Secret Hideaway

by Carla Neggers

  “Have you talked to anyone about this?”

  “You mean a therapist?” She shook her head. “Not since right after the incident. I don’t have post-traumatic stress disorder. I have some lingering effects that crop up every now and then. It can be hard when everyone assumes I’m over it. Maybe I should be.”

  “It’s not a question of should.”

  “While I was hiding yesterday, I realized that what I’ve been experiencing isn’t that bad in comparison to coping with a real-and-present danger.” A note of defiance had crept into Maggie’s voice. “Being here dredged it all up again. Can you feel it, Ellen? Has being here affected you?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know for sure. I was so worried about you.”

  “I’m sorry. I was an idiot.”

  “You were not an idiot. Maggie, please. If I were here by myself and saw some strange guy, I’d have freaked out, too. Past trauma or no past trauma. I do remember what happened to us,” Ellen added. “I think about it sometimes. What did happen. What could have happened.”

  “Do you think Dad and Mom do?”

  “I know they do, but we don’t talk about it. They let me bring it up if I want to but they don’t bring it up themselves. Maggie, they’d talk about it with you if you think that would help. Maybe burying your feelings and telling yourself you shouldn’t have them exacerbates the situation.”

  “You’re saying I’m trying to be like sensible Elinor Dashwood when I’m more like Marianne—”

  “The ‘sensibility’ sister in Sense and Sensibility.” Ellen smiled. “I do remember. A balance between logic and emotion is great, but this is real life in our times, not a Jane Austen novel.”

  “I don’t know,” Luke said, coming out onto the porch. “Can’t you see me dancing at a Regency ball?

  Maggie burst out laughing. “Well, why not?”

  Luke grinned. “I’d have to ditch the Texas accent, boots and hat.”

  “That would be mandatory, yes.”

  He sat at their table, helping himself to a slice of toast, cold by now. “I wonder what I’d look like in a waistcoat and one of those top hats the Regency guys wear.”

  “I think we should do a Jane Austen adaptation for modern Texas,” Ellen said with a smile.

  “That would be fun,” Maggie said, her mood visibly improving. “I should get moving. I want to give myself plenty of time to get to the airport. I don’t want to miss my flight.”

  “Ellen can go with you,” Luke said.

  Maggie shook her head. “There’s no point in her paying a fee to change her flight when I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.”

  “All right,” Luke said. “I’ll have Sam meet you in Austin.”

  “At the airport, you mean?”

  “Correct.”

  Maggie turned to her sister. “Is he always like this?”

  “Always,” Ellen said. “You can argue. It just won’t make any difference.”

  Luke shrugged. “Until someone lays eyes on Hugh Parker, that’s right, it won’t make any difference to argue. Ellen, I can pay your change fee—”

  “Thanks for your concern, Luke,” Maggie said, interrupting him. “I want to do this on my own. I don’t need my sister at my side. Nothing happened yesterday. I just don’t want to stay here by myself. I have the same amount of work to do that I had when I left Austin, and I need to get back home, regroup and come up with a new plan to revise my introduction. See? I’m fine.”

  “We need to be sure Hugh Parker isn’t stalking you to get back at Ellen.” Luke’s voice was calm and professional, but it was clear he wasn’t trying to persuade Maggie. He was informing her of what he was going to do. “Once you’re in Texas, Maggie, you’re back on my patch, as the Brits would say.”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it again and waved a hand. “You do what you have to do.”

  He gave her a small smile. “I’m glad I have your permission.”

  “I’ll think of Sam meeting me as a peace-of-mind precaution,” Maggie said. “Peace of your mind.”

  Luke said nothing. Maggie got up from the table and walked down to the dock.

  “That went well,” Ellen said, sighing at Luke.

  “I thought so.” He frowned at his toast. “Cold toast isn’t my favorite.”

  She wasn’t letting him change the subject that fast. “I’m surprised you don’t want to fly back with Maggie yourself. You’re not even checking to see if there’s a seat available on her flight.”

