by Docter, K. L
The temptation to tell the truth was overwhelming. Her friend was amazingly adept at picking at a problem until it unraveled into an untidy little mess, and Rachel had revealed a lot to Katy since her return to Dallas. God help her, she didn’t dare trust anyone with this secret. All she’d ever wanted was the little girl sleeping in the other room. She couldn’t lose her!
“Rachel?”
She looked her friend straight in the eye and lied. “There’s nothing to tell. I just can’t take the chance Greg will come here.”
“Let him come! You and Amanda can move back into the main house with me. I’ll get half a dozen guard dogs. We’ve got an army of employees between the greenhouses and the nurseries to make sure you’re never alone. I can—”
“Stop! Please, Katy…just stop.” Sick at heart, Rachel went to the dresser for a few last items to tuck into her bag. “Don’t you see? You and Amanda are the only family I have left. If I’m not here, maybe Greg will leave you alone.
“I’m not certain what he’ll do, though, and that worries me. If you weren’t going to your brother’s dude ranch, I’d be dragging you with me. I’ll rest easier knowing you’re safe in Abilene helping him get ready for his next batch of guests.” She smoothed away another tear at the thought of leaving Katy. “As soon as I find somewhere safe to hole up, I’ll call so you won’t worry.”
“Child, I’ll always worry about the two of you. It’s what family does, blood kin or not.” Tears running freely down her weathered cheeks, Katy stared at her a long time before rising slowly to her feet. She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out several sheets of paper.
Rachel skimmed through the documents thrust into her hand and found two airline e-tickets made out for herself and Amanda, a car leasing agreement, and detailed driving directions that outlined a direct path from Denver International Airport to an address somewhere in the sprawling city. At the bottom of the stack was an envelope addressed to Mrs. Evelyn Thorne. “What is all this?”
“A place to hole up. Evelyn and I were in sorority together. She’s one of my best friends. Even better, Greg knows nothing about her. I confirmed everything with her last night. She and her husband, Ross, are expecting you. They’re heading out of the country for a few weeks, but you’ll be safe at their place with their five strappin’ boys protecting you until you can come home.”
Rachel thought her heart might break when she saw the resignation shadow Katy’s expression. Neither would say it, but they were both aware they might never see each other again. Not for the first time she thought of staying, of fighting for her life. For Amanda’s. But it was too risky. She was too scared of losing everything that mattered to her. “Katy. I-I—”
“I love you, too.” Katy smiled brightly through her tears and reached up to pat her cheek. “Okay, let’s get you on that plane before I go with my impulse to lock you and Amanda in the potting shed so I can watch over you myself. I’m too danged eager to pull Henry’s shotgun off the mantle rack and shoot me some polecat!”
~~~
“Rachel’s never going to forgive me for manipulating her like this,” Katy said several hours later, jockeying her cell phone between her ear and her shoulder. She pulled a pair of worn jeans from the suitcase the girl lovingly packed for her and jammed them back in the dresser drawer. “I hated lying to her about going to Abilene.” Regret chewed on her conscience. “You’d think I’d be used to that. I’ve been lying to her one way or another since the day we met, haven’t I?”
“It was necessary,” the man on the other end of the phone line assured her. “That girl’s just stubborn enough to jump in front of a charging bull if it means protecting someone she loves. She loves you. She’ll forgive you anything.”
Katy heard the pain lining his gravelly voice and knew the ache was as much emotional as physical. She wasn’t so sure he was right. Rachel hadn’t forgiven her own father in the past ten years. “Tell her why you left, Dixon,” she said. “Just give her a chance and tell her the truth.”
“It’s too late. I made my bed.” He coughed a snort of self-deprecating laughter into her ear. “Now, I’m sleeping in it.”
“But don’t you think—”
“Let it ride.” A heavy sigh revealed his weariness. “I only called to make sure she’s on her way to Denver.”
