He is no different from you.
She cringed at the thought. It was true, though. Like Samantha, Presley had escaped what her father used to call the snake pit. But did anyone ever really escape the scars of their childhoods?
She thought about Presley sending money home in his letters but realized even crooks often still cared about their mothers.
“Thank you for your time,” Samantha said. “We can see ourselves out.”
Mrs. Wells said nothing as Alex opened the screen door and they stepped out on the porch.
As they crossed the porch, Samantha saw a face staring out at her from the trees and froze.
The girl stood watching them. She couldn’t have been more than twelve. Her feet were bare, her dress too small and scrubbed as threadbare as the white sheets hanging on the clothesline, her hair straight as a stick hanging in dirty hanks on each side of her narrow face.
But it was the eyes that grabbed Samantha. She recognized that look because she had been that girl.
Maybe still was that girl inside.
As Samantha started down the stairs she was unable to take her eyes off the girl. That’s why she didn’t even realize she’d missed a step until she went sprawling forward. She saw Alex reach for her but he was two steps behind and she was falling too fast. She tried to catch herself, but her hand landed in the muddy yard and she fell to her knees.
Alex was there at once, helping her up. “Are you all right?”
All she could do was nod. Her hands were muddy and her clothing soiled. She looked at the spot where she’d seen the girl. She was gone. If she’d ever been there to begin with.
Tears burned Samantha’s eyes.
“You are hurt.”
Samantha shook her head harder, the tears impossible to stem. She’d thought she’d dealt with her past. She’d thought she’d escaped that life, that girl she’d been. But all the pain came gushing out, hot tears scalding her cheeks.
She pulled free of Alex and stumbled toward the rental car, trying to brush the mud from her hands and forearms, the dirt from her clothing. She heard Alex behind her. He handed her one of the raglike towels that had been hanging on the clothesline and opened the car door for her.
She wiped what she could from her with the towel, returned it to the clothesline even though it was now soiled and stumbled into the car seat, knowing how foolish she must look to him. It wasn’t until he joined her in the car that she finally got the sobs to stop.
Alex started the engine and drove away from the house without a word.
Samantha didn’t look back. Couldn’t. She was afraid she would see the girl watching them, longing to go with them.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked over at her, aghast. “What do you have to be sorry about?”
“For…for falling apart on you like that.” She took a ragged breath. “I…I…”
“You don’t have to explain,” he said, glancing at her again as he drove.
ALEX WAS MENTALLY kicking himself for bringing her to Tennessee, to this place. He’d seen her reaction back there before she fell, before she broke down. Damn. He wanted to stop the car and pull her into his arms. But he feared that would be the worst thing he could do right now.
“That was me.”
She’d spoken so softly he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.
“You?”
“That was my childhood back there,” she said.
She couldn’t be serious. But then he looked over at her and finally understood. “You’re the Presley in your family, aren’t you?”
She nodded and turned her face away.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here. I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “I thought I’d gotten over my childhood, the poverty, the bleakness of that life, but seeing Mrs. Wells and her children…” She brushed a hand over her cheek, her eyes red and shiny from her tears.
Alex said nothing as he drove and tried to imagine what it would be like growing up back at that house.
SHE WATCHED THE TREES rush past, feeling foolish. She’d worked so hard to hide who she was from Alex and to break down like that…
Alex reached across, took her hand and squeezed it. “You must think I’m a real jackass complaining about my family.”
Her throat hurt from trying not to cry again. “I’ve never thought you were a jackass.”
He smiled then, those wonderful eyes of his brightening as he glanced at her. “You’re just letting me off easy and we both know it.” His gaze caressed her face. “You are one remarkable woman, you know that?”
She felt anything but remarkable right now.
He turned back to his driving and she watched the thick dark leaves of the trees brush over the SUV and thought about Presley Wells. Where was he? She couldn’t shake the feeling that his mother was right and that not only was Presley in trouble, but so was Caroline.
“I don’t want to be wrong about Presley,” she said.
He looked over at her. “I don’t want you to be wrong, either. You never suspected where he’d come from when you met him?”
“Just like you never suspected when you met me.”
He smiled sheepishly. “No. But you made something out of yourself.”
“Maybe Presley did, too.”
“You didn’t change your name.”
“No,” she admitted. “But I changed everything else.” And yet she was still that poor, scared little girl inside.
Samantha saw a flash as something shiny caught in the sun on the side of the mountain ahead.
The back window of the SUV exploded. An instant later, the windshield turned into a spiderweb of white.
Chapter Fourteen
“What the—” Alex hit the brakes, at first not sure what was going on. The SUV went into a skid on the narrow road. He brought it back under control as his side window exploded.
“Keep your head down,” he yelled as he hurriedly knocked out the windshield so he could see where he was going. The glass slid down the hood. He heard it crunch under the tires and cranked the wheel to make the next turn, almost too late.
Then he looked over at Samantha and saw what she had in her hand. A gun. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. Hell, hadn’t it crossed his mind that she had one in her purse back when he thought she was nothing more than a wedding planner? Nor did it seem he had to tell her someone was shooting at them.
