Rescue You

by Elysia Whisler

  Especially when she saw a strange car in the driveway.

  “Now, who could that be?” Sunny sidled up to the blue four-door, older make and model, and peered into the driver’s seat. Her heart leaped into her throat.

  “Evening, Sunny.” Detective Sean Callahan greeted her as she stepped out.

  “Evening, Detective.” Sunny hugged her arms around her waist. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” The detective wore jeans and a button-down shirt beneath his casual jacket. Maybe that was a good sign. He’d have to be dressed up to arrest her, right?

  “Oh, I’m a pleasure now, am I?”

  “Depends on why you’re here.”

  He shrugged. “For the Scotch, of course. You said I could come by anytime. Unless, of course, there’s another reason I should be here?” His voice took on a hard edge, but Sunny couldn’t tell if it was real or pretend.

  Either way, she wasn’t risking it. “Sure. C’mon inside.”

  After a quick tour of the house and grounds, Sunny took the detective into the living room that was just off the foyer. It had a stone fireplace that took up the entire east wall and windows that overlooked the frosty woods. She lit the paper beneath the layers of starter logs always waiting, then poured the detective a glass of the four-thousand-dollar Scotch and pressed it into his thick hands. It was best to keep him here, warm and liquored up, and nowhere near Roger’s cabin, which housed the Maltese. Just in case he’d heard anything.

  “Thanks.” Sean stared into the fire as he took a sip. “This room is almost as amazing as this Scotch.”

  “I like it, too.” Sunny went behind the bar and poured herself a glass of red wine. “Did you enjoy Thanksgiving?”

  Sean rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure.”

  Sunny sipped at the cabernet. “You rub your neck when you’re lying.”

  He fixed her with his appraising gaze, which seemed to always live just under the surface. “Now you sound like your sister.”

  Sunny could picture it. Cici noticed everybody’s habits, posture, gait. It was difficult to be in public with her without her wanting to fix someone’s rounded shoulders or pronated feet. “Just saw my sister. She’s at the gym, making progress with your buddy.”

  Sean finally smiled. “It’s a good thing your sister is stubborn. Or so she seemed when I met her. She’ll need it, with Rhett.”

  “Oh, she’s stubborn, all right.” Sunny sat on the couch, right where she’d nestled into Pete’s lap on Thanksgiving night. When she’d woken, the sun had been bright and Pete was gone, which had given her an empty feeling she hadn’t expected.

  Sean threw back his Scotch and helped himself to more from the bottle Sunny had left on the bar. “By the way—” he reached into his back pocket and withdrew a piece of paper “—I have something for you.” He handed it to her as he sat next to her on the couch.

  “What’s this?” Sunny’s stomach tightened back up.

  “A restraining order,” Sean said casually. “From Janice Matteri.”

  Her pulse thudded in her ears. The wine burned the back of her throat.

  “This is a preliminary protective order,” Sean went on, as though they were discussing the weather. “Basically, you have to stay away from her and her grounds for a period of time. There’ll be a hearing to determine whether or not she’ll be granted a permanent order.” Sean sipped his Scotch. “I brought it over myself, so we could talk.”

  “I see.” Sunny slugged her glass of wine. “And did Janice Matteri say why she was obtaining this order?” She dropped the paper on the couch, without looking at it.

  Sean narrowed his eyes, which deepened the gray hue of his irises. “She claims you stole two of her dogs over the holiday. Her nephew was staying at the house. His story—” a small grin played around Sean’s mouth “—is a lot more interesting.” He sipped his drink again and swallowed with a satisfied sigh. “He claims he caught you in the act and you took him down with some fancy martial arts moves.”

  Sunny rose up and crossed slowly to the bar. She said nothing, gathering her thoughts as she poured the wine. Part of her was relieved that the man Pete had taken down hadn’t even seen him, apparently, and thought Sunny responsible. The other part of her was calculating how much Sean knew and what to say next. “If this is true—” Sunny spun to face the detective “—then why aren’t I under arrest?”