She looked up at the ceiling and cursed the stubborn man. The acorn hadn’t fallen very far from that tree! The only person more stubborn than Dixon and his daughter was Rachel’s mama, Katy’s best friend. Criminy, but she still missed her! “Rachel and Amanda will be tucked away at Evelyn’s this afternoon.” It would be a serious test of their friendship if Katy told him about her attempts to talk Rachel out of leaving Dallas. She hadn’t succeeded, so it didn’t matter.
“You’re a good woman, Katy. I’m sorry, well, I’m sorry about a lot of things.” A coughing fit took all of his air. When he spoke again, his voice was raspier. “You’re sure you’ll be okay if that ex-husband of hers shows up? If you won’t let me hire someone to protect you, maybe you should go to your brother’s for a couple of weeks. Just until we see which way this snake is going to break once he’s set free.”
Anticipation rose in Katy’s breast. “Just let him step one foot on my property. Henry’s shotgun hasn’t had a real challenge since the last time you two went duck hunting.” It had been only days after that hunting trip she’d lost Henry to a massive heart attack. Her loss was as fresh today as it had been fifteen years ago when this man helped her to lay her husband to rest.
“Be careful. You know what he’s capable of.”
She knew, all right. As did Dixon. Rachel would be devastated if she knew Katy had told her father everything Greg had done to her, hoping the revelation might make him reach out to his daughter at last. It hadn’t. “When Rachel gets to Denver, call her. You have the numbers. Some secrets aren’t good for anyone. You need her as much as she needs you. They both need you.”
Silence met her suggestion. Then, it was broken. “It’s not time yet,” he said before the phone line went dead.
Chapter Two
Denver, Colorado.
“Tell me again why I filed another police report if Denver’s finest are going to sit on their collective asses and do nothing. Are you guys re-papering the men’s room with my complaints in triplicate?” Patrick Thorne glared across his kitchen at Detective Jack Montgomery, irritated enough to push one of his foster brother’s hot buttons.
“We ran out of toilet paper.” Jack’s green eyes flashed. He poured a cup of black coffee, then leaned back on the counter and studied him. “What do you want me to say? You filed the report five hours ago. You think we’ve got nothing better to do than send everyone out on a vandalism report?”
Patrick snorted. “Vandalism is spray paint and tagging. Vandalism is pouring sugar into gas tanks. Tearing through entire floors of sheet rock with a claw hammer like a possessed maniac is sabotage,” he argued. “This isn’t an isolated incident, and the attacks are getting vicious. I’m being specifically targeted.”
“By whom?”
“If I knew that I’d take care of the bastard myself!” Gritting his teeth, he stalked out of the kitchen down the hall to his office at the back of the house.
Jack followed, setting his coffee down on Patrick’s desk when he sat in front of him. “I may agree with the sentiment, Patrick,” Jack said, “but start talking about taking the law into your own hands and we’re done here. You can’t go off half-cocked and threaten retribution in front of me. I’d have to toss your sorry ass in jail. Then, Mom would lop off my dick and, damn it, I’m getting married next month!”
The warning cut off Patrick’s outburst as effectively as it had when they were both seventeen and bent on kicking the crap out of each other. Jack always won hands down despite the fact they’d stood eye-to-eye, even then at six-foot-two. In truth, the only person who’d ever cowed Jack was mom. Even their tough and burly street cop father toed the line rather than disap
point her.
It was one of the reasons she’d made such a great foster parent. Patrick might have been the only natural-born child of Ross and Evelyn Thorne, but he’d grown up with five brothers thanks to a slim bird of a woman who’d wielded an enormous influence on them all, an influence that hasn’t abated in the years since her “boys” had grown into manhood. Patrick certainly hadn’t wandered far from her homemade casseroles and old-fashioned homilies, not for long.
He glanced out the open office window at the six-bedroom Victorian next door where he’d lived until he’d enlisted in the army at eighteen. Days before he was scheduled to sign his Rangers re-enlistment papers, a parachuting accident forced him into permanent retirement. Giving in to his parents’ repeated offers to float him his first loan to get Thorne Enterprises off the ground, he’d bought the neighboring house and converted most of the lower floor of the Victorian into office space for his construction business.
