The Gunny & The Jazz Singer (Birchwood Falls #1)

by Jane Leopold Quinn

  "I'll get rid of him one of these days, and then the company will belong only to me. I've been helping him for years. He just doesn't know it." Butch paced in circles around her.

  She couldn't keep him in her field of vision. He stopped talking for a moment, and all she heard was the thundering sound of the water. She was all alone with a madman who was going to kill her.

  He thrust his face over hers. There was more than enough moonlight to see him clearly, see the vicious baring of his teeth as if he were a predatory animal. His eyes were wide but blinking rapidly. She was witnessing insanity.

  "Butch, please let me go." She had to try something, even begging.

  He grabbed her face and squeezed it between his thumb and fingers. "I don't care about you anymore. You're just a hindrance to me. Just like those fucking Rahns."

  She stared at him in horror. What had he done?

  "I got rid of them. For my dad. A fat lot of good it did me. He still thinks I'm a worthless idiot."

  He held her so tightly, shook her so hard she was afraid her jaw would crack and her brains would splatter out. As if that would matter. She was sure he meant to kill her and in as painful a way as possible.

  He let go but jerked her to her feet. Dragging her toward the edge of the falls, he growled, "If I can't have you no one will, you cunt." He halted and pushed her onto the ground again. "I didn't get more than a lousy kiss. I deserve more than that just to pay you back for teasing me. You probably willingly gave that fucker Rahn your snatch."

  "No, no, Butch. Please don't do this." Rape. As much as it hurt since her hands were bound behind her back and she was flat on the ground, she continued to struggle to fight him off. Her shoulders felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets. Sharp rocks dug into her back.

  She rolled onto her stomach. He came down hard, sitting on her, and knocking the wind out of her.

  "No you don't. I'll ass-fuck you later. I want to see your tits." He sat up and rolled her over again.

  Fighting and squirming to keep him from ripping off her bustier, she dug her heels in, pushing her body away until she felt herself sliding over the cliff edge. "No—!"

  ***

  Phoebe was nowhere in the club. Marc had checked backstage in that ridiculous bathroom-dressing room. He'd checked the tables, Nelson's office. No one had seen her since she'd gone offstage.

  As he paced the perimeter of the building, Marc saw a car race out of the parking lot, gravel flying. The driver looked like Butch Wilcox. No sign of Phoebe. Butch speeding away from the club?

  His gut tightened in suspicion. The guy had sounded crazy that afternoon. What if he hurt Phoebe? He checked the car's direction, ran to his, and headed out. It was a small town, and he was confident he wouldn't lose the trail.

  Except he did lose the trail. A gaggle of teenagers in rusty buckets turned, tires screeching, onto the street right in front of him. Laughing and screaming, the kids honked the car horns and jockeyed around each other, and he couldn't get by.

  Finally, he saw his opening, stomped on the gas, and flew past. Panicking because he'd lost sight of his quarry, he thought the last time he'd seen the taillights they were heading out of town on River Road.

  He caught a glimpse of rear lights in his peripheral vision, and he made a quick left into Birch Park. Putting out his headlights, he followed the asphalt road as best he could in the partial moonlight.

  Then he heard the first screams. They were coming from above, and he'd have to climb up the rocks lining the falls. That's when he saw what had to be Phoebe go over the edge and plummet past him into the pond below, shrieking all the way down.

  He dove in. The pond was deep—he knew that from swimming there as a boy. Splashing into the water seconds later, he shot to the surface trying to locate her.

  "Phoebe! Can you hear me? Shout. Make a sound."

  Treading water, he turned around and around searching, calling her name. Finally, he heard a weak cry. He turned toward the sound and spotted her head bobbing in the water. Then she sunk. Jesus.

  Using powerful strokes, he reached the spot where he'd seen her last and dove down. He bumped into a soft mass. Phoebe, thank God.

  Wrapping an arm around her, he kicked his legs and used his other arm to propel them both to the surface. He quickly swam to the pond edge and hoisted her out. She's tied up. Jesus. She would have drowned. That amped up his fury.

