Rescue You

by Elysia Whisler

  Again, Rhett was in too much pain to argue. He regretted not paying more attention to her occupation on her waiver. Physical therapist? Nurse? He settled himself on the floor and waited.

  Stanzi kneeled next to his right side, squirted something into her palm from the bottle she’d fetched and rubbed her hands together. She slipped one of her legs under his knee. “Relax. Let me support your weight.”

  Rhett obeyed, closed his eyes and drew a deep breath into his stomach. Her hands, still warm from the workout, hovered above his knee. Even though he couldn’t see her, he could feel her, just above his skin. When she finally touched him, he felt a little jolt inside, but contained it, keeping his body still. She sat there a few seconds, doing nothing while he breathed. He waited for questions. None came. Then her hands moved into long, gliding strokes from below the knee, all the way up his thigh.

  “Keep breathing like you are,” she said. “Achy pain is okay, but if you feel like you want to punch me, let me know.”

  Rhett laughed a little bit. “Do your worst, Stanzi.” Despite his bravado, he felt himself bracing, in anticipation of the pain. He’d gone to a couple of massage therapists—he was guessing that was her occupation—for PT after he got back home and things always got excruciating. Afterward, he’d lie in bed feeling like he’d just beat the flu, weak and useless.

  But as he lay there, and Stanzi worked his leg, he found himself relaxing. There was something different about her touch. She didn’t just jam her elbow in his scars and try to make him cry. She didn’t talk too much, either. Everybody else talked too damn much. He didn’t want to open his eyes to see, because it felt too good and he didn’t want to jinx it, but it felt like she was kneading his muscles more than squashing them. She could’ve had fifty hands for how deftly she worked his leg, all the way from below the knee, up into his groin.

  “We could work this scar tissue more, at another time.” Her voice was light and professional as her fingers grazed over the old wounds. “It would be a little more painful, though, and right now I just want to loosen up all the fascia and get the quads separated and warm. You’ll feel a lot better, trust me.”

  He already did. His thigh was warmer and looser, like she’d chinked up and loosened his muscles from their old bonds. This reminded him of the time Papa had dug up a dying tree in a client’s yard, and showed him the root-bound ball that was keeping the plant from getting the nutrients it needed. Papa had shaken out the dry dirt and worked the roots, combing his fingers through them like he stroked a lover’s hair, until he’d been satisfied and had replanted the tree in a larger hole with fresh soil.

  Twenty years later, Rhett drove past that tree, now large and robust, every time he went home to visit his parents.

  “You doing all right?”

  Rhett nodded, unwilling to speak, afraid his voice would come out lacking authority and control. So he just kept breathing and hoped whatever she was doing would never end.

  All too soon, Stanzi straightened out his shorts and slipped her thigh from beneath his knee. “How do you feel?” she asked as he blinked his eyes open.

  Rhett sat up, then rose slowly to his feet. He bent his knee a few times. “Not horrible,” he said. Amazing, he thought. “Thanks. Now I can get through the day.”

  “You need a full assessment. Your old wounds could be causing an ascending disorder. I’m guessing you suffer a tight back and some neck pain most of the time, in addition to the pain you get in the leg.”

  Wow, how the hell would she know that? Rhett kept the surprise, and the laughter, out of his voice when he said, “Oh, trust me. I have an ascending disorder or two.”

  Stanzi offered a pretty, genuine smile. A matured version of the one he’d seen so far, like she’d grown more comfortable after massaging him. He noted that she didn’t offer to give him the full assessment. He wasn’t going to ask, either.

  Stanzi drew on her coat, zipped it all the way up her neck and over her mouth. The hat and gloves followed.

  Rhett suppressed a chuckle. “All you need’s the mask and you’re in MOPP 4.”

  “What?” The word came muffled from beneath the coat.

  “Mission-oriented protective...never mind.” Rhett chuckled to himself.

  She giggled, anyway. “Thanks for the lesson. I’m going to be sore as hell tomorrow.”