“Dad would understand my desire to catch this man,” he said bitterly. “I refuse to stand by and do nothing.”
“You are doing something. You’re patiently filing reports and allowing the department to catch your vandal,” Jack replied, more a warning than a reassurance.
“I’ve only filed three police reports, but I’m sure I can lay half a dozen more attacks at this bugger’s door.” He ran his hand through his hair to corral his frustration. “What about fingerprints on the hammer? Have you identified anything in the clothes left behind?” Somehow, the single untouched wall with women’s clothing stapled all over it like some kind of macabre trophy wall was more disturbing than the vicious holes his saboteur left everywhere else.
“It’s one of your own hammers kept in a tool box with a broken lock. Anyone could have handled it. I’ll be surprised if they find a viable print, although the clothes might reveal something.” Jack heaved a long suffering sigh. “We’ve barely had time to catalogue the evidence since you called us this morning. We’re not exactly sitting on our thumbs, no matter what you think.”
“What I think is it’s becoming more and more difficult to keep my problems under wraps.”
“You couldn’t tell after reading that sweet, full-page feature the Denver Post ran on you yesterday.” Jack picked up the newspaper section sitting on the corner of Patrick’s desk and read the headline aloud. “‘No Thorns in Thorne Enterprise’s Rosy Future’. According to this you’re,” he scanned the article, “‘a new contractor barely in his thirties with a Midas touch who’s made it to the major leagues with the multi-million dollar, upscale Villas at Three Oaks Ranch’.” Jack grinned. “You must have really schmoozed that reporter, bro.”
“The headline would have read something radically different,” Patrick replied sourly, “if she’d dug a little deeper and uncovered the truth.”
Angered again at the thought of what he stood to lose, he reached across the desk, snatched the newspaper out of Jack’s hand, and threw it into a wire basket for his office manager, Jane Brown, to file. “You know what I’ve been dealing with these last few months,” he said. “Vandals tag building sites. Supplies go missing. Equipment breaks down.
“But this is different, Jack. You saw those walls at Southgate. This isn’t kids on a lark, pissing out territorial boundaries.”
“I agree. But as my captain pointed out, I’m a little close to the situation and I’m not on the case.”
Patrick barked a harsh laugh. “What does this guy have to do before the department takes this seriously? Leave a dead body?”
“It might take just that,” Jack retorted. “We’re up to our armpits in what’s rolled downhill from the mayor’s office after the kidnapping of that councilman’s daughter last week.”
If it weren’t for the radios blasting all day on his sites Patrick wouldn’t keep up with local events. Yet he’d heard about the coed who’d disappeared while he was in Cheyenne. “She’s been gone, what, four days? Do you have any leads?”
“We don’t even have a ransom note. After a coworker dropped her off at her apartment complex, it’s like the girl disappeared into thin air.”
Patrick saw Jack’s jaw tighten, a sign of the increasing stress he’d been under in recent months. “You think she’s a victim of the Angel Killer, don’t you?” The local news media had dubbed the serial killer with the name because of the angel tattoo he’d burned into each of the girls he brutally killed. He remembered Jack’s fury, as one of the detectives on the task force, over the leak of that critical piece of information.
“Unless her body shows up we can’t be certain, but yeah, we think she may be the fourth.” Jack grunted. “This guy has one hell of a cooling off period after each one. He’s like a phantom. He disappears, only to pop back up several months later. His third victim was just last month. So if this girl does show up dead, his timetable’s seriously escalating.”
Jack paused and reached for his coffee cup. After drinking half of it in one swallow, he returned to their original conversation. “The point is, your vandalism isn’t high up on our ‘To Do’ list.”
Finding the missing girl was critical. It didn’t, however, resolve Patrick’s problem. “I’ll stop wasting your time filing reports,” he said.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “I will arrest you if I hear you’re pursuing this on your own,” he warned. “This is a criminal investigation. The last thing we need is a hotheaded civilian charging in and mucking things up.”
