Threat of Danger (Mission Recovery Book 2)

by Dana Marton

  Zelda called back her usual. “Good night. Don’t let the sugar fairies bite.”

  Jess grinned. But as she walked to her old bedroom, the grin slid off her face. Then she opened the door. Oh God—the place time forgot. She dropped her bag inside. OK. Oh, wow. The blast from the past was a little too much, the small room a time capsule.

  Since she still had nervous energy to burn, and she needed to stay in shape for work, she did a hundred sit-ups, a hundred push-ups, a hundred squats. Facing the door the whole time, with her back to the room. Better to ease back into all that in stages.

  She started into a hundred lunges. Did Derek do the same? Exercise like this to keep in shape? He must be doing something. And it definitely worked.

  What were the chances that he would actually stay away for the next three weeks?

  “Sixty-five, sixty-six.” She began counting out loud to stop herself from thinking about him.

  When her muscles were burning, she quit. She gave the room a second, more careful, look. Insane. Nothing has changed.

  On a lark, she reached under her mattress where she’d kept her diary back in the day. Her fingers swept around and found nothing. Her mother must have found the diary and put it someplace else. Jess glanced around, then decided to find the little pink book later.

  She grabbed her pajamas from her bag and headed to the bathroom. Her heart honest-to-goodness fluttered at the sight of the old cast-iron claw-foot bathtub. Her father had always been talking about switching it out for a fiberglass shower unit. Looked like he’d never gotten around to the task.

  Jess’s heart squeezed at the thought. Oh, Dad. She closed her eyes, not even bothering to fight the grief.

  When she finally opened her eyes again, her gaze fell on a bag of lavender Epsom salt sitting on the shelf above the tub. Forget the shower.

  She was chin-deep in the comforting scented water when she reached for the newspaper that Zelda probably had left on the sink. Zelda read the news daily, from first page to last, but it took her all day, reading an article here and there in between chores.

  Jess folded the paper so it wouldn’t get wet. Better the Taylorville Times than to think about Derek. Thinking about Derek when she was naked seemed exceptionally unwise.

  She settled in for small-town minutiae: sale at the farm store, lost dog, local students who won scholarships, a notice that the gardening club was gearing up for spring meetings. In a minute or two, she was feeling positively nostalgic. The heat of the bath seeped into her body and soothed the aches and pains left behind by the last few weeks of intensive shooting in New York. This was nice. After the day she’d had, she deserved this.

  The lovely state of relaxation didn’t last long, however. Jess turned the page, and her eyes fastened on the article at the top. The headline made the blood run cold in her veins.

  Missing Taylorville Student’s Body Found. No Foul Play Suspected.

  Hannah Wilson, eighteen, missing for more than a month, had been found in the river. Her car, also found, had apparently gone off the bridge.

  Thump-thump-thump. Jess’s heart drummed a rushed beat. Her hands shook so hard, she couldn’t read the rest of the brief article, although she did catch the byline: Mark Maxwell.

  She dropped the paper on the white tile floor.

  No connection.

  A coincidence.

  Nobody had ever had any proof that the occasional missing-girl cases in the area were the work of a serial rapist/killer. Jess had always been the only one to think otherwise. She’d had to accept that the whole labyrinth of paranoia that made her see threatening patterns was the result of PTSD. The continued threat was something she’d made up in her head.

  So not going down that rabbit hole again. She forced her muscles to relax. She stretched out and sank as low in the water as she could while keeping her nose above the water. Think about something else.

  She needed defined goals for the next three weeks. She would work on those goals, then leave. She would not allow herself time for wild theories.

  Jess slid under the water, and held her breath.

  Goal #1: Make the house suitable for her mother’s recovery while avoiding Derek.

  Goal #2: Talk her mother into selling or leasing the place before next sugaring season and moving into a more manageable home with Zelda—like the house the Daleys had found.

  Goal #3: Under all circumstances, avoid, avoid, avoid thinking about the past.

