Family Ties

by Joanna Wayne

  She slipped again, and this time Lester jumped in front of her, wrapping his hand around her arm so tightly she cried out in pain. But at least the knife was no longer waiting at her spine, ready to plunge through her with the next misstep.

  The night brightened again. Not lightning this time, but flashing blue beams. She screamed, defying the knife and the madman. A squad car pulled to the edge of the building and stopped. Lester jerked her into the shadows of the fourth-floor balcony, the knife pricking the skin at the base of her neck.

  “Make another sound and you’re dead meat.”

  The piercing blue lights bounced off the tree limbs and vibrated through the sheets of rain.

  “Damn cops. What in the devil are they doing here?”

  “I called them,” she lied, frantically searching for any reason to frighten him into running without her. “I called 9-1-1 when you were trying to break in. They’re probably surrounding the building now, ready to grab you and drag you back to Huntsville.”

  “Not alive they won’t. Not to that rat hole.” Anger, or was it fear, tore at his voice. “But you didn’t call them.”

  “Wait and see. One of them is probably banging on my door right now. His partner is probably on his way to the back of the building.”

  “Not a chance. You didn’t call them. I heard you try. The phone was dead, like the lights. They’re probably making routine rounds.” He pulled her closer into the shadows, but this time it was Lester who was shaking.

  So the tough guy was afraid of something. He was terrified of going back to prison. He wouldn’t, though, not unless she could find some way to signal the cops, to make them get out of their dry squad car and check out the back of the building.

  A scream wouldn’t do it. They’d never hear her over the wind, and another scream might make Lester panic even more, make him slice across her jugular vein even though he didn’t want to kill her, not yet, anyway. Not until she gave him the money he was convinced she had.

  But if she could break free of his death grip, she could make a run for it. The cops would surely check out a woman hurtling down the steps in a driving rain. A swift knee kick, hard and perfectly placed. She’d count to five and then let him have it.

  The night went cold black at four.

  “See, I told you. The coppers don’t want their clothes all wet and their boots all muddy. They’ve seen all they want of this place. It’s a nice cup of hot coffee and a greasy doughnut they’re looking for.” Bluster replaced the panic in his voice, and he again pricked her skin with the knife. “Now start walking, and make it quick.”

  Ashley started down the steps, feeling her way through the blackness that surrounded them, forcing her mind to reason. Lester was balanced on a thread. His shaky hand on the knife was proof of that. She was sure the moisture that soaked through her gown and stuck to her skin was partly blood. She just didn’t know how much.

  From nowhere, a bright beam of light hit the tops of the trees in front of them and bounced off the bottom few steps. A rough hand pulled her to the floor as the sucking sound of Lester’s breath ripped the air around her. The beam of light climbed the steps, stopping mere inches before it would have caught them in its glow.

  Lester twisted her arm behind her back, his mouth at her ear. “I’ll be back. When you least expect it.”

  The shaky threat was the last thing she heard. That and the crashing sound of her head slamming against the railing as her body began a violent plummet down the raindrenched steps.

  Chapter Four

  Dillon jerked awake. Blinking to ward off the unexpected glare of flashing lights, he snapped his head upward and tried to straighten his legs. One look at Ashley’s apartment stopped him cold. A burly policeman was standing in the shadows, pounding on Ashley’s door.

  Two seconds, he’d swear. He’d closed his eyes for only two seconds. Without checking the clock, Dillon jumped from the car and into the driving rain. He had no idea what was going on, but he’d find out. He took the steps two at a time, barely noticing the burning in his lungs by the time he’d made it up five flights.

  “What’s the matter, Officer?”

  “We had a call to check out the tenant. Her boss was worried when he couldn’t get her on the phone. Do you know her?”

  “She’s my wife.”

  “Is that so?” The policeman stopped pounding and stared at Dillon, suspicion written like script across his face. “Could you show me some identification?”

  Dillon pulled out his wallet and flashed his Texas driving license and his senate ID card.

