Storm's Interlude

by Vonnie Davis

  Bitch Rachel hissed, “Tell him your freckles are none of his damned business.”

  He ran his tongue around her ear and drew her earlobe into his mouth and gently bit it. Her breathing hitched. “Or maybe I should forget the way your breathing gets all funny when I do that. Should I, love?” Damn him. He knew her weak spots.

  “Tell me,” he whispered, as his teeth grazed her neck, “should I forget the way my blood stirs when I do this and you groan? Her nipples peaked.

  He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Should I forget the way your eyes go soft when I kiss you here?” He kissed a gentle trail of kisses from her wrist to the inside of her elbow. “Or forget the softness of your skin here and here? Tell, me love, what shall I forget?”

  His eyes were dark when he looked at her again, dark and sensually dangerous. She was a goner. His hands slid inside her tank top and yanked it off. She covered the cups of her bra with her hands. He shoved them aside and unfastened the front clasp of her red lacy bra. “Should I forget the way your breasts fill my hands?” He plucked her nipples with his fingertips, and she was lost. “Or should I forget how responsive you are to my touch? Tell me, love, what shall I forget?”

  He bent his head and suckled on her nipple. Her hands fisted in his hair, and she whimpered. He withdrew for a moment and reached over his shoulder with one hand to tug his shirt over his head while it was still buttoned and threw it across the room. He banded a strong arm around her waist and fisted a hand in her curls, jerking her head back and grazing his teeth and tongue up the slender column of her neck before touching her lips. “Tell me, love, should I forget the way you taste?”

  He kissed her slowly, taking his sweet time nipping at her lips, his tongue delving in the moistness of her mouth, destroying her final line of resistance.

  “I’m telling you, Rachel,” he groaned in desperation, “I’ll never forget you.” With that, he pressed her against his erection and kissed her with fierceness, reclaiming her completely. Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her off the floor and walked over to his desk. He kept one arm banded around her, holding her to him as his tongue dueled with hers. With his other arm, he made a wide sweeping motion, knocking everything off his giant oak desk.

  He laid her upon the desk and unzipped her shorts, sliding them off. When he saw she was wearing the red thong he’d held at the motel, his control seemed to snap. He tore it from her and unzipped his jeans, releasing his heavy erection. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he dove into her, muttering in Comanche while he pushed them both to a mind-numbing, unbelievable climax.

  Jagged, rasping breaths filled the office. She held him to her, wondering if this would be the last time they’d make love. The problem still existed—Pilar. Emotions conflicted, how could she stay with a man who valued another woman’s feelings more than hers? Yet, how could she leave a man she loved so desperately?

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I don’t like it when you’re quiet.” Storm was putting his shirt back on. “Makes me wonder what that beautiful mind of yours is thinking. Here’s your tank top. Though it’s a shame to cover that pretty red bra.” His dimples winked, and her heart melted a tad. She loved his smile, the way the hard planes of his face softened with it.

  She tugged her tank top over her head and then ran fingers through her curls, trying to restore some order. “It’ll take me a while to get used to this shorter hair.”

  He tucked his shirttails into his jeans. “Looks good on you. Come here, love.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “I have something for you.”

  “Again? So soon?”

  He chuckled and gently bit her earlobe. “Minx. My stubble rubbed you a little raw here. Sorry. I hate leaving marks on your beautiful skin.” He unsnapped a chest pocket on his chambray shirt and pulled out a thin jeweler’s box. “I got this for you while you were getting your hair cut.” He shyly handed it to her.

  His giving her little gifts was always a tender surprise. He placed his hands at her waist and slid them around to the small of her back, drawing her closer. “Open it.”

  She snapped open the lid to find a silver charm bracelet. She fingered the charms: a map of Texas, the word “Dream,” a cowboy hat, a pair of boots, a mouse, a horse, and the words “I love you.” Charms that meant something to both of them. He lifted the chain from its blue satin nest and held it up. “Give me your wrist.”

  She extended her hand. “Thank you. I love it.” It was such a sweet gesture. She was touched beyond words.