“There!” she cried and pointed to a road that dropped almost straight off the mountain through a thicket of trees, the branches a canopy over the top. “Take it!”
“Hang on!” He jerked the wheel. The front tires dropped over the side and he felt as if he was hanging by his seat belt as the SUV careened downward through the trees. He tried to brake but the back tires hadn’t touched down yet. He swore again as he sideswiped a stand of young maples, the saplings snapping off like toothpicks.
The back tires finally hit dirt and he was able to brake and shift down. Limbs scraped the top of the roof. They were still moving way too fast. And to make matters worse, he couldn’t see what lay ahead. Could easily be a cliff or a ditch or a huge tree that would stop them dead.
He fought to get the rig slowed down and finally came to a halt in the heart of the thicket. They were completely closed in by the trees. They couldn’t have opened their doors on either side and the SUV was sitting at such an angle, nose down, that he was practically standing on the brake pedal.
“You aren’t hit, are you?” he was finally able to ask as he looked over at her, a tremor in his voice.
“I’m fine. Are you…?” She looked frightened at the thought.
“I’m just great,” he said sarcastically. He’d really had it with this woman and her secrets.
She was looking back up the mountainside, the gun clutched in both hands in a way that convinced him it wasn’t her first time. “I think we’re far enough down the road he won’t be able to take any potshots at us anyway.”
“Wanna kee
p defending Presley Wells?” he asked her. “Unless there’s someone else who wants to kill you for reasons you haven’t told me.”
“Not that I know of,” she said.
“Let’s try this again,” he said, anger filling the hole fear had just deserted. “Who are you? What the hell is going on? And wait, how did you get that gun on the plane?”
She met his gaze, cool and calm, making him want to shake her. “Which question would you like answered first? As for what’s going on, someone just tried to kill us.”
“Okay, that part was pretty clear.” He saw her glance back again. “You think he’ll come down here and try to finish us off?”
“I think we’d better see where this road comes out since it doesn’t look like turning around is an option,” she said.
He didn’t move, just glared at her, waiting. He wanted answers and he wasn’t moving another inch until he had them. She’d put him off too long. His whole body was vibrating, adrenaline spiking his pulse as though he’d taken a wild drug.
She turned in her seat, her gaze locking with his. “I’m an agent.”
He blinked. “An agent. Like—”
“Like FBI.”
He pulled back in surprise. “I thought you were a wedding planner.”
“I am. I’m both. I work undercover.”
Yeah, right.
“You wanted the truth.”
He did. But could he handle it? “You do this for a living?” An agent? The buddy at the crime lab, the wealth of information her “friends” came up with. He should have known. He shook his head. “I knew there was more to you, but I never guessed this. So you’re after Presley Wells?”
“I’m after whoever abducted one of our wedding clients and ran down your sister. I’m still not sure who that is. But…” she added before he could argue, “I’m no longer convinced that your sister’s fiancé is the man I thought he was.”
“Well, I suppose that is something.”
“Now could we get out of here?” she asked.
He studied her a moment longer. “You are definitely somethin’.”
SAMANTHA WASN’T SURE he meant it as a compliment. In fact, she was pretty sure he intended it as just the opposite as he put the SUV into drive and let his foot up off the brake.
The car bounced down the mountain through the trees, Alex expertly handling it. She watched him, so filled with pain it took everything she could muster not to cry.
He was all right. He hadn’t been hit by the gunfire. She tried to assure herself that he was safe. That after this she would make sure he stayed that way. Some agent she was. She’d almost gotten them both killed.
“Any idea which way to go?” he asked when he reached a fork in the steep road.
She had no idea but pointed to the left, her throat too dry to speak.
He reached over and cupped her cheek with his warm palm. “You didn’t get me into this, so stop looking at me like it’s your fault, okay?” He let up on the clutch and the SUV lurched downward again. “Damn this mountain is steep. But I got to hand it to you. Dropping off through here seems to have worked.”
Ahead, through the trees, she saw a shallow creek where the road flattened out and another intersected it. Alex saw it, too. He drove across the shallow creek and turned on the more traveled road, looking over at her and grinning.
“What?” she had to ask.
“We’re alive and, damn, but it feels good.”
He made her smile, too, as he pulled her over, looping his arm around her, holding her close as he drove. When they hit the highway, he turned on the radio. He couldn’t go fast, not with the missing windshield. He had to turn the radio all the way up. The wind whistled through the SUV, blowing back her hair.
She snuggled against him to the sound of country music. He was right. It felt damned good to be alive. Even better to be with Alex Graham.
At the first town, he pulled under the awning of a motel office just as it began to rain. The sky was dark, the clouds ominous. The radio announcer broke into the song to say that tornadoes had been seen and a weather alert was in effect. Just as Samantha feared, all flights had been canceled until further notice.
“I’ll get us a room,” he said, hopping out.
