"What?" a fainter voice asked.
"I thought I saw something."
Breanna did a third-base skid behind the outhouse, her heart pounding. She hadn't expected someone to be so close. Especially not two someones. Thirty miles out in the middle of nowhere, she had envisioned at most a lone prowler. Ouch. A sharp rock gouged her ribs. She crawled to her knees, grasping the rough wall of the outhouse to help herself up. Inching her head around the corner, she searched the moon-silvered darkness. A hollow thumping sound drifted to her, like footsteps on a wooden floor. A shadow moved from the front of the barn, cutting through the field toward the road. A man. All she could distinguish about him at this distance was that he wore dark trousers and a white shirt.
Another man appeared on the road, a mere shadow in his dark clothing. He stood waiting until the other man reached him, then gestured toward the outhouse. The fellow in the white shirt stepped across the road, pivoting to see her cabin. There was something familiar about his walk, the way he kept his legs stiff and held his arms curved out from his body. She had seen him before. But when? Where? Breanna flattened herself against the planks, suddenly afraid.
The sound of their low voices drifted faintly through the night toward her and from their tone, she felt they were arguing. She glanced uneasily at the house. Coming out here had been a dumb move. A lone prowler was one thing; two were quite another. If they spotted her, she could end up in big trouble.
Remembering Tyler Ross's warnings, Breanna dashed behind the garage and ran its length, carefully skirting the ash pile. At the far corner of the lean-to she paused to get her bearings. If she worked her way through the brush to the upper clearing, she could cut across and double back to the house with the building blocking her from the men's view. Tensing for a burst of speed, she pushed off and plunged into a thick growth of waist-high manzanita. Every snapping twig resounded like a rifle shot. She knew they couldn't fail to hear her. The branches scratched her arms, but she was so frightened that she barely noticed.
The bushes hindered her. Her spurts of speed were taken in lunges as her hips and legs pushed through the maze. Throwing a glance behind her, Breanna sent up a silent prayer she wouldn't see anyone following. She burst into a tiny clearing, and the sudden lack of obstacles increased her forward thrust. She saw something on the ground in front of her, but it was too late to stop. Before she could register the fact that it was a man, she stepped right on top of him.
"Son of a—!"
A whoosh of expelled air cut off the rest of his exclamation. Her shoe sank into his flesh with a sickening squish. And then, to her horror, the man pushed up, catapulting her into a helter-skelter somersault.
"I don't believe you, Jackson!" he grunted.
She tried for a tumbling tuck, but gymnastics had never been her forte. Landing in an ungraceful back flop, she hit a clump of manzanita, plunging through it to the ground.
She didn't know if it was the impact or the sheer incredulity she felt that dazed her, but she couldn't move. The network of branches above her formed a crisscross pattern, so the man's silhouette as he peered down looked like an apparition out of a horror movie. There were small protrusions over his ears and a piece of wire looped around the side of his face to his mouth. Headphones. Her every nerve leaped and shuddered.
"I swear to God, Jackson," he whispered, "you'd screw up a sexy dream if we gave you half a chance. Can't you do anything right? Why the hell are you running? Do you want the broad coming out here?"
Jackson? The man leaned farther forward to offer her a hand.
"Get on a loudspeaker, why don't ya? Tell everyone we're out here. You damn near broke my back."
The urge to scream was so strong that Breanna held her breath. She stared at the extended hand. Just another few inches and he would touch her chest. And when he did, it wouldn't take him long to realize she wasn't his friend Jackson. With a trembling arm, she reached up and grasped his palm. Prepared for his startled reaction, she took full advantage of it. With all her strength, she gripped his fingers and pulled. He pitched forward and, as he did, Breanna slammed her right foot against his chest. With a mighty heave, she launched him over her into the manzanita. He landed with a grunt, then yelped with pain.