  “Promise you won’t take it off until I put a wedding band on your finger. Promise me.”

  A wedding ring? Was this a proposal? She glanced at the bracelet, turning her wrist. “Are you proposing, cowboy?”

  “Not yet. I’m trying to get you accustomed to the idea of being with me forever.” He ran fingertips down her cheek. “I can promise you a proposal is coming. Will you keep my bracelet on and stay with me?”

  Marriage. He loved her and wanted to marry her. “Is this really happening? Are you being honest with me about Pilar?”

  “Don’t you trust me?” His dark eyes pierced hers. Did she trust him?

  She rested a hand on his cheek. “You have to know that after Kyle, trusting a man’s not easy for me to do. I will say I want to trust you.” She shrugged. To say anything more wouldn’t be completely honest. “Guess I’m not completely convinced you’re through with Pilar.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her gently. “In time, you’ll believe. I was expecting you to ask about the ‘Dream’ charm.”

  “It did strike me as a little whimsical for you, but then I remembered what you told me about your having vision dreams like your father did.”

  “I dreamed about you before I met you.”

  She leaned back in his arms and looked into his dark eyes. “You did?”

  “I dreamed of your blue eyes and the sound of your laughter for three nights before I met you out on Longhorn Road. I think I knew in my heart, the moment I laid eyes on you, we were fated to be together.”

  “That’s why you made that remark about my eyes that night. I thought there was something wrong with them.”

  He placed both hands on her bottom and squeezed. “Rachel Dennison, there’s not a single thing wrong with you. You’re perfect.” They walked out of his office arm-in-arm.

  “I’d better go talk to Jackson, find out what all’s been going on. Why don’t you lie down until dinner? Rest for later tonight.” He winked and kissed her palm.

  Rachel stuck her tongue out at him before dashing up the steps to the sound of his laughter. Storm’s boots echoed off the wooden floor as he strode down the hallway toward the den.

  A bath. She needed a long, hot bath to help unwind and put her thoughts into some form of order. For just a few minutes, she wanted privacy.

  She entered her bedroom and turned on her CD player. Smiling, she slipped in the disc Storm had burned for her; he could be so sweet at times. Then she went into her private bath and turned on the faucets. She poured in a generous amount of lavender bubble bath. To further relax, she lit a lavender scented candle. At her dresser, she removed a black bra and matching sheer panties from a drawer.

  When Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding out for a Hero” floated from her stereo speakers, she turned up the volume to enjoy the effects of the drums in the song. Pretending she was pounding the drums with imaginary drumsticks, she turned to open the closet door to choose something to wear to dinner —and gasped a silent scream.

  Kyle stood before her.

  Silent.

  Ominous.

  Menacing.

  Her mind tried to accept what her eyes saw—and couldn’t. She wanted to scream, but fear, cruel and strong, jumped up and grabbed her by the throat, squeezing and blocking air to her lungs. A squeak escaped, but before it morphed into a scream, Kyle had one hand over her mouth and the other around her windpipe. She hit, scratched and kicked, but all were futile attempts,
for he easily overpowered her. “Surprised to see me, bitch?” he hissed in her ear. “Didn’t I tell you I’d come for you?”

  In the midst of their struggles, they fell to the floor. She rolled over in an attempt to escape. “Storm!” Damn those drums! No one could hear her over them. Kyle grabbed her ankle and twisted it. Pain ripped up her leg like a buzz saw. He was going to dislocate her knee. She rolled over, easing the pain. He struck her face. Another scream escaped seconds before he covered her mouth again. He punched her stomach, momentarily knocking the air from her.

  With one hand over her mouth and his other clamped around her arm, he yanked her from the floor and tossed her onto the bed, where he held her down with brute force. She tried to break free, but his hold was too strong. Could anyone hear their grappling over Bonnie Tyler singing and all those pounding drums? If only she hadn’t turned up the volume.

  She struggled to escape, battled to live. He straddled her, his eyes full of maniacal rage. She pushed and hit. “You’ve become a fighter, I see. I wasn’t expecting that. I’ll show you what happens when a woman fights back.” He circled his iron-like fingers around her throat and slowly began to choke her. Then he reached into his back pocket for a roll of electrical tape, bit off a strip and pressed it to her mouth. She’d seen this expression of madness before and knew what was coming.

