“It’s not your aim to disable him at this point,” he reminded her again and again. “You just want to break his hold on you. The best way to do that is by inflictin’ sudden, unexpected, and intense pain. Nine times out of ten, a male attacker will momentarily let go of his victim if she hurts him badly enough, and her first thought is usually to flee.” At this point of the lecture, he bent his knees to get at her eye level. “That’s what he’ll be expectin’, for you to run. Unless you’re absolutely certain that you can outdistance him, that’s the wrong thing to do. He’s bigger, stronger, and faster. Once he recovers, he’ll go after you. You’ll be safest if you immediately press another attack while he’s still reelin’ from the first. That’s when all the work we’re doin’ now on punchin’ and kickin’ will serve you well. You’ll be strong, quick, and accurate with your aim. The son of a bitch won’t know what hit him.”
Rainie had come to love her time with the training bag. As if Parker sensed that, he often left her to practice her punching and kicking alone. For so long, she’d tried to block out all the horrible times with Peter, but now she deliberately made herself remember, bringing every detail of those abusive events center stage in her mind. That night when he’d gotten mad about the wine and knocked her off the chair, what should she have done? When the answer came to her, she re-created the scene in her head and kicked his ass. It felt so good. Correction—it felt awesome. Whether she could really do it in person didn’t matter. Imagining that she could do it was almost as good. And it encouraged her to push herself to the limit, punching and kicking with such force that the rafter sometimes creaked from the pendulous swing of the bag.
“We’ve got time on our side,” Parker continually reminded her. “I don’t think he knows where you are yet, and by the time he does, you’ll be well on your way to bein’ ready for him. Chances are you’ll never have to deal with him by yourself. I plan to do everything I can to make sure you don’t. But on the off chance he somehow catches you alone, you’re gonna clean his clock.”
Rainie often had the recurring dream about being lost in the mirror maze, and it had become her habit to huddle somewhere after she woke up until the terror receded. But one night when she awakened with her heart slamming and her body drenched with sweat, huddling up no longer did the trick. Without thinking, she got out of bed, threw on her clothes, and left the house, her destination the tack room. She needed her punching bag with an urgency that rivaled an addict’s need for heroin.
Once inside the arena, Rainie ran to the rear of the building. As she hurried down the hallway, bypassing the office, a voice inside her head whispered, What are you thinking, Rainie? This is nuts. But the need within her to face Peter still burned just as fiercely, and reasoning her way past it wasn’t an option.
She flipped on the tack room light and advanced on the bag, not even bothering to close the door behind her. Wham! Using the heel of her hand, she punched the imaginary Peter right in his laughing face. In her mind, hundreds of mirror panels surrounded her, only now she saw herself reflected in them.
“I’m not lost,” she cried as she kicked her make-believe tormentor in the groin and then in the knee. “Who’s laughing now, Peter? Do you like that, you vicious bastard? Huh?” She delivered another blow, putting all of her strength into it. “How does that feel? News flash! From this point forward, no more free punches.” Kick, kick, punch. “I’m fighting back. You’re bigger than me! And you’re stronger than me! Maybe I can’t win! But you’ll never walk away again without some wounds of your own. Got it, asshole? Never again.”
Out in the corridor, Parker settled his back against the plank wall and squeezed his eyes closed against a rush of blinding tears. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to get emotional, but this was one of those moments when he had no say-so. Rainie. He’d known for several days that the punching-bag therapy was becoming one of her favorite exercises, and he’d hoped that reenacting the violent events of her marriage might help her to reclaim her pride. But hearing her say, “I’m not lost,” drove home to him just how far she’d come in a very short time. He couldn’t help but feel partly responsible, and that was one of the best feelings he’d ever had in his life.
He had followed her from the house out of concern for her safety. He’d heard her get up and rush outside. As much as he trusted in the security system that guarded the ranch perimeter, he still worried that Danning might find some way to breach the electronic fields. The thought of Rainie running around out in the dark with no one to protect her had unnerved him.
