by Beverly Long
But before she could open her mouth, he asked, “Do you think you’re up to going through it one more time?”
“Why?”
“Humor me,” he said. “I’m going to find that other driver and make sure he understands what happened here.”
Yeah, well, that might not be such a good idea. “Uh...Chase, the accident didn’t happen exactly like I told Gary Blake.”
Chapter Nine
There was a short pause, a very short one, before Chase said, “Okay.”
He was probably a very good detective. She knew that she’d surprised him but he was controlling his response.
“How about we start at the beginning?” he said.
She stared at her hands, her fingers. It was funny how these things worked. While it had probably lasted less than a few seconds, she had a very vivid memory of seeing her hands wrapped tight around the steering wheel, her fingers tensed, as she saw the right front fender of the other vehicle veer toward her. “I probably should have been more forthcoming when I asked to borrow your vehicle. I do have a driver’s license and I do drive, it’s just that I don’t very often. I don’t even own a car. And so while I’m telling you this, I want you to keep that in the back of your mind. It’s possible that I overreacted, that I made a mistake because I’m an inexperienced driver driving in an area that I’m not familiar with.”
“Duly noted,” he said. “Keep going.”
She swallowed hard. “When I left here, I went to the hardware store,” she said. “Damn.” She looked up. “Your nails are in a sack in the backseat.”
He held up a hand. “We’ll worry about that later. Go on.”
“It was hot and I was thirsty. And, while it may sound silly and sort of self-centered, I wasn’t ready to come back yet. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to do what I wanted. After I was moved to the safe house in Miami, my movements were very controlled. I could no longer go to events, or take long walks, or do any of the things that I wanted to do. So today it just felt good to be out on my own, without somebody watching my every move.”
“Not self-centered,” he said. “Not one bit.”
“Anyway, I decided to go to the café to get an iced tea. Summer was working.” She did not mention seeing the bruise on the woman’s back. First things first. “While I was there, Sheila Stanton came in.”
“Did the two of you talk?”
“She asked some questions, wanted to know how we met. I told her through mutual friends. It was a short conversation. Uncomfortable for me. I don’t know how she felt. She’s hard to read.”
“Then what happened?”
“I left the café. I was coming back to the house. I saw the car behind me. I had my sunglasses on but I’m sure it was black or dark blue, maybe a very dark gray. It was coming up fast behind me and that did make me nervous. I slowed down a little, hoping that it would pass me. And when it did, it swerved toward me. I know I told Gary Blake that it got too close and I overreacted but that’s only partially true. It’s possible that the vehicle was deliberately trying to push me off the road.”
She saw a quick change in his eyes before he shut it down. He’d gone into cop mode. “Tell me about the driver,” he said, his voice still calm.
It made her feel sick to relive those few seconds. She held up one hand and put the other on her stomach. “You might want to keep your distance. The tea and pie I had at Wright Here, Wright Now may be making a return appearance.”
Instead of stepping back, he moved forward and sat next to her on the couch. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Take your time,” he said.
She swallowed hard. “I told Gary Blake the truth about that. The hood was loose around his face, making it hard to see.” She ran her hand through her short hair. “There is something that is nagging at me. Making me think that I missed something.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t explain any better than that. In the blink of an eye, I was taking in all these things. The driver turning the steering wheel. The front fender getting close. My tires losing traction. Too much stimuli. I’m worried that I may not have processed it right.”
“You did fine. You’re doing fine,” he added.
She shook her head. “I should have let him hit me. That would have at least slowed him down. Maybe his vehicle would have been tangled up with mine.”
“And you might have been hurt badly,” he said. “You did the right thing. You tried to avoid the danger. If it was deliberate, I suspect he picked that spot carefully, because that’s where the road is narrow and the drop-off steep.”
She’d been thinking the same thing while she’d sat alongside the road, waiting for the Ravesville police to show up. But to hear him say it, to know that the action may have been so cold-blooded, made her blood turn to ice.
“Why didn’t you tell Gary Blake the truth?”
She looked him in the eye. “When I first met Harry Malone, there was something about him that made me uneasy. I couldn’t put my finger on it. He was pleasant, good with the clients and the rest of the staff at Next Steps thought he was wonderful. So I discounted my concerns. And look where that got me.”
He didn’t say anything but she could tell he was listening intently.
“In the dark, alone, a person has a lot of time to think. To make bargains. Promises. One of mine was to trust my instincts more. And my instincts tell me that Gary Blake isn’t a good guy. I thought if I told him the truth, then our whole story might unravel and I didn’t want to take that chance.”
He smiled. “You’ve made me feel better.”
“Why?”
“Because if you were thinking that clearly, I don’t think that bump on your head can be all that bad. I’m going to give up trying to convince you to seek medical treatment.”
She pulled away. “That’s it? That’s all you can say?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. But you need to know that I think you made the right decision. Blake may not be a dirty cop but he’s a lazy one, and that’s enough for me not to trust him, either.”
