by Docter, K. L
Concentrate on the threats you can see. “I can look after myself, although after today, I’m going to start carrying my gun for extra insurance,” he said.
“You’ve kept your conceal carry up-to-date?”
He nodded. “I’m not taking any more chances with Rachel or Amanda. I’m going to call Rachel’s dad, too, and ask him to put the security outfit he hired back on duty.”
“Rachel will never forgive you,” Jack said.
He shrugged with a negligence he didn’t feel. “She has to be alive to not forgive me and that’s all that matters to me at this juncture. Bishop will think twice if he has to get through two walls of security to get to them.” And after what he’d heard this morning about Rachel’s father, it was about time her old man did something to protect his daughter and granddaughter.
~~~
Three Weeks….
Two Days….
Three Hours….
…’Til death.
“We have to kill Skip.” The monster’s growl reverberated up from the depths of Robby’s pounding skull as he watched the emergency rig and ambulance drive away from the Southgate construction site.
Standing on the sidelines listening to a couple of the crew discussing the shooting, he shook his head. We need him.
“You do. I don’t!”
He agreed with a slight nod. I need him right where he is. Close to Thorne.
“Lot of good that will do you if the goody-two-shoes keeps saving the son-of-a-bitch.”
When it matters, Skip won’t be an obstacle. He’ll die with Thorne.
“When?”
The plan is in place.
“Death doesn’t need a plan.”
You’ll get your chance. Robby pushed the monstrous voice away. We have other things to do.
“This one will disappoint you, too, you know. Just like the others.” An awful chuckle slithered through Robby’s mind. “Then, I get her.”
You’re wrong. Robby headed for his truck with the dispersing work crew. Thinking of his Angel, of how soon they’d be together again—thank God he’d driven past that Auraria campus bus stop yesterday after he’d cleaned up what the monster had done to his last plaything—he couldn’t help but smile. He wouldn’t allow past mistakes to stop him from doing what he must. It’s her. When I get everything in place and bring her home, you’ll see.
The monster chuckled again, but he slunk back into the darkness prepared to wait. “We’ll both see.”
Chapter Fourteen
By the time Patrick parked at the curb in front of the elder Thorne home more than an hour later, Rachel was ready to scream to break the silence between them. She longed to talk to him about the incident with the councilman, about the news the man’s daughter had been added to the growing list of the Angel Killer’s victims. She wanted to ask about the bullet wound in Patrick’s side. She couldn’t see any blood on the fresh work shirt he’d changed into before he came to get her and the children from the trailer, but she longed to beg him to hold her, just for a moment, so she could assure herself he really was okay.
She could do none of those things because then she’d be forced to confront the stupidity of her actions. Why had she jumped between Patrick and the gunman when she had a little girl who was depending on her? Amanda was her life, her reason for everything she’d done these past five years. Yet, in that one moment, her only thought was to save Patrick.
Unprepared to go down that path of self-discovery, she remained silent and stared blindly out the passenger window. Even the precocious Suze hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left Southgate. The moment Patrick turned off the truck Rachel opened her door and climbed out into the late afternoon sun. Then, she helped the girls out of their seats. They each picked up a travel bag filled with toys and books, while she carried her laptop, leaving Patrick to trail behind them toward the front porch on the house.
They had to wait for him to unlock the door, but they were soon inside the foyer. She would have dashed up the stairs with the children, put some distance between her and Patrick, but he forestalled her. “Girls,” he said quietly. “There are chocolate graham crackers in the cookie jar on the kitchen counter for a snack. We’ll be there in a minute to pour your milk.”
Rachel glanced at him, saw his taut expression, and took a step toward the kitchen. “I’ll help them.”
Patrick shook his head. “Go ahead, girls,” he said.
His highhanded order irritated Rachel but she smiled at Amanda, watching them with her too serious brown eyes. “Go ahead, baby,” she said. “I’ll be along just as soon as I take everything upstairs.” Once in the bedroom that she shared with Amanda she would take a few moments to pull herself together, away from Patrick’s scent, his searching gaze, and the uneasy questions he’d raised in her head.
She had to get away from it all, if only for a few minutes. She’d call Jack. She hadn’t had the opportunity to ask him if they had a line on Greg’s whereabouts. Deep down, she knew if her ex-husband was behind bars, Jack would have told her. But that didn’t stop her from hoping he’d tell her otherwise. Then she could pack up Amanda and be back on the road to Dallas. Tonight.