Now that he knew she was safe inside the arena, he needed to leave, but knowing that and doing it were two different things. News flash! . . . Never again! It was so good to hear that throbbing rage in her voice, with the force of her blows to the bag underscoring her fury. Go, sweetheart, he thought with a sad smile. Beat him to a bloody pulp. Settle the score once and for all.
Late one afternoon, sixteen days after Rainie called Loni and told her she wanted to contact the police, Parker came into the office with a solemn expression on his dark face. After closing the door, he leaned his back against the wood and nudged up the brim of his Stetson to meet Rainie’s questioning gaze.
“The attorney just called Loni,” he said. “Two FBI agents are flyin’ in tonight. They’d like to meet with you tomorrow mornin’ here at the ranch.”
Rainie drew her hands from the computer keyboard and slumped back in her chair. She’d known from the first that this moment would come, but she still felt frightened. “What if they’re coming to arrest me?”
“They aren’t. The attorney would have warned Loni if that were the case.” He hooked his thumbs over his hand-tooled leather belt. “He says they only want to hear your side of the story.”
“So they can punch holes in it?”
“They can’t punch holes in the truth.” He sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to be with you and your lawyer when you talk to them.”
Rainie didn’t mind at all. In fact, she was relieved to have him offer. She pushed up from the desk and made her way toward him, wobbling just a little with each step. When she reached him, he seemed to know what she needed and enfolded her in his arms. “It’s gonna be okay, Rainie mine. If it suddenly turns against you, we’ll run.”
“Where?”
“To the mountains.”
“The mountains?”
“I can’t promise you the Ritz in a wilderness area, but I can promise to take care of you. There’s no way I’ll let them put you in jail. It’s not gonna happen, so don’t even go there.”
She curled her arms around his neck and clung to him. “Oh, Parker, where were you my last year of college, before I met Peter, when I most needed to meet you?”
“Waitin’ for you,” he whispered.
It was all that Rainie needed to hear, but as always, silence wasn’t one of Parker’s strong points.
“If I’d known you were out there,” he whispered, “I would have come to find you, I swear. And I would have made all of it happen differently.”
“How?” she asked with a dreamy smile, burying her nose against his shirt and making herself dizzy with the scent of him, a delightful blend of clean cotton, male musk, after-shave, leather, and horses.
“For starters, I would have headed you off at the pass, and you never would’ve taken that job at Barrestol.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. “And then?”
He feathered his lips over her temple. “And then I would have dazzled you, makin’ you fall head over heels in love with me. If Peter Danning had come sniffin’ around, you wouldn’t have known he was alive. He would’ve had to find himself another heiress.”
Rainie tightened her arms around his neck. “And then?”
“Then I would have gathered you up in my arms, mounted my horse, and ridden off with you into the sunset.”
She giggled. The fear had moved away from her. That was part of Parker’s magic, she supp
osed: his ability to push everything but thoughts of him from her mind.
“I’m scared.”
“I know. Just remember that you aren’t alone anymore, Rainie mine. You’ve got me, and my dad, and all my brothers, not to mention Dee Dee, Loni, and Sam. It’ll be okay.”
Chapter Fourteen
The meeting with the FBI agents took place in Parker’s kitchen, with Rainie and her attorney, Raymond Quinn, facing the law enforcement officials across the oak table. While the two agents took Rainie’s statement, Parker had been asked to leave the room, so instead of remaining beside her, as they’d both hoped, he had gone to his in-home office to place some orders for hay and grain. She missed having him with her. His solid strength and the hard press of his arm against hers had helped to calm her.
Hands clasped in her lap, Rainie was vaguely aware that she was clenching her fingers so hard that her nails lacerated her skin. But she couldn’t stop herself. What transpired during this conversation would determine the outcome of her future, and in her mind’s eye, she couldn’t help but envision a jail cell.
