The Runaway Bride

by Adrianne Lee

  “Get to the point.” Jake dug his hand through his hair. His face muscles were so taut his scar looked raised and angry and as fresh as the fear in his eyes. “Please.”

  “Certainly.” Ice layered the word. “She wasn’t in her room when her lunch tray was delivered. I wasn’t alarmed—what with all the visitors. Mrs. Wilder was excited about that, you see. She’s very social most days. Loves talking to anyone who will listen. So, of course, I figured she was around somewhere.” She shifted her gaze to Laura, as though seeking the sympathy and understanding she wasn’t getting from Jake.

  She wouldn’t find any here, either, Laura thought, wanting to strangle the incompetent woman. “Did you look for her?”

  “Not personally. I was in charge of the cash, after all. But I set Muriel to the task.” Muriel, she explained, was her secretary. “She spent the next hour checking through the crowd and was eventually told by one of the aides that Mrs. Wilder had had visitors today.”

  “Visitors?” Jake said. “Who?”

  “All I know is that it was a man and a woman.”

  Laura’s pulse skipped. “Did she leave with them?”

  Mrs. Thatcher twisted her hands together again. “Well, dear me, of course I checked on that, but I’m afraid no one signed her out and that is the only way she can officially leave the premises.”

  “Did she or didn’t she leave with these people?” Jake pushed.

  “Dear me, how should I know? It would certainly be against all of our policies.”

  Laura saw a police car pull up in front of the building.

  Jake smacked the desk again. “But it could have happened?”

  Mrs. Thatcher cringed. “Of course it could have happened. We’re not running a prison here, Mr. Wilder. We only lock the outside doors at night. Conceivably your mother could have walked out, but that just hadn’t been a concern before today.”

  “She has Alzheimer’s! It should have been a concern!”

  “Alzheimer’s?” Mrs. Thatcher unclenched her hands and an unpleasant spark lightened her dull eyes. “This is the first I’ve heard of that.”

  “You didn’t know?” Jake oozed disbelief. “That’s your excuse?”

  “It’s not an excuse. I cannot be held accountable for something I knew nothing about.” Emily Thatcher squared her shoulders and met his glare with one of her own. Confidence returned to her scrawny frame. This was a woman more concerned about her own welfare than the welfare of someone who’d been left in her charge. And she’d just discovered an argument against her inept handling of a bad situation, a buffer between herself and a pink slip. “Mrs. Wilder should have been in the twenty-four-hour-care wing. But I must warn you that the board will have to review the matter and they may not be willing to allow her to continue on here in any manner, under the circumstances.”

  Jake planted his palms on her desk and leaned to within an inch of her. His eyes narrowed, his expression hard. “If you think I’d entrust my mother’s care to this slipshod establishment for one more night, you’re sadly mistaken. As soon as she’s found, I’ll make other accommodations for her.”

  Before she could respond, the police interrupted, a man and woman both in uniform. Laura stood to one side as Jake and Emily Thatcher gave them the necessary information about Ruthanne. Laura felt helpless and impotent and scared. Her stomach seemed awash in acid. She wanted to rush them on their search, go searching herself. But within minutes, they had set the hunt in full swing.

  The ensuing hours brought increased anxiety and no sign of Ruthanne. As darkness fell, the officer in charge suggested Jake and Laura go home; he promised he’d call the minute there was something to report.

  “I’m not going anywhere until my mother is found.” Jake’s face was set as hard as his mind.

  Laura wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to Jake’s house, either. Not if someone had tampered with his brakes. But Jake was dead on his feet. He needed to eat, to rest. And he would flat refuse to do that in a motel or restaurant. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t tolerate any more strangers this day.

  “Please, Jake.” She touched his arm. He glanced down at her, and the hurt in his eyes, the fear, twisted around her own frightened heart. “You’re exhausted. You need to eat something. Get some sleep. Then we’ll come back.”

  “No, I—” The fight seemed to rush out of him and for half a second she feared he’d collapse on her. But all he did was nod. He turned to the police officer. “Okay. But I’ll be back by midnight.”

