by Kat Martin
Just before dawn, she awakened and was surprised to find Zach sitting in the chair, asleep next to her bed.
He was still in the chair when she awakened several hours later, his dark eyes watching her, his expression full of worry and fatigue. A rough shadow of beard outlined his jaw and his dark hair was mussed, making him look dangerous and even sexier than he usually did. If her lip hadn’t hurt, she might have smiled.
Instead, she reached over and caught his hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Good morning.” The words came out thick and husky, as if her voice didn’t work quite right.
He smiled, but his eyes still looked tired, and it was obvious that he was worried about her. “How are you feeling?”
She managed a smile. “Like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“You were—three of them, as I recall.”
“What about you?”
“A little stiff, is all. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a street fight.”
“I think you would have taken care of all three of them if it hadn’t been for that pipe.”
The edge of his mouth faintly curved. “I would have done my best.”
A uniformed nurse came in just then and Zach stood up from his chair. His pants were wrinkled, his shirt torn and spotted with dried blood.
“We need to get those tests underway,” the nurse said to him kindly. “You can wait in the room down the hall.”
Zach just nodded. Reaching toward where she lay against the pillow, he gently traced a knuckle over her cheek. “I’ll be here when you’re finished.”
Elizabeth just nodded. Her heart was squeezing, reminding her how much she loved him. Telling her that here was a man unlike any she had ever known, would ever know again. He had once said that he loved her. When she thought of the way he had looked at her last night, the worry she had seen in his eyes, she found herself believing it might be true.
But this was Zachary Harcourt, the Lone Wolf, and she thought that even if he loved her it might not be enough.
* * *
Sitting in the small waiting room down the hall from where the CAT scan was being done, Zach thumbed through the pages of a Time magazine, unable to concentrate on the printed words. He couldn’t relax until he knew for sure Liz was going to be all right. He tossed the magazine aside and began to pace the near-empty room, his worry mixed with a simmering anger.
What the hell was the matter with Carson? He was bound to be upset about the lawsuit, a petition that asked the court to appoint someone who would agree to the surgery his father so desperately needed. But this kind of response was way out of line.
Damn him!
The fact was, Zach had underestimated his half brother once again. It had never occurred to him that Carson would actually go as far as hiring a pack of thugs to attack them, that he would order his men to physically attack a defenseless woman.
Tamping down a fresh shot of fury, Zach mulled that over and tried to make himself think like his brother. If the surgery was approved and actually succeeded in restoring Fletcher Harcourt’s mental capabilities, Carson might no longer be running Harcourt Farms. He would lose the power he coveted so greatly, the prestige in the community that seemed so important. It might even affect his lofty political ambitions.
Whatever his brother’s motives, his men could have killed Elizabeth Conners and Zach wasn’t about to let that pass.
The doctor was smiling as he approached where Zach stood next to the coffeepot, and seeing that smile, some of his tension eased.
“The tests came out negative,” the doctor said. “There doesn’t appear to be any unseen damage. We still have some paperwork to complete before she’s released. She’ll need time to dress and get ready. Why don’t you come back in a couple of hours?”
Zach nodded. “All right. Thanks, Doc, for everything.”
While Liz was completing the checkout process, Zach went back to her apartment to shower and change, then drove out to Harcourt Farms. Unfortunately, when he pulled up in front of the house that had once been his home, he was met by Les Stiles and two of Les’s goons.
Obviously they’d been expecting him.
Zach cracked his car door open into the morning heat and stepped out of the car, and Stiles and his cronies came down off the porch. At first, Zach thought the dark-skinned men flanking Les on each side were the guys who had attacked him last night, but during the brawl, he’d landed a few good punches, and these two didn’t have a scratch.
Stiles stepped forward. “Where do you think you’re going?” His big, meaty hands were wrapped around a baseball bat.
“I’m here to see my brother. Get out of my way, Stiles.”
Stiles didn’t move. Beneath his battered straw hat, his eyes looked hard. “You’re not welcome here, Zach. Not anymore. Your brother wants you off Harcourt property.”
“This property belongs to my father, not Carson—no matter what he believes. I’ll come here whenever I damn well please.”
“Carson runs this place, and as far as he’s concerned, you’re trespassing.” Stiles moved closer, slapping the bat against the palm of his hand, his men staying abreast of him, one on each side. Both were young, hard-muscled, and itching for a fight. Zach’s hands unconsciously fisted, every nerve in his body urging him to give them one.
“You’re a troublemaker, Zach,” Stiles said. “You always have been. You come here looking for trouble and you’re gonna find it.”
“You mean like last night?”
Stiles just smiled. “All you have to do is mind your own business. You do that, there won’t be a problem.”
A muscle bunched in Zach’s jaw. He forcibly clamped down on his anger. Stiles was as tough as he looked. Even if Zach took down the other two, odds were, against all three of them, he’d come out the loser. He couldn’t help his father or anyone else if he wound up like Liz, in some damned hospital bed.
