by Docter, K. L
Thanks to the recent heat wave in Denver, a couple of upper windows had been left open to vent the greenhouse so a myriad of luscious scents drifted on the night air from the plants his mom cultivated to create the floral arrangements she donated to local hospitals and senior centers. But Patrick still caught another whiff of lilacs and knew Rachel—and Amanda, since he knew Rachel would never leave without her—had passed through here.
He hoped he hadn’t missed them completely, that Rachel hadn’t already driven off where he couldn’t find her. He’d never forgive himself if she or Amanda were hurt!
Rounding the corner of the greenhouse he came to a dead stop. His gun hand fell to rest at his side. He’d found them. Amanda was sound asleep in her mother’s embrace. Rachel stood, fully exposed in the moonlight, in front of her rental car.
Just before he lambasted her for her foolishness, he registered the tarp tossed to the ground, the open hood. Pieces of the engine scattered all over the fenders and grass. The passenger side mirror partially ripped off. Rachel didn’t move as she stared at a screwdriver sticking through the front of the radiator. A piece of hose, sliced more than once, jammed into the hole usually covered by a radiator cap.
Someone had violently trashed her only means of escape. Bishop!
Thousands of needles of awareness raised the tiny hairs on the back of Patrick’s neck. Was Rachel’s ex still in the shadows watching her?
Patrick lifted his gun hand, scanned the area. There! A large silhouette of a man darted to the right through a break in the natural wall of evergreen trees his mother had planted along the alley. Patrick raced to the gutted car to get between Rachel and the danger.
Rachel must have heard the noise of the retreating figure because she gasped, pivoted on her heel, and ran in the opposite direction, straight into Patrick’s arms.
Thankfully, she hit him sidewise or he’d have crushed Amanda between them. Rachel’s shoulder still hit his torso hard enough to knock the air out of him. “Oomph!”
Squealing, she tried to escape his arms as they came around her and Amanda. He didn’t have time for this. “Rachel!” he said tersely. “It’s me.”
She froze long enough, he was able to wrap his free hand in one of her backpack straps and pull her out of the swath of moonlight toward the protective gloom between the buildings. When they were deep enough in the shadows, he whispered into her ear. “I’m going to let you go,” he said. “When I do, drop to the ground next to the garage and stay put until I come back for you.”
“B-b—”
“There’s someone there. I have to go,” he said, stroking the back of his knuckles over her cheek.
She was gasping for air like a beached bass and, reminded of her altitude sickness, he gently eased her to the ground. “Just be quiet…and breathe.”
“Greg—”
The terror in her voice tore at his insides. “He won’t hurt you. I won’t let him. Remember?”
He watched for her nod of acceptance. Then, seeing Amanda’s big brown eyes open and fixed on him, he smiled at her. “Take care of mommy. I’ll be right back,” he said to reassure her. Then, for reasons he didn’t want to analyze, he leaned down to kiss Rachel’s trembling lips.
Before he could think about deepening the gentle caress, he straightened and raced back the way they’d come. He’d probably missed his chance to capture Bishop while he secured Rachel and Amanda but maybe he’d catch a lucky break.
In full stalking mode, Patrick skirted the moonlight surrounding Rachel’s sabotaged car and pushed his way into a gap between two evergreens several yards north of where he’d seen the figure go through. It was a small space, branches and pine needles tore at his torso, making him regret his impulse to take off his shirt before he dozed off, but he was hoping to retain an element of surprise when he came out into the alley in a different spot.
Stepping into the alley, he spotted his prey less than ten feet away, fumbling around on the ground next to a dark sedan, like he was looking for lost car keys. He was in luck tonight!
Patrick raised his weapon and sighted in on the man’s broad back. “Freeze!” he ordered. “Hold it right there.”
The man stiffened.
With Rachel’s ex-husband in his sights, Patrick could feel his anger rise. He wanted to beat the man senseless, make him feel the agony he’d forced Rachel to endure. “Stand up and turn around, Bishop. Slowly!”
“I’m not—”
“Do it or I’ll shoot your cowardly carcass right there.”