Springing to her feet, she vaulted the bushes. Her legs felt numb. She staggered into a run, her head resounding with the crashing noises behind her. Dear God, he's chasing me. She'd made it halfway across the orchard before she realized the sounds were growing more distant, heading in the opposite direction toward the creek. Whirling and looking behind her, she saw the distinct shapes of three men diving for cover at different angles. Her eyes fastened on one in particular, a tall, broad-shouldered one.
Tyler? Breanna stared in disbelief. No, it couldn't be. An unnatural quiet filled the night. Breanna hugged herself and turned in a full circle. They're all around me. She had known fear in the woods before, but never such an icy, eerie dread. In the distance, a coyote wailed, long and low, the last notes of his moon call rising to a mournful crescendo. Panting in terror, she threw one more glance at the brush and turned to flee.
The cabin wasn't that far, but it seemed to take forever to reach it. She clawed her way over the retainer wall, pulling herself flat on the ground for a few feet until the black shadows from the oak tree shielded her. Even then she didn't feel safe. There could be more of them in the yard. She stumbled forward, flattening herself against the cabin to guard her back. Please, God. Crab-walking, she inched sideways toward the corner.
Then someone grabbed her hair.
For a wild, frenzied moment, Breanna fought, flinging her head, flailing her arms. Then she realized her attacker was a rose-entwined trellis. Thorny vines snaked around her. Her hair was caught in the trellis slats, tangled in the thorns. She threw herself away from it. Her skin tore. Her scalp exploded with pain. But all she could focus on now was getting inside.
With a sob that cut through the silence around her, she pelted forward, careening around the corner, shooting for the porch. The door jammed, and she shoved on it with all her weight till it gave way and spewed her into the entry hall. Breanna slammed it shut behind her, pressing against it with her back, quivering legs braced before her. Whimpers erupted from her that she couldn't control. Reaching behind her, she grasped the dead bolt and shoved it home.
Coaly leaped at her, whining, licking. She collapsed to her knees, wrapping both arms around him and making fists in his thick wavy fur. He was solid, warm. She clung to him and sobbed. Then hysterical laughter bubbled in her chest. She clamped a hand over her mouth. She had to get a hold of herself. Think. Panic won't do a bit of good.
Taking long, deep breaths, she willed herself to calm down. When strength returned to her legs, she rose and ran to the living room. Her skin crawled at the thought of someone staring at her through the uncurtained windows, but she forced herself close enough to double-check the latches. If someone tried to come in, at least he would make a racket breaking the glass. At the table she sank into a chair, staring first at one window, then the next, glad the embers of the fire didn't put off much light.
What will I do if they break in? How many of them are there? Do they know I'm here alone?
Tyler Ross had told her to come to him if there was trouble. Should she make a run for her car? Or would she be safer right where she was? A vision of the tall man running through the bushes sprang to mind. She didn't want to believe it had been Tyler, but what if it had?
No, if she was going to get help, the wisest course would be a police station. The nearest one, as far as she knew, was thirty miles away in Grants Pass. Breanna looked out at her car. Without a phone, it was her only link to the outside world. In the moonlight, its silver paint glowed like phosphorus. If she went anywhere near it, she'd be spotted. They might try to stop her, and that was a chance she couldn't bring herself to take.
The haze of panic slowly cleared from her mind. There were five men on her property,
possibly more. The question was, why? She walked over to a front window. The guy in the manzanita had been hiding to watch something. It hadn't been her, obviously, or he wouldn't have stayed where he was so she could step on him. She had a clear view from here of the upper and lower orchards. From where the man had been lying, it was a straight shot to the barn and the road.
Prowlers didn't spy on prowlers. The police would think she was crazy if she went to them with a story like this. Nothing was out there but a ramshackle barn, an old fruit cellar and an outhouse. Why would anyone be out there? That would be their first question. And it was one she couldn't answer. She could almost see the skeptical look on their faces if she started talking about ghosts and hidden gold. And what if it were someone who blamed her for the fire, as Dane had said...? She certainly didn't want to talk to the police about that.
Returning to the table, Breanna sat down again and propped her elbows on its edge, cupping her chin in her hands. Before she went to the authorities and made a complete fool of herself, she had to have something concrete to tell them.