  “Oh, they’re not pressing charges.” Sean set his glass down on the coffee table and folded his hands together, between his knees. “Janice Matteri just wants you to stay away, permanently.”

  She’s afraid, Sunny thought. She knows she could go to jail herself for abusing her dogs. “That woman is a lunatic. Her nephew was probably strung out. That whole family is bad news. Like I told you before, you really ought to check into her operation. Not mine.”

  “Maybe.”

  Sunny leaned back against the bar and opened her arms. “Do I look like the type who could take down a fully grown male?”

  Sean rose from the couch and approached her, his gaze steady on her own. “Depends on what you’re using.”

  “You have some nerve.” The wine had gone to Sunny’s head. “Pretending you wanted to share my expensive Scotch when you really came out here to give me some silly protective order. You know who needs a protective order? Janice Matteri’s dogs!”

  Sean halted, just inside Sunny’s personal space. “I wasn’t pretending that I wanted your Scotch.” His eyes glinted. “All of this could’ve gone a very different way. I came out here to make sure it went the gentlest way possible.”

  “Am I supposed to thank you?” As soon as the words left her lips, Sunny’s eyes closed. Why could she never stop her mouth? If Cici were here she’d be shaking her head.

  “Do you want to thank me?” Sean’s voice came close to her ear. His breath danced over her cheek.

  A little shiver zipped down Sunny’s spine. Her eyes opened. Sean had closed the space between them. His hands went to the bar, on either side of her body.

  “What happens if I say no?”

  Sean shrugged. “Nothing. I leave.”

  “What happens if I say yes?” Her voice lowered, the words coming of their own volition.

  Sean leaned in close and brushed his lips over her cheek, toward her mouth. He stopped there. “I don’t know, Sunny. Do you want to find out?”

  fifteen

  Constance had just pulled on the door handle when a touch to her shoulder made her halt. Rhett loomed above, looking stern. “I thought you wanted to hear about Combat.”

  Constance pushed a few sweaty strands of hair from her face and decided she’d get out the scissors and cut it short again when she got home. Long hair was just a pain in the ass and served no purpose whatsoever. “It’s late,” she said. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

  “I’ve got a few minutes.” Rhett gave a wave to the stragglers from the last class as they headed out into the cold.

  “Later, man.” Hobbs held up a hand. “You locking up?” His gaze went from Rhett to her and back again.

  “Yep.”

  “All right. Night, Red.” Hobbs winked at her. “Great job on those snatches. You seen her snatch yet?”

  “Of course.” Rhett’s voice had a tinge of possessiveness to it.

  Constance forced a smile. “Thanks.” She liked Steve. That conceited persona he wore was about as real as a clown’s painted smile. He was loud and boisterous but friendly, which kept him from being obnoxious. His energy was big, but thin. Constance sensed that there was a quiet, denser core that he kept tight and tucked away from scrutiny. She’d have to lay hands on him to find out.

  Rhett locked the door behind Hobbs. His energy was big in a different way. Constance didn’t even need to touch him tonight to know—he was wide-open. It emanated from his body, even though he stood about a foot from her. Constance wondered i
f the woman who’d hugged him earlier was the one to amp him up. Unlike Hobbs, Rhett’s persona was typically cool and controlled, and his outward energy matched that, like a quiet, retreating tide that left a long, smooth pattern of wet sand in its wake. His core was where the storm lived. It was his source—a deeper, darker entity that drove him, crashing from the inside out, driving the power in circular ripples that calmed as it broke the surface.

  Constance looked out into the dark parking lot. The strip mall across the street flickered with bright, festive lights. Everyone decorated for Christmas right after Thanksgiving these days, but she hadn’t even put her electric candles in the windows. At least she’d taken down Daddy’s scarecrow. “This was already my second workout today,” she said. “And it’s late. I should go.”