  Chapter Five

  DEREK DALEY SNIPPED out the article about Hannah Wilson’s body being found. He pinned it on the corkboard taking up one entire wall of the old bedroom that now served as his office. The board was overcrowded with scraps of paper, some articles going back a decade.

  He stared at the jumble, but he saw Jess’s face instead.

  Jess Taylor was back.

  Jesus, his luck couldn’t be this bad, could it?

  He pulled his cell phone from his back pocket, and, as he walked out of his office, he texted his editor in New York. Need to push back the book release by a few weeks.

  He was in his kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, by the time the response arrived. Can’t do. Sorry. All the ads have been scheduled. Print media is printed. Book is at retailers already. Everything OK?

  He typed: Something personal came up.

  His editor: Can you still make your appearances?

  Derek hesitated, but only for a moment. I’ll try my best.

  Almost immediately, the response flashed onto his screen. Let me know if I can help with anything.

  He liked his editor. Diane Flynn was sixty, had seen publishing houses come and go. She knew what made a good book, and had made every single one of Derek’s books better. Derek owed her his career.

  They texted for another minute; then he went and stood at the living room window to stare out toward Taylor land.

  Jess.

  He’d thought about her an insane amount over the past decade—tried to imagine what she looked like, what she was doing. Then he’d seen her name as a stuntwoman in a big Hollywood picture, and he watched all her movies, a wholly unsatisfactory exercise, since he couldn’t see her face.

  She’d changed. She wore her shoulder-length golden hair in a ponytail, the silken locks no longer spilled in abandon halfway down her back. Her eyes seemed a colder blue now, he thought, her gaze flinty with determination.

  The old Jess had been a sweet, long-legged teenager. The new Jess was a heart attack and a half. She was harder, harsher, with a lot of sharp edges. And with the body of an acrobat. She’d grown into a breathtaking woman.

  Derek stared at the bright circle of porchlight over at the Taylor place. The last time he’d stood on that front stoop with her, Jess had been an innocent. Now all her softness had been carved away. She was alert every second. She hadn’t let her guard down for a moment.

  She didn’t trust him. Maybe didn’t trust anyone.

  And whose fault was that?

  His.

  He had asked her to go to the old cabin with him. He had stood by, helpless, while she’d been tortured. He had failed to keep her safe.

  Nothing he could ever do would atone for that.

  And for her to come back now . . . Derek’s fingers tightened and crushed the empty water bottle he held. The timing couldn’t be worse.

  At any other time, he would have welcomed her. But not now. Not when she could be walking into danger. Again.

  He could remember ten years ago as if it’d been yesterday. Home from college on break, he was supposed to meet his buddies at Pip’s Pizza. He strolled in, thinking he was the shit. Grown up. A man.

  He could even remember the smell: all pizza-saucy goodness and the mouthwatering scent of baking crust. He’d looked around. Ian and Michael weren’t there yet.

  Four girls giggled in the back, hunched around their table, whispering. The two facing him he knew from high school: Pam Novak and Audrey White. The other two had their backs to the door, so he
couldn’t tell who they were.

  After Derek picked up his two slices of pepperoni pie and a can of soda, he went to sit with them. He tossed his tray on the red-checkered tablecloth. “Hey.”

  “Hi, Derek.”

  They made room for him, and he slid in, onto the red plastic bench.

  One of the girls facing away from the door was someone he didn’t recognize, but the other one was his neighbor, Jess Taylor. He grinned at her. “Jess.”

  Then he took a second look. Her golden hair was longer, straighter, her makeup more sophisticated, her sweater sleek, emphasizing her curves. That sweet, innocent air of hers still clung to her, but little Jess next door had definitely grown up. Something about the way her powder-blue knitted sweater clung to her chest made Derek’s throat go dry.

  “You’re back,” she stated the obvious, pink tinging her cheeks.

  Yep, she still nursed that crush. He leaned back in the booth, and a sense of well-being washed over him. All was well in his world.