  “That’s right.”

  His tone was deliberately casual, Ellen thought. She watched him finish his toast—cold or not—as he watched Maggie stand at the end of the dock, looking out at the lake. She stayed for a few seconds, then about-faced and walked back toward the cabin.

  “You’re up to something, Luke,” Ellen said. “I can tell.”

  He shrugged. “The prosecutor at work.”

  More like the woman who knew him—who’d slept with him—guessing he had solid reasons for not taking Maggie to the airport and boarding her flight with her. Whatever he was up to, Ellen doubted he’d be touring Saratoga Springs or taking a scenic drive in the Adirondacks.

  Maggie mounted the steps to the deck. “I’ll pack. I never really unpacked, so it will only take a few minutes.”

  She went inside. Ellen understood her sister needed space. As originally planned, her cabin retreat would have given her space—to work on her dissertation, take a break from the pressures of her academic life and confront her past. She’d left the trauma of their experience in the Adirondacks too long untended. As she’d tried to explain last night, their ordeal—our incident, she’d called it—would jump out at her when she least expected it. She had come to realize she’d been avoiding known triggers, even when doing so caused problems for her career, her life.

  But Ellen knew her sister was strong enough to make the right decisions for herself.

  Maybe Maggie hadn’t been wrong to push aside the past for as long she had. Maybe her timing was right for her, and any sooner wouldn’t have worked.

  “Why did you book a later flight in the first place?” Luke asked.

  Ellen frowned. “Later?”

  “You’re leaving on Sunday. Why not go straight home?”

  “I arranged to meet friends from law school in Albany.”

  “New York’s capital. Bet there are a lot of lawyers there.”

  “There are lawyers everywhere,” Ellen said with a small laugh.

  “We do need lawyers. Are you going to stay a prosecutor?”

  His question caught her by surprise. “I never say never, but I don’t have any intention of doing anything else.”

  “A legalistic answer.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “You got all the Galway argumentative genes and Maggie got none.”

  “She doesn’t argue. She just puts her foot down and does what she does.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry she got scared yesterday.”

  “Yes, so am I, and you’re not done here. What are you looking for?”

  “Last night while you two were discussing old times, I was listening to a loon on the lake and acquiring a map of the lakeshore.”

  “You want to check out the other cabins and houses,” Ellen said. “Find out who our mystery man is.”

  “I’m a tourist. I have no jurisdiction in the state of New York. Neither do you.”

  As if she needed to be told. She looked out at the sparkling lake. “You really heard a loon last night?”

  “Had to be a loon.”

  “Is that a smart remark?”

  “Cute, Ellen,” he said. “I don’t know that much about loons, but what I heard wasn’t an owl.”

  “Loons have a distinctive call,” she said.

  “When you and Maggie were here—”

  “It was winter. We didn’t hear any loons.” Ellen pushed back her chair and stood up. “What are you going to do now?”

  �
��Make fresh toast while you see Maggie off.”

  Meaning he wasn’t telling her what he was doing with his map of the lakeshore. Ellen didn’t care. She wasn’t going anywhere. She’d get it out of him, but even if she didn’t, she could guess. He wanted to see if he could find Maggie’s man from yesterday.

  8

  After Maggie left, Luke filled a water bottle at the kitchen sink. “I figure we can share,” he said, nodding to the back door. “Let’s go.”

  They went in the opposite direction from yesterday, taking an offshoot of the narrow rock-pitted dirt road onto an even narrower rock-pitted dirt road. It wasn’t readily visible but it was on Luke’s map. One by one, Ellen knew, he would check the lakeside cabins and full-time residences. He’d told her he didn’t need her with him, but he wasn’t leaving her alone at Maggie’s borrowed cabin—and she wasn’t going back to Saratoga or on to Albany until she was satisfied he was on his way, too.

  It wasn’t just anyone stalking Maggie. It was Hugh Parker, and it was Ellen’s fault.

  She knew it in her gut.

