Dirty Sexy Knitting

by Christie Ridgway

  —ALEX HALEY

  Could this be happening? Cassandra thought. What was Reed Tucker doing? “What’s going on?”

  “I told you,” he said, shrugging out of his raincoat one sleeve at a time. The gun traded hands so that it stayed trained on her.

  A gun was trained on her!

  “You shouldn’t have tried to horn in on our family.”

  She put out a hand. “I wasn’t trying—”

  “You certainly were!” Reed interrupted, his eyes narrowing. Red color flushed his face. “You want Dad’s money.”

  “No, no. I don’t want money.” Cassandra inched away from him. “Just . . . information. Connections.”

  He shook his head, his dreadlocks dancing with the movement. “I thought that at first, which is why I only did those little things to bug you, like the idea of you and your ‘Malibu Babe’ sisters was bugging me.”

  Her mind scooped up each piece of information, trying to puzzle them altogether. “The fire in my shop? Nikki’s food spoiling?”

  “And the rock you ran into,” Reed added, then frowned. “That wasn’t my best idea. Too unpredictable. But it came to me because I hike the area a lot.”

  Moosewood and Breathe were twining Cassandra’s ankles, emitting anxious meows. She shuffled back, as if reacting to the soft push of their bodies instead of the insistent scream in her head to flee.

  She was going to do that, as soon as she got a little closer to the sliding glass door behind her back. Her gaze trained on that gun, she retreated another step.

  “Look out!” Reed warned, but it was too late.

  She’d forgotten about the basket of knitting sitting beside the couch, and her feet tripped over it, tumbling her onto her butt. She went with the fall, letting the momentum roll her toward her goal. When she felt cold glass against her spine, she scrambled to her feet, using the door handle to pull herself up. Then she froze there, her hands wrapped around the handle at the small of her back, her focus fixed on Reed and the gun.

  “You warned me about the basket,” she said. “You don’t really want to hurt me.”

  “Like hell I do.” He glared at her. “Don’t be like Dad and Patrick—they always underestimate me. They don’t think my recycling business will ever amount to anything.”

  “It’s a great idea,” she said quickly. “Especially when the world is going greener every day.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving his gun-free hand. “But just in case, I don’t want to be written out of Dad’s will, or even see it split five ways.”

  “Oh, I’m sure your father wouldn’t—”

  “You want him to. That’s why you sent him that invitation to your birthday party and had coffee with him. That’s when I realized I had to stop with the fun and games and kill you. All three of you.”

  Her fingers tightened on the handle of the door as she realized he was serious. He might look like a laid-back surfer dude, someone more into ganja than guns, but she was sure now that it was murder, not marijuana on his mind.

  And though that gun in his hand looked about as big as a cannon to her right now, she couldn’t wait another minute.

  On a breath, she shoved open the door and ducked, plunging into the rain and muck that was her back patio. The crack of the gun, the clap of thunder? She didn’t know; she only ran as fast as her slippers would take her, zigzagging like all those self-defense documentaries prescribed as she headed for the steps leading to Gabe’s. It was her only way out.

  She grabbed the railing and started pulling herself up the steep stairs, allowing herself a quick glance back, only to see Reed slide in the mud and tumble into her pool to his waist. Adrenaline allowed her another burst of speed, even as she saw him scramble from the water, the gun still in his grasp.

  Her leg muscles burned as she tried to take advantage of his stumble. From the corner of her eye, she saw the cats racing beside her and could only guess that their animal instincts were in line with hers. Reed Tucker meant business. He meant to kill her.

  Reaching the sloping lawn that led to Gabe’s compound, she slid on the slick grass, tipping forward. She caught her fall with her palms and pushed off, her gaze catching on the flick of a tail racing in the direction of the closest solid structure—the smaller of two stand-alone stucco garages that housed Gabe’s vehicles. Her legs churning, she took off in the direction of its narrow side door.

  Get inside. Turn the lock. Pray he looks for you elsewhere.