“You tell Carson anything else happens to Liz Conners, he’s gonna answer to me, and hiring all the muscle in the world isn’t going to help him.” Turning away, Zach stalked back to his car and climbed in, his jaw clenched so hard a stab of pain ran up the back of his neck.
Whatever the hell Carson was trying to do, he wasn’t going to succeed.
Zach wasn’t going to let him.
* * *
When it was time to leave the hospital, Elizabeth found Zach waiting for her at the end of the hall.
“You ready?” he asked as the nurse wheeled her up in a wheelchair. His hair was still damp from the shower he had taken and he was wearing clean clothes.
“Believe me, I’m more than ready.”
His mouth edged up, drawing her attention to the cut on his cheekbone and the bruise along his jaw, reminding her she wasn’t the only one who’d been hurt last night. She wanted to reach out and touch him, make sure that he was all right.
Instead, she leaned back in the wheelchair and let him roll her down the hall to the door.
“I stopped in to see Maria,” she told him along the way. “She’s going home on Wednesday.”
He brought the wheelchair to a halt. “She hasn’t changed her mind? She’s not planning to go back to the house?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “She’s staying with Señora Garcia.”
“Thank God for that.”
“A couple of policemen paid me a visit. I guess they talked to you last night.”
“One of them did.”
“I assured them you were not the guy who beat me up.”
Zach’s lips twitched. “Then I guess I don’t have to worry about going back to jail.”
She cast him a glance. “At least not for that.”
Zach actually grinned.
Outside the hospital, he helped her out of the chair and down the wide front s
teps, then carefully loaded her into his car as if she were made of glass.
“I’m okay, Zach, really.”
Zach nodded and continued to fuss over her all the way back home. He carried her into the apartment, settled her on a stack of pillows on the sofa, and insisted she rest for the day.
Elizabeth didn’t argue. Her head ached as if someone were playing pool in the back of her skull, and though she had slept some during the night, she was exhausted.
Zach plumped her pillows for the third time since they got home then grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. He made her some soup, using some dry pasta noodles he found in the pantry along with leftover chicken, a meal far better than her usual Campbell’s out-of-a-can fare.
As she ate the soup, he sat down in the chair next to the sofa, but he didn’t stay seated long. He seemed restless, uneasy. Just watching him made her uneasy, too.
Elizabeth used the tuner to mute the sound on the television show that neither of them was watching and propped herself into a sitting position on the sofa, ignoring the stab of pain that shot into her head.
“You’re worried, aren’t you? You’re thinking about the house and what might be happening to Miguel.”
Those intense brown eyes fixed on her face. “Among other things, yes.”
“What are we going to do, Zach? Maria’s still in the hospital. We can’t just stop looking for answers, not after we’ve gone this far.”
“No one said we were going to stop.”
“Maybe we should go to the police, tell them our suspicions, see if they’d be willing to help.”
“They won’t believe us. Even I don’t believe it half the time.”
“We have to try. We have to find out if Carrie Ann Whitt was murdered in that house. We have to see if we can find her body.”
“We can’t go to the cops without proof.” His gaze grew more intense. “Then again, if Carrie Ann is there and we can find her body—we’ll have all the proof we need.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you saying we’re going to search for her ourselves?”
Zach raked a hand through his wavy dark hair. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I don’t see any other way.”
“Do you really think we can do this on our own?”
“Maybe I can find us some help.”
She sat up a little straighter. “Who are you thinking of?”
“Sam offered,” Zach said. “Let’s see if he meant it.”
* * *
Zach picked up the telephone, began to punch in the numbers to reach Sam Marston out at Teen Vision. As soon as Sam answered, Zach briefly explained what had happened on the way home from the hospital after their visit with Maria.
“Damn, Zach. Is Elizabeth, okay?”
He glanced at her over his shoulder, saw her sitting there propped up on the sofa. Every time he noticed her shattered lip and black eye, he felt a fresh surge of fury at his brother.
“They knocked the hell out of her, Sam. She spent the night at Community, but the doc says in a few days she’ll be good as new. The reason I called, I was hoping… If I remember right, you have a friend, a guy who took early retirement from the sheriff’s department. I think his name is Donahue?”
“That’s right, Ben Donahue. Took a bullet during a robbery at one of the local minimarts. Tall blond guy. You met him out at the farm once or twice. He works with the kids in his spare time.”
“Yeah, I remember. Seemed like a decent sort. I was hoping maybe you could get him to listen to what we have to say, maybe go in with us when we dig. Then if we find anything, Donahue can bring in the authorities. The house is in the county. That means it’s the sheriff’s jurisdiction. Ben’s word is bound to hold more weight than mine.”
“Won’t you be trespassing? I don’t think he’d go for that.”
“Legally, the farm belongs to my father. Carson’s the conservator, which gives him control, but it’s a very fine line. If we had more time, I could get some kind of access through the court, but time isn’t something we have.”
