She pushed her hair out of her face. “Not really.” She couldn’t eat now if she tried.
“I’ll make a couple of sandwiches after I see what I can do to get the rest of that pepper spray out of my eyes.” He strode toward an archway, cast a look over his shoulder, and added, “Then I’ll grab my things and we’ll get on out of here.”
While she waited, she took in the spacious living room. Newspapers and Time magazines were scattered over the top of a coffee table, along with a couple of hardbound books with worn bindings.
A straw cowboy hat rested on the back of a leather recliner that also had a denim western shirt draped over it. A couple of soda pop cans stood on an end table, and a large screen TV took up one corner of the room. She liked that the place had a lived-in look about it.
At the same time, she felt antsy, like bugs crawled over and under her skin. She rubbed her upper arms with her hands and rocked from her heels to her toes.
The People. The People had found her. She was on the run—again. She tried to fight the memories as her thoughts turned to the past, but she couldn’t stop the images flashing in her mind. And she couldn’t stop the old wounds from opening up again.
For so long she’d been angry at her father and hated her mother. If her police officer father hadn’t died in the line of duty, she wouldn’t be in this mess. If her mother hadn’t been so weak, they would never have ended up in the Temple of Light.
Lyra clenched her fists. The memory of how she’d found out her father had died was so vivid, it would never leave her mind. She still remembered the faces of the police officers who had come to their home to tell her and her mother that Lyra’s father had been murdered during a bank robbery. The way the two police officers tried to keep their expressions stoic. How bright the sunlight had been as it streamed through the windows. The scents of freshly mowed grass and her mother’s roses coming in through the open French doors. The ticking of the kettle-shaped clock in the kitchen.
And the prickling of her scalp. The stinging of her skin. The unreality of it all, as if she were someone on the outside watching the scene.
It had taken her years to realize it wasn’t her father’s fault for getting killed in the line of duty and leaving her and her mother so that they ended up in the cult. But when Lyra was younger, she couldn’t help but feel that if he had chosen a career other than being a cop, he’d still be alive, and the Temple of Light would never have happened.
What Neal had done to her… She shuddered. Once in the cult the other men treated women and girls as subservient. The only reason Lyra hadn’t been raped was the Prophecy. Underage sex and forced “marriages” for girls from ages fifteen to eighteen was the norm in the cult, something Neal encouraged. Ironic that the one thing that made her life a living hell, the so-called Prophecy, had saved her from being raped. He hadn’t been allowed to touch her until she was eighteen, and he’d never had the chance because she’d escaped.
When it came to men, she’d learned to keep her distance, but here she was, her life and freedom in the hands of one tall, dark cowboy.
How could she put any trust in this man named Dare?
She couldn’t—no, she wouldn’t—allow him to take control of her life in any way.
Dare walked into the living room, carrying a large duffel, and he’d washed all the blood off his face. His eye was red and one side of his face seemed a little swollen. The scratches from her nails were dark against his tanned skin.
A jolt shot through Lyra. Fear? Mistrust? Or something else?
“Let’s go.” He grasped her hand before she could react, and she winced at the contact. Her palms burned where the skin had been scraped off. Dare caught her pained expression and relaxed his grip on her just enough to examine both of her palms.
With a frown he said, “What did you do?”
“No big deal.” She tried to pull her hands away, but he caught her by one wrist too easily. “Happened when I fell.”
Without another word. Dare held on to her and led her into what appeared to be the master bedroom and to the adjoining bathroom. He closed the lid on the toilet and made her sit on it. After he retrieved a first-aid kit, he got down on one knee and proceeded to put antiseptic on her palms.
“The scratches on your face must hurt more.” She shifted on the toilet seat. “It looks like you’re going to have a heck of a black eye.”
“I’ve had worse,” he said without looking up from her hands.
While he cared for her wounds, strange feelings swirled through Lyra. As much as she had the urge to get up and run, she found herself quivering from the intimate act of him being so close and doctoring her palms.
Suddenly she barely felt the sting of the antiseptic. Instead, she was keenly aware of everything about Dare. His clean, masculine scent. The day’s stubble shadowing his strong jaw. The way veins stood out along his forearms while he cared for her hands and the flex of muscle beneath his shirt.
He had a hard, seasoned look about him, like he truly was a gunslinger from the Old West. He wasn’t classically handsome. He was good-looking in a rough and rugged kind of way.
The first three years after escaping Neal, she hadn’t looked at a man twice. As time passed, she’d started to feel “normal,” and that included having a growing interest in the opposite sex. She’d never felt comfortable enough to actually develop any relationships, though.
Now, her gaze settled on Dare’s firm lips and her belly quivered at the thought of kissing him.
She almost knocked herself upside the head with her free hand. The trauma of the day must have scrambled her brain.
It was a few seconds before she realized Dare had stopped putting antiseptic on her palms. Her gaze slowly rose to meet his, and her cheeks burned at the fire in his eyes. Something hot and electric connected them.
“Come on,” he finally said, breaking the spell she’d been caught in. His voice was low and hoarse as he added, “We’ve got to get you out of here.”