  The cop took the wallet from him and shined his light on both cards. The suspicious look did not abate. “Senator Dillon Randolph. And you say the woman who lives here is your wife?”

  “That’s exactly what I said.” His wife. Even to his ears the words sounded like a lie. In reality, they weren’t. In every way that counted, they were.

  Dillon stepped in front of the policeman and beat against the door. “Ashley, open up. There’s a policeman out here trying to check on you.”

  “Look, mister, Senator Randolph, whoever you are. The woman we’re checking on is not named Randolph. So you better explain what you’re doing here.”

  “I’ll explain all you want. As soon as I make sure my wife and my son are all right.” He pounded on the door again, harder, driven by frustration. If she wasn’t here, she’d run. And he had no one to blame but himself.

  He turned and stared at the parking lot. If she’d run, she hadn’t left in her car. It was still parked in the same spot it had occupied when he’d arrived. “Ashley, open the door now or we break it.”

  “Hey, Morgan.”

  A voice cut through the wind and rain, and Dillon and the cop jerked to attention, straining to hear.

  “I think I found our woman,” he yelled, jogging around the corner of the building. “Looks like someone got to her before we got here.”

  “Yeah, and I have a man here claiming to be-”

  “What do you mean got to her? Where is she?” Dillon demanded. His muscles grew taut, and his hands were clenched into hard fists.

  “She’s out back. Not in the best of shape.”

  Panic triggered a new wave of adrenaline. Dillon pushed past the cop and raced down the steps, the panting policeman trailing only a few steps behind. The second cop grabbed him as he hit the dirt running.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To check on my wife.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll do it together. First things first. Put your hands on the wall and don’t think about moving them.”

  “I’ll take care of him, Chuck. You get the woman,” Morgan said, his words catching faster than his breath.

  Dillon complied, keeping his hands still, but not his tongue, while Morgan did the frisking honors. “You’re wasting time you should be using to check on Ashley. I don’t carry a gun unless I’m expecting to run into rattlesnakes. I didn’t think I’d find them in the middle of Destin, Florida.”

  “You find what you’re looking for.”

  “Well, you aren’t going to find a weapon on me, so get through with your games.”

  Finally Morgan gave up his patting and led the way to the back of the apartment building. Dillon pushed in front of hrm, silently cursing his weakness. If he’d stayed awake, he’d, know where Ashley was and what had happened to her. If he’d stayed awake, nothing would have happened to her.

  Chuck was waiting for them at the top of the second flight of steps. “She was right here a minute ago. Groggy as hell, bleeding and doubled up in pain. I told her to stay put, and I’d be right back.”

  Both flashlights went into action, swiping across the back play area, down the concrete walkway that circled the building, into the trees. There wasn’t a sign of Ashley.

  Lightning flashed across the sky again and Dillon caught a glimpse of movement, a tall, muscular figure ducking into the cover of a row of thick bushes. The two cops took off in a dead heat, the
ir guns drawn.

  Dillon headed up the stairs to the back door of Ashley’s apartment. He didn’t bother to knock or to keep the door from slamming behind him.

  Ashley’s face twisted in pain as she rolled and squirmed, yanking her wet gown down so that it covered more than the bare necessities as the back door slammed.

  “Come in, Dillon, since you already have.”

  She barked the hostile greeting, then sat quietly, watching the color drain from Dillon’s face. No wonder. She must be quite a sight. Sprawled in the middle of the kitchen floor where she’d collapsed. Soaking wet, her hair and bloody clothes clinging to her like a second skin.

  She tried to stand, but pain shot up her leg and her ankle gave way. Tears stinging her eyes, she dropped to her bedraggled heap and tried desperately to manage a controlled frown.

  “What happened, Ashley?”

  “A nasty fall down a flight of slippery stairs? I’m sure I’ll recover in a lifetime or two.” The nonchalance she strove for was lost in the shivers of pain and fear that shook her insides.