“Carson’s a powerful man in San Pico. You sure you want to take him on?”
An image of Liz’s battered face returned to mind and his hand tightened around the phone. “I’ve been butting heads with Carson since I was eight years old. Besides, this isn’t about my brother. It’s about what’s happening in that house. Maria Santiago’s lying in a hospital bed because of that place. Her husband has been acting more and more strangely. I have no idea what might happen to him if he stays there much longer. Do you think Donahue might agree to at least hear us out?”
“Ben’s a good guy. And I’ve got to admit this whole thing is damned intriguing. I’ll call him, see what he has to say.”
“Thanks, Sam.” Zach hung up the phone and turned to find Liz smiling at him. There was something in her eyes that made his chest feel tight.
“You’re amazing, you know that? I bet you really are an incredible lawyer.”
Zach smiled, too. “I’m good. No doubt about it.”
“But we don’t have time to do this by the book.”
“Not if we’re worried that something might happen to Miguel.”
Liz shifted one of the pillows behind her back. “I’m worried about him, Zach. He’s been acting strange for weeks, more so lately. I’m convinced that whatever’s in that house has incredible power. And I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be living there. When do we do this?”
“Wait a minute! You aren’t going—you just had your head bashed in. You’ve got to take it easy.”
She pinned him with a glare. “I’m going. You might as well accept it. There is no way in hell you’re keeping me away.”
Zach almost smiled. He looked at her and thought how beautiful she looked even with her bruised face and cut lip. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her lying there on that gurney, still recall the way he felt when he thought she might die. Now he knew the gut-wrenching pain he would feel if he lost her.
Better to leave now, before he fell for her any harder, before the pain of losing her became too much to bear.
Zach turned away from those beautiful blue eyes that seemed to look inside him. He felt like running, felt like getting in his car and driving away without looking back. He couldn’t. Not yet.
“All right, fine, you can go.”
“When?”
“The sooner the better.”
* * *
Elizabeth passed the rest of the day sleeping lightly off and on. She was stiff and sore all over, her body battered and bruised. She was taking some sort of pain medication for the soreness but it made her drowsy. She wasn’t taking it tomorrow. She had too much work to do.
She looked over at Zach, who got up to pace off and on, restless in a way she’d never seen him. Since he’d brought her home, he’d been even more distant than he had been before. She knew he was worried. She told herself it was nothing more, but deep down she was afraid it had something to do with her.
It was early that evening that Sam Marston phoned the apartment. Elizabeth answered and handed the phone to Zach.
“That’s great,” he said, nodding though Sam couldn’t see. “So we’ll talk to him tomorrow evening.”
Sam said something else she couldn’t hear.
“All right. Thanks, Sam.” Zach hung up the phone and Elizabeth waited anxiously to find out what had been said.
“Donahue’s agreed to hear us out. He and Sam are coming over at seven o’clock Monday evening. If we can convince him we’re not just a couple of kooks, he’ll go in with us Tuesday night.”
Tuesday night? Elizabeth bit her lip, then winced at the soreness. “You don’t think we could go in during the day?”
“If Carson sees us, he’ll sic his two-legged rottweilers on us.”
&n
bsp; “Even with an ex-cop there?”
“I hate to chance it. I’m not sure how far he’s willing to go.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I don’t get this. Why is your brother so dead-set on keeping us away from the house?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just a power trip. I know he wants that lawsuit dropped. He’s got a lot to lose if the surgery works and my father gets well. I knew running the farm was important to him. I never thought he’d put Dad’s health second to his own greedy ambition.”
“You always seem to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Zach glanced away. “Maybe I keep wishing he would turn out to be different than he is.”
“Maybe you keep wishing he was the brother you never really had.”
Zach turned toward her. “Whatever happens, we’re going to dig Tuesday night.”
“With or without Donahue?”
He nodded.
“We’ve got to talk to Miguel, convince him not to interfere.”
“After what happened to his wife, convincing him shouldn’t be a problem.”
* * *
Elizabeth spent all day Monday at her office. Except for a persistent dull headache and a few aches and pains, she felt passably good. She told Michael and Terry she’d been mugged in the alley behind her house but left out her certainty that Carson Harcourt was responsible for the attack, since she didn’t really have any proof.
Both of her friends urged her to go to the police and she told them that she had given a report to a pair of uniformed officers at the hospital. Thinking of the plans she and Zach had for tomorrow night, she figured they both might be speaking to the cops in the near future—whether they wanted to or not.
Refilling her coffee mug, she returned to her office and sat down at her desk. Carol Hickman, the twelve-year-old who thought every date should end in the backseat of some boy’s car, showed up right on time. They spent the hour talking, making at least some progress with the young girl’s self-esteem, Elizabeth thought, the real heart of the problem.
Next she was scheduled to meet with Emilio Mendoza, head of the Mendoza clan, as part of the family’s counseling program.