She had no idea how long she sat there, so tense that her muscles ached. Her body felt as if it were on fire and at the least movement, pain shot up her back into her shoulder.
She twisted, trying to feel what she had done to herself. Her fingertips came away sticky with blood.
She folded her arms on the table to pillow her head, still staring watchfully at the windows. With her nerves stretched so taut, she knew she wouldn't sleep. A minute in dead of night lasted an hour, an hour a lifetime.
Morning might never come.
Chapter Four
Breanna woke to the sound of knocking. Blinking in confusion, she pushed herself up from the table, recoiled at the pain in her back and stared at the window. Sunshine. What a welcome sight. Coaly raced to and fro, barking at the door.
"Who is it?"
"The Fuller Brush man," was the good-natured reply.
Tyler. Breanna got up from the chair, weaving on her feet, and dragged her tangled hair from her eyes. She didn't know what to do. Images from yesterday slipped into her mind, but those were quickly pushed out by flashbacks from last night.
"Yo? You in there?"
"Yes, I'm coming."
Quick glances out the windows showed nothing had been disturbed in the yard. She went to the entry and drew the dead bolt. Tyler stood on the porch, casually dressed in jeans and a chambray shirt, his dark hair tousled by the breeze. Coaly squeezed past her, greeting him with an enthusiasm Breanna was far from sharing.
"Oh, it's you."
"Breakfast, remember? I do have the right morning?"
"Yeah, I guess you do."
"My God, what happened to you?" He took a step toward her. "You're hurt."
Breanna didn't think she could possibly look that bad until she glanced down at herself. Her arms were scratched. Her jeans were torn. There were drops of blood on her left tennis shoe. From the horrified expression on Tyler's face, she knew the rest of her looked even worse. "I'm all right... I think. Just took a spill."
"Do you have a first-aid kit?"
"Yes."
He grasped her elbow, taking care not to touch lacerated skin as he steered her down the hall. "Let's get it. Some of those cuts should be cleaned before they get infected. I thought we agreed you would come to my place if anything went wrong?"
She lifted her other arm to survey the damage. "I can handle it. It's just a few scratches."
"A few scratches? You haven't seen the back of you yet. Were you afraid of bothering me? When a person's hurt, they should be able to count on neighbors. Look at you. You've let this go so long, your blouse is stuck to you."
Somehow she had ended up on the defensive. She lowered a shoulder, trying to see. "It can't be that bad. I just took a tumble in the brush."
"Manzanita is a tad sturdier and sharper than regular brush. You're sliced up like a salad tomato."
She braked to such a sudden stop that Tyler nearly ran over her. His chest bumped into a sore place on her back, making her stiffen. With her heart slamming so hard she felt sure he could hear it, she glanced back at him. "How did you know it was manzanita?"
Tension crystallized the air between them. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for his answer. If he knew where she had fallen, then he was also the man she had seen running in the brush. There could be no other explanation.
"It doesn't take a genius to figure it was probably manzanita. Nothing else would cut you up like that."
Dogwood and rosebushes could cut a person, too. Maybe not so deeply, but they could still penetrate the skin. She swallowed, the sound a hollow plunk in the pit of her stomach. "Tyler, I think maybe you should leave and come back another time when I'm feeling better. I can handle this myself."
After a long moment, he replied, "If you're not feeling up to guests, that's okay. But at least let me clean those cuts before I go." Settling his hands on her hips, he propelled her to the kitchen table and drew out a chair, turning it so that she could sit astride with her arms propped on its back. His voice was firm. "Where's the first aid?"
There didn't seem to be any way to get rid of him. "In the bedroom, on the closet shelf."
His boots tapped briskly across the room. She heard him rummaging. A moment later, he returned, carrying a white case.
"Tyler, I saw you last night."