She caught sight of her reflection in the side mirror. Her hair was windblown, her face dirty and her clothing covered with dried mud. She looked as if she’d been in a pig wrestling contest and the pig had won.
He came back out with two keys and squatted next to her missing side window. He handed her the key to number nine, then seemed to see the tiny cuts on her face where the window had splintered and cut her. There were specks of dried blood mixed with dirt.
He swore. “Oh man, I didn’t realize—”
“I’m fine,” she said, taking his hand as he reached out to touch her cheek and kissing the palm. “I just need a bath. I’ll be good as new.” He didn’t look convinced, but he opened her door and stepped back. “I’m next door if you need me.” She had her purse, the weapon inside. She needed him, but not to protect her. At least not at the moment.
Inside the motel, she called Rachel and reported what had happened.
“You’re sure you and Alex Graham are all right?”
“Yes.” She fingered one of the cuts as she stared in the bathroom mirror. “There is no reason to report it to the locals. Whoever took the potshots at us is long gone.” At least she hoped that was true.
“It had to be someone who knew where you were going. Either Presley Wells or a member of his family,” Rachel said.
It certainly looked that way. The shooter had positioned himself on the hillside using a high-powered rifle at a spot where he knew they would be most vulnerable.
“I think it is time to pick up Presley Wells for questioning,” Rachel said and seemed to wait, expecting an argument. “If he’s in the States, we’ll find him.”
Samantha doubted that. She had a feeling Presley was in hiding. But why, if he wasn’t guilty as sin? “I’ll get back to Miami as soon as I can. The weather…” It was tornado season. A hurricane whose name she couldn’t remember had just come ashore in the redneck Riviera. This whole part of the country was expected to be drowning in water by midnight. Already she could hear the wind howling outside. All aircraft were grounded until further notice, according to the reporter on the radio.
“There is no rush,” Rachel said. “Get some rest.”
Samantha hung up and turned on the water in the shower. Then she stripped down, stepped under the wonderfully hot spray, and closed her eyes and thought about what could have happened on that mountain. The tears came then, tears of fear and relief, not for herself but Alex.
She quit crying, chastising herself for her moment of weakness—not her first today. As she shampooed her hair, she tried to drown out the sound of the SUV’s windows exploding, the sound of the wind just outside, the eerie sound of silence around the Wells home and the vision of a young girl standing in the trees.
Samantha lathered soap over her body as if she could wash away the memories. It hadn’t been just growing up poor. It was growing up without hope. When you were that poor, when you knew nothing but hardship, you didn’t know there was a way out.
She thought of her family. Like Presley, she’d run away, trying to run fast enough to escape what had felt like quicksand pulling her down.
It was hard to explain to a man like Alex Graham who had grown up in his kind of wealth.
She didn’t know how long she stood under the spray, letting the water pelt her skin until she was numb. Finally she shut off the water and stood for a moment in the tub listening to the wind and rain pelting the backside of the motel.
Presley was in trouble. That much she knew and would have bet the ranch on it. But was it of his making? It didn’t matter now. The police would be on the lookout for him. What worried her was Caroline and the fear that Caroline might somehow be involved.
She dried with one of the large towels and wrapped her hair
in another one turban-style, then pushed open the door, needing to let some of the steam out.
Her mind was working again, trying to fit the pieces together. It always came out the same. One big piece was missing. The centerpiece, the one that would give her all the answers. And that piece was Presley Wells.
She started to reach for her soiled clothing and realized it was gone. For one startled moment, she thought her purse and gun were also missing.
But her purse was right where she’d left it on the counter within reach. Hurriedly, she checked. Her gun was still there. Still loaded. But her clothing was gone.
She peered into the bedroom and spotted a large shopping bag. Wrapping the towel more securely around her, she padded into the bedroom.
There was no one in the room but for the first time she noticed the adjoining room door. She’d bet the adjoining room was Number Eight—Alex’s room.
Upending the bag, she dumped the clothing on the bed and gingerly picked up a pair of panties, surprised that he’d gotten the right size. He’d underestimated a little on the bra, but the top and skirt would fit perfectly. Too perfectly. How had he known?
The fabric was cut to slide over her curves. Even before she took the clothing back into the bathroom and put each item on, she knew there was no more hiding from him. She’d told him she was an agent, something she’d failed to tell Rachel, she realized.
She’d been so tired and dirty… No, she knew she’d purposely left that part out. She’d deal with it once she got back to Miami.
She looked at herself in the mirror, dragged the towel from her hair and tossed it aside. Finger-combing her hair, she watched it curl.
Alex had guessed that muddy brown wasn’t her natural color. But wouldn’t he be surprised to find out that she had naturally curly hair that she usually spent hours brushing straight each morning? She could see some of the red highlights in her hair. She’d had to skip her appointment to have the color covered this week because of what had happened at Weddings Your Way.
She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing her old self and wanting to flee from it. But at the same time, wanting to embrace it for the first time in years. This was all Alex’s fault, she thought. He’d done this to her.
B. J. Daniels Page 14