  He didn't have time to untie her before he put her on her back and started chest compressions. "Come on, Phoebs. Breathe, breathe." Over and over he repeated the mantra, begging her, begging God for her life.

  Water dribbled out of her mouth. That was a good sign. He pumped her chest until she spurted like a water fountain. Turning her to her side, he held her while she coughed and sputtered and gasped for breath. "You're okay, honey. You're okay now. Just breathe. Oh God, Phoebe, you're fine now. I've got you." He fought to get the wet rope off her wrists then off her ankles.

  She was practically naked from the waist down. The only thing holding her skirt on her was the waistband. She'd torn the side seams out, showing a teeny thong. The thing on her top looked tight and made it hard for her to take a deep breath. Taking out his penknife, he carefully slit the front open to relieve some of the pressure.

  She started sobbing.

  "Phoebe, you're safe now."

  "Marc," she gasped. "Butch. He was going to rape me—kill me."

  He sat on the ground and pulled her into his arms, rocking her back and forth, needing to calm them both.

  "Marc…"

  "Shh, honey. He won't get you."

  "But Marc, he hurt your parents. He-he said he got rid of them."

  Fuck. There it was. The bastard admitted it. "I've got to get him. Are you all right now, honey? I have to leave you."

  "Marc, I'm okay, but let's get the police. Don't go after him yourself."

  "I can handle it." Marc was horrified. This was what he'd come home to find out, and he'd almost lost Phoebe because of it.

  "I don't want you to get hurt. I can tell the cops what he said."

  "My cell is water-soaked. Phoebe, there are houses down the road. Try to get to one of them for help. I'll get Butch." He took off his shirt. "Here." He wrapped it around her nearly naked body. "This'll cover you up. Now go. Be careful."

  "Marc…"

  "Go. I'll be fine." He took a moment to gaze at her. Even wet and bedraggled and wrapped in his shirt, she was breathtaking. And his.

  Wrong time. Wrong place to be hit with that fact. He had Butch to capture. Urging her toward the road, he took a deep breath of his own and headed back up the side of the falls. If Butch was stupid he'd still be there.

  He wasn't stupid. Marc reached the plateau where he'd left his car. Heedless of his sopping clothes, he climbed in and drove further up the road, hoping but doubting he'd run into Butch. There was no other car at the highest overlook. No Butch. He'd gotten away.

  Fuck! I left Phoebe alone.

  He drove back down the road toward town until he spotted the spinning blue lights of a police car. She was in the midst of telling the cops what happened. He added that Butch had disappeared. Then he took Phoebe in his arms and vowed never to let her go.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marc insisted on driving Phoebe to the hospital to be checked out, a squad car following. The cops wanted to talk to both of them, but she was beaten up pretty badly. Tending her wounds took priority. Because they were both soaking wet they were given scrubs to wear.

  The doctor made him wait while Phoebe was looked at. Meanwhile, he gave his statement. He doubted the police would be happy that one of their own was a killer, but he didn't suspect the whole force had gone bad.

  "Did you put out an APB for Wilcox's car?"

  "Yes," Officer Carey responded. "The car was found thirty miles out of town."

  "But no Butch?"

  "No, but he's being tracked. We might have to wait until morning though."

  "You realize
he's dangerous, don't you? He tried to kill Phoebe. You're not going to go easy on him because he's a cop, are you?"

  Carey speared him with an almost-lethal flash. "No. And I don't appreciate that question. All I'll say is that Wilcox isn't the most popular of our coworkers."

  "His father is an important man in this town."

  "Mr. Rahn, you apparently don't remember me, but I was three years behind you at school and was on the football team."

  "Oh yeah? So was Butch."

  "And we underclassmen didn't like him much then either," the officer snapped.

  Just then Phoebe limped out to the waiting room. "Shouldn't you be staying the night for observation?" Marc drilled the question to the doctor behind her.

  "Yes she should, but she refuses," the doc replied.

  "Phoebe, you look terrible," Marc said.

  She chuckled, wincing a little. "Gee thanks. I feel fine."

  "Come on. You know what I mean." He gingerly put his arm around her shoulders to support her. Through the material of the scrubs he felt the gauze bandages and saw them on her arms below the short sleeves. He suspected her legs were similarly bandaged. While he'd done the chest compressions, he'd seen the scrapes and open wounds.