  Jake was silent on the ride home. But he clutched her hand on the drive up the bluff, a silent reassurance that he was there for her, an unspoken proclamation that he needed her to be there for him.

  He parked Rubia in front of the house and shut off the engine, but made no move to exit the car, or to release her.

  Laura glanced at the light glowing from somewhere within his huge home, then squeezed his hand. “Come on, you eatin’ machine, let’s see if there’s something besides eggs to feed you.”

  He acquiesced.

  But halfway to the door, he caught her arm and pulled her to a stop. Alarm scurried through her. “What is it?”

  “The door. I locked it when we left.”

  Now it stood ajar.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jake pressed the keys into Laura’s hand and whispered, “Go back and get in the car. If I’m not out in two minutes or if something—anything—happens, take off. Get the police.”

  “No, Jake, I’m not letting you go in there alone. Come with me,” she pleaded, her voice as muted as his. “Let’s just leave. We can call the police together—let them go into the house and make sure it’s safe.”

  “No. I’ve had to stand by and let others take charge of the search for my mom, but I’ll be damned if I can’t handle an intruder. I’m a cop, for God’s sake, Laura.” His voice was a growl, but he hadn’t meant to take his frustration out on her. She’d been the only thing, the only one, who’d made the last few hours bearable.

  “I want you out of harm’s way.” He wanted this danger behind them. He wanted them safe to examine the lingering feelings between them, to see if there was a chance to regain the trust and love they’d once shared. He smoothed his knuckles along her cheek. “Please, get in the car.”

  Laura nuzzled his hand and released a quavery breath. “Be careful?”

  “I promise.”

  She squeezed his arm and started back toward Rubia. He waited until she rounded the front end of the car, then he moved stealthily through the shadows toward the open door. He had a gun in the secret compartment inside his entry closet—if he could get to it…

  Cautiously, he inched the door inward, his nerves alert, his muscles poised to stem off any sudden attacks. None came. He slipped through the narrow opening. The foyer lay in darkness, but he wondered at the light in the family room. He didn’t remember leaving one on. He slipped gingerly to the closet and caught hold of the knob.

  A noise from the kitchen riveted through his nerve endings. He froze. His pulse tripped loud inside his head. He strained to identify the noise. It came again. A clink, clink…No, that was nuts—but it sounded like ice cubes hitting a glass. He listened again and came to the same conclusion. Was his intruder so comfortable he was fixing himself a drink? The possibility doubled Jake’s fury.

  He eased the closet door open and ducked inside. A moment later he had the loaded gun. He cocked it, held it in both hands, the barrel pointed toward the ceiling, and emerged from the closet. The noise in the kitchen had stopped. He noticed an unfamiliar scent in the air. Something feral, spicy. Like a man’s cologne.

  Dog-tired, jackal-hungry and coyote-rabid that his mother was missing, Jake felt like storming into the next room and blowing off the intruder’s head. Damn the consequences. The compulsion slivered through him like shards of glass. A wayward thought of Laura filled his mind, stole the energy from the urge to lash out and inflict pain on someone. He’d promised Laura that he’d be c
areful. And he’d never broken a promise to her.

  He forced himself to calm detachment, to act like the cop he was. With slow, deliberate steps, he crept toward the family room with his senses honed like radar. Someone spoke. Jake’s heart stopped. He stood stock-still, trying to figure out his opponent’s position. The voice sounded again, and he realized the person hadn’t spoken to him.

  His heart skipped and thumped. He frowned and listened harder. But all he heard were voices. He couldn’t make out what was being said—only that there was more than one person, carrying on a quiet conversation. And one of them sounded like a woman. What the hell?

  He rounded the corner and stepped to where he could see a man and woman sitting on the sofa that faced the kitchen area. Each held a glass filled with dark liquid and ice cubes. He leveled the gun at them. “Freeze.”

  Two startled people jerked toward him. The woman let out a squeak of alarm, sloshing her drink on her clothes.