  “That’s okay. Long as you come back the day after.”

  All Rhett could see were those bright glacier eyes. Her mouth said nothing, but her eyes were conflicted. She was terrified, but excited. Overwhelmed, but had hooked into something she couldn’t deny.

  Stanzi left, saying nothing.

  But she’d be back.

  eight

  “Everybody’s good, ma’am. I’m turning in.” Roger peeked into the living room, where Sunny sat by the fireplace, watching the pups and Chevy snooze while she nursed a glass of wine.

  “Thanks, Rog.” Sunny offered a tired smile. The day had been long, but rewarding. Despite the ice storm, she’d been able to place three of her dogs into successful adoptions today. “I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, hey!” she called out before Roger disappeared. “What happened to the new girl? Yolanda? She wasn’t here when I got back today.”

  Roger paused in the entryway. His shoulders rose and fell before he turned back. “Janice stopped by again.” Roger waved in the general vicinity of the Matteri land. “When you were out. I didn’t want to tell you, because you were so busy and look so tired. She threatened me and Yolanda. Made her hand into a gun—” Roger imitated “—and said we’d be sorry if we set foot on her land. Yolanda spooked. But I don’t want her to get kicked out of the program. Yolanda is good people. She needs to be here or she’s just going to be strung out her whole life.”

  Sunny’s insides tightened, her fatigue filling up with the sizzle of adrenaline. “I’ll talk to Kendra tomorrow. See what I can do. I’ll make sure Yolanda doesn’t lose her spot.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Roger turned to go, but stopped again. He lowered his voice, even though nobody was around to hear them. “I know you wanted to go back for that beagle last time you raided her mill, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. That woman is on to you and she’s crazy. Please don’t go over there. At least for a while.” He opened his hands in a stop gesture, which offered an impressive palm spread. Though only nineteen, Roger was a large man with a deep voice and a gentle demeanor that belied both his years and upbringing.

  Sunny drained her wine and smiled. “You’re sweet to worry about me, Rog. But I’ll be okay. You go get some rest now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sunny watched him through the window as he made his way out back and along the path to the cabin that was reserved just for him. It was the largest one, attached to the main kennel. Sunny would never forget the tears she saw in the young man’s eyes when she offered him the place for his very own. “No rent,” she’d said. “You live here and help me take care of my dogs for as long as you want to and the room and board is on me.”

  Despite the fact he shared his quarters with half a dozen dogs, all he’d said was, “I’ve never had a room of my own before.”

  Sunny’s eyes had welled up fast. “Well, you do now.”

  As soon as Roger disappeared inside, she plunked her empty wineglass down, rose and snatched up her coat and boots. It was one thing for Janice Matteri to threaten her; it was another entirely to go pointing her nasty fingers at her crew.

  * * *

  Sunny trained her binoculars on the back of Janice Matteri’s kennel. This is where Janice kept the dogs she cared the least about. Anything prized, which is what she’d shown to the police, was kept in or near the main house. Everything was dark, quiet and freezing. A shift to the left: the security camera was still disabled with black spray paint. Now was the time. Nobody would be expecting Sunny to raid the kennel just days after Janice had go
ne to the police. What kind of idiot would do that?

  Me, that’s who, thought Sunny.

  She slipped the binoculars into her bag and approached the fence, feeling around until she had the first foothold. Sunny had long ago memorized the notches in the old wood fence that Janice was too cheap to replace. Divots just big enough to hook her feet and hands and pop herself over. Sunny landed with a thump, then slunk through the trees and stopped at the door of the kennel. The padlock Janice had put on the handle made her chuckle. Sunny withdrew bolt cutters from her bag. She paused before she put metal to metal, but all was silent. Despite the fact that common sense suggested a kennel full of dogs would bark at Sunny’s noise or smell, she had learned early on that Janice’s dogs were cowed into silence. They didn’t like the sound of people approaching and never drew attention to themselves.