  Jess’s crush—bordering on hero worship—had fed Derek’s teenage ego tremendously over the years. The way her eyes lit up when he got on the school bus and passed by her was worth getting up for in the morning. When, at the start of their junior year, he’d bought a used pickup truck, he’d offered her rides to school and back just so he wouldn’t have to miss that smile, her hot blushes, and the way she always grew awkward in his presence.

  She had a great sense of humor, good taste in music and comic books, and she was smart as a whip. Riding with her was no sacrifice.

  His parents were always fighting, his mother always moving out and then back in. His father’d be sober, then on weeklong benders. Jess Taylor had been the one constant in Derek’s life, and he appreciated her for that. She was the one thing he missed most while away in college.

  Being friends with her was great. But anything else with her had always been off-limits. Jess was Mr. Taylor’s daughter, the girl next door. Derek had known damn well that Mr. Taylor would run down anyone who messed with his little girl.

  “Hey, so, we gotta go.” Pam stood, and the two other girls stood with her. “See you later, Jess.”

  Jess looked at her friends, startled. Some kind of eye-swishing communication must have passed over Derek’s head, because, a moment later, blushing furiously, Jess said, “Oh, sure.”

  Both Jess and Derek stood to let the girls out of the booth. A second later, the giggling trio was gone, Jess and Derek back on the red plastic benches, just the two of them.

  She’d already eaten her pizza. He attacked his, his eyes treacherously shifting to the curves her soft sweater accentuated rather than concealed. He was pretty sure he was tenting his pants under the table.

  “How’s college treating you?” he asked between bites, hoping Ian and Michael wouldn’t show. He didn’t want to share her. Ian was a freaking dog. If he went after Jess, Derek would have to hurt him.

  “It’s OK. But I kind of wish I’d chosen a school somewhere farther away. Seems weird to be still living at home.” She looked away for a second or two, trying not to be obvious about staring at him. She sucked in her lips, then popped them out again in a nervous gesture.

  He spaced out there for a second, bowled over by desire.

  A moment of awkward silence passed before she asked, “How is rugby? Do you like your new team?”

  He shrugged. He loved playing, but he wasn’t given to waxing poetic. He was too distracted by her mouth to think about the game.

  Had Jess’s lips always been this full? She switched to sucking in just her bottom lip, then raking it with her even, white teeth before it escaped torture, over and over again. Wet and swollen. Derek nearly groaned.

  He swallowed the last of his pizza. “So, you want to see a movie?”

  Her entire face lit up.

  God, nobody ever looked at him like Jess. He immediately felt as if he’d grown two inches. Which, of course, he had—way more than two—but not in overall height.

  “Sure.” Her breasts bounced as she jumped from the booth.

  Derek tugged his SVC rugby jacket down to cover his crotch.

  She looked at him, her gaze hesitating on his face. She clearly misinterpreted the lust in his eyes for reluctance, because she said, “If you want to do something else . . .”

  “Come on.” He grabbed her hand. The something else he wanted to do with her might shock her to her innocent soul. It’s Jess. It’s just a movie. I can resist and not be an asshole, he told himself as he drew her through the restaurant, weaving among the tables.

  At the movies, they bought two tickets to an action flick. He didn’t even care what they were watching. He just wanted the movie that started soonest. The second the lights went out, he kissed her. On the way over, he’d decided that he was going to allow a couple of kisses. Nobody could fault him for that.

  At first, Jess was tentative, and Derek got drunk on that innocence. He cradled her cheeks in palms calloused from gym equipment. Then he tilted her head for better access, and she let him in.

  He claimed her gently, took his time. He suddenly understood that, deep down, he’d been waiting for this for years. He wasn’t going to rush her now. This was Jess.

  When a soft, helpless moan escaped her, fire raced through his veins. Then her slim arms slipped around his neck as she completely surrendered. The triumph Derek felt was indescribable. The wave of joy was worth a thousand scores on the rugby field, a thousand trophies.

