Mr. Write (Sweetwater)

by O'Neill, Lisa Clark

  “What?” Instinctively, Sarah reached for his hand. “Is it your father? Harlan?”

  Setting his coffee aside, Will covered her hand with his warm one. “No. But I want you to know that it matters to me that you asked. It’s… best to just say it, I guess. You heard about the rape after the concert in the park?”

  “Sure. Lots of gossip flying around the store.” Will’s department had done their best to keep a lid on the woman’s identity, but as would happen in a small town, word had gotten out. Sarah didn’t know the assistant librarian, given that she was a relatively new transplant to the area, but Allie did. Allie’d been torn up when she heard about it.

  The sheen of perspiration on her skin turned to ice. “Did you catch the guy?”

  “Working on it.” But the worry was clear in his eyes. “It was dark. He wore a ski mask, gloves. A condom. Plus, she’s still a little… muddled. She couldn’t give us a lot to go by.”

  “It’s hard to think, to remember to think, when you’re scared. And there’s a part of you doesn’t want to see him. Doesn’t want to accept that it’s happening.”

  Will squeezed her hand. “As the investigation is still open and a woman’s privacy is at stake, I can’t go into too many details. But I’m going to tell you that it’s a great deal more than simple… post-traumatic stress causing her memory lapse. He hurt her, Sarah. Badly.”

  Oh. God.

  “Will, why are you –”

  “There was a shoeprint. At the scene.”

  The bottom dropped out of Sarah’s stomach.

  “The tread, the wear pattern is identical to the print we found beneath Tucker’s window. Then there’s the fact that both Mason and the rape survivor were struck in the head. As an officer of the law, I’m obliged to say we’re regarding Jonas Linville as a person of interest. As your friend,” Will looked her in the eye “I’m telling you to watch yourself. You stay with Tucker – with the damn windows locked – or if that doesn’t suit, you come out and stay with us. But you do not stay alone. Because he’s gone from nuisance to very, very dangerous.”

  She pressed her free hand to her twisting stomach. “I guess so.”

  “I mean it, Sarah.” Then his voice, his hand gentled. “The rape survivor. She has long red hair.”

  Helplessly ill, Sarah felt a tear spill down her cheek. “And you think that he… raped her as, what, some kind of surrogate? Because he was angry with me?”

  “No,” he said before she even finished her statement. “Don’t you put this on yourself.” He tipped her chin up with his finger. “You’re smarter than that. But I do think he’s fixated on you.”

  “Why?” Guilt, frustration, rage simply exploded out of her. “Because his big brother bullied me when we were kids? Because he thinks I somehow sent big brother to jail? Because I know a lot of big words? It’s so stupid, Will. I mean, it makes no sense.”

  “Was it only Austin who bullied you?”

  She swiped at the tears streaming down her cheek. “He was the main perpetrator. Jonas, he’d just kind of stand off to the side and watch. If Austin wasn’t around, he’d say something nasty or gross, and a few times he followed me home from school, or ripped up my homework, that sort of thing. But he didn’t get physical the way Austin did. He didn’t trip me or knock me down. He didn’t try to rape me.”

  “Sarah, I want you to consider. It was dark, and he grabbed you from behind. He pushed you, facedown, to the ground. You said yourself that it’s hard to think when you’re scared. That you didn’t really want to see him. Could it have been Jonas who assaulted you that night?”

  “What?” Her hands stilled. “Of course…” not, she almost said. But their builds, their coloring were almost identical. And hadn’t she been surprised to realize how much their voices sounded the same? “I don’t know.” And for some reason, that thought was more frightening. “I want to say I’m sure, but I’m not. I’m not. God, how can I not be sure?”

  “It’s okay. Hey, hey now. It’s okay.” Will climbed out of the chair, sat right there next to her on the floorboards. And he hugged her. Hard.

  “Sarah!”

  At the sound of her name, she turned to see a half dressed Tucker jumping off of his porch. And running toward her. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  Will patted her shoulder and stood. “I’ll fill you in,” he told Tucker. “It’ll give Sarah a chance to brush her hair.”