Lyra cleared her throat as he took her by the wrist and helped her to her feet. She looked away from him. When she was standing, he grasped her chin in his large hand and turned her face so that she was looking right into his coffee-colored eyes.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Lyra,” he said softly. “I don’t blame you if you don’t have a whole lot of trust in anyone. But I’ll let you know right now that I’ll do everything in my power to protect you.” His gaze searched hers as he added, “Got that? So trust me.”
She eyed him head-on as she pushed his hands away from her face. “I don’t trust men I don’t know. Period.”
Well, hell, Dare thought. This wasn’t going to work if he didn’t find some way to earn her trust. He ground his teeth. He’d led the bastards right to her. He’d been had, and he’d been had good.
Why he felt such a need to protect this woman, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the fact that he was the reason she was on the run because he had brought the men to her doorstep. Maybe it was because he’d let down his partner on the force and he wasn’t about to let Lyra down. Maybe it was the primal instinct to protect a woman in trouble. Maybe something about this woman was special.
Whatever it was, he really didn’t care at this moment. He was determined to keep her safe, and he’d do everything in his power to make that happen.
Dare placed his hand against the T-shirt at her lower back and started to guide her through his house. His fingers burned where he touched her, and his groin tightened.
Damned if he didn’t want her.
He shook his head. He’d better get his mind back on the job. The job he’d taken on the minute he’d led the cult members to her doorstep.
When they walked into his living room, Lyra paused to go to his floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. She picked up one of his framed photographs.
“Your family?” she asked, her gaze still on the photo.
“Taken at the ranch a year ago.” Dare moved closer to her, keenly aware of her scent of roses
and woman, and the primal desire she stirred within him. He pointed out each member of his family. “Mom and Dad on the porch swing. My brother, Josh, against the railing, my sisters, Kate and Melissa, sitting on the porch steps.”
“And you with your shoulder hitched against the door frame.” She looked up. “You’re lucky.”
Damn, she had a pretty face. “We have our moments. But I’d kick anyone’s ass who messed with a one of them.”
“Must be nice to have a family that loves you,” she said softly. “That cares for you.” He watched as Lyra placed the picture on the bookshelf and studied other photographs. “Are these children nephews and nieces?”
Pride rose in his chest. “All six. I’d do anything for those kids.”
She nodded and trailed her fingers over a few books on the oak shelves. “Biographies, astronomy, Arizona history…and romance novels?”
Dare couldn’t help a smile at her look of surprise. “My kid sister got me hooked on a couple of authors. They’re good.”
“They’re just fantasy.” Lyra shrugged. “I don’t believe there’s such a thing as happy endings.”
With a frown. Dare said, “What did they do to you up in Oregon?”
“Listen. You have no idea what they’re like.” Lyra rubbed her arms again. “Nice family?” She gestured to the pictures and he could see her hand was trembling. “Helping me will put every one of them at risk.”
She put her hand to her forehead and clenched her eyes shut for a moment before opening them. Her expression became more panicked and she started looking around the room as if searching for something. “Everyone I know is in danger. I need to call them, warn them.”
“Hey.” He grasped her upper arm. “They’ll be all right. And we’ll figure out something to get the cult bastards off your back.”
Lyra jerked her arm away. “What’s wrong with me? I can’t let you do this. It’s unbelievable that I let you take me out here. Just drop me off somewhere and I’ll hitch a ride.”
This time he caught her by both arms and drew her to him. She tried to struggle as he brought her to his chest and cradled her in his arms. After she tried to get away from him, her muscles went limp and she felt the bone-deep exhaustion of the day. All the fight left her and she let herself sink against Dare. Let herself feel warm, safe, and secure, if only for a moment.
His masculine scent filled her, comforted her. She didn’t know why, just that it did.
He smoothed his hand down her hair and murmured against the top of her head, “I won’t let them hurt you, honey. I won’t let them get you.”
Something electrical started happening to her body when his lips brushed her hair. As if every nerve ending under her skin was charged wherever his body touched her.
She placed her palms on his chest and forced him to let her step away. When they drew apart, she felt a loss, like her body needed to be against his.
It must be everything that happened that day. There was no other explanation that made sense as to why her body was reacting to him.
Dare slipped his hands to her upper arms. “For tonight I’ll take you to Tombstone. We’ll spend the night in a motel there—we’ll register under different names. I know the owner.”
“Okay.” She gave an exhausted sigh. “Tomorrow I hitchhike.”
He lowered his head and clenched his hands tighter around her upper arms. “Tomorrow we come up with some kind of plan that will keep you from ever having to run again.”
Lyra gave a heartless laugh. “Like that will ever happen.”
“Trust me,” he said softly, his gorgeous eyes fixed on hers.
Her mouth snapped shut. Then she said, “I just need to get through tonight. Then I’ll decide what to do next.”
“We’ll talk about it in the morning.” He gave a sharp nod. “Let’s go.”
Dare grabbed the bulging brown leather duffel and led her out the front door. She cast her gaze skyward for a moment. The stars were so brilliant here. She could see so many, just like the times her dad and mom had taken her out of Portland to the Cascade Mountains to go camping. She almost raised her hand like she had many times when she was a child and had thought she could touch the stars.
