a while. I don’t feel strong. I don’t feel good. Every now and then my thoughts get all jumbled and twisted about. I think my insides are turning to mush, and the organs are all switched around. My innards are topsy-turvy.”
“I’m sorry,” she answered. “I don’t have what you need.”
“Nobody does,” he said hoarsely. “That’s the problem, you see. There’s only one man in the world who can cure my ills, and he left me here with a handful of syringes and a sorry-ass job to do. The medicine isn’t working anymore, and the boss hasn’t called like he said he would, so I can’t ask him for something stronger. But you’re a doctor, and you must have something.”
Ricky wasn’t nearly as big as Hawk, but he was much bigger than Sheryl. He was obviously suffering from withdrawal symptoms, which might weaken him but had also made him desperate. But she could fight him, if it came to that. And it would.
And then there was the gun…
“I can make you a cup of coffee, Ricky,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “A whole pot. That’ll make you feel better.”
He laughed. “Coffee?”
“It might help.”
Ricky shook his head. “No. Coffee is not going to help.”
“What do you want, then?” she asked.
He gave her an odd smile, crooked and weak. “There was a time when I wanted you, luv. I h
ad great plans for us. You’re quite dishy. I imagine you’d put up quite a fight. I like a bit of fight in a woman. At least, I used to. The good doctor has unmanned me with her blasted drug. Now I can only think about one thing. I need more, and more. The relief doesn’t last, the way it used to. I hurt. I think my blood is boiling. Is that possible, do you think? Could the blood be boiling in my veins?”
Sheryl tried to dismiss what he said about wanting her. The possibilities were too frightening, and she didn’t need to be so scared she couldn’t function. She’d break down later, if she got the chance. “There’s a doctor in town. I’m sure he’ll have something that will help you. All of my drugs are for dogs and cats. None of them would be strong enough to help you, and besides, everything is at the clinic. I can call the doctor for you. Is that what you want?”
“No. No more doctors for me. I want to die,” Ricky answered softly. He laughed hoarsely. “That’s the truth of it, luv. I hurt so bad I just want to die. Nothing but death will take away this agony, but I’m afraid to go alone.” He dipped his head toward hers, and his hand gentled and wandered toward her breast. “I’m going to take you with me, Doc.”
Sheryl twisted out of his arms, surprising Ricky with the sudden move. She spun and wrenched, slipping out of his grasp and scurrying away. She didn’t get far before he grabbed her shirt, yanked her back and tossed her to the floor. Without hesitating, she kicked out and caught his knee solidly with her heel. He yelled and the leg buckled, but he recovered quickly. Too quickly. As Sheryl tried to roll away, Ricky stopped her cold with his foot on the center of her back. He pinned her there, pressing so hard he took her breath away.
The self-defense classes, the punching bag, the free weights she’d worked out with for so long… They didn’t do her any good at all when she had her face in the carpet and a foot pushing into her back.
Ricky dropped down and reached inside his jacket to snag a half roll of duct tape. “Sorry, luv,” he said as he pinned her to the floor with his knee and tore off a strip of duct tape. “But if you insist on doing this the hard way, we’ll do it the hard way.”
A Touch of the Beast Page 19