  “YOU should stay with me,” Allie insisted as they closed up shop for the evening. “Will’s there. Bran. And Harlan’s been on the wagon since Will dragged him home that last time. We have guns, and we know how to use them.”

  Sarah automatically started to protest, but then said: “Wait. We?”

  Allie pushed her swing of dark hair behind her ear in an embarrassed gesture. “Will taught me.”

  “He did? When? And why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It was after Wesley called off our engagement. Will said it would help relieve my stress. The target practice, I mean. And after I started picturing Wesley’s face when he asked for the ring back every time I fired a round, I decided Will was right.”

  “Hold on.” Delighted, Sarah slid the last of the muffins for the Baptist Church’s food pantry into a carry-out bag. “I’m just picturing Evelyn Hawbaker’s daughter packing heat. Strolling through town, kicking ass and taking names. Annie Oakley in an Ann Taylor mini.”

  “Stop.” But her lips twitched. Then her blue eyes turned sober. “Sarah, please. It was bad enough before. But if Will’s right, then Jonas put Mason in the hospital. And he raped that… that poor woman.”

  Sarah’s fingers trembled slightly as she added a final layer of tissue inside the bag. “Believe me, that’s right at the front of my mind. But I can’t hide myself away. I have a life. We have a business to run.”

  “Just at night. Just until he’s caught.”

  “Allie.” Sensing her friend’s worry, she reached across the counter, rubbed Allie’s arm. “If it was him who broke into Tucker’s house, what’s to say that he even stuck around? If Carlton was paying him, he could have taken his money, his boat, and been in Aruba by now. Even if he is… fixated, and not the sharpest tool in the box, I don’t think he’s completely stupid.”

  “Yes. But –”

  “And I’m not stupid, either. I’m not going to go check out the strange noise in the dark basement while wearing a skimpy nightie and a vacant look.”

  “Yes, but who’s to stop you from having sex in the forest while the axe-wielding psycho is on the loose?”

  Sarah smiled. “Allie, believe me when I tell you that both Useless and I will be perfectly fine at Tucker’s. I practically had to pry the man off of me with a crowbar this morning so that both of us could do some work. And… speak of the devil.”

  Bells jingled as Tucker strode through the door, the line of his mouth determined. But when he spotted Allie, his smile came easy and warm.

  “Allie. How’s it going?”

  “About as well as can be expected.” Her fingers drifted up to smooth the collar of her sleeveless dress. “How’s Mason?”

  “Doctor gave him the all-clear.”

  “Oh.” Her delicate brows drew together. “It’s only been a week. I thought it would be longer, under the circumstances.”

  “The all-clear was just for the flight. He’s going to have to take it easy for a while.”

  “I see.”

  Because Sarah could see the mixed emotions swirling in Allie’s eyes, Sarah patted the carry-out bag and spoke brightly. “I just packed up the leftovers to take to the Baptist Church,” she told Tucker. “But you’re welcome to something if you’re interested.”

  “No. Thanks. But I’m coming with you to drop them off.”

  “Tucker –”

  “Would you rather take your car or my truck?”

  “Okay then.” Allie grabbed her purse off the counter, strolled over to Tucker and patted his cheek. “You’re no Annie Oakley, but you’ll d
o. Bye Sarah.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “Annie Oakley?” Tucker arched a brow after Allie sailed out the door.

  “Women’s empowerment humor.”

  “Okay. You drive then.”

  Warmth shimmered through her until she could swear her skin glowed. “I love you. I’m so in love with you.”

  She hadn’t meant to say it. Not yet, and not over day-old scones. She’d pictured moonlight, maybe a bottle of wine. And something other than the shock rippling over his face.

  But damn if she’d regret it.

  “I’ll just get my keys.”

  “Sarah. Wait. Would you…” With a frustrated growl, Tucker put a hand down and simply hurdled over the counter.

  Sarah was torn between embarrassment, dismay and a surprisingly strong tug of arousal.

