by Liz Johnson
“You’re sleeping in here?” She ducked her head into the room, her gaze falling on the therapy equipment lined up next to the single bed that had displaced the leather sofa.
“All the bedrooms are upstairs, and I’m not great with the stairs. That’s why I moved back in the first place. My apartment is on the third floor, and I couldn’t make that hike the first couple weeks after surgery.”
“And now?”
“I could probably make it.” He shrugged. “But the food is way better here.”
“You’re such a guy.” She rolled her eyes and caught the reflection of a row of padlocks along the windowsill. She did a double take to see what they were attached to, but they weren’t connected to anything. “What are the locks for?”
He shrugged. “Just a hobby.”
“Here are some pajamas you can borrow.” They both swiveled as Sharon announced her return, arms laden with plaid flannel. “And I brought an extra blanket just in case. The guest room can be kind of drafty.”
Mandy accepted the armload and hugged it to her chest. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, honey.” Sharon stepped in to give Mandy a hug, and a surge of jealousy spiked through Luke. That should be his move. “You’re welcome here as long as you need a place to stay.”
After Sharon had wished them sweet dreams and he’d pointed out a few other things in the house, Luke took Mandy to the base of the stairs that led to the guest room above the garage.
“Your room is right up there. There’s an attached bath and plenty of clean towels and everything else.”
“Thank you.” Her chin dipped, her hair falling forward.
He reached to tuck a lock back in place but stopped short. Forcing his hand back to the grip of his crutches, he took a little step away. Away from the sweet smell of her shampoo. Away from her warmth. Away from the need to hold her close.
“You’ve really been… You don’t have to be this nice to me.”
“I know.” And just like he’d hoped they would, his words brought her flashing brown eyes sailing upward. “But I want to.”
The lightning in her eyes faded, replaced by a quiet determination. “I won’t be here very long. We’re going to find her. And then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Yes, we will.” He had to choke out the words as a strange weight settled on his chest. “We’ll start into those files tomorrow.”
She nodded, then walked up the stairs, the door closing behind her with a quick snick.
He could only wait for the vise around his lungs to release. Because they would figure out who was after her. She would be safe again. And when she was, he’d have to let her go. When she wasn’t in danger and his therapy sessions ended, there’d be no excuse to see her, no reason to reach for her hand.
He needed her safe.
And he needed her in his life.
*
“Another pancake, honey?”
Mandy looked up from her seat at the kitchen table the next morning and tried to speak around the enormous bite of cinnamon-blueberry perfection already in her mouth. “Yeth. Pleath.” She held up her plate, and Sharon scooped up two more perfectly round pancakes with a wink.
“Got any more for me?” Luke sat across from her, a smudge of sticky syrup stuck in the corner of his smile. He looked at his mom, then back at his empty plate, his grin turning on the charm.
Sharon squinted at him as Mandy shoveled in another pancake. “You’ve already had seven.”
He shrugged and gave it another try. “I’m still growing.”
Both Mandy and Sharon snorted at that. “Maybe your nose,” Mandy said, slicing another wedge off her breakfast and dunking it into real Vermont maple syrup.
That got a chuckle out of both Luke and his mom, and Sharon patted her on the shoulder. “I like this one.”
Luke nodded. “Me, too.”
Mandy locked eyes with him over the butter dish. Like a feather running down her spine, his gaze left her tingling all over and desperate to ask him what he meant by that. But she couldn’t force the words out. Not when the results were a lose-lose.
Either he meant his feelings for her were growing well beyond where they should be. And she’d have to let him down.
Or he only meant that he liked her as a friend and was concerned for her safety. And then she’d have to hide how much that hurt.
There was just no winning if she asked him to clarify.
Her only hope was to figure out who was after her and then make a clean break.
She dropped her gaze back to her half-eaten pancakes and downed them in two bites, chewing as fast as she could and ignoring the weight of Luke’s gaze on her. As soon as she swallowed the last morsel, Sharon swept through and picked up her plate, refilled her orange juice and cleared the rest of the table.
Mandy risked a peek at Luke. “I feel like I’m seventeen again. No one’s taken care of me like this in ages.”
“Isn’t it great?” Her surprise must have registered on her face because he chuckled. “Not forever, but just for a few days, it’s kind of nice. Besides, Mom thrives on this.”
“Well, if she doesn’t want me here forever, then we better dig in.” Tugging on the edge of the box that she’d taken from her office, she pulled it across the table and reached in for a stack of files.
He attempted to grab some documents, as well, but she stopped him with a hand on top of his. “These are still patients, and I can’t share their medical records.”
His eyebrows furrowed, but then he nodded, stood and limped across the room. Picking up a laptop from the built-in desk beside the kitchen, he carried it back to the table. “You give me names. I’ll do some reconnaissance.”
She paused for a split second, weighing the nuances of the law that protected her clients with the need to protect herself.
Well, she wouldn’t reveal anything about these cases beyond their names. The rest of the information they needed would come from public records. It was the best she could do, given her circumstances.
Luke settled in next to her, opening the laptop, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.