The figure rose and turned slowly until his face was clearly illuminated in the moonlight. “I’m not Greg Bishop,” he said, raising his hands in surrender.
Patrick looked at the stranger, for the first time wondering if he’d captured his saboteur. If Jack and the task force team were right, though, he knew the Angel Killer. He’d never seen this man before. His fingers tightened around his gun grip. “Who are you? And what are you doing, sneaking around in the bushes?”
“Larson Cook.” His right hand dropped to the inside of his charcoal-colored jacket.
“Don’t even think about it.” Patrick motioned with his Glock. “Get that hand up where I can see it.”
The man sighed. “I’m private security,” he said. “My I.D. is in my wallet.”
Private security? Patrick frowned. “If this is a trick, I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
“Understood.” Slowly reaching inside the jacket, he withdrew a brown leather wallet and tossed it to the ground at Patrick’s feet.
His gun, and gaze, fixed on the man Patrick squatted and picked up the wallet. When he flipped it open, he skimmed the man’s credentials. Larson M. Cook. Consultant. NIC Security. Concealed carry license number. Patrick’s gaze sharpened on the man. “You have a gun on you?”
Cook nodded. “Right jacket pocket.”
“You’re a lefty?
Another hesitant nod.
Patrick wasn’t proceeding until Cook was disarmed. “With your right hand, take the gun out of your jacket and toss it to the ground.”
A frustrated snort greeted his demand. “This is ridiculous, Thorne,” he said. “We’re both on the same side.”
He knew Patrick’s name. “Explain.”
“You’re trying to protect the James woman and her child.” Cook lowered his arms to his side like he wasn’t concerned he could be shot at any moment. “So am I.”
~~~
Rachel leaned against the garage wall where Patrick had deposited her and did as he’d instructed. She breathed. She murmured quiet reassurances into Amanda’s long blond curls. She prayed.
Patrick had gone after Greg. She hoped he caught him. Then, this horror would be over and she could find some semblance of normalcy again. But, did she really want Patrick to confront Greg? She knew what her ex-husband was capable of, the lengths he’d go to get her and Amanda back. She hadn’t thought he was capable of killing to get what he wanted…despite his brutal attack on her their last night together. Yet he’d been sitting in a Federal prison for the past six months, his anger building, and the first thing he did was attack Simon? If Patrick’s brother was correct and Simon didn’t come out of his coma, Greg had already crossed that line to murder.
The memory of her rental car sitting only yards away, torn to shreds, gave her worries strength. Anything, anyone that stood in Greg’s way was ripped apart. She couldn’t bear it if that anyone was Patrick.
Where was he? He’d been gone, what, five minutes? Ten? It was difficult to tell without pulling her cell phone out of her pocket and she didn’t want to illuminate their position.
Had Patrick found Greg? Had they struggled? Was Patrick injured? She’d seen the gun in his hand, felt certain he knew how to use it by the comfortable way he held it, but Greg could have knocked him out. Was her ex-husband sneaking back to drag her and Amanda off to their doom?
Screw this! She couldn’t just sit here like a lamb left for slaughter. If nothing else, she needed to get Aman
da back to the protection of the house.
Her decision made, she scrambled awkwardly to her feet with her little girl cradled in her arms. Too late!
Shuffling noises, footsteps made her peer at the shifting shadows to her right, the direction Patrick had gone. Was it him? Or was someone else approaching? She pulled Amanda closer until the little girl squirmed in protest. Rachel loosened her grip, her heart pounding too loud in her ears.
The silhouette of a man broke out of the darker shadows. Tall, like Patrick. But bigger, wider. The gait was all wrong. She quickly catalogued his features. Rugged face. Crooked nose, probably broken. Brown hair. A stranger. The man Greg hired to track her?
She looked into his eyes. They were cool, assessing, and fixed on her and Amanda. Run!
Before she could make her limbs function, another silhouette walked into view behind the stranger. She called a warning. “Patrick! Don’t—”
“I’ve got this, Rachel,” he said. Only then did she see Patrick’s gun pointed at the stranger’s back. “Stop,” he ordered.