“Do you think it’s the people who tried to kill me before?” she asked, proud that she was keeping her voice mostly steady. “Have they found me?”
He tightened his strong arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “If it was, I’m surprised that the driver didn’t stick around to make sure he’d gotten the job done. But maybe others stopped so quickly that he got scared and got the hell out of there. But none of that matters because he isn’t going to get another chance. I can guarantee you that.”
“But if it is, then somebody knows that Raney Hollister is the old Lorraine Taylor. They can find out where we live. Come here.”
“And if they do, I will handle it,” he said calmly. “I will not let anyone hurt you. You have to believe me.”
She suddenly felt very warm and she was very aware that they were alone in the house, unlikely to have any visitors anytime soon.
He was so close, his arm still wrapped around her shoulder. She turned her face. His lips were right there.
She should look away, get up, do something. But she stayed perfectly still. Waiting.
It was so still that she could hear the ticking of the kitchen clock, a whole room away. He took a breath. A deep one, making his broad chest expand.
“Chase,” she said.
He let the breath out and carefully pulled his arm away. Her shoulder felt bare. Cold.
He got up. “Try to get a little rest. I won’t let you sleep for long,” he said. “Just as a precaution against a concussion.”
Dr. Chase Hollister reporting for duty. “Chase,” she said again.
He shook his head sharply. “I’ll be outside.”
* * *
CHASE DIDN’T HAVE any damn nails to hammer so he cranked up the chain saw and started attacking some trees. The wind had picked up and branches were whipping around, making the effort even more of a challenge.
He held the chain saw above his head, slicing and dicing the unsuspecting limbs, and moving fast when they tumbled to the ground.
He was in trouble. He was getting sucked in by the unique combination that was all Raney. Trust and innocence along with a bold invitation to play.
When he’d talked to Dawson on the telephone about getting another vehicle, his partner had asked him how the assignment was going. Fine. That was what he’d said. He certainly couldn’t tell his partner that he was a punch away from going down for the count.
He wanted her. In his bed. Under him, on top, hell, it didn’t matter. As long as it happened. Lust was a dangerous thing. It had started small, probably about the time he’d seen her standing in the wedding dress, her sexy blond hair tousled from struggling with the gown, her breasts almost spilling out over the strapless top. It had spiked when he’d opened the door that first morning and seen her sprawled across the bed, her shorts short and her top riding up.
He’d managed to claw it back, to keep it at bay, until he’d seen Keith getting cozy with her at the dining room table. And now, after coming this close to losing her, his control was frayed.
She was injured. That should have been enough to cool his jets. But it didn’t. Which was a big problem for her. If she was right, and it had been deliberate, then he needed to keep his head in the game and other parts checked at the door.
He kicked at some of the downed limbs. They might make some decent firewood. He started trimming the smaller branches off, then cutting the bigger limbs into manageable chunks. All the time his mind was racing.
A dark SUV.
Maybe Raney’s inexperience had caught up with her and she’d overreacted. But that did not explain why the driver didn’t stop. Unless he was uninsured or running from the law and didn’t want to get involved in a police investigation. There were a thousand reasons why people chose not to get involved.
Whiz kid Keith’s car had been black, too. Although not an SUV. Anyway, Raney was helping him. There was no reason for him to want to hurt her. Was there?
Was it even possible that it was one of Harry Malone’s paid goons? If Malone was behind it, his people weren’t going to get a second chance. He intended to stick to Raney like glue. He was going to put his libido on ice and she was never going to know that she had him in knots.
After Raney’s confession, he’d sent Dawson a text. He wanted more firepower in the house, in more rooms, so that they couldn’t ever be caught off guard.
He looked off to the west. The sky was still clear but the wind was picking up, blowing strong enough to toss the small branches around the yard. He picked up what he could and piled them around the corner of the porch, out of the breeze. His newly cut firewood went into a separate pile, closer to the house.
He wondered if Raney enjoyed a fire on a cold winter day. He had a gas fireplace in his apartment in St. Louis. His sterile little space had always suited him. Up until now.
He’d escaped from this house once. Why the hell was he letting it pull him back?
He threw more wood onto the pile. The house would be sold by winter. Another family would enjoy the fruits of his labor.
He put the chain saw away and locked the garage. When he returned to the house, it was quiet. No radio playing. No clatter of Raney’s keyboard. He looked around downstairs.
Then he quietly walked upstairs. Knocked on her door. Waited. When she didn’t answer, he didn’t hesitate to turn the knob.
She was sleeping. This time on her back. Still sideways—head at ten, toes at four. One arm thrown above her head, the other close to her side. She was still wearing the clothes that she’d had on earlier.
She was beautiful. Even with a nasty bump on her forehead.
He knocked on the wall. She didn’t move. Concerned, he approached the bed.
“Raney,” he said softly.
No response.
“Raney.” Loud this time.
She blinked, once, twice, then opened her eyes wide. She smiled at him. “You do not have to yell. I bumped my head, not my ears.”