  “Well,” she said as he snagged her arm, pulled her toward him. “Aren’t you just full of all sorts of hidden talents.”

  “Sarah.” He brushed her hair back, cupped her cheek. “Did you mean it?”

  “No, I lied.”

  He studied the mulish set of her face. Then grinned, cat to canary. “You love me.”

  “God knows why.”

  “Because I’m honest, I’m sexy, and I’m irresistibly charming.”

  “I’m not having such a hard time resisting you right at the moment.”

  But when he leaned in, keeping her eyes trapped in his, and kissed her, he made her a bald-faced liar. “Grab your keys.”

  “I… what?”

  “Your keys.” As he often did, he tapped the tip of her nose. “Let’s get those pastries dropped off so that we can go home and I can take advantage of your heartfelt affection.”

  “You’re going to be impossible to live with now, aren’t you?”

  “Pretty much.” He picked up the bag by the handles.

  “You know, I believe I’d rather take my chances with Useless. I can teach him how to dial nine-one-one.”

  “He’s already sleeping on my daybed.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You think you’re pretty smooth.”

  “Must be, since you love me.” He rattled the bag. “Keys?”

  Boxed in, Sarah could only sigh as she retrieved her purse from the office. “On second thought, I believe I’ll let you drive. You could use a little more practice understanding the concept of yielding. Bless your heart.”

  TUCKER managed to contain his grin on the ride over to the church. If there was anything more entertaining than Sarah when she was riled, he’d yet to find it. She sat beside him – annoyance stiffening her spine – in a pretty white dress dotted with little blue flowers. Her hair was twisted into one of those fancy knots that made her look just a little prim, a little proper.

  He couldn’t wait to get his hands in it.

  He thought about the way it looked curling across her pillow while she slept beside him. The way those eyes dreamed into his when he couldn’t resist waking her, sinking in.

  He thought of the way she’d held onto his hand, and then taken care of Mason, no reservations.

  He thought of the way she challenged him, on both the intellectual and emotional planes. And physically? The sex was spectacular.

  When he came to the intersection before the church, he made a point of coming to a complete stop, then waved the driver to his right on through.

  “Smartass.”

  And then there was her sassy mouth. She’d told him she loved him and cut him down like a redwood in basically the same breath.

  Was it any wonder he’d slipped and slid and fallen straight into love with her, too?

  As he turned into the parking lot of the old, white clapboard church with its stained glass windows and charming steeple, the sheltering oaks stirring gently in the breeze off the river, his cell phone rang.

  He pulled it out of his pocket, worry for Mason still a vague hum at the back of his brain. But the readout told him it was his editor.

  “Ah, I need to take this.” If Melissa was getting back to him this quickly – and at this time of evening – it meant she either loved the changes he’d made to the manuscript he’d emailed yesterday, or she was about to suggest he find a new line of work.

  “That’s fine. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Tucker parked the truck as close to the back entrance to the church as he could get.

  “Hi Mel.” He watched Sarah wind her way down the curving tabby walkway, disappear around the corner. “So. What did you think?”

  “WHAT you got for us today?”

  Sarah smiled at the old woman standing over the stove in the Baptist Church’s kitchen, stirring a pot of what smelled to Sarah like her famous five-alarm chili. It brought back memories, most of them hard, but some surprisingly sweet.

  “Some banana oatmeal muffins, cinnamon scones. Two dozen sugar cookies that Josie insisted were too brown on the bottom to sell, although they tasted just fine, if you ask me. And just for you.” Sarah reached into the bag, pulled out a little carton as the coup de grace. “A big, fat piece of strawberry hummingbird cake.”

  “Don’t you be playin’ with me.” Miss Essie’s deep brown eyes lit up as Sarah opened the carton.

  “If I did, you’d just box my ears.”

  “Mmm, mmm.” Essie wiped her hands on the apron which seemed permanently attached to her stout frame, then came over to admire the layers of pink separated by gooey frosting. “That Josephine sure does know her way around a layer cake.”

  “She’s an artist. But she doesn’t know how to make chili that’ll burn the taste buds straight off your tongue.”

