by Rachel Lee
“You made it through high school, though?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I did. I always wanted to go to college, but I had to take care of myself and kept putting it off and then…well, Kevin…” She bit her lip again, unable to meet his gaze.
“Tell me about Kevin. About the beginning.”
She hesitated, unable to imagine why he wanted all this information, but reluctant to tell him it was none of his business. He’d rescued her in the middle of a blizzard where she probably would have died except for him. That gave him a right to know, she supposed. Especially since he was still helping her.
“Kevin was okay at first. Really nice. It was a long time before I realized that I was tiptoeing around all the time because of his temper. It took me even longer to realize he couldn’t hold a job for more than a month or two, and finally I gave up even trying to tell him to look for work. So I did something stupid.”
“And that was?”
She drew a long breath. “I started skimming my paycheck.”
“You what?” He sounded utterly disbelieving. “How can you skim your own paycheck?”
“I got a raise and didn’t tell him. I’d go to the bank and split the deposit, put the extra money into a savings account. I meant to save for school.”
“And you didn’t tell him.”
“No.”
He sighed. “That’s a warning sign in huge red letters. But I suppose he had you so intimidated by that point that you didn’t even recognize it.”
“Not really. I just did it. I didn’t exactly think about all the reasons I felt the need to. When I look back, I feel stupid.”
“No, don’t. You have no idea how many people, doing the best they can in whatever situation they’re in, look back later and think they were stupid. It’s never stupid. It’s the best you can do at the time.”
“Thanks. I still feel stupid.”
“So let me guess. He found out about the savings account.”
She nodded. “That was the first time he beat me.”
“And then he was oh so apologetic, swore he’d never do it again and took the money.”
“Yeah. Like I said, stupid.”
“Stop saying that. It’s amazing how manipulative these bastards can be. It’s like they’re born knowing how to get what they want. So okay, that was the first time the line got crossed. And it got worse, right?”
“Yeah. With time. Until finally he broke my arm and left my face such a mess I couldn’t go to work, and my boss actually came to the house. He took one look at me and dragged me to the hospital, then called the cops.”
“Ah, a responsible person arrives on the scene. Amazing.”
In spite of herself, she felt the unbruised side of her face lift in a slight smile. “My boss was a good man.”
“I agree. So Kevin went to jail?”
“That time.”
“But he got out.”
“Of course. Less than two years later.”
“I think I can pretty much write the rest of the story.” He sipped his coffee and closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened, they held an ice that should have frightened her, but somehow it didn’t. Maybe she was too tired, too battered. Maybe she just couldn’t rustle up any more terror.
“Take my word for it, Kay Young, as long as you are in this house, that man will not lay a finger on you.”
Deep inside she shivered, because she believed him, because she feared the kind of protection he was capable of providing. Special Ops? Yeah, he could protect her.
“I don’t want you to get into any trouble on my account,” she blurted.
He smiled, but not pleasantly.
“I won’t,” he said. “Trust me, I won’t.”
She dozed off again, and when she woke, she felt disoriented. Not because she didn’t recognize the cabin or the fireplace, or Clint sitting across the way in his chair reading. No, it was something even more basic than that.
Almost before she opened her eyes, she asked, “What time is it? What day is it?”
He looked up from his book. “It’s Friday, December twelfth and it’s just after one in the afternoon.”
“Five days!”
“Since he took you?”
“Yes.” She looked around, trying to center herself somehow. “What state did you say this was?”
“Wyoming. Conard County, Wyoming, to be more precise.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Sorry. It’s like things are jumbled.”
“That’s normal enough, I suppose. How’s your head feel?”
“The headache is almost gone.”
“Good. That’s probably why you’re trying to sort things out.”
“I didn’t know he had me so long.”
“No?”
“No. He kept me in the trunk a lot. He didn’t feed me. He hardly gave me any water.”
“He would be wise not to come near you while I’m around.”
She looked at him, amazed by the calm way he spoke, as if such threats were commonplace in his world. Not a ripple of emotion showed on his face. Oddly, while his obvious self-control was horrifying in a way, it also reassured her far more than a display of anger would have. Far more.
Outside, judging from the sound of the wind, the storm still raged. Hard to believe it had gone on so long. Hard to accept that she was trapped in more ways than one.
“I’ve got to figure out what to do.”
“Relax,” he said. “I’m already figuring it out.”
“Why should you do that?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“Because it’s my problem?”
“It’s mine now, too.”
She realized he meant it. That was no token statement. “I can figure it out.”
“You’ve been figuring it out for a few years now. Let somebody else help you for a change.” He closed his book and placed it on the coffee table. “I’m not trying to take over, it’s not my place. You can make all the decisions yourself. But I have a few suggestions.”
“Like what?”
“For starters, we call the sheriff.”
“No! Then I’ll be in the blotter. I’ll be in the newspaper, like last time I made a complaint. I don’t want him to know I’m still in the area!”
He waited a moment before speaking. When he did, his voice was so calm it seemed at odds with the situation. “Are you planning to run forever?”