“I won’t—”
Holding up his hand, Jack cut him off. “I’ll find whoever’s doing this if I have to investigate myself. Just give me time.”
“Time is one commodity we may not have.” He railed at the uneasiness that had begun to gnaw on him. “The attacks have gotten worse the past few weeks. Something tells me they’re leading up to something.”
“Let’s hope you’re wrong.”
Patrick knew he’d pushed Jack as hard as he dared, but he couldn’t let it go. “We’re heading into the height of our construction season. I’m juggling several luxury homes and remodel jobs, not to mention the Southgate and Mortenson condo sites. The dirt work starts on the first three villas next week.
“What am I supposed to do? Shut down my entire operation? I have more than fifty employees with families to feed.” He waved a hand at the schedule posted on the wall above the wainscoting next to his desk. “I’m going to be screwed if I start losing subcontractors because they can’t rearrange their schedules to accommodate these delays.”
“Hire night security,” Jack suggested, “at least until we find this guy.”
“Already done.” Acid churned in his gut at the thought of how much his saboteur was costing him. “Find him, Jack. Fast. There’s a reason my business office is still here in my home. I’m stretched to the limit. None of my crews will have jobs if this goes on much longer.”
Jack leaned forward in his chair. “Patrick, I get that you’re frustrated. The best we can do is increase patrols around your sites for a while to see if that will help. There will be an extra patrol here, too.”
“That’s not necessary. Just protect the sites and my crews.”
Jack didn’t say anything. Reaching for his coffee cup, he emptied it before he set it back on the desk with a slight grimace, like the coffee had suddenly turned bitter. “I had an unofficial chat with the police shrink and showed him the pictures the forensics team took at the condo,” he said. “He agrees with you. Whoever your vandal is, he’s channeling some serious rage. The doc also believes this may be personal. He thinks buttoning down this guy’s playground might make him take a more direct route to you.”
“You think I’m under a personal threat?”
“For all intents and purposes, you are Thorne Enterprises. If you attack one, you attack the other. I’d feel better if you keep that in mind the next time you walk out the door.”
The chill of mortality that crawled under Patrick’s skin was ugly and familiar—one of the few things he remembered about those moments after win
d shear caught his parachute and threw him into a tangle of trees, ending his Ranger career. “It’s a good thing I have you to watch my back then, huh, big brother?” he said.
“Damn straight, runt.” Jack was only four months older than Patrick but his descent into the familiar adolescent name-calling underscored his concern. “So don’t go off half cocked like the Lone Ranger. Mom and Dad will be really ticked if you get yourself killed.”
Patrick’s Lone Ranger days ended when he buried his wife and child. “It’s just as well Mom and Dad are gone until your wedding next month. We won’t have to worry about them.”
“Maybe not. But we have no idea how far this perp will reach into your life, so I need you to keep an eye on Mom’s and Dad’s houseguests while I work on the problem. Rachel James has had her own brand of trouble, and I promised Mom I’d check on her and her little girl periodically.”
Had Mom asked all of his brothers—excluding Ben living in California—to look in on the willowy blond house-sitting their mother’s flourishing greenhouse next door? For some reason, the thought of four single men traipsing up the flower-laden front path to the divorcee’s door like a herd of rutting bull elk pissed him off.
Not that he had any interest in racing his brothers up that path toward sure destruction. “I have enough problems,” he grumbled. “The last thing I want is to take on another of Mom’s special projects. I don’t rescue her broken wings anymore.”
Jack looked askance at the term their brother, Cole, had given to the troubled women their mother sometimes counseled. “How do you know what Rachel’s like? She’s been here more than three days, and you haven’t bothered to meet her.”
“I’ve been kind of busy since I left your bachelor party on Thursday,” he said in his defense. “I had to meet with the architects and bankers for the Villa project, remember? With the economy the way it is, they wanted my personal assurances the project is moving forward and on budget.” If he didn’t keep to the schedule they’d hammered out, Thorne Enterprises was finished. Everything was riding on this project. “Maybe you don’t remember. You were pretty drunk when I left your place.”