  Essie chuckled. “You’re a good girl, Sarah.” She patted Sarah’s cheek. “You always were a good girl.”

  “I do my best. Well. My…” boyfriend? Lover? Cocky, contrary pain-in-the-butt? “ride is waiting for me,” Sarah said. “So I’d better get moving.”

  “That Pettigrew boy drive you over here?” Essie’s eyes went eagle sharp.

  “He did.”

  “Josie says he’s not a complete waste of the air the Good Lord seen fit to give us.”

  “That’s… a compliment, considering the source.”

  “True enough. You take care, sugar plum.”

  “I will. Try not to eat that cake all in one sitting.”

  Sarah wound her way through the folding tables volunteers were setting up in the church basement, as they did, three times a week. There’d be a hot meal dished up until it was gone, and served to anyone who might need it.

  Her own family had needed it for a space of time.

  Just as they’d needed the trailer – gone now, replaced by a little cottage that had been divided into two tiny, temporary apartments – as shelter until they could get back on their feet.

  It hadn’t come free. They’d acted as custodians, as groundskeepers, as servers during their stint. Sarah had dished up about a thousand bowls of chili.

  And she’d learned that even in bad times, there were still good people.

  She pushed through the back door, into the muggy air of a summer evening.

  And a hand clamped over her mouth.

  Eyes wheeling, she struck back with her elbow.

  “Now, now,” Jonas said softly in her ear as he twisted away from the blow. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

  She couldn’t scream when he dragged her toward the trees along the river. She could barely breathe, as the tape he’d slapped over her mouth – coupled with her panic – was cutting off her air.

  Sarah was a big woman, but Jonas was considerably bigger. And she was rapidly losing ground.

  But as memories, new and old, tangled greasily with fear inside her belly, she found the strength to shove it back down, and get her nails into his arm.

  “You hellcat bitch,” he said on a hiss of pain. Blood ran down his arm, down her hands, and he wrenched her arms behind her back. “That’s okay. You just keep fighting like you did before. It’ll only make it sweeter when I finally get y
ou down.”

  Will was right, she thought briefly. It had been Jonas. On that playground, all those years ago, it had been Jonas.

  Saw palmettos tore at her bare legs, and she tripped over a pine branch only to have Jonas jerk her upright by her arms.

  Even as her vision grayed, she saw the boat pulled up to the old, decaying dock.

  “You and me,” he told her. “We’re going to take us a little ride.”

  TUCKER let out a sigh of relief as he pocketed his phone.

  His editor hadn’t hated it. She’d been surprised – and damn curious – but she hadn’t hated it. She thought it would work. In fact, with a few more tweaks, she thought it could rock.

  He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, considered exactly how he’d approach Sarah. Did he wait until the damn thing came out, do the whole dedication thing? Was that cheesy? And besides, that could take several months. Did he want to wait that long?

  Something to think about later.

  He checked his watch, realized that he’d been on the phone for nearly fifteen minutes. And that Sarah still wasn’t back.

  Talking to the old woman, probably. What was her name? Miss Essie. She’d told him that Essie was the one who’d taught her to make a Lowcountry boil, just like Sarah had taught him.

  Could go for another one of those, he mused and his stomach growled in agreement. After all, it was basically just throwing stuff in a pot. Not really what he thought of as cooking.

  Whatever they did, he considered as he rechecked his watch, they needed to get on with it. He had to be up before any sane human being should even think of surfacing tomorrow to drive Mason to the Savannah airport.

  When another five minutes passed, Tucker climbed out of the truck.

  Just got caught up talking, he thought, even as something icy slicked over his skin. He started walking, then jogging toward the back door.

  He almost went in. He had his hand on the door latch.

  Then something – a flash of something, back in the trees – had him turning toward the river.

  And turning, he started to run.

  HE came like vengeance.

  One moment Sarah was struggling against Jonas, the next he was simply… flying through the air. Relief dropped her to her knees, and she saw Tucker – his face a twisted mask – grappling with Jonas on the soggy ground of the riverbank.