  Damn. I wish Butch had been up there. I would have killed him. "Do you want to go home?"

  "We really need to interview you while your memories are fresh, Ms. Barnes."

  "You can do that at my house. I'm taking you home, honey." Marc took charge and since she sagged against him and didn't say no, he'd take advantage of that and get her to the safety of his house.

  She straightened up. "No. I'll go to the police station then we'll go home. I want to get this over with as soon as possible."

  The radio hooked to Officer Carey's epaulet squawked. He listened then responded. It sounded like Butch had been apprehended.

  "Crossman and Rayne, county deputies out of Parkersburg, got him. They're bringing him into the station." Carey looked at Phoebe. "Are you sure you want to go there now?"

  Without even glancing at Marc she growled, "Yes I do. And he'd better be behind bars, or I might give him a taste of his own medicine."

  Marc laughed. "That's my girl." He drew her chin up and found a spot on her lips that didn't look like it hurt, gently kissing it. He wanted to do more, but she was a mass of pain and injuries. God damn that fucking Butch.

  The police station was a zoo. The deputies had brought Butch in and put him in a holding cell out of sight of the squad room. Marc heard his voice booming out that he wanted to see his lawyer, then his father, then back to his lawyer.

  Marc and Phoebe were ushered into separate interview rooms. He was worried about her welfare, but since she threatened to do bodily harm to Butch, it was obvious she hadn't lost any of her spunk. He was still worried.

  He quickly repeated his account of what he knew, which was that he'd followed Butch's car, saw Phoebe fall into the water, and he'd dived into the pool to pull her out. Only she knew for sure what happened above the falls.

  They soon found Marc a seat in the squad room where he could hear Butch yelling like he'd gone out of his mind. Phoebe joined him. He pulled their chairs together, his arm around her so she could rest her head on his shoulder. She was still going home with him if they could ever get out of here. He'd ask her what happened later, after she'd slept and had something to eat.

  Two deputies strolled through the front door of the station, both tall, one blond and one with black hair. "Phoebe Barnes? You're the woman that guy hurt?"

  Phoebe lifted her head from his shoulder and smiled. "Hank, how are you? It's been a while since I saw you last. Congratulations on your marriage."

  "Hey, Phoebs," the blond said as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "And a kid."

  "I hadn't heard. That's great."

  "Thanks, Phoebe." Hank shrugged, tipping his lips up in a smile.

  Marc looked from deputy to Phoebe to deputy. She obviously knew them from her hometown.

  "When are you getting married, Pete?"

  "Boy, you know a lot for not living in Parkersburg any more," replied Pete with a grin.

  "I talk to my mom a lot, guys, and you know it's hard to keep things quiet in a small town."

  Okay, enough of this chitchat. "Carey," Marc called to the officer. "I'm taking her home. She's been through hell and is exhausted. You know where you can find us." With a nod from the cop, Marc steadied Phoebe, and they said their goodbyes. He couldn't wait to get her in his car and go home.

  ***

  "No arguments, Phoebe. You're coming in with me so I can watch over you."

  "Even with my injuries cleaned up I still feel filthy. My hair—" She made a face as she fingered the strands.

  "You can't get wet with all those bandages, but I can wash your hair." She didn't respond, which proved how beat she was. He brought a kitchen chair into the bathroom, placed it backward to the sink, and lowered her onto the seat. "Lean back." Then he proceeded to wash her hair. Most of whatever dirt and rocks might have gotten into it in her struggles with Butch had washed out in the pond.

  She made a growling sound, her eyes closed, and her face scrunched up.

  "Am I hurting you?"

  "No." She sighed. "It feels great."

  He massaged her scalp. Her sighs of rapture sounded like sexual arousal which got him going and his erection growing. Control yourself, dude. She's in no condition for it.

  His cock ached though, not accepting his reasoning. He rinsed her hair, wrapped a towel around it, and then realized she'd dozed off. He liked seeing her so peaceful and safe with him. He caught his breath in shock. She's mine, damn it.