  She was sweet, pliant, and incredibly responsive.

  Mine, mine, mine. The words drummed inside Derek.

  His hands strayed to her chest. For a second she stiffened; then she melted against him, pushing her firm, high breasts into his eager palms. Her slim hands slid down from his neck and moved to explore his shoulders.

  He wanted, desperately, to pull her onto his lap, but didn’t want to get kicked out of the movie theater. He didn’t want to give anyone an excuse to stop them from what they were doing. She felt too good in his arms. Necessary. Vital.

  His Jess.

  He had no idea what the movie was about. They hadn’t seen two minutes of the film. They made out and groped each other like mad for the full two hours. Derek had been so damn hard by the end, he’d almost come in his pants.

  Now, ten years later, as he stood in his office window at the farmhouse he’d grown up in, he still wanted Jess. That was a revelation and a half. One glance had been all it took. Saw her face, heard her voice, and bam!

  Jess Taylor held entire worlds in her eyes, always had. And those worlds had always drawn him. He’d resisted that pull for years before he’d finally given in to temptation. Now he would just have to start resisting again.

  He watched her bedroom window, hoping to catch a glimpse of her shadow. Seconds ticked by. He saw no movement, almost as if their meeting an hour ago had been a figment of his imagination.

  It wasn’t.

  Jess was back—a new, self-assured, tough-as-anything Jess. As if she’d been forged in fire. And she’d had to be forged, remade, because that old, sweet, innocent Jess had been broken. The thought made Derek want to put his fist through the glass in front of him. As did his very next thought: She hates me now.

  If she didn’t, she’d sure put on a good act. She couldn’t wait to get him out of there, and she’d told him not to come back. So . . . a strong, visceral dislike at the very least.

  Well, that was a given—shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Back then, after their escape, during that endless month when she’d been recovering, she wouldn’t talk to Derek, refused to see him. He understood that seeing him would hurt her, so he’d done what he had to, put as many miles between them as possible.

  But now he was back.

  Jess too had returned.

  And just thinking about that day at the movies had given Derek a hard-on. Because he still wanted Jess Taylor. Shit.

  How big of a bastard could he be? He was so disgusted with himself, he made himself sick.
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br />   He’d witnessed her being raped. Brutally. He should not have sexual thoughts about her. Ever. His attraction could be too easily misinterpreted as an expectation, or pressure—and, at the very least, it was a complication. He wanted to be there for her, provide unconditional support. But if he made her feel awkward, she wouldn’t turn to him for help.

  He needed to stop looking at her long legs and her curves. That he even noticed what she looked like felt wrong on every possible level. What the hell was wrong with him?

  He was going to stop, right this second.

  Attraction over. Killed. She didn’t need his lust. She needed his protection.

  He couldn’t protect her back then, but he was damn well going to protect her this time: both from outside danger, and from himself. His first step: get her the hell out of Taylorville. Which meant that, despite her reluctance to talk to him again, he would have to go around to see her.

  Hannah Wilson tore every fingernail she had, clawing in the dark to get out of her chains. “Help! Somebody! Please help!”

  But nobody answered.

  “Help!” She screamed again. “Daddy!”

  She was never going to give up, as she knew her parents would never give up looking for her. They would find her. Daddy was coming. He was a big man, a tough man. He was the man who had, up until now, solved all her problems.

  He was a farmer, a strong man. He could haul hundred-pound seed bags all day long. When he came, he was going to kill the man in the mask who’d brought Hannah to this dark corner of hell. And then Daddy was going to take Hannah home. Then her mother was going to hug her and hug her, and she would be safe again, and her pain would go away.

  Her fingers slippery with blood, Hannah dropped the chain. She wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked herself.

  “Hurry, Daddy, please hurry,” she whispered into the darkness.

  Chapter Six

  Saturday

  JESS GAZED AROUND her old bedroom from under the covers as morning light filtered through the lace curtains. New day. Do over. Not going to get sucked into the past, or any weird emotions involving Derek.