The children shot off toward the kitchen in a flurry of sneakered feet, leaving her standing in the foyer with Patrick. Rachel heard the lid come off the cookie jar before she turned toward the stairs. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Wait, Rach,” he said.
Suddenly exhausted by everything that had taken place in the last three days, she sighed. “Not now, Patrick. Please?”
He studied her expression. Then, he frowned. Before he could say anything the front door opened behind him, and a monster walked in.
She gasped at the sight of the biggest dog she’d ever seen lumbering across the door’s threshold into the foyer. Easily two hundred pounds, the English Mastiff’s massive head would have butted her in her chest if he hadn’t been pulled up short on the leash held in Patrick’s foster brother, Joe’s hand.
He smiled as he followed the dog into the house. “Hi, Rachel,” he said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Again?” Patrick raised an eyebrow in question.
Rachel smiled. “Joe and I met Sunday at breakfast, before your parents left for the Virgin Islands.” Of all of the foster brothers that she’d met then—every last one handsome enough to make any woman’s heart stutter—she’d felt most at ease with the high school principal. She had a feeling he saw a lot more than he let on, yet he didn’t judge. She eyed the fawn-colored dog. “I gather this is Buck,” she said. “He’s so….”
“Huge?” Patrick’s brother grinned, laughter in his midnight blue eyes. “We should have thought about bringing him home earlier. No one wants to mess with a two-hundred thirty pound dog that looks like he eats burglars for breakfast. He’ll be the best protection for you and Amanda.”
Patrick’s scowl made it clear to her that he didn’t like being left out of the conversation. Or was it because Joe’s comment implied the dog was better able to protect them? “Thanks for going to Colorado Springs to get him,” he said.
Joe looked surprised at his sharp tone. “No problem. Even though he does like to go back to play with his sire when Mom and Dad go on vacations, Buckwheat was more than happy to come home.” He ruffled the dog’s fur. “Weren’t you, boy?”
Rachel eyed the humongous dog. “I don’t know how Amanda will react to such a big animal. The only experience she’s had with a dog is the Lab puppy we had before we left California.” She’d only had the pup a month before it was killed the week before they’d fled Greg. They might have lived on a ranch, but Amanda had had little exposure to animals because their home was more of a showplace Greg used to display his success than a working ranch. “I see why Buckwheat might be a good protector, but I’m worried he’ll scare her.”
“Bucky!”
Suze’s squeal behind Rachel startled her, alerted her that the adults were no longer alone. She turned in time to see
Suze grab Amanda’s hand and drag her toward the dog.
“Suze—”
Patrick uttered one sharp word. The Mastiff promptly sat back on his haunches and, with a tilted head, calmly watched the girls approach. Patrick’s hand on Rachel’s forearm kept her from dashing between her daughter and the dog. “Wait,” he murmured. “Let them sort this out themselves. Buck loves kids, but he won’t move until I release him.”
Amanda dug her heels in about two feet shy of the animal. Rachel frowned when she saw how tiny the four-year-old looked standing in front of the dog. Not a dog…a horse! The top of Amanda’s blond head barely came to the middle of the mastiff’s shoulders. The animal looked down at her. She looked up at him.
They stared at each other for several long moments. Then, Amanda pulled her hand out of Suze’s, walked straight at the dog, wrapped her arms around him as far as she could reach, and expelled a long, audible sigh of contentment. The dog huffed and lowered his head to rest gently on top of her head.
Rachel’s heart ached when she saw the lone tear that trailed down her daughter’s cheek as she nuzzled the dog like he was a long lost friend she’d just found. Did she think she was looking at a grown up version of her puppy, Boomer? Although they did have similar coloring, the two dogs were different breeds. Buckwheat was so much larger than Boomer would have grown. But, Amanda was so traumatized by Boomer’s death, maybe it wasn’t so far fetched she’d connect with Buckwheat, especially since one of her favorite shows was Clifford, the Big Red Dog.
A full minute passed before Amanda stepped away from Buckwheat and stood there petting his fur like she couldn’t stop touching him. She smiled at Suze.
Her friend looked over her shoulder at Patrick. “Can me and ’manda feed Bucky?”
“Sure. It’s time for his supper,” he said. “His dish is in the pantry.” He gave another sharp command to Buckwheat. The dog stood.
Joe released the leash from the dog’s leather collar and Suze turned toward the kitchen, Amanda’s hand caught in hers. “Come on, Bucky. Chow time!”