  She's mine.

  Placing her on his bed, he plumped the pillow under her head, and pulled a quilt over her. All he took off her were some socks she'd been given at the hospital. Either her shoes were missing, or in the evidence locker. They were probably unwearable now anyway.

  He was just going to lie down next to her and close his eyes for a minute or two. Life had changed suddenly for both of them. He wasn't sure what that meant to her, but he was coming to terms with what it meant for him. He finally had the answers to the questions that had been dogging him for almost a decade. He'd never before felt like he could move forward into the future. Now maybe he could.

  ***

  Phoebe woke slowly, and with her first movement she winced. Even just turning her head made her neck twinge. Ache upon ache and she seemed to be bandaged everywhere. Stifling her moans, she slipped off the bed. She checked Marc. He slept soundly curled on his side, one arm flung off the bed.

  She smiled at his snores. Romance-hero gorgeous, a real hero for saving her life—but he was just a man. A snoring man.

  She tiptoed to the bathroom. Her bladder was bursting, for starters. After taking care of that business she wanted a shower, which meant painstakingly removing all the bandages. The cuts and bruises would benefit from some gentle washing. God, the shower feels good.

  The minute a stark-naked Phoebe opened the bathroom door, she yelped in surprise. Marc towered over her, his eyes wide, his nostrils flared. Phoebe stared back, her skin aflame as his gaze swept her body from head to toe.

  His jaw stiffened and shifted when his eyes stopped on her breasts and her mound. She made no move to cover herself. Heart pounding until it was all she could hear, she waited to see who would make the first move. If he didn't do something in the next second, she would.

  "You're perfect." His voice was as quiet and reverent as if he were in church even though his lips were tipped in a devilish smile. "Even all beat up, it's like seeing you the first time in all your naked glory." He still didn't make a move.

  Oh hell. She stalked toward him, every sense, every pulse point, every erogenous zone fluttering and filling, aching and wanting. The contrast of being unclothed to his still being in scrubs was arousing. The thought made her ache. She closed her eyes at the memory of the feel of his cock pushing inside her, filling her.

&nbs
p; "Thank you for everything." His eyes—the beautiful light-blue, warmest eyes she'd ever seen—locked onto hers. What's taking him so long? Do I have to do all the seduc—

  He took her hands, lifting them to his chest. Gripping her shoulders, he pulled her into a tight embrace—her completely naked body against his clothed one. The smooth material was cool on her thighs and belly. She moaned and her nipples tightened. She rubbed them on his shirt to heighten the feeling.

  His hands slid over her bottom, covered her cheeks, pulling her roughly to him, grinding his erection over her belly. She rolled her hips, loving the proof that he was as aroused as she was.

  Arching, she molded her softness against his muscular chest. He whispered her name in a husky voice and hungrily covered her lips. He consumed her, eating and nipping at her lips, thrusting his tongue against hers, massaging it, drawing it into his mouth until she didn't know where she ended and he began.

  Sliding her arms over his shoulders, she cupped his head with both hands, imprisoning it as a fire roared in her ears. Alive. I'm alive and safe.

  He picked her up, carried her back to the bed and dumped her in a flurry of arms and legs. Hurriedly, he tore off his clothing, releasing his magnificent cock, its thick, dark-red veins engorged fully and a white essence weeping from the tip. He knelt over her, his gaze roving searingly where his hands caressed.

  Cupping her breasts, he rolled and squeezed her nipples, tugging the ring. He dragged his thumbs down her middle, massaging all the way until he reached her mound. They slipped between her folds and toyed there. She cried out, arching, desire streaking through her, heat blooming and then exploding.

  They both could have died last night. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "Marc." She sighed his name. Her legs were trapped between his knees and she longed to open them wide, longed to offer all of herself in love and gratitude. Holding onto her sanity by a thread, her teeth clamped shut. Breathing in sharply through her nose, she rose on her elbows to watch him caress her.

  His fingers moved lower on her lips, rubbing in maddening circles but avoiding her clit. She held on. As much as she wanted his mouth and his cock, she let the glorious sensations streak through her, loving the buildup as much as she'd love the culmination.