  Her wet hand slipped on the metal knob. She tried again, trying to swallow her panicked, whimpering breaths. The handle turned, she pushed it open. Two cats raced over her feet as she stepped inside.

  A force wrenched the knob from her hand. She leaped into the dim interior as the metal door crashed against the inside wall and Reed Tucker filled the entry. It was almost dark outside, and even darker inside the 15 × 20 building, but Reed found the light switches.

  The overhead fluorescent tubes flickered then blazed to life as Cassandra shuffled back until her thighs hit the side of the classic Thunderbird that Gabe had restored—the replica of the vehicle in which his wife and daughter had died.

  How fitting, Cassandra thought, trying to clamp down on her hysteria. This car was going to be the last stand of another woman who loved him.

  Gabe cursed himself for not leaving the day before as he’d intended. Now with the damn rain coming down and the road at the end of the lane washed out, he was stuck only one hundred yards from where Cassandra lived.

  And with her birthday gift in his pocket.

  There were a dozen ways to deal with it. Forget about it—she likely didn’t want a present from him. Or mail it to her anyway, and imagine her overarming it off the balcony of Malibu & Ewe and into the ocean. Or take it to her place and leave it by the back door.

  He figured she’d made it out of the canyon in time to get to her party at the yarn shop, though she’d have to stay the night with either Nikki or Juliet. When she returned to her house, though, he’d be gone and she’d find the box he’d left behind.

  Maybe it would convey all that he couldn’t.

  She was precious. Sparkling. Valuable and enduring. He hated that he’d hurt her and regretted like hell that she’d witnessed him flirting with his own death so many times.

  Cassandra had been right about him—except he wasn’t cowardly. That would have been making the easy choice to stay with her, allowing her to shower her love on the shell of a man he’d become.

  But before he left, he could make sure she got his gift.

  He shoved his hand in his pocket, his fingertips finding his wallet instead. Setting his jaw, he forced himself to draw it out. There were other people he owed. He opened the leather. Flipped to the photos. Sweet Maddie. Lynn. For the first time since her death, he steeled himself to meet her eyes.

  There was no accusation in them, he realized. It was just Lynn’s warm gaze, smiling in the happiness of that moment with their daughter. Those two were still together, weren’t they?

  Oh, God, he thought, as the truth hit him. Of the three of them, the only one who was lost, really, was him.

  He ran his thumb over their faces. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, because like Cassandra, they probably expected better of him, too. It just wasn’t in him, though.

  The heart of him was gone.

  Reseating his wallet beside the small gift, he jogged to the door that led to the most direct route to Cassandra’s place. Christ, the rain was coming down in sheets. Mailing the gift from wherever was his first stop on the road seemed like a better idea now. Then he squinted, peering into the dusk and the drenching rain. What the hell was Ed doing wandering about?

  The cat looked miserable and about five pounds lighter with his fluffy, black and white hair plastered to his body. Gabe cracked open the door. “Ed!” he called out. “Come in. You look like hell.”

  Instead of running for the offered shelter, Ed sat in a puddle and stared at Gabe. He ran his hand over his stub-bled hair. �
�Okay, I look like hell, too, but have enough sense to get in out of the rain.”

  Ed didn’t move.

  “Fine then,” Gabe muttered, and moved to close the door. But his conscience pricked at him, and then a sense of real alarm. Cassandra wouldn’t have let the cat out in a storm.

  Without another thought, he stepped out, rain immediately wetting his clothes. Ed turned and scampered off, and Gabe jogged to keep up. “Lassie ain’t got nothin’ on you,” he muttered, as Ed looked over his shoulder and then picked up speed. “This better be good, cat.”

  Ed led him straight to the smaller of his two garages. Seeing the light spilling out from the open side door, Gabe hurried to it, only to come up short when he saw a pale Cassandra pasted against the Thunderbird. What the hell?