  Rhett’s eyes narrowed. He silently appraised her. Constance swallowed the tightness in her throat, hoping he couldn’t see what she herself didn’t understand. What was her problem? Why had her mood changed ever since she saw that woman locked in his arms?

  “We’re not going to work out.” Rhett took her elbow and gently pulled her away from the door. “I’m just going to show you a few basics. Then you’ll know whether or not you want to try the class.”

  “Well—”

  “C’mon. You can help me solve a problem at the same time.”

  Constance knew she really should just go home. Eat some leftovers and maybe dig out her miniature tree. She could hang her White House ornaments on it and light it up, which would make her feel cozy and cheerful while she binged on some Netflix before bed.

  She felt her gym bag slip from her grip and hit the floor. “Okay. Sure.”

  They moved over to the area where the gymnastic mats still covered the floor from the Combat class. “Had a friend visit earlier,” Rhett said, like he could read Constance’s mind.

  “I saw her.” Constance pictured the pretty brunette with the toned body and long, silky hair. “She looked like she was really good at this.” She nodded toward the mats.

  “She is now. When she first tried, she fell flat on her ass.” He laughed. “That was a few years ago. After her husband died. We served together. My last tour in Iraq.”

  Constance felt her insides open up in so many different ways it was impossible to decide what she was feeling. It was like getting a bite of something with multiple flavors and not knowing which way the dish would go. Salty? Sweet? Bitter?

  “He’s buried in Arlington Cemetery. She comes every year from Ohio to visit.”

  Bittersweet.

  Constance regarded Rhett carefully, trying to absorb everything he said without words. “You go with her. You take care of her, as best as you can.”

  Rhett’s eyes glimmered with surprise. It wasn’t a look Constance was used to seeing on his face. “Yeah. I have to be here for her. I have to do anything I can. Which is why—” he shrugged “—I feel bad I lied to her. She wanted to be with me for Christmas and I just can’t do it. I can’t.” He sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face.

  Constance noticed how tired he was around the eyes. She stayed quiet, letting him open on his own.

  He cleared his throat. “My mother rented me this cabin for Christmas Eve. Out at this dog rescue. Some kind of rustic getaway. I canceled the reservation. But when Angie suggested she come here and spend Christmas with me, I told her I was staying there. It just popped out of my mouth.”

  Constance stopped herself from laughing, because Rhett wouldn’t understand. Had he really had one of Sunny’s cabins booked for the holiday? Talk about a small world. “You don’t want to spend Christmas with her?”

  “No.” Rhett drew a deep breath and sighed. “I can’t be... I can’t...” He stopped and drew another deep breath. “I think she wants more from me than I can give.”

  His deep, hidden energy rolled out and surrounded her, seeking somewhere to land. Constance let herself be open to it, rather than closing herself off to protect herself, which is what she mostly did these days. “It was a harmless lie,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with lies sometimes. Life isn’t as black and white as we’d like it to be.”

  “I know, but—” Rhett shrugged “—now I feel like I should call and try to get my reservation back. Just so I’m not lying. I’d feel better about it if I wasn’t lying. Is that stupid or what?”

  Constance stifled a laugh. It’s not that she found anything about Rhett’s story funny. Obviously this woman’s husband had been close to Rhett. Rhett might’ve even watched him die. Her instinct told her not to question it. But his response to his lie reminded her so much of herself she couldn’t help but feel amused. “Did you say a dog rescue? Was it Pittie Place, by chance?”

  “Yeah.” Rhett’s eyes widened. “You know it?”

  Constance hesitated. The direction they were taking was new, more intimate. Up until now their interactions had been mostly professional with only a little friendship. “My sister owns it.”

  A heartbeat of quiet passed. “Are you serious?”

  “My sister, Sunny, runs Pittie Place. She built up a few of the cabins on the land as a source of income. Every year she does this Christmas fundraising dinner for her wealthiest donors.”

  Rhett shook his head. “Small world.”

  Constance smiled. Her body, once warm and sweaty, had grown cold. She suppressed a shiver. “I can talk to my sister if you want. Get your reservation back.”