  She was petite, curvaceous, Laura’s age—with natural white blond hair cut like a cap around her triangular face, and jade-green eyes generously layered with mascara. Her slacks, sweater, and windbreaker had a retro-seventies flavor, and were all in varying shades of green, a favorite color Jake recalled. “Izzy?”

  “Put the gun away, buddy.”

  The man sitting on the sofa next to Isabelle Dell started to rise, holding out his glass like an ineffective and tiny shield. Travis Crocker. He wore a letterman’s jacket, in the purple and white that were Riverdell high-school’s colors.

  His ebony hair was swept off his forehead, a dark frame for his arresting features.

  Travis’s aqua eyes steadied on the gun. He pointed to the couch opposite him. “She let us in.”

  “She?” Jake kept the gun leveled at them. He’d known these people since childhood, but after the day he’d had, all friendships were null and void. Trust would have to be earned anew.

  Movement brought his gaze to the second sofa. Someone rose into view, her back to Jake. A woman’s agespotted hand lifted to her mussed gray hair, fingers plucking at the tightly permed do. He knew this head, this hand, the colorful pantsuit he’d given her last Christmas, that he’d heard described again and again all afternoon and evening—that he feared he’d have to identify when her remains were found.

  But he made no move toward her. The shock of finding her here after all the hours of searching, of fearing the worst, of stifling one atrocious image after another, stole his senses.

  His chest felt too small for his lungs, his heart. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He stood transfixed as a statue, uncertain if he was seeing this woman or if he wanted to see her so badly he’d made her up. “Mom?”

  Ruthanne Wilder shifted toward him and her eyes opened wide. “Jacob Jerome Wilder, put that nasty pistol away. You might need it for your work, but I won’t stand for you flashing it around the house when we have company, JJ.”

  J.J. His mother’s pet name for him finally penetrated his paralyzed brain. He lowered the hammer of the gun and thumbed on the safety.

  Izzy rolled her eyes, her hand on her ample bosom. Travis emitted a noisy sigh and his chest heaved as though he hadn’t breathed in the last few minutes. He sank back to the sofa beside Izzy and took a huge gulp of his drink.

  Jake put the gun into the back waistband of his pants and hurried to his mother. He reached for her tentatively, grazed his fingers down the sides of her face, then laid his big hands on her tiny shoulders with the care he would give a frail, antique China doll. He knew it was ridiculous, but he worried she’d collapse at his very touch. She seemed solid enough, however, and physically unmarred.

  He studied her eyes, the teal so like his own, and saw recognition there, a gift usually absent these days. The tension that had encased him since Mrs. Thatcher’s call shattered, and relief ebbed through him like an incoming tide.

  “Thank you, God,” he whispered, and folded her into his arms, thrilled to have her safe. At last.

  “J.J., I can’t breathe.” She squirmed, pushing her hands against his chest. “You forget your own strength.”

  He laughed and released her. “You are okay, aren’t you?”

  “Now that I can breathe, I’m just dandy.”

  Jake had to admit she looked none the worse for her misspent afternoon and evening.

  “She’s fine,” Travis said. “But I’m not so sure about you. What’s going on? You really had me worried for a minute there, buddy.”

  “I had you—?” Jake couldn’t believe his ears. His fury returned, sweeping his body with the power and heat of a hot breeze blowing up the bluff. “We’ve been frantic about my mother for hours. The police are out in force looking for her. How dared you take her away from Sunshine Vista?”

  Travis’s mouth dropped open. He glanced questioningly at Izzy. She shrugged, then shifted toward Jake. “What are you talking about? What is Sunshine Vista?”

  “Her home.”

  Izzy shook her head as though he were speaking in tongues. She swept her free hand about the room. “I thought this was her home.”

  “You thought—” He stopped, feeling as confused as she looked. Had he jumped to some erroneous conclusions? He narrowed his gaze. “Are you saying you didn’t bring her here?”

  Travis interjected, “I told you she was here when we got here. She let us in.”