  Her heart thudded in her chest as she braced to cut open the padlock. This time, she’d come armed with a leash and collar and a bag of raw meat to entice the poor beagle out of his corner. Even though some time had passed since she’d first tried to lure him away, now that she was here Sunny felt an urgency to get to him as quickly as possible. Her hands shook with anticipation.

  “Hands up,” a cold male voice came from behind her back. “Nice and slow.”

  * * *

  Sunny’s hands planted on the cold metal of her car as the detective spun her around. Her head was spinning, just as fast. What the hell had just happened?

  You got busted trying to break into Janice Matteri’s kennel and then marched out to your car, where you thought it was safely hidden on a back road nobody knows about, by a police detective, her brain shot back.

  “Sunny Morrigan, I presume? I’m Detective Callahan. Would you like me to radio a female detective to come out here and frisk you?”

  “Frisk me?” Sunny’s heart hammered in her chest. “Listen, Detective, I’m not on any drugs and I’m not carrying a gun. I was only trying to check on—”

  “Who said anything about drugs or a gun?” His voice got sharper.

  Dammit. Where the hell had he been hiding? And why?

  “I’ll take that as a no.” Detective Callahan kicked her legs apart with his foot and patted her up and down, cold and professional, until he was satisfied she wasn’t packing. “Turn around. Stick out your arms and touch your nose, one finger at a time.”

  “Listen.” Sunny pushed off the car and obeyed, her fingers going rapidly to her nose, back and forth. “I know what this looks like. But it’s not what it looks like. If you’d just let me explain.” Sunny actually had no idea what she would say if the detective suddenly agreed.

  “Walk in a straight line, just there.” He pointed. “One foot in front of the other.”

  “We both know I’m not drunk.” A cold fist tightened around Sunny’s stomach. “Janice Matteri’s the one you should be arresting. She has dogs in that kennel who are suffering. Shame on her, and shame on you. I’m the only humane one in this scenario.”

  Silence passed. A hand gripped her shoulder, stopping her midstride. Sunny turned and faced the steely gaze of the detective. He wasn’t exceptionally tall, but he didn’t need to be. His eyes looked like cold stars, the way they glittered in the dark, and his jaw could’ve been chiseled from marble. His light brown hair was cropped close on the sides, and the way he filled out his clothes, beneath his protective vest, left no doubt of his strength.

  Sunny held up her hands, palms open.

  Callahan’s face softened, like he was seeing her for the first time. “You’re under arrest,” he said. “I’m going to put you in the back of my car and take you back to the station. Maybe a night in jail will make you think about how reckless you’re being.”

  Sunny sensed the slight drop in his guard and moved in quickly. “You could do that. Or you could come back to my place to talk. I know what it looks like, but I swear I’m not the bad guy. She’s been threatening me and my staff. Threatening to shoot us, no less.”

  Detective Callahan paused, stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at her.

  “Plus—” Sunny took a step closer “—I have whisky.”

  The detective gave a soft laugh. He looked her up and down. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

  “Maybe.”

  Just enough silence passed to make Sunny nervous, but when the detective spoke, he surprised her. “Get in your car,” he said. “I’ll follow.”

  * * *

  Without the vest, his shirt undone at the top two buttons and his sidearm safely holstered, Detective Callahan was a slightly less imposing figure as he leaned back on Sunny’s couch. She poured him a glass of Scotch and passed it over.

  “Are you going to get into trouble for not taking me in?”

  The detective sipped his whisky and watched her awhile, maybe sizing her up or trying to decide what to say. “I’m not on duty. Nobody knows I’m out here but me.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But that won’t stop me from taking you in and throwing you in jail for the night if I don’t like what I hear.”

  “You’re not on duty?” Sunny measured her words carefully. “Then why are you out here?”

  “I spoke with your sister the other day.” Detective Callahan’s unflinching gaze was bright above the Scotch glass. “She suggested looking into the dog operations when no one was expecting it. I decided to come out here tonight, see the layout. Then I spotted your car. The way it was tucked off the road drew my suspicion immediately.”