  How would anyone hear the beating she was about to receive over the volume of the music? Why hadn’t she played Brahms or Mozart? His hold over her windpipe tightened. He punched her in the eye, and she saw a shooting shower of stars. His second blow landed on her jaw. Her lip split. Blood trickled down her chin. Through his beating, her mind raced, trying to come to grips with the shock of finding him in her closet. How had he gotten inside the ranch house? Didn’t anyone search her room?

  He leaned toward her and hissed, “I’m going to kill you.” He sniffed. “You smell of sex, slut. Were you screwing the cowboy? Didn’t I tell you you’d always belong to me? I’ll kill you for letting another man have you.”

  His hand tightened on her trachea. Her vision narrowed. He was strangling her. Fear numbed her mind—or was it loss of oxygen? He fingered a piece of rope pulled from his pocket, rolled her over and yanked her arms behind her back to tie her wrists together. Now his hands were off her throat, she breathed in air. Air, blessed air. If she could open her mouth, she’d gulp it like a starving person.

  That’s when he noticed the charm bracelet. “Well, well, what do we have here?”

  She could feel him finger the charms. His breathing became more rapid with anger. “Your new boyfriend give you this?”

  He grabbed her hair and snapped her head back. “Answer me!”

  Tears ran down her face, and she nodded.

  “What’s with the haircut? Didn’t I forbid you to cut your hair?” He jerked her head to punctuate each word. “No one defies me!”

  She would die. She’d never see Storm again. Never have a marriage to him. Never bear his children. Never grow old with him. Today was her last day of life. Death had come in camouflage clothes, with a ruthless heart and a sick mind.

  Kyle slipped a Bowie knife from the leather scabbard on his belt. He pierced her wrist when he slid the knife under the sterling chain. “So, tell me, Rachel, which edge do I have against the chain? The blade? Or is the blade against your skin? Chain…skin…chain…skin. Will I cut you, or not?”

  The cold, razor-sharp steel sliced her wrist, and she closed her eyes in resignation. Blood flowed. Then he turned the Bowie knife and cut the sterling chain.

  When he rolled her over, his mouth formed a twisted evil grin. “Oops!” He stood, dragged her off the bed and kicked her several times in the small of her back. “I’ll make sure you never see that new boyfriend again. So, who do I kill? The cowboy or you?”

  Her last coherent fragment of awareness was of his holding an ether-soaked cloth over her face until she passed out.

  ****

  Noella was bustling around the kitchen, putting supper on the table. With all the men she had to feed, she was setting food and plates out on the kitchen table in buffet style. There were policemen, security personnel, and ranch hands in addition to her family.

  “Need any help, Miss Noella?” Red grabbed two potholders and lifted a large baking dish of baked beans. “Any special place you want me to put these here beans?”

  “Next to the meatloaf, please. I hope everyone likes what I’ve prepared. I cooked in such a rush.” She pulled two large pans of biscuits from the oven. “Red, if you want, you can remove the ears of corn from the boiling water and stack them on that white platter. I hope I made enough food.”

  Storm was setting out clean mugs next to the coffeemaker. He was surprised at how the crude ranch foreman looked at home in this kitchen, helping Momma Noella. The man was definitely showing his polite side.

  “Stop yer frettin’, Miss Noella. These freeloaders ought to feel mighty obliged you went to all this bother. Looks like a feast to me.” Red picked up the tongs and began removing the corn from the steaming pot.

  Noella placed the hot biscuits in a large basket. “Oh, I almost forgot Rachel’s salad.”

  “I’ll get it.” Storm went to the refrigerator and pulled out a large glass bowl packed with a vibrantly colored salad. He set it on the large table. “What else, Momma?”

  “You can go out and ring the dinner gong.” She removed several bottles of dressing from the refrigerator.