  Reed Tucker held a long, hand-knitted scarf in one hand and a gun in the other. At Gabe’s appearance in the doorway, the gun’s barrel instantly shifted, including both him and Cassandra in target range.

  Those facts came at him in a rush. Supposition soon followed. The fire. And what else? What else was this bastard capable of? “Don’t hurt her,” Gabe told the man through clenched teeth.

  “I’m not going to hurt her,” Reed answered matter-of factly. “I’m going to kill her.”

  Gabe surged into the room. Reed’s arm jerked toward him, then back to Cassandra. Halting, Gabe held his arms wide. “Choose me instead. For three years I’ve been hoping to die.”

  Cassandra made a little sound. Distress. Fear. Gabe didn’t look away from Reed, but softened his voice. “Take it easy, Froot Loop. Take it easy.”

  “It’s gonna be easy,” Reed said. Then he leaped, grasping Cassandra and yanking her back against his chest. He still held the scarf, and now the gun was closer to her frightened face. “Cassandra and I were just discussing how easy.”

  Gabe looked at her. “He saw the hose in the exhaust pipe,” she explained, her voice strained. “And how you threaded it through the window.”

  Shit. He didn’t like where this was heading.

  “So we’re going to put your little setup to good use, my friend,” Reed said, smiling. “Death by carbon monoxide poisoning. It was going to be a solo suicide, but with you, this will look even better. Some sort of lover’s thing, right?”

  “Everyone knows Gabe doesn’t love me,” Cassandra said quickly. “So just let him go.”

  Oh, Froot Loop.

  Generous, open-hearted Cassandra. She deserved someone whole and unshadowed, and instead she was facing this moment with him. The ash inside his chest was swirling, rising, choking him. He couldn’t breathe.

  He couldn’t bear to think of Cassandra not breathing.

  Cassandra not breathing. Cassandra!

  The thick cinders suddenly stopped their twisting spin. They fell, settling back into his chest, their shape and size the semblance of a heart.

  And then it beat, whole and steady.

  Determined.

  His eyes on her, he took a sure step forward.

  Reed jabbed the gun into Cassandra’s temple, forcing Gabe to halt again. “So you both think I’m stupid, just like Dad and Patrick. How do you suppose that would work out, huh? Me letting either one of you go?”

  Jerking his head, he indicated the car. “Dude. Get in.”

  Cassandra felt the tension throbbing throughout Gabe’s body, even though they were each in a bucket seat with a leather bolster between them. The convertible top was up but Reed had been unable to get the power windows to rise.

  In a dry voice, Gabe offered to help, but Reed had declined to untie the knots he’d used to bind their hands together and then to the steering wheel. “No worries,” he said, sounding cheerful. “The garage looks airtight. It will only take you a little longer to drift off.”

  Then he made another check of the knots that bound them tight. “You make this scarf?” he’d asked Cassandra.

  “Yes,” she said. It matched the hat she’d made Gabe and Reed had found it hanging on a hook on the wall.

  “It came in real handy. I’ll get rid of it after the two of you are gone.” Reaching through the passenger window, he turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life. “Bye, folks!” he said gaily, and then he was gone. The door slammed behind him.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Gabe cursed, struggling against the bonds of the scarf.

  “No,” she whispered fiercely. “Stop. Stop moving.”

  “Damn it, Froot Loop.” Frustration filled his voice. “I’m not letting this happen.”

  “We’re not going to let this happen,” she said, turning her wrists gently, trying to shift one of the scarf’s knots. “It’s not going to happen.”

  He seemed to sense her seriousness, his tension changing tenor. “What? What don’t I know?”

  Her heart was thrumming in hummingbird panic, but it was another creature altogether on her mind. “We’re going to take a little trip to the frog pond.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Rip-it, rip-it,” she said, as she bent her head to the end of the scarf she’d managed to twist toward her mouth. “We’re going to unravel the scarf.”

  “Unravel . . . ?” She felt his surprise, and then his comprehension. “You can loosen the knots by undoing the stitches. I didn’t think about that.”