  So, he was a good detective. Nobody else would’ve seen her car there, on that back road that only the Morrigans and Matteris knew existed. “I’m sure my sister meant you should check out Janice Matteri’s operation. Not mine.”

  Callahan laughed a little. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not seeing Ms. Matteri breaking into your kennels. Am I?”

  Sunny silently agreed that she’d walked into that one. “If you talked to my sister, then you know that I rescue dogs. I also help kids who’ve been in trouble so they get a second chance. They’re innocent. Janice Matteri, on the other hand, sells for profit. She overbreeds and keeps many of her dogs in inhumane conditions.”

  Callahan rolled his glass around in his fingertips, then ran it beneath his nose. “Is that who lives in your cabins, out back? Kids who work here?”

  He had done more than a little sleuthing. “Only one resident works for me. Roger. He’s an adult, but yes, he started here with the youth program. He was in foster care his whole childhood.” Sunny dispensed with the fake pleasantness and loosed a little of her frustration by thunking a glass upright on the bar. “The other cabins are rented out by people who don’t want to camp but also don’t want to glamp. I’m a mix between the two. Helps pay the bills.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m surprised you came with me.” Sunny poured herself two fingers and tossed it back. She braced herself for the burn, but the amber liquid went down much smoother than she’d expected. “Why not just throw me in jail?”

  Detective Callahan ran the glass under his nose again and drew a breath. “Because I like your sister, Miss Morrigan.”

  “Call me Sunny.”

  “I like your sister, Sunny.” He took a second sip and showed his appreciation by eyeing the glass with raised brows. “She shot straight with me. That’s why I tend to believe your story about why I caught you breaking several laws tonight.”

  “Everybody likes Cici.” Sunny rolled her eyes. Introverted Constance, who needed nobody. She just had a way with people. “She’s like that grumpy aunt who doesn’t like cats, but all the cats go to her, anyway.” Sunny shrugged. “Except she likes cats. And she’s not really grumpy. She’s just kind of...intimidating, without being intimidating.” Sunny expected confusion but the detective smiled.

  “The opposite of you?”

  Sunny poured herself another glass. “I get it.” She spread her arms o
pen. “I’m not large and intimidating.” She threw back the second drink and was grateful for the warmth that spread quickly through her body. “Like you.”

  “Size isn’t everything.” Callahan shook his head and stood up. “A black widow can be just as dangerous as a great white shark.” He approached her, his demeanor considerably more relaxed than outside Janice Matteri’s, and took the bottle of Scotch from her hand. “Something tells me that you just might be a venomous little spider.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Sunny dropped her voice down. “What tells you that?”

  “Everything from the way you invited me out here to the way you’re guzzling this very, very, very—” Callahan eyed the label “—expensive Scotch, when you should be sipping it. Smelling it. Savoring the different aromas.” He set the bottle on the oak bar and leaned his elbow there.

  “I don’t know anything about Scotch,” Sunny said. “This was a gift.”

  Callahan nodded toward the bottle. “Macallan. Thirty-year-old single malt. Whoever gave you that likes you a lot.”

  “One of my frequent customers.” Sunny opened her arms, as though to embrace the grounds. Mr. Healy. A wealthy property developer from New York City who came down twice a year, rented a cabin for two weeks, took all his meals alone and always greeted Sunny with a peck on each cheek. He’d never asked her out or gave her lascivious looks, but he always presented her with a “hostess” gift, and bowed when she accepted it.

  The detective took another sip from his glass. It looked like he rolled the Scotch around on his tongue before he swallowed. “Starts off like oranges,” he said. “Then turns to vanilla and toffee. Midway it goes woody. Finishes like silk. You should try it slowly. Here.” He held out his glass.

  Sunny took it and sipped.

  Callahan’s eyes didn’t leave her mouth. “Where do you taste it?”

  “Starts in the middle of my tongue. Then changes to the edges.” Sunny sucked in her bottom lip. “Then it sort of fizzes out, filling my mouth and warming my throat.”