A deep, deep heaviness settled in her belly.
That was when her father was alive. When he would take her outside and show her the Big and Little Dippers and he’d tell her stories about them.
That was when she believed in her mom and had loved her. Before her father’s death and her mother’s choices had destroyed their lives.
Lyra’s attention snapped back to the present as the Border Collies greeted them and the automatic floodlights came on.
Dare watched the range of emotions that passed over Lyra’s features before they went hard again. What was she thinking? What had she been through? If today was an example, this woman had been to hell and back.
He ordered the dogs to stay, then took Lyra to a shelter that housed his vehicles. He had a whole range of work trucks, an SUV, and one empty stall where the truck he’d driven to her house belonged. The assholes had slashed the tires. He’d have to have his foreman and one of his ranch hands take care of it when they returned Manny’s car.
“What about your dogs?” she asked.
“There’s a doggie door through the back and I made sure the girls have plenty of food and water inside,” he said. “I’ll be calling my mom and she’ll check in on them if I’m gone longer than a day.”
The night was cool as they strode across the hard-packed earth to the SUV. Even though his strides weren’t hurried, he noticed Lyra had to double her steps to keep up with him.
The SUV was night black with dark tinted windows. A midsize model that he’d had specially equipped. Everything in it was high-tech, including the GPS.
Dare threw his duffel into the backseat, then held the passenger door open for her. “Get in.”
She tossed her backpack onto the backseat beside his duffel, then buckled her seat belt as he shut the door with a solid thunk.
Dare strode to the driver’s side door and, after removing his Stetson, swung his bulk into the seat and turned to set his black western hat on top of the leather bag in the backseat.
He gave Lyra a long look before starting the vehicle. She appeared so strong yet vulnerable all in one.
He started the vehicle, then headed down the dusty road from his ranch. They reached the two-lane paved road and Dare swung the SUV onto it, heading north. Earlier they’d driven from the opposite direction. He glanced in his rearview mirror before looking back to the road ahead of him. No headlights behind, just pure darkness.
His own headlights flowed over mesquite and dry grass lining the road. A few red and white Hereford cattle grazed on the opposite side of a barbed-wire fence, their eyes glowing red in the lights of the SUV.
“No one’s following us.” Lyra had been looking over her shoulder. She turned back around and let out an audible sigh of relief before her words came out sharp and bitter. “For now.”
4
Neal paced the length of his large quarters and ground his teeth. He couldn’t let his emotions get the better of him. Adam had just called again to say they couldn’t find the PI’s home. They’d only met a couple of people who knew him and said he lived on some kind of ranch, but they didn’t know where it was in the valley. According to Adam, the valley was massive, and it would be hell to track down one person’s home or ranch.
Neal growled, then sucked in a deep breath. Scents of sandalwood and patchouli incense mingled with the smell of the vanilla candles burning at the small altar at one corner of his room. He released his breath and he moved toward the altar.
As he knelt before it, he bowed his head. “Forgiveness, Jericho, Lord of the Prophets, for my anger.” A water glass always stood ready beside the pitcher next to the altar. He filled it and swallowed a hit of LSD, also known as Sacrament.
While he waited for the drug to bring him to his meditative state, he reached for the
vessel of the Prophets and a baggie of what further helped him communicate with Jericho. Marijuana, in its purest and most potent form.
Once Neal had filled a bong half-full with water from the small pitcher, he tamped the dry leaves into its quarter-sized bowl and lit it. He brought the water pipe to his mouth and inhaled. Smoke filled his lungs, burned his throat, and he tasted the bittersweet taste of the weed on his tongue.
After holding the smoke as long as he could, he exhaled. A white stream poured through his lips and the scent of the leaf grew stronger in his room. He sucked on the bong again, then twice more.
He set the bong aside and sat back on his haunches, his hands folded in reverence for the Light. His muscles relaxed and his mind drifted to where Jericho would grant a vision to him, as he always had.
The First Prophet Jericho had been Neal’s father’s father. As Jericho had been fond of explaining, he had brought The People together when free love reigned and minds opened, allowing all who joined the commune to recognize the will of the Light. Jericho had taken multiple wives and fathered nearly thirty children, but his eldest son, Abraham, had been unworthy of succeeding his father. Jericho himself had taught Neal the way of the Light instead of teaching Abraham.
Jericho had passed on to the Light itself but still guided Neal through meditations and had instructed him on what his next step should be. Neal’s father, Abraham, died not long after, during his own meditations.
Neal smiled. The strength of strychnine he’d laced the pot and the LSD with had been more than enough to rid The People of his incapable father.
The responsibilities of guiding The People had fallen to Neal. He above anyone should rightly be Prophet over all within his control and those who soon would be.
Colors began flashing in his mind as the present came into view and the room swirled around him. He had reached his meditative state.
It took only moments before he saw a younger version of Lyra—the first time he had laid eyes upon her. He’d been recruiting new sheep for his fold and had met Lyra and her mother, Sara, at a Portland arts festival during one of his many magnificent sermons in an amphitheater. He had spoken with Sara afterward, but it was the beautiful Lyra who had captured his attention.
Chosen Prey Page 4