  Dillon dropped to the floor beside her, examining her ankle and then the bulging lump on her head. “You’ve got to get out of these wet clothes and get some ice on those bumps and bruises.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

  She longed to lean against him, to let him play his role of rescuer to the hilt. Stupid pride made her push him away instead.

  “I’ll manage. Go finish your nap.” She wrung water from her hair and pushed the still-dripping locks from her face.

  Dillon left her huddling while he checked on Petey. Assured his son was sleeping safely, he returned to the kitchen, a blue chenille robe over his arm. “Let me help you out of those clothes before the cops get up here and decide you need frisking in your see-through ensemble.”

  Ashley dropped her gaze to her battered body. Her breasts pushed against the wet fabric of her gown, the nipples perfectly outlined. In fact, every curve and crevice of her body was sculptured in the drenched cotton. She reached for the robe, yanking it from Dillon’s hands and covering the front of her body.

  “Save your modesty for the cops, Ashley. I’ve seen it all before. You’re my wife, or have you blocked it from your mind again?” Dillon peeled the wet clothes from her body, lifting her arms up and out of the dripping fabric.

  She shivered but didn’t fight. Her emotions were too raw, her muscles too sore. Besides, it almost seemed right that Dillon should be here tonight, undressing her. Her world had come crashing down. Why shouldn’t her memories follow suit, as well?

  He stopped, and his fingers traced a path of pain down her back. “That’s more than a flesh wound.”

  “I must have hit something sharp when I fell.”

  “Yeah, something like the blade of a knife.” He hurled the nightgown across the room. “What really happened up here tonight, Ashley?”

  “I told you. I fell. I went outside to get some of Petey’s toys in and I slipped on the wet steps.”

  Dillon wrapped the dry robe around her. “I’m getting you to bed and calling a doctor. We’ll talk later. When you’re ready to tell the truth.”

  “The truth is I fell and I don’t need a doctor. A little peroxide on the cuts and some ice for the bruises will do fine.”

  Dillon took her in his arms, lifting her as easily as she did Petey. His hands were wrapped around her, and in spite of the confusion that tormented her soul, she relaxed against him. Just for one second, she let herself forget the chaos, the acts of violence that threatened her very existence. She was in Dillon’s arms. Once that had been the only refuge she needed. Tonight it was a temporary reprieve.

  He carried her across the floor and laid her gently on the couch. “No use to go to the bedroom yet. You’ll have visitors again any minute.”

  She felt the color drain from her face.

  “This time it will be the cops. Who was here before?”

  “No one.”

  “Yeah, sure. The same no one who raked a jagged edge down your back? The no one who pushed you down the steps in a driving thunderstorm?”

  “You’re talking in circles.”

  “You appear to be living in circles, vicious ones. What kind of man would attack you and then have you defend him so vehemently?”

  “I fell, Dillon. For once, can’t you just believe me without making a federal case out of it?”

  “No. And neither will the cops who found you. They went chasing after some man outside. I hope they catch him. If not, maybe they can get more out of you than I am.”

  She rose to a sitting position, wincing at the pain that galloped in every nerve in her body. Dillon slipped a throw pillow under her head and eased her down to it. “I’ll get the peroxide and ice, not that they’ll help much. Your fall is going to leave reminders for a long time.”

  She groaned as a booming knock at the door seemed to crash through her aching head.

  “I’ll get it,” Dillon called from the kitchen where he was cracking ice trays.

  Ashley gritted her teeth and waited, vowing to make no mistakes this time. She’d have to watch every statement she made to the police and to Dillon. Only she could keep Petey safe. And she would do it her way.

  All she wanted was a couple of pain pills and a dry bed. And time to make plans. First, she’d have to get rid of Dillon and a couple of loud cops.

  ASHLEY ROLLED OVER, and every muscle in her body protested. She stretched slowly and painfully and rubbed the residues of sleep from her eyes. Sunlight danced along the edges of her sheet, but didn’t illuminate the gloom that darkened her thoughts.