It didn’t ease her mind any that her male interrogator bore the title of Special Agent Slaughter. She wanted to ask if he had ever considered getting his surname changed to something less intimidating. A trim, middle-aged man with a thick head of gray hair and kindly blue eyes, he had a businesslike air, but despite his dark suit, pressed white shirt, and tasteful tie, Rainie could easily envision him in casual attire, grinning broadly as he bounced a grandchild on his knee.
His partner, Special Agent Simpson, a slender, brown-eyed blonde, met Rainie’s gaze and smiled. “Before we get started, both Special Agent Slaughter and I want you to know that we believe your story, Mrs. Danning.”
Rainie appreciated the comforting words and nodded, wishing she could relax. “I, um, don’t go by Danning anymore. Would you mind using my maiden name, Hall?”
Simpson jotted a notation of that in her tablet. Then she took a sip of the coffee Parker had served and glanced at the older agent before looking back at Rainie. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll get the conversation started.”
“That will be fine.” Rainie just wanted this to be over.
“To begin,” Simpson said softly, “let me ease your mind by saying that Loni Harrigan has proven herself to be a credible source of information time and again. From the start, we at the FBI were inclined to believe everything she told us about you and your extraordinary predicament. Since then, we’ve investigated your claims, and everything we’ve discovered tells us that you must be telling the truth. The story makes no sense otherwise.
“For one, why would anyone go to such incredible lengths to escape a marriage unless she was afraid for her life? Getting a divorce is a pretty simple process nowadays and isn’t that expensive. Faking one’s own death to get out of a marriage would be a lot of trouble, and quite melodramatic if a simple trip to a lawyer would accomplish the same thing.”
“I couldn’t go that route,” Rainie inserted. “Peter would have come after me. My only safe choice was to vanish.”
Simpson nodded. “We were also able to follow the money trail, and it’s inarguable that Danning did take your inheritance money and invest it under his name. Third, we have reason to suspect that you may have had help to get away from him. Those involved put themselves at grave legal risk, which tells us that they must have believed your life was in danger. Otherwise they wouldn’t have intervened as they did and broken the law in the process.”
Rainie’s heart caught. “Are my friends in trouble?”
Special Agent Slaughter leveled a solemn, thoughtful look at Rainie. “It is our aim at the FBI to go after felonious criminals, not Good Samaritans. Though your friends may or may not have committed felonies, our supervisors have decided that their actions were committed with good intent, so they’re choosing not to investigate that angle of this particular case.”
“So you’re turning a blind eye?” Raymond Quinn asked.
Simpson’s cheek dimpled in a suppressed smile. “Never that, Mr. Quinn. No self-respecting FBI agent would ever ignore the commission of a felony. We do, however, pick and choose our battles, our aim always being to make this country a safer place for U.S. citizens. We aren’t into wasting our time or the taxpayers’ dollars on frivolous investigations that may end up being tossed out of court. In this instance, we would anticipate judicial sympathy for Ms. Hall’s friends. The three individuals in question didn’t set out to harm society, only to save her life.”
The lawyer flashed Rainie a quick smile. The tension that had gripped Rainie’s body since the beginning of this interview suddenly eased from her muscles like water sluicing from a sieve. She bent her head and closed her eyes in silent gratitude.
“Moving on.” Simpson leafed through the tablet. “Our first order of business will be to get your statement.” She glanced up, her eyes softening with compassion. “I’ll apologize in advance for the nature of some of our questions and also for the fact that this process will probably be very difficult for you. Unfortunately, even though we believe everything Loni Harrigan told us, we have to get the story straight from you as well.”
“I understand.” Rainie sat straighter on the chair. “I’ll answer your questions as honestly as I can.”