  She stumbled twice on rocks in the road, but Luke caught her each time. He never said a word. He just did it. It was as if he understood her sense of independence, her need to get through this experience with that independence intact, but she was also aware that without his aid, she could have really been hurt.

  Of course, he hadn’t stumbled. Luke Jackson never stumbled, did he? That was why he was a Texas Ranger and a rising star in that elite law enforcement agency. But Ellen couldn’t find it in herself to resent him. All the barriers she’d put up against falling for him were crumbling.

  “Do you ever trip on your own shoelaces?” she asked him as they came to a cabin half the size of Maggie’s cabin.

  “My boots don’t have shoelaces.”

  “It’s a metaphor.”

  “I’m not much on metaphors. Just say what you mean.”

  “I mean—” Ellen stopped herself. What did she mean? “Never mind. I’m still upset about Maggie, and I know it’s my fault her retreat got ruined.”

  “She left because she wanted to leave not because she had to. She could have found a way to stay.”

  “Like what, get a big dog?”

  “Where there’s a will there’s a way.” He glanced at her, his eyes lost in the shadows under the rim of his hat. “That’s a saying not a metaphor, isn’t it?”

  Ellen didn’t rise to his bait. Where there’s a will there’s a way, he’d told her last week, after she’d insisted their relationship would never work no matter how much they enjoyed each other’s company. Kicking back together after a long day at work, having a couple of beers and a few laughs, watching a movie. Making love. All fun, but not enough for a lasting relationship.

  The cabin was shut up tight, shades pulled, no sign anyone had been there since it had been locked up for the winter. Luke stayed close to her when they resumed course down the narrow road.

  She touched his elbow. “Luke…”

  “I see it.”

  A tiny run-down cabin was perched on a hillside, surrounded by dense woods. It was more of a shack, really. It wasn’t typical of the other places on the lake. Ragged towels hung on a rough-hewn rail. They were wet, dripping onto the worn floorboards of a partially rotted landing. Proof someone was there, or had been recently.

  A dusty white cowboy hat sat on a small bench on the landing.

  Ellen took in a breath. “Luke…what are the odds? It feels like a taunt to me.”

  “Does to me, too.”

  “It’s him,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “It’s Hugh Parker. Sneaking around and spying on my sister—deliberately terrifying her—is how he operates. It’s how he thinks. He’s manipulative and clever, and he hates my guts.”

  “Revenge never makes sense to me. If you’re in the position to exact revenge, you’re usually in a position to walk away and get on with your life.”

  “It wasn’t enough for Hugh to skate past a prison sentence of his own. He wants to make those who suspected him and put his brother in prison suffer.”

  “You,” Luke said.

  She nodded, not arguing. “He doesn’t see his role or his brother’s role in the outcomes they experienced.”

  Luke put one foot on the bottom step, the sodden towels dripping next to him. “Good morning,” he called into the cabin, laying on his Texas drawl. “Anyone home?”

  There was no answer. Ellen noted that the main door to the tiny cabin was open. It was a beautiful morning, and with the thick woods all around it, the cabin would be cool inside and wouldn’t get much natural light. If she were staying there, she’d use any excuse to keep the door open.

  “I see you have a hat like mine,” Luke said, his voice conversational, friendly. “Fellow Texan?”

  Again no answer.

  Ellen noticed a simple brochure stuck in the screen door, as if it were a flyer for a local pizza place. But it wasn’t. She clutched Luke’s forearm. “That’s the brochure for Maggie’s talk.”

  She started to go up onto the landing, but he put an arm out in front of her, holding her back. “Leave it,” he said. “We have enough to get the locals up here.”

  “Where is Parker now? Luke, if he tries to intercept Maggie—”

  “He’ll run into a world of problems.”

  “You put someone on her?”

  “I did,” he said without apology.

  Ellen took in a sharp breath. “Good.”

  “If Parker tries to intercept Maggie in Austin, it won’t go well for him there, either,” Luke said.