“All right.” She pulled a folder out and flipped through it, searching for any words or phrases that might indicate the patient hadn’t been very happy. On the third file, a note caught her attention. Dr. Thurston recommends slowing therapy down. Suggests incorporating more rest between sessions.
And three lines later, ACL torn again.
Her stomach twisted, but she managed to push the feeling away and flipped to the front page. Douglas Rinnoco. “This one. He’s the one who pushed too hard and reinjured his knee.”
Luke’s fingers poised over the keyboard, he asked, “His name?”
“R-I-N-N-O-C-O. Douglas Rinnoco.”
With a nod Luke went to work while Mandy sifted through more patient files, praying that none of the pages represented the person trying to kill her. And alternately hoping that they might break her case wide-open.
After several minutes, Luke swiveled the screen in her direction. “Is this him?”
The gray eyes that, during their sessions, had reminded her of steel stared back her. “Yes. Where is he? What’s he doing?”
“He’s some sort of financial consultant in Phoenix.” He clicked to another page that featured Doug’s biography. “It says he started with this company three years ago.”
Mandy leaned back, realizing how close she’d gotten to Luke’s shoulder. “So… He’s not the one?”
“I doubt it. I mean, we should still ask Fletcher to look into him. But it would be a pretty big feat for him to be stalking you from another state. Besides, it looks like he’s moved on with his life.”
She let out a slow breath, trying to school her features against the disappointment that made her chest ache and pulse throb. She hadn’t exactly expected this to be easy, but she’d hoped for a break. This wasn’t it.
Luke navigated to another website and pointed to a picture of a girl walking on two new
prosthetic legs. Her smile stretched wider than her face as she looked up into the eyes of a man with dark hair.
“Any chance this is the girl whose dad was so upset that you couldn’t help his daughter get new legs?”
Mandy’s mouth hung open as she pulled up the distant memory. “How on earth did you find her?”
Luke shrugged. “I figured if her parents didn’t have the money for what they wanted, maybe they’d look for an organization that could help.” Clicking over to the home page, he pointed to the foundation’s logo. “This local group helps financially strapped patients pay for prosthetics.”
The caption below the picture said these were Bethany’s first steps, and the joy on the girl’s face left Mandy blinking against a sudden dampness in her eyes.
“Bethany Woolsly. That’s her.”
Luke stared at Mandy for a long moment, and she had to look down to brush away the tears.
“That just leaves the girl from the car accident.” He nodded toward the stack of files on the table that was now bigger than the one inside the box. “Any luck?”
She shook her head and dug back in.
The second-to-last record had the case she remembered, and she held her breath as she flipped through the pages. Her notes were sparse but clear. The patient wasn’t ready to face the rigors of therapy, especially since the chance of walking again was almost none.
“Her name was Laney Tr-Tract.” Mandy swallowed the emotion clogging her throat, blinking back tears that had swiftly morphed from joy to regret. “She was sixteen.”
Luke didn’t immediately turn back to his computer. Instead he inspected Mandy, his gaze almost tangible as it swept over her face. She pressed her hand to her cheek, unsure if she wanted to block his view or hold the sensation there. All too soon it was gone, his attention back on the screen.
It was better this way. He was helping her get closer to the answers she needed. She didn’t want him staring at her, touching her, comforting her.
Right.
She’d keep telling herself that until she really believed it.
“There’s a few Laney Tracts popping up around San Diego. Do you have her parents’ names?”
Mandy turned back to the file, but it was useless. It didn’t have the guardian’s name or even an address or phone number. “Before we got Tara, our office wasn’t the most organized. I’m afraid we don’t have complete records for most of these cases.”
Luke made a low hum in the back of his throat. “Maybe there’s an article about the accident.” Three minutes later, he tapped his finger against the tabletop. “There it is. Almost four years ago Laney Tract of Vacerville was paralyzed in a one-car accident. It says here that the driver of the car was Laney’s sister, but she’s not identified by name.”
“I suppose that’s enough to pass along to Detective Fletcher.” She reached for her phone, then dialed the police station as Luke began typing again.
“This is Fletcher.” The smooth voice on the other end of the line sounded more like it belonged to a radio DJ than a salty detective.
“It’s Mandy Berg.”
He jumped in before she could continue. “I don’t have any new information for you, Ms. Berg. We’re working on getting a warrant for Mrs. Heusen’s financial records, but these things take time.”
“I understand. But I’ve been thinking—wondering, really. What if Camilla isn’t the one after me?”
Something squeaked loudly on the other end as if his chair had protested a sudden shift. “Do you have any idea who it might be?” His pen tapped a rapid rhythm.
“I have a few ideas based on cases that didn’t turn out quite like I had hoped.” She laid out the relevant information from her files and from what Luke had found while the detective offered mumbled words of encouragement for her to continue.
By the end of her story, Fletcher let out a long sigh. “Looks like we might have another suspect. Or at least a motive. The first two are pretty thin, but the Tract girl’s family might be looking for some retribution. I’ll look into it.”
“Thank you.”
After Mandy hung up, Luke propped his chin on steepled fingers. “So?”
“He’s going to check it out.”