He wanted to laugh. “I knocked. You didn’t wake up. I was worried.”
“You told me to rest.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”
“I have a little headache. I suppose that’s to be expected. My ribs that were already sore took a beating from the seat belt. But I was used to babying them so it will just be more of the same. I suspect I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
“Do you want something to eat?”
She considered. “No, I don’t think so.”
She should eat. “I know how to heat up a mean cup of soup.”
She smiled. “I suspect you do. But that can’t be what you were expecting when you signed up for guard duty. You probably figured the witness could at least feed herself.”
He’d expected to be bored out of his mind. Antsy to get back to the city. Irritated that Lorraine Taylor was keeping him in Ravesville. “I expected to make sure you stayed safe,” he said. “Right now, I think that includes fixing dinner.”
“Maybe just some tea and toast. I’ll come down and get it.”
He held up a hand. “Please. If I don’t get to turn on the stove, at least let me bring it to you.”
She nodded and he stood up. He thought about trying to convince her to eat more. But he knew that she was a grown woman—she could make decisions about what she wanted. If she got hungry in the middle of the night, she could get a snack.
He went down to the kitchen, heated the water and toasted the bread. Then he carried them upstairs. She was sitting up in bed.
He handed her the small plate with the two pieces of toast. He put the tea on the table next to the bed. He was more grateful than ever that Brick had purchased a mattress and box spring in anticipation of Lloyd’s return home. Raney’s bed was really coming in handy now.
“What are your plans for the night?” she asked, taking small bites.
“I’m going to tape up some of the rooms. I want to get them ready to paint.” Maybe he’d even work up the courage to go into Brick’s bedroom. He’d take a big garbage sack and just start pitching. While he didn’t feel the man in the rest of the house, he suspected that would change when he entered the bedroom.
“I’ll be ready to help by tomorrow. For sure,” she added.
Just having her in the house helped. But he couldn’t admit that. “You better be,” he said, winking at her. “There’s woodwork that needs stripping.”
* * *
HE’D PUT BUTTER and peanut butter on her toast, just the way she liked it. Which meant that he’d been watching how she fixed her breakfast.
What the hell did that mean?
More than she could contemplate with a nagging headache. She ate toast and drank half of her tea. Then she pushed herself out of bed, took off her clothes and put on her pajamas. A trip across the hall accomplished all other necessary tasks, including brushing her teeth and washing her face.
On the way back to her bed, she opened her window. The room was warm, warmer than it had been the night before. The wind that rushed in was not significantly cooler, but she left the window open anyway. It would likely cool off later.
She crawled back into bed, tossing her new sheets to the end of it. It was not yet seven o’clock and she was settling in for the night. Like an old lady. All she needed was a cat and a cane.
You rolled off a road today, she reminded herself. You’re entitled to a little TLC.
It had been the same way when she’d escaped from Harry Malone. She’d craved sleep but the police had been insistent upon talking to her. She could still remember sitting in cold rooms, with brown laminate tables and hard chairs. There were times when she’d simply laid her head down on the table and closed her eyes.
Cup of coffee, Ms. Taylor? Perhaps a sandwich? They’d pretended to be concerned about her needs and her welfare, but what they’d really wanted was her testimony. By the time they’d finished with he
r, she’d been just about finished, one nerve short of a full-blown meltdown.
She’d gone home and slept for three days.
Tonight, she thought another eight hours would take care of things nicely. Gary Blake certainly hadn’t been interested in having a prolonged conversation with her. By the way he’d been looking at his watch, she’d gotten the impression that he had a pressing engagement and didn’t want to be late.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, Chase had been wonderful. Since the moment he’d arrived at the scene, he’d been quietly capable. She’d felt bad about his SUV but she could tell that he truly wasn’t concerned about the vehicle.
Tomorrow she’d hit the ground running. She closed her eyes.
And didn’t open them again until she heard something hit the house. She sprang up in bed, her back hitting the plaster wall. The wind was howling and lightning was splitting the sky.
Heart racing, she reached for the lamp. She caught the shade with the back of her hand and barely managed to keep it upright. She felt for the switch, flipped it, and nothing happened. She flipped it again and again.
Something hit the house again and she saw movement in the corner. She screamed, wrapped her hand around the base of the lamp, jerked hard, felt the cord pull from the wall and cocked her arm.
She would fight until her very last breath.
Chapter Ten
Chase woke up to a woman’s screams. He grabbed his gun and was off the couch and halfway up the stairs before he realized that the light in the kitchen that he’d left on was now off. He wasn’t surprised. It was storming and the damn electricity was always going out.
He charged ahead, listening for another scream. He had only heard one.
He turned the knob of Raney’s room, pushed the door open with his foot and swung through the doorway. The room was absolutely dark. He couldn’t see a damn thing.
He heard the roll of thunder. Counted. Got to two before a spear of lightning brightened the sky. Long enough for him to see Raney on the corner of the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, holding the old lamp in her hand, as if she was going for the shot-put record. Her eyes were huge.