Rachel watched the man stop six, seven feet away, thankfully out of reach.
“Rachel,” Patrick said. “Take Amanda back to the house. When you get to the kitchen door, disengage the security system. It’s been reset.”
She looked at the stranger, hesitant to turn her back on him.
Patrick must have read her mind. “We’ll wait. Go. Get Amanda inside.”
Turning on her heel, she hurried toward the house. When she arrived at the kitchen door, she punched in the security code, entered the house, and turned on the overhead lights. She could hear Patrick and the stranger walk across the wooden porch outside, behind her, and rushed in the other direction. She didn’t stop until she reached the swinging door on the other side of the kitchen.
When she saw the two men enter the room, she searched Patrick’s unyielding expression. He looked…upset.
His words belied that impression. “Go tuck Amanda into my bed on the couch,” he said. He smiled at her daughter. “You can warm it up for me. That okay with you?”
Amanda nodded.
His smile disappeared when he looked again at Rachel. “After you get her settled, come back. We have to talk.”
Tucking Amanda into Patrick’s makeshift bed, Rachel realized why he hadn’t suggested taking Amanda back up to her bedroom. Snuggling into his pillow, Amanda promptly sighed and closed her eyes. Rachel would have given anything to join her daughter, to close out the world and the two men who waited for her in the kitchen. She suddenly didn’t want to confront Patrick. Or the stranger.
When Rachel walked back into the brightly lit kitchen, Patrick could barely restrain himself from pulling her into his arms and chewing her out for trying to run out on him. He frowned. No, not him. The situation. She’d snuck out without any thought to the dangers. If the man sitting in a chair across the room had been Bishop, she and Amanda might be—
He cut off the thought and took a step toward her. “Give me the backpack,” he said, holding out his hand.
She hesitated, but then shrugged it off and handed it over.
He registered that the pack was his—an older one he’d tucked into his bedroom closet when he enlisted in the army after high school—before he tossed it onto the counter. Out of Rachel’s reach. “Sit down,” he ordered.
She stiffened. “I’ll stand,” she said, glaring back at him.
“Suit yourself.” He was glad the distress in her angel-soft brown eyes was eradicated by her anger with his high-handed manner, but he was still pissed at her for taking such a stupid chance, jeopardizing her and Amanda’s safety. He wanted to lock them up. Tie Rachel to the bed upstairs. Make sure she stayed there if it meant making love to her over and o—
Stop right there, Thorne. You’re not jumping that fence.
He’d been sucked in too deep already. The moment the cops had Bishop behind bars, he had to extricate himself, walk away. He couldn’t do that if he took Rachel James to bed. The way his heart hurt when he saw the way her arms covered her waist, where her scars were still healing, he knew it might already be too late.
Patrick glanced at Cook, watching them from across the room, a knowing look in his eyes. The man saw too much. Patrick turned his irritation to the situation at hand. He pulled the security specialist’s wallet out of his pocket and handed it to Rachel without looking at her. He knew when she opened it because she drew in a sharp gasp.
“Okay, Cook,” he said, pulling the man’s gun from his waistband at the base of his spine where he’d tucked it after unloading it. He set it on the counter, leaving the bullets he’d ejected in his jeans pocket. “Tell us who you are and don’t stop until you get to the part about what you’re doing here.”
The man reiterated what was laid out on his I.D. card. Patrick believed he was who he said he was, but he intended to have Jack run a background check on him all the same. “And you were skulking around the bushes why?”
“I already told you, Thorne. I was hired to protect the woman and child.”
“Me and Amanda,” Rachel said, dropping into a chair at the center island, the man’s wallet dangling from her fingertips.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“So,” she scowled, “you’re saying you’re not the one who trashed my car.”
“No! I mean, yes. I’m telling you I’m not the one who trashed your car.” Cook shook his head. “I discovered it in that condition just before you showed up.”
“You just found it.” Patrick’s disbelief was clear.