  Her uncle would nail Hugh Parker if he tried anything. Ellen stared at the brochure. “He’s trying to lure us inside.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Why?” She paused, thinking. “He could have this place rigged to explode.”

  Luke glanced at her. “You do have a way of thinking, Ellen.”

  “We should go back to Maggie’s cabin and wait for the locals. It’s what you would want if you had a couple of New Yorkers on your turf.”

  “Damn straight.”

  Ellen heard a cry that sounded as if it came from behind the cabin. Then a moan.

  “Is someone there?” A man’s voice, plaintive, desperate. “Help…help me…please.”

  Luke turned to her. “Stay close.”

  ***

  Luke drew his gun as he and Ellen followed a narrow path along the side of the cabin. She had assumed he was armed and had notified local authorities of his presence in their jurisdiction, but she hadn’t asked.

  The backyard to the small cabin was no more than three yards deep, mostly dirt covered in pine needles, with tufts of weedy grass and dense evergreens growing close.

  A man was slumped in a plastic Adirondack chair next to a pile of cordwood and a splitter.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them,” Luke said. “My name’s Luke Jackson. I’m a Texas Ranger. What’s going on here?”

  The man winced, his shaking hands out in front of him. “Glad you’re here.” He cleared his throat, moaning. “Mind if I stand up?”

  “Just keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “Right. Got it.”

  He stood, unsteady on his feet. He had about three days’ growth of dark beard and wore a black baseball cap, a canvas jacket, jeans and sneakers.

  The man Maggie had spotted yesterday.

  Luke patted him down, and then stood back. Ellen noted he hadn’t yet holstered his weapon.

  “What’s your name, sir?” Luke asked the man.

  “Fred—Fred Jones. I own this place. I plan to build a new cabin. Probably tear this one down.” He seemed to struggle to stand straight. “I’m hurt.”

  “What happened?”

  “Sucker punched in the gut. I came here to cut wood I didn’t have time to get to in the fall. I saw a squatter had taken over the place. Son of a bitch jumped me, hit me and took off.”

  “Which direction?”

 
“I don’t know. I didn’t see. I didn’t do anything to provoke him, I swear. Once I realized someone was here, I figured I’d call the police. There’s not much cell coverage here.”

  “When did you get here?” Luke asked.

  “About thirty minutes ago.”

  “Where’s your vehicle?”

  “I parked up on the main road and walked in. You see what this road’s like.”

  “Let’s go out front,” Luke said. “We can wait together for the local police. You can tell your story to them.”

  The man nodded. “Happy to.”

  “Where do you live, Mr. Jones?”

  “Saratoga.”

  “It’s a long way from Texas,” Ellen said, speaking for the first time.

  He leveled his gaze on her. “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

  “Ma’am. I like that. You don’t hear that up here as much as you do at home. I lived in Boston for a time with my grandmother. I think I heard her called ma’am twice.”

  “Is that right? I guess I was raised different.”

  She felt blood rush to her face. It was anger, she knew. Dead-on certainty. “I guess you’re not from here, are you, Hugh Parker?”

  He gave her a blank look. “Who?”

  “Enough,” Luke said. “If Ellen says you’re Hugh Parker, you’re Hugh Parker. Let’s go.”

  Luke had obviously reached the same conclusion.

  “I’m calling my attorney.” Parker’s voice turned whiny. “I don’t trust you two. You’re in cahoots with the man who attacked me, aren’t you? How do I know you’re a real Texas Ranger?”

  Luke shook his head. “You’re not calling anyone right now. You can call after the locals get here.”

  “He’s stalling,” Ellen said. “He wants to keep us here. Why?”

  Parker charged for the woodpile. Luke got him on the ground, twisted his arm behind him and looked at Ellen. “Run. Take cover in the woods. Now.”

  Her heart jumped. “Not without you.”

  “Right behind you, babe.”

  Ellen did as he asked, her trust in him complete. She loved this man. The realization was simple, powerful and undeniable.

  He grabbed Parker, got him to his feet. “Move or die here. Your choice.”