  Last night. Lester. Dillon and the police. Bits and pieces bolted through her consciousness. It was all like a nightmare, and heaven knew she’d had enough of those to know. But nightmares didn’t leave the kind of aches and pains she felt this morning. She stretched again, and didn’t try to bite back the groan.

  Her eyes darted to the clock on her bedside table. Eightthirty. Petey was always awake long before now. She must have slept right through his cries for breakfast. Tears filled her eyes as she pushed the pain to its limits, scooting her aching body to the edge of the bed and easing her legs over the side.

  She hobbled to the door and swung it open, letting in more light and the smell of brewing coffee. Dillon, of course. Memories from last night came into sharper focus.

  As soon as the police had finished their endless round of questions, Dillon had treated her wounds, carried her to bed and tucked her under the covers. He was too much a man to leave the mother of his son alone in that condition, even if he had made it plain he hadn’t believed a word of her explanation. He’d promised to be only a few steps away if she needed anything.

  Well, she needed something, all right. She needed plenty. Number one was a body that didn’t hurt every time she moved. She took another step, holding onto the wall for support. No, even above that, she needed Lester Grant to drop off the face of the earth. And perhaps Dillon could go along as an escort.

  The police hadn’t found Lester, and she’d stuck to her story. She’d tried working with the police years ago. It had gotten her exactly nowhere. She was on her own like she’d always been. She couldn’t trust the police, and she certainly couldn’t trust Dillon Randolph.

  He was after her son, and he’d use whatever means he could to take him away from her. The fact that she was involved with a killer could get him the custody rights he wanted.

  “Mommy!” Petey’s shrill cries filled the hall as he rounded the corner and spotted her limping in his direction. He hurled himself at her, wrapping pudgy arms about her legs. Her knees buckled, and she hit the floor in a heap, Petey landing in a laughing mass right on her stomach.

  Dillon stood in the doorway watching. “Looks like Mommy is a little stiff this morning.” He started over to help.

  “I’m fine.” She forced a smile through the grimace and used her hands on the wall to climb to a standing position.

  “I can tell. So how about
breakfast? Petey and I have finished ours, but we saved a little pancake batter for you.”

  “Petey doesn’t like pancakes. He only likes cold cereal in the mornings.”

  “Really? He ate three of the Burning Pear specials, topped with a dollop of butter and a heaping helping of cane syrup I borrowed from your neighbor. She offered to help with anything we needed.”

  “I’ll just bet.” Ashley fought the lump that gathered in her throat. All Dillon had to do was waltz in the door oozing the Randolph charm, and he made conquests of her neighbors and even her son. She understood. She’d fallen for the same routine, before she learned better than to believe in knights in cowboy leather.

  “Why don’t I fix you some breakfast first, Ashley? Then we’ll talk. I called the doctor already. You have to go in at ten for a tetanus shot and to let him examine those wounds.”

  She dragged herself to the kitchen chair and thankfully dropped into it. The pain in her leg was agonizing, but it was nothing compared to the one pouring her coffee. The talk Dillon had in mind would center on one topic. One problem and one resolution.

  Dillon peeled thick slices of bacon from the package and arranged them in a sizzling skillet. Funny, she had no idea he could find his way around a kitchen. Their courtship had been a whirlwind of excitement and romance. Their marriage had been a tragedy. Neither had left time to enjoy the simple, everyday things that cemented a couple together.

  “How about a cup of hot coffee while I finish breakfast?”

  He flashed an uneasy smile but didn’t wait for an answer. Pulling one of her unmatched cups from the cupboard, he filled it to the top with the brew. He left it black, just the way she liked it, putting in a half teaspoon of sugar and stirring like crazy before handing it to her. Obviously he hadn’t forgotten everything about their brief life together.

  “Your boss called again this morning,” he said, turning to the range. “I told him you wouldn’t be in today, but I think you better call him after breakfast. He still seems a little suspicious of me even after talking to the cops who came by last night. It seems you never mentioned having a husband.”