  Storm stepped out onto the back porch and grabbed the striker hanging by a rope next to the old metal triangle. He hit the sides of the triangle with it, the same way cooks had for generations, calling men to dinner with its jarring, gonging sound.

  Pistol whined, and Storm gathered up the dog’s water and kibble bowls. “Be back in a sec, buddy.” The old dog wiggled in ecstasy when freshly filled bowls were set before him.

  When Storm stepped inside, the housekeeper and foreman were standing side-by-side watching the noisy gang of deputies, security personnel, ranch hands, and family grabbing the food. “You yahoos best show some sense grabbing for them vittles. Mind yer manners and show Miss Noella here some gratitude for her hard work.”

  Storm smiled at Red’s complimentary remark. He had to hand it to the old goat; he was trying. “I’ll go up and get Rachel. She was taking a nap before dinner.” He took the stairs two steps at a time, eager to steal a kiss or two from Rachel. He couldn’t remember ever being this happy.

  He was whistling when he rapped on Rachel’s bedroom door. “Rachel, dinner’s ready. Come on down and put on the feedbag.” The music coming from her room was so loud, he had to yell. When he got no response, he opened the door. He stepped into the stillness of her room and stopped, his eyes scanned the messed-up bed and the open window. Sounds of bath water running caught his attention. His smile broadened. This might work out just fine.

  “Mouse? Need your back washed?” He poked his head into the bathroom. The water was overflowing the tub in the empty bath. “What the…?” He rushed to turn off the spigots. The rugs were soaked. A candle was burning, and he blew it out. He looked around. No Rachel. His heart stopped for a beat, and he broke out in a cold sweat.

  The woman he loved was gone.

  “Jackson! Jackson!” Storm hurried out to the hallway, bellowing as he went. “Get up here, pronto.”

  Jackson ran, charging up the steps. “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s gone! Rachel’s gone.” Storm ran his hands through his hair. She’d promised him she’d stay. Promised him. How could she desert him after all they’d been through? After all the times they’d made love.

  Jackson shouldered his way around his momentarily paralyzed friend. “She has to be here. She can’t leave, she doesn’t have a car.” He walked into her bedroom, and Storm followed. Jackson surveyed his surroundings. “Was that window open when you came in?” He walked to the open closet door. “Her clothes are still hanging in here.” He turned and walked to the bed.

  “You
didn’t touch anything in here, did you?” He retrieved a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and snapped them on.

  “No. Well, except for turning off the stereo. It was blaring. The tub was overflowing and I turned the water off. Blew out a burning candle.” Why did Jackson put on gloves? What was he looking at so intently? A wave of cold terror blew over him like a tsunami. He leaned down beside the police chief. “Is that blood?”

  Jackson was running evidence swabs over the bloodstains on the rumpled bed and carefully tucking them into plastic evidence bags. “Yeah.” He labeled the bag and then hunkered down beside more stains, repeating the same process with them. He pulled out his cell and pressed a number. “Clyde, get my camera outta the glove box in my squad car and the fingerprint kit from the trunk. I’ve got a crime scene up here. Want you to keep everyone downstairs and in view of each other. You hear?”

  “You think Benson took her.” Storm’s words were a statement, not a question. Dread was slowly seeping into his system, grave, overwhelming dread. Rachel hadn’t left of her own free will—she’d been taken.

  “I saw a couple candy bar wrappers on the closet floor.” Jackson pointed his thumb in the direction of the closet. “Rachel’s too strict with her diet to eat candy. My guess is Benson was hiding in her closet. She turned on the bathwater and lit a candle. There’s clean underwear next to the pillow. She probably went to the closet to grab some clothes, and Benson was waiting.”

  “My God.” Storm ran his hands through his hair. “He must have scared the hell out of her.” Then something sparkled in the light filtering in through the windows. “Her bracelet. I just got it for her today. She promised she’d never take it off.” He bent to retrieve it.

  “Stop! Don’t touch it!” Jackson picked it up in his gloved hand and slowly turned it, examining the cut edges. “It’s been cut. Looks like he used a knife. There’s dried blood on the chain.” He looked at Storm for a beat before reaching in his pocket for another plastic evidence bag.