“Yes. I was checking the perimeter of the property when I found the car, just before the woman—”
“For God’s sake, ‘the woman’ has a name,” Rachel spat out. “Stop talking about me like I’m not sitting right here.”
Hiding his smile at her display of spunk, Patrick fixed on one specific detail of Cook’s explanation. “How long before? Did you see anyone else?”
“No.”
“You must have heard something, Cook. You can’t cause that kind of damage in complete silence.”
“You didn’t hear anything either,” he pointed out.
A valid point. However, Patrick noticed the security man was avoiding eye contact. “What aren’t you telling us?”
Cook took his time responding, evidently trying to determine how much he would reveal. Then, he sighed. “I came on duty and relieved the day guard.”
“Day guard?” Rachel interrupted. “You mean you’ve been watching me day and night? That’s, that’s—”
When she looked up at Patrick and shook her head, shock in her eyes, he put a reassuring hand on her arm. He glared at the security consultant. “Finish your story.”
“The first thing I did when I came on duty was check the perimeter. I didn’t see anything then.” The man frowned. “I didn’t notice the tarp over the car had been messed with until half an hour ago. When I took the tarp off, I saw the condition of the car. That was minutes before the wo—”
He glanced at Rachel before he finished. “Then Ms. James showed up and you appeared.”
“You took off the tarp.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I screwed up not catching it earlier, but I can tell you that car wasn’t trashed tonight. It couldn’t have been done recently. As you said, one of us would have heard it. But our detail didn’t start until this morning, when,” he nodded at Rachel, “Ms. James was released from the hospital.”
“So you think the damage was caused last night?”
“That’s my thought.” He nodded. “No one around to hear. And the perp took the trouble to cover it back up with the tarp. He didn’t want it to be found…unless someone tried to use it.”
“Greg.” Rachel’s voice was low, resigned.
Cook looked at her. “I’m sorry I scared you, Ms. James.”
For some reason, Patrick didn’t like the way the man was looking at her, like it really mattered to him that she accept his apology. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Cook.” He s
tepped into the man’s line of sight. “If everything you say is true, and don’t think I’m not having the police check you out, it doesn’t explain what you’re doing here in the first place. Who hired you to guard Rachel and Amanda?”
He hesitated, glancing at Rachel. “Dixon Grey.”
Her gasp behind him made Patrick turn. “You know him?” he asked.
Rachel nodded. Her eyes filled, but the tears didn’t fall. By the expression on her face, Patrick couldn’t tell if the strong emotional response was caused by sadness or anger.
Her flat voice didn’t give him a clue either. “Dixon Grey’s my father.” She rose stiffly from her chair and left the room without another word.
Chapter Twelve
“We should talk about your father.” Patrick looked over his coffee cup at Rachel as she walked back into the kitchen at the crack of dawn the next day. “Sooner, rather than later.”
Glancing at the lightening sky reflected in the window beyond the breakfast nook, she walked to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup of coffee, bypassing her usual creamer and sugar. She took a fortifying sip of the strong, bitter brew without speaking and examined Patrick’s freshly showered hair and clean work clothes, his broad, gloriously naked chest of hours earlier completely covered. The shirt he wore didn’t affect her physical response to the man one iota, beyond her urge to take the offensive thing off.
She turned away from the impulse and went to the refrigerator to pour creamer into her coffee. She stirred in a teaspoon of sugar. She wasn’t ready for this! She’d dreaded this moment since she’d walked away from Cook’s announcement that her father had hired him to watch her. She’d been unable to close her eyes after she’d gathered up Amanda from Patrick’s makeshift bed in the living room, taken her upstairs and tucked her into their bed, never waking her. She’d felt nothing for the longest time, just watched her little girl sleep.
Listening to the murmur of men’s voices when Patrick escorted Cook to the door around three a.m., she’d heard the door close, the beep of the security system when it was secured. She was aware Patrick walked up the stairs to stand outside her unlocked bedroom door, called her name. All she could do was sit perched on the edge of the bed, stroking Amanda’s hair, feeling dead inside.