The dog aimed his nose toward the kitchen door. The sight of the two little girls leading the lumbering animal like they had an invisible leash was almost comical. Rachel watched them disappear into the kitchen before she turned back to Patrick and his brother. Finding herself being studied by two pairs of discerning male eyes, she stammered nervously. “I-I’ll just take all of our stuff upstairs. I’ll be right back.”
Without waiting for either of them to stop her, she left the brothers standing in the foyer and raced up the stairs to the bedroom she and Amanda had been sharing since their arrival. She walked into a disaster.
Her gaze darted around the room. It looked like a tornado had swept through it, hitting this section, missing the next, only to touch down in another spot. The closet door that was filled to the brim with stored Thorne childhood memories gaped open, its contents yanked out and rifled through. Her empty suitcase and Amanda’s were lying on the tossed bed covers, their contents strewn across the floor among the feathers from her shredded pillow. Amanda’s special tooth fairy pillow hadn’t escaped destruction either.
Greg! Dear God, while she and Amanda were tucked away at Southgate, he was here digging through their belongings? Bile crawled up Rachel’s throat when she saw gaping wounds in several of her shirts where he’d ripped into the material.
Then, she saw the message on the dresser mirror, printed with permanent marker in large black letters.
HE CAN’T SAVE YOU, BITCH!
GIVE ME BACK WHAT’S MINE!
For an instant, she flashed back six months, heard the swishing sound of Greg’s horsewhip in the air above her. She felt the first searing pain across her belly. Vicious words crashed through her senses, threatening words against her. Against Amanda.
“No!” The cry barely left her lips before she whirled on her heel and ran for the door. She slipped on a pile of pillow feathers and fell to her hands and knees. Quickly clamoring to her feet, she stumbled toward the hall.
Amanda!
~~~
Patrick stood at the bottom of the stairs, catching his brother up on recent events when he heard Rachel cry out. “Stay with the kids!” he ordered, taking the stairs two at a time in the other direction. He ignored a searing flash of pain from his side when he rounded the balustrade at the top.
He ran into his old bedroom, and directly into Rachel. She hit him so hard, he grunted. His arms automatically came up around her back. His left shoulder slammed the door jamb when they lost balance. The impact zinged pain in a straight line down to his ribs, loosened his grip.
Rachel squealed and beat at him with her fists. “Let go!” she sobbed. “Let go!”
Looking into her wild eyes, Patrick realized she wasn’t aware of her surroundings. She was in full flight mode. One glance over her shoulder into the trashed bedroom and he knew why.
Was the intruder still here?
Stiffening at the possibility danger remained, his hands closed over Rachel’s upper arms. He gave her a little shake. “Rach,” he said, forcing her to see him, not the demon she was fleeing.
Her eyes cleared. “Greg! He was here!”
He nodded to the room behind her. “Did you see him when you came in?”
“No.” Her head shook back and forth slowly. Then, she gasped. “You think he’s still here, in the house?”
“No,” Patrick replied, kicking himself for not setting the security alarm when they left for the site this morning. He’d been too concerned about the site security. “But I have to make sure. Stay here.”
“But, Amanda—”
“Joe’s got her.” He urged her back into the room and sat her down on the only empty spot on the bed. He hated to dump her in the middle of the destruction, but until he cleared the house, it was the best place to leave her. “This room is safe, too. Everything’s exposed and there’s nowhere to hide. Hang tight here for a few minutes.”
Leaving the room, Patrick went to the top of the stairs and called down to Joe. “Stay with the kids in the kitchen. Set the security alarm. Then send Buckwheat on patrol.”
His brother didn’t ask for an explanation, but Patrick heard the alarm beep that told him the house was secure. In the next instant, Buckwheat’s huge head poked out the kitchen door as he began his usual rounds, quietly moving from one room to the next as Patrick’s father had taught him when he was a pup. It had been his nightly ritual the past five years.
Aware it would take the dog several minutes to finish his patrol downstairs, Patrick checked the upstairs himself. He efficiently searched four of the remaining five bedrooms before Buckwheat appeared at his side and touched Patrick’s hand with his muzzle. They finished their sweep together.
Only then did the pair of them return to his old bedroom. He wasn’t surprised when Buckwheat stuck his head through the door and growled low in his throat. The dog might not see the intruder, but he could definitely smell him.
Patrick placed his hand on the dog’s collar and uttered a command to sit before walking around the animal and entering the room. The sight that greeted him made his jaw tighten. Greg