Luke nodded. “That’s good.”
She couldn’t help the shivers that ran down her arms, despite the long sweater covering them. “But is it enough?”
With a barely perceptible shrug and tilt of his head, he seemed to ask the same question of her. “I found an address for the Tracts in Vacerville.”
“You did?”
He nodded. “We could go check it out. See if anyone from the family still lives there.”
Her heart thumped. Hard. She could be only an hour’s drive away from discovering if this family had held a grudge against her. “Let me get my purse.”
ELEVEN
The Vacerville city-limits sign might have been pretty twenty years before, but the unrelenting California sun had left the blue and yellow paint faded, the wood splintered and cracked. Someone had swerved off the two-lane highway, fracturing the right support post. And that sign was the best-looking part of the town.
Luke slowed as they rolled down Vacerville’s main street, which was lined with boarded-up shops and dirt-caked storefronts. A crooked sign for the Vacerville Gazette flapped in the wind over the only lit window in the row. The once-thriving community seemed to have lost its heart. And most of its citizens.
Even the post office boasted a closed sign and directions to the next town over.
“What happened here?” Mandy pressed her fingertips to the passenger window, looking over her shoulder at him. “It’s like everyone just up and left.”
“I don’t know. But maybe it’s better outside town.” It couldn’t be much worse.
The only evidence that they weren’t alone was a cloud of dust in his rearview mirror.
There wasn’t much improvement as he turned down a side street toward the Tracts’ address. Blocks away from Main Street, every yard boasted a for-sale sign, and nearly half had been foreclosed on.
If this was the world that Laney Tract had grown up in, he wasn’t surprised that she’d struggled to find hope after the accident. It was hard to find after any injury. How much more so in a place that seemed to be caked in dirt and desertion?
He glanced down at his knee and then back up at Mandy’s profile.
He’d been there—at the bottom of a well, grasping for any promise for the future and coming up short. He’d thought his world was over. Certainly the only future he’d ever dreamed of. The only one he’d ever wanted.
And then Mandy had showed up. Like a light in a cave, her smile had reached to his very darkest places and given him a glimpse of the life he could have. Even off the teams.
Just then, she shot him a sad smile, and his heartbeat hitched at her quiet beauty. She wasn’t stunning like Bianca or simply cute like some of the girls who followed SEALs around. Mandy’s big brown eyes, filled with compassion, warmed him all over. The soft curve of her lips reminded him of the missed opportunity to kiss her. The one he knew wouldn’t come around again. The one that was far too easy to think about.
Forcing his gaze away from her and onto the houses lining the street, he pulled into the gravel driveway of a faded yellow ranch house that matched the number on his piece of scratch paper. It didn’t have a for-sale sign under the big ficus tree in the front yard, but it also didn’t look loved. The screen door hung on just the upper hinge, and no one had bothered to fix two broken-out windows in the sunroom.
“Should we see if someone’s home?”
Mandy twisted the edge of her shirt before giving a curt nod. She slammed her door and was up the sidewalk before he could even get his crutches out of the backseat. She lifted her hand to rap on the doorjamb but stopped when she realized he wasn’t at her side.
“I’m coming.” He grumbled at his crutches, wishing he could count on his leg to hold up for longer than a few minutes. But
he wasn’t going to venture far without them after the tumble he’d taken the night before.
When he reached the front of the home, he pressed a finger to his lips and leaned in against the door.
Nothing.
Then suddenly a creaking floorboard.
He jerked away. “Someone’s moving in there.”
She nodded her understanding but suddenly spun in a slow circle, her chin pointing down the road. “Do you feel that?”
Before she even finished the question, he knew exactly what she meant. The weight of someone watching them was almost tangible, like fingers skimming along his spine. Goose bumps exploded down his arms and beneath his jeans. Making fists with both hands, he forced himself to take a slow inhale and hold it for three long seconds. When he finally exhaled, he was back in control.
“No one’s going to attack us in public in broad daylight.” He pointed at the door. “Go ahead.”
Mandy’s forehead wrinkled in question, but she did as he indicated. Her fist banged on the rickety door three times, and for a moment, it looked as if the door might crash to the ground under the unexpected abuse. He tugged her arm until they were both out of the way of the swaying wooden frame.
Still no one answered.
Luke motioned toward the edge of the house, keeping his voice low. “Let’s check the window.”
Mandy led the way, staying close to the building and making hardly any noise. Almost as if she’d snooped around before. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he whispered. “You’re pretty good at this.”
“I’ve been practicing.” She attempted a moment of levity, but beneath the teasing twinkle in her eye lay a foundation of fear. The muscles in her neck grew tense, and she clenched her jaw.
He cupped her elbow just as they reached a shoulder-high window. “It’s okay. No one in there—or out here—is going to hurt you. I won’t let them.” But a hook in his stomach made him pause.
Sometimes he couldn’t control the outcome. He couldn’t promise her safety.
She released a slow breath, which he took for agreement. Her gaze shot from him to the window and back again, then she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky. He pinched his eyes tight and did the same. Lord, keep us safe. And please let us find something helpful.