She bit her lip so hard it hurt. “No,” she said finally, feeling her eyes sting. “No.”
“Then we need to deal with the problem. The sheriff here is a man I’d trust with my life, and I don’t say that about many people. If I tell him what’s going on, he’ll guard your secret with his life. Your name won’t be in any blotter or any report.”
“You’re sure?”
“Like I said, I’d trust him with my life. In fact, there are a few people hereabouts I can say that about. So trust me on this one.”
“And if I do?”
“Then we’re going to ask the sheriff to find Kevin. Find him and nail him good. It’s not just beating you up anymore, Kay. It’s kidnapping. Across state lines. That’s a federal crime, and that son of a bitch is going away for life.”
A spark of hope ignited in her, but then flickered out. “He has to be caught first.”
“Trust me, we’ll get him. One way or another.”
“But it’s just my word against his.” That hadn’t been enough before.
“Well, I think some photos of your face will make a point. And the other injuries he gave you.”
She touched her cheek lightly with her fingertips. “I must look awful.”
“You look like someone who was hit in the side of the head with something heavy. Like a tire iron.”
She almost gasped. “How did you know?”
“Did you look in the mirror when you went to the bathroom?”
“No.” No, she had avoided that like the plague. It was bad enough to endure the pain, but she’d been afraid to l
ook for fear he’d ruined her face for good. How could she work as a waitress with a messed-up face?
“If we can’t get the sheriff out here soon, I’m going to ask you to let me take some pictures myself.”
“Why do we have to wait for the sheriff?”
“I think it’s more evidentiary if he does it. Well, actually, he’ll probably ask one of his female deputies to do it. From what I saw when I helped you change into those clothes yesterday, you were beaten all over.”
She covered her face with her hands, pierced by a shame she couldn’t explain. Why should she feel shame? But she did, and it was deep and burning. She felt hot tears begin to run, but no sobs accompanied them. She’d learned, a long time ago, to cry silently.
At least her stranger-savior didn’t evince any annoyance. He just let her cry. Later, when the tears dried and she dabbed at her face with the sleeves of the green sweatshirt, he rose, returning a minute later with a box of tissues and a fresh cup of coffee.
She took the tissues gratefully, dabbing her face, blowing her nose. “Sorry,” she said. “No need.”
The coffee tasted as if it had been freshly brewed, and she sipped it with pleasure. She hadn’t really tasted anything before, had just been going through the motions, but now, for the first time in days, she discovered she could savor something simple. Something good. “You like it strong. So do I.” She gave him a smile with the half of her face that still felt mobile.
He acknowledged her words with a small nod. Evidently he didn’t run to social pleasantries.
“When are you going to call the sheriff?”
“As soon as you’re ready to give me identifying information.”
“What kind of information?”
“The car he was driving, what he looks like, his full name, where he kidnapped you from.”
“Okay.” She drew a deep breath. He was right; she couldn’t keep running. And this was as good a place as any to make her stand, if only because she seemed to have an ally.
An odd ally, one who apparently had chosen to stand beside her on principle and nothing else. But maybe that was the best kind of ally—one who expected nothing from her but merely felt her situation deserved his help.
Yes, that was best, she decided. That way there was no chance of the kind of messiness she’d run into with Kevin.
“I’ll give you whatever information you want.”
He nodded again and rose. “Just let me get a pad and pen.”
She waited, holding her mug in both hands, afraid to nurture even a spark of hope. For all she knew, she was about to sign her own death warrant.
But even death seemed preferable to living like this any longer.
Chapter 4
Clint got his cordless phone and returned to his easy chair, putting the pad on his lap. Kay had answered his questions, and he’d scribbled down the answers. It was time to call the sheriff, Gage Dalton, even though the roads for miles around were impassible.
He didn’t need the sheriff to protect Kay here at his house. He needed the sheriff to keep eyes out for Kevin.
He scanned the pad to refresh his memory of what she had told him before he dialed. His notes were even more abbreviated than his speech, but he had a good memory.
A memory that was suddenly jogged as he scanned the description of the car.
God! Reaching back to the moments when he had been carrying Kay to his truck, he remembered a car passing them and slowing down. He couldn’t be sure it exactly matched her description, because by then they’d been approaching whiteout conditions, but it came close enough to give him a minor adrenaline jolt.
If that had been Kevin, then there was now a chance he had a pretty good idea where Kay was. Because the road dead-ended, he would have had to backtrack, and he would have at least an idea that Clint had taken her to his ranch. And worse, if he’d scanned the license tag, it would be easy enough to find out exactly where Clint lived. So if Kevin checked around and found that Kay hadn’t gone to the police or into the hospital, he would be virtually certain that she was still with Clint.
In this storm he would be as immobilized as everyone else, but after the roads were cleared…
A thrum of anger started beating in time with his heart. He didn’t say anything to Kay, though. She was already skittish enough. So skittish he wanted her to hear every word he spoke to the sheriff so she would know he hadn’t betrayed her in any way.