  The energy fizzled from Jake’s temper, and he dropped to the sofa opposite Izzy and Travis. All the questions he’d planned to ask them would now have to be answered by his mother. But would she be capable? He ignored the pain in his lower back, caused by the ill-positioned gun. All he felt was the anxiety churning his gut. “Then what are you doing here?”

  Travis took a swallow of his drink, as though whatever was in it might give him fortitude. He lowered the glass and held it between both hands. “We came to talk to you about Cullen.”

  Jake’s relaxing nerves tensed again. Did they have news of Cullen? Or did they expect him to give them news? Either way, they could have called from home instead of flying to Arizona. Fear slithered through him. Were they really here because they were after Laura? Laura! Dear God, he had to warn her. But how?

  THE MOON HUNG LOW over Laura’s head, bathing the land with a soft light. She could see the face of her watch clearly. Four minutes had gone by since Jake had left her standing here, her stomach awash with nerves. Had someone overpowered him? Worry blocked the chill night air from penetrating her clothing.

  She paced the length of the house, half expecting to see a car tucked alongside the garage. But the only thing parked there was a rusted wheelbarrow. Where was the intruder’s car? Parked in the garage?

  The thought hurried her back to the front of the house. Still no Jake. She glanced at the open door, then at Rubia, torn with indecision. If she started the noisy car it would alert an intruder to her presence. That might get Jake killed.

  She shuddered. Her pursuer wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate Jake. He may have tried once already today. He may even have taken Ruthanne. Her throat clenched at the thought.

  She needed to know what was going on. She ran to the house, slipped inside and gingerly shut the door. She expected utter quietude, but voices floated to her from the family room. Her pulse skittered. She identified Jake immediately, but who was he talking to?

  Her heart gave a sudden leap of hope as she heard a woman’s voice rise in a scolding tone. Ruthanne? She listened harder. Dear God, it was.

  A joyous cry climbed her throat. She smashed her fist against her open mouth just in time. She had no idea what the situation was. They might be in trouble. She stole a little closer, then ducked into the hall that led to the bedroom and office. A third voice reached her.

  A chill skittered up her spine. Her palms dampened. Another woman. She strained to identify this new voice and a jolt of recognition shot through her. Izzy! She’d know those whiskey-throated tones anywhere. God, how she’d longed this past year to call Riverdell and hear Izzy say, “Hel
lo.” A friendly voice in a world without friends.

  But it hadn’t always been that way.

  Laura leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, recalling the day they’d become friends. Real friends. They’d been in the ninth grade—and the town was abuzz with the news of a plane crash in Honolulu. Izzy’s parents had gone down with the 259 other hapless souls.

  Laura had been the only one of her classmates who’d really understood what being an orphan meant. She knew exactly how Izzy felt. The sole difference between their losses was that Izzy hadn’t been wrenched from the only home she’d ever known. Her brother, Payton, ten years older, returned from college, took over the family business and the guardianship of his teenaged sister.

  Laura opened her eyes. Throughout the ensuing years, the friendship had blossomed and grown into something wonderful; they had been as close as sisters, sharing their secret hopes, their deepest disappointments.

  But this past year had torn Laura away from everything and everyone she’d ever trusted, made her doubt all that she’d ever taken for fact. A year ago, she’d have trusted Izzy with her life. Would that have been a mistake?

  Travis Crocker’s voice snatched the thought away. What was he doing here with Izzy? She heard him ask Jake something; the only word she caught was “Cullen.” Wanting to hear more, she took a step toward the family room.

  Approaching footsteps froze her in her tracks. She swung around and darted down the hall into Jake’s office.

  “I FORGOT TO SHUT the front door,” Jake told his guests, hurrying into the foyer. He had to warn Laura to stay outside until he could get rid of Izzy and Travis. “Wouldn’t want any critters crawling in from the desert.”

  The front door was closed. Jake’s heart dipped to his toes. Had Laura shut it to muffle the sound of the Impala’s noisy engine when she’d left? Please, God, let that be the case. Gingerly, he yanked the door open. Rubia still hugged the curb, looking in the moonlight like a lady of the evening willing and ready to party.