  “Really?” The worry that creased around Rhett’s eyes lifted. “That would make me feel better. I know it’s dumb, but...”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Constance knew, as she said it, that Sunny had already rented out that cabin. It had probably been snapped up within an hour of Rhett’s cancellation and she probably had five more people on a wait list behind the current renters.

  “I’d owe you one.” The relief that washed through Rhett’s weary eyes was palpable.

  “Nah. We’re square. After all, I still haven’t joined the gym.”

  “Speaking of. We should do that. Or are you ready to get your Combat on?” Rhett held up his fists.

  Constance smiled. As soon as she’d walked in tonight and seen Rhett sparring with Angie, she’d been drawn in like a hungry orphan to a banquet. She wanted—no, she needed—to know what they were doing, to learn how to move like that woman was moving. It scared and excited her all at once and she hadn’t been able to think about much else since.

  “It’s late,” she said. “I’m hungry. And you’re tired.”

  “All right.” Rhett looked both disappointed and relieved. “At least let me show you a good fighting stance before you go.”

  “Sure.”

  “Show me your fists.” Rhett held up his own. “You’re getting ready to fight. Show me.”

  Constance swallowed her sudden embarrassment and held up her fists.

  “Okay,” Rhett said. “Not horrible.” He opened his hand. “Bend the middle set of knuckles first. Then the second set.”

  “Wait. The middle? What? This?”

  “Middle first. Then the base.”

  “Oh, okay. DIP joint, PIP joint, metacarpals. Got it.”

  Rhett smiled. “The DIP and the PIP. I like it. Then thumb covers the first two fingers.”

  Constance followed his directions until he nodded in approval.

  “Keep your wrist completely straight. When you strike, you’ll use the first two knuckles. Pointer and middle finger. They’re bigger, stronger and will cause more damage.”

  Constance wished she’d known that before she broke her hand on Frankie Rumbaugh’s jaw, the day after he took Sunny to homecoming and tore her blouse trying to feel her up. “Do you really strike in class?”

  “No. Well, not unless you’re Angie.” He rolled his eyes a little. “But I teach it like you’d use it on the street. We start by trying to avoid combat at all costs. But if you�
��re forced to, we want you to be prepared.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “You want your dominant leg and punching arm behind. You’re going to put your hips and shoulders into the strike. Generates more power. Just like when you’re lifting. Hands up. Hand not throwing the punch protects your face. Chin down. Elbows in.” Rhett demonstrated, then came behind Constance and adjusted her posture. He put one hand on her right hip and turned it a little, then did the same to her shoulders. His warm hand closed over her left wrist. “And here,” he said, fixing that side.

  “Got it.” Constance’s voice came out a little thin, and her pulse rose. Maybe being so open to Rhett’s energy hadn’t been such a good idea.

  “Your body delivers the strike.” Rhett’s torso just barely touched her shoulders as he guided her punching arm forward. “Use this hip. Deliver. Then pull straight back. Good.”

  Rhett came back around in front of her, leaving her body to feel cold and oddly weak. He peered down at her. “You okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Now aim for anything vulnerable on my face. Eyes. Nose. Jaw. Throat.”

  Constance thought through all of the instructions, started, stopped, adjusted herself and started again. She stopped just short of Rhett’s jaw, which sported about two days of dark growth.

  “Not horrible,” he said. “Just needs a little practice.”

  “You’re so tall,” Constance pointed out. “In a real situation, I don’t see myself getting near your face.”

  “You will if you nail me in the groin first. But don’t use your toes, like they do in the movies. Aim with your shin. Broader surface, much more likely to score a hit. Go ahead and try, but please—” he held up a hand and smiled “—stop just shy of your target.”

  Constance chuckled as she got into her fighting stance. She turned, using her body, and pantomimed the move, stopping her shin just inside Rhett’s thighs. He bent double, as if she’d really scored a hit. “Now aim for my jaw,” he instructed.