But even as he punched in the non-emergency number, his mind was beginning to turn over plans for making his cabin safer.
“Conard County Sheriff’s Office,” said the froggy voice of the dispatcher. Rain or shine, blizzard or forest fire, Velma was always at the other end of the line.
“Hi, Velma, this is Clint Ardmore. I need to talk to Gage.”
“Well, honey, I’ll see what I can do, but as you can imagine, we’re trying to help folks who got themselves into a passel of trouble by not staying home in this crud.”
“Sounds to me like you didn’t stay home, either.”
Velma laughed, a sound similar to a braying donkey. “Honey, I only have to walk a couple of blocks. Gage is out somewhere with a crew, trying to pull a family out of a ditch. Say… Micah’s not too far from you. Want me to have him drop by?”
Micah Parish was another of the handful of local people that Clint would have trusted with his life. But he looked over at Kay and wondered if she would be able to take it. She was twisting her hands again, and biting her lip, looking ready to jump out of her skin.
On the other hand, now that he’d recalled that car, he couldn’t forget it.
“How,” he asked Velma, “can Micah get here?”
“He’s plowing his way in. You’re on the route.” All the deputies had plows on the fronts of their official vehicles exactly for times like this.
“Give me a sec, Velma.”
“Sure.”
He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Kay? One of those guys I’d trust my life to?”
“Yes?”
“He’s going to be driving past here. Talking to him would be better than waiting for the sheriff. Apparently he’s pretty tied up with people who have storm trouble.”
Her hands tightened around each other until her knuckles turned white. “You’re sure?” she finally asked hesitantly.
“Well, if he comes here, you can make sure he doesn’t write anything down. Maybe that would make you feel better. And I can’t think of a better person to have my back.”
Finally she nodded. “Okay. Okay.” But she didn’t sound happy.
He took his hand from the mouthpiece. “Velma? Yeah, that would be great if Micah would stop by. I really need to talk to him.”
“Consider it done. I’ll call him now.”
“Thanks.”
When he disconnected, Clint put the handset on the table beside him. “It’ll be okay,” he said, feeling once again as if he was trying to calm a frightened horse. He’d calmed frightened men in battle, but this was a whole different thing, calling for a different kind of patience, a kind he wasn’t sure he had enough of.
He ran through an assortment of cuss words in his head, because he was sure if he said any of them aloud she would shrink away again, and as much as he had tried to harden himself over the years, seeing a woman shrink from him brought back enough memories to fill a dump truck and make him feel like an utter bastard.
The phone rang. It was Velma. “Micah is plowing his way up your road right now. He said to thank you for those reflector posts you put up last year.”
Clint gave a rare chuckle. He’d lined his driveway with the things after a blizzard almost as bad as this one, because his drive was long enough, and winding enough, to be impossible to find under heavy snow, and even more impossible to clear. “Tell him thanks for clearing the road for me.”
“You’ll just have to clear it again later,” Velma advised him. “The snow is going to stop soon, but the wind will keep up until tomorrow. Like holding a flood ba
ck with a broom.” On that positive note, she disconnected.
Clint looked at Kay again. She appeared to have sunk into unhappy recollection. “Micah will be here soon. He’s plowing his way to the door.”
He watched her eyes widen and fill with fear, and then gave her points for quickly getting a grip on her emotions. “Okay,” she said on a tight breath.
Nothing he could tell her would reassure her. She was running on an awful lot of trust right now, and as someone who’d learned to trust very few, he could understand that.
Micah arrived fifteen minutes later. They could hear the engine strain as he approached, pushing heavy snow out of the way. Then he left the vehicle idling. They heard the stomp of boots on the porch as he shook the snow off, and at the sound, Kay shrank visibly.
Clint stifled a sigh and went to get the door, letting Micah in with a cold blast of air and swirling snow. Micah was every bit as big as Clint, broad and well-muscled, but far more exotic looking thanks to his Cherokee heritage.
Clint had to force the door closed against the wind, then latched it firmly.
“Damn,” Micah said. “Somebody moved Antarctica up here.”
“It’s bad,” Clint agreed as they shook hands. “Coffee?
“Hot and black.”
But something else had to come first. “Come meet my guest.”
Micah’s black-as-night eyes slipped past him and found Kay, who sat up and was looking at him with evident terror.
“Well, hell,” Micah said. “Who the devil beat her up?”
Kay sat on the very edge of the couch, poised to run even though there was nowhere she could flee. Another man, another dangerous man, this one older but every bit as huge as Clint. She felt like a mouse facing two lions.
“Kay,” Clint said, “this is Deputy Micah Parish. Micah, Kay Young.”
“Howdy,” Micah said. Then he pulled off his jacket, revealing a tan deputy’s uniform and badge. He hung the coat on the peg by the door. “First the coffee. Then the talk. I’ve been on the road for three hours now, and the heater in the damn truck is barely working. Too much wind, I think. Engine’s not getting very warm.”
“Take a seat. I’ll be right back. Kay, you want more coffee?”