To start, Rainie had to tell the agents how she first met Peter Danning, and then she was asked to describe her relationship with Peter—their courtship, their marriage, and the events that led up to her disappearance. While Rainie talked, both agents took copious notes and often interrupted to ask questions. As Special Agent Simpson had predicted, the process was long and emotionally grueling for Rainie. By the time it was over, she felt drained and absolutely exhausted.
When Parker was invited back into the kitchen, he took a seat next to Rainie and reached under the table to clasp her hand. I’m here, he seemed to be saying. I’ll always be here. She clung to his fingers, comforted by the contact.
Simpson said, “Now that we’ve gotten your statement, we need to update you on where we are with this case. Ever since Loni Harrigan contacted us, we’ve had Danning under a magnifying glass, trying to verify everything she told us.” She glanced at Rainie. “In short, Ms. Hall, there isn’t a question in our minds that he’s the villain. We’ve done our home-work and proven to our satisfaction that Danning’s first two wives did indeed die mysteriously and that he walked away with huge sums of money after their deaths. We believe Peter Danning murdered them, and it is our hope that we’ll be able to nail him. In order to do that, we need to build a bulletproof case against him.”
“You don’t have enough evidence to do that right now?” Quinn asked.
Slaughter shook his head as he returned his mug of coffee to the table. “Unfortunately, no. The man is clever, and he’s cunning. When he murdered the first two women, he covered his ass nine ways to hell.” He flicked a look at Rainie. “Pardon my language, Ms. Hall, but the last two weeks have been very frustrating for us, to say the least. We believe that your husband is a conscienceless killer who has struck more than once. He would have ended your life as well if you hadn’t gotten away from him. But we have no solid evidence to file any charges against him.”
Rainie released a taut breath. “I was afraid of that. He poisoned his first wife, but somehow no traces of poison showed up during the autopsy.”
“And he had the remains cremated immediately,” Simpson inserted. “As a result, we have no body to exhume, and because the coroner believed the young woman died of natural causes, he kept no autopsy samples. We’ve talked with him at length, and he noted nothing suspicious when he examined the body. Her medical records indicate that she died from a lingering illness that baffled several specialists. They couldn’t determine what was wrong with her, but none of them suspected foul play.”
“Poison that couldn’t be detected unless they were looking for it,” Rainie whispered. “Or something that left the system quickly, leaving no chemical trace.”
Simpson nodded. “We believe so, yes. Some lethal substances are difficult if not impossible to detect, and we think Danning used one of them. But we can’t prove it.”
“The second murder was executed just as cleverly,” Slaughter added. “The young woman was driving on a curvy road in rainy, slick-surface conditions and plunged the car off a steep embankment. The police didn’t suspect foul play.” He gestured limply with one hand. “Going on what Loni related to us about Danning’s hiring a thug to tamper with the vehicle’s brakes, we got a warrant to examine Danning’s bank transactions, dating back well before the car accident. We found evidence of the payoff, a check for ten thousand made out to a man named Charles White. Mr. White had a record. He’d once been investigated in a murder-for-hire case but was never charged because there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him. We feel certain that Danning hired White to tamper with Clarissa Danning’s vehicle.”
Hearing Peter’s second wife mentioned by name made her seem more real to Rainie, not just some faceless woman who’d met with a tragic end, but a person who’d loved unwisely, just as Rainie had, and then found herself trapped in a deadly web.
“Have you talked to White?” Quinn asked.
“Mr. White died shortly after the car accident that killed Clarissa Danning,” Simpson replied. “He fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck.”
“That’s convenient.” Parker’s voice grated like a dull knife over the rough surface of a whetstone. “Danning saw him as a loose end and got rid of him.”
“We believe so, yes,” Slaughter agreed. “We just can’t prove it. In order to put Peter Danning away and stop him from victimizing anyone else, we have to gather irrefutable evidence against him, and so far, we have none.”
“So Rainie is sunk.” Parker didn’t phrase it as a question. “You haven’t come right out and said it, but you can’t help her.”
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