  She spit some fiber from the tip of her tongue. “Lucky for us, Reed didn’t think about that either.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Hold still unless you can reach an end.” She bent back to her work.

  Gabe was forced to rely on her efforts and after another few minutes, she could sense his renewed impatience. The exhaust was sweetening the air in the garage and she had to lift her head to cough.

  “Damn it, damn me,” he said, letting his head fall back. “Cassandra, I don’t know if we’ll have enough time.”

  “We’ll have enough time. At least, the carbon monoxide isn’t going to kill us.”

  His gaze jerked her way. “How do you know?”

  She yanked free another row of the scarf with her teeth and then took a shallow breath. “When I caught on to your setup out here, one night I came back and punched some holes in the walls along the foundation. From the outside they’re covered by the oleander bushes. Inside, well, you never noticed I rearranged a few cardboard boxes here and there.”

  “So we have some ventilation.” He was silent a moment as she hurried to unravel more rows with her teeth. “God, I love you, Cassandra,” he finally said.

  She didn’t bother looking up or responding, figuring she understood the spirit of his words. There was another matter anyway. “When we get out of these knots though . . . how we get away from Reed is all on you.”

  His plan was simple. Once free of their bindings, he helped her silently climb out of the car. Then he pressed her against the wall, positioning her so she’d be behind the door once it opened. He caught her mouth in a hard kiss, then crossed to the car and turned off the ignition. The engine died. With luck, Reed would think they had, too.

  “He’ll think the car ran out of gas,” he whispered, hurrying to the opposite side of the door. “Just stay put and stay quiet.”

  With the Thunderbird no longer rumbling, the garage was too silent. Surely Reed would be able to hear her heart pounding, even over the persistent drumming of the rain. Despite her efforts at cross-ventilating the building, her head was spinning and the urge to cough welled up in her throat. She clapped her hands over her mouth and felt the fine tremor in her fingers.

  She didn’t want to die.

  She’d never wanted Gabe to die.

  “I love you, Cassandra,” she thought she heard him say again, then the door creaked open. A figure stepped inside.

  Gabe’s fist struck Reed’s jaw.

  The younger man fell, half-in and half-out of the doorway. The door swinging shut caught his ribs. He grunted, his lax fingers twitching to contract around the gun that had landed on the floor beside him. Gabe scooped it up, then pointed the
barrel at their assailant. Relief didn’t make a dent in the mix of adrenaline and carbon monoxide coursing through Cassandra’s system.

  “Cassandra, do you know where I stashed that noose?” Gabe asked, his voice tight. “I think we’ve found a better use for the rope.”

  Twenty

  The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other’s life.

  —RICHARD BACH

  After a tense night guarding their prisoner, at dawn Cassandra laced up her hiking boots. She struggled into a slicker, listened to another round of Gabe’s admonitions, and then mouthed a number of promises, some of which made little sense.

  She didn’t need to see a doctor and she wasn’t going to hole up with one of her sisters after making contact with the sheriff. As it happened, once they heard her story, the authorities kept her at the station in Calabasas until Gabe and Reed could be collected. He must have called Nikki and Juliet on his way in—maybe the sheriffs had some secret cell reception—because the other two women, along with Noah and Jay, arrived just minutes before the man who had saved her life.

  He raised his eyebrows when she expressed the sentiment in the hallway at the station. “We’ll discuss who rescued who later, Froot Loop.”

  “I’m too tired,” she said. Neither one of them had slept the night before while they watched over Reed, suffering through his ranting and his too-seldom sullen silences. “All I want to do is go home and sleep.”

  It was past noon when Noah drove them back up the canyon. The road had been cleared of mud and debris, but there were leaves and downed branches all over their narrow lane. When they came to her place, Noah kept his foot pressed to the gas.

  “Wait, wait,” she protested from the backseat.

  Noah exchanged a look with the man on his right.

  “You stay with me for now, Froot Loop,” Gabe said, his voice adamant.

  “No.” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.