Looking down at her scratched face, with those big blue eyes shimmering, Tyler knew he was in for a hard haul. He was never at his best with no sleep, and he had spent all last night pacing, waiting, dreaming up reasons to come check on her, each of which Jack had vetoed as too flimsy. Unless he lied flat out, he'd have to be damned evasive, and right now he didn't feel too witty. She was a bright lady, at this point a suspicious one, and he knew she would pick up on his least slip of the tongue.
He shot her a glance, his mouth curving up at one corner in what he hoped was a perplexed grin. Snapping the kit open, he said, "And so?"
"You mean you aren't going to deny it?"
"Why would I? I was here planting posts. You sure you didn't bump your head?" She made as if to stand and he shot out a hand to touch her shoulder. "First things first. Let's tend that back."
"I'm crazy to let you do this, but I hurt too bad to argue."
"Take a chance on me," he advised. "I'm a good risk."
She glanced over her shoulder to find him contemplating her blouse, a pair of scissors in one hand. "Do you know anyone named Jackson?"
"Should I?" He paused and a slow grin spread across his face. "It does ring a bell. Michael?"
"Somehow, I don't think that's the same Jackson, unless he took a break from making hit records to come out here and liven up my evening." She threw him another questioning look that he deflected by bending over her. "I hope I don't regret this." Dipping her head, she pulled her long hair forward. "I would have sworn it was you I saw diving into those bushes last night."
"And why would I dive into bushes?" He set the plastic kit on the table. One round from her. Now fire back. "Do you want to pull your blouse down, or should I cut a bigger hole?" He grasped her collar as if to peel the cotton off her. She reacted just as he hoped, clinging to the blouse, losing her train of thought. He felt her pulse skitter under his knuckles where they touched the side of her throat.
"A bigger hole, of course. In case you haven't noticed, the blouse is ruined anyway."
"Don't wiggle. These aren't exactly what you'd call man- size scissors and I may be clumsy with them. It looks like you did the diving."
Breanna felt the warmth of his large hands where they touched her arm and back, gentle, so careful. In spite of herself, she relaxed a bit. "Coaly woke me up out of a dead sleep last night. When I went out to investigate, the place was crawling with men. I tripped over one and fell. That's all."
"You're lucky that was all."
Releasing her hair, she twisted her neck to see his face. "Tyler... was it you? Tell me
the truth."
He leaned forward to put the scissors on the tabletop, the hard flatness of his midriff brushing her arm. "This is a deep cut, lady. It's going to hurt like hell when I pull this material loose. I'm really upset that you didn't come directly to my place when this happened. I think I'll try soaking it with peroxide."
"You haven't answered me. Was it you?" His reply was to uncap the bottle and pour ice-cold peroxide down her spine. She gasped and bolted upright. "Oh!"
"Hurt?"
"No, no, I'm fine. It's just cold. Are you or are you not going to give me a direct answer?"
"No." He bent over her, prying the material away. "There's that," he muttered, soaking a cotton ball. He bent to look through the hole he had cut in her blouse. "You look like a road map."
"No, it wasn't you? Or no, you won't give me an answer?"
"I've just discovered why doctors put people to sleep on the operating table. I'm trying to concentrate back here. Why would I be running around on your property in the dead of night? Give me one sane reason."
"I can give you a couple. Gold, for starters. Are you a treasure hunter? Is that it?" Before Breanna realized what he was up to, he grabbed the scissors and she felt the blades snipping again, this time right up the center back of her blouse. "What are you doing?"
"What do you think I'm doing? Alterations?" He made a final snip through her collar and the cotton garment fell forward. "No, I'm not a treasure hunter."
"Tyler, if I'd wanted to take off the blouse, I would have in the first place."
"Can we argue about one thing at a time? You're leapfrogging so badly, I can't keep track."
Breanna, struggling to keep her blouse in place, threw him an incredulous glare. It seemed to her that he was the one scrambling their communication. And he was doing a good job of it. "Are you going to answer my question?"
"Which one?" Just before he shoved her head forward, she saw his eyes dancing with mischief. "You see, right now, only one thing seems important to me. Your back. So be still while I take care of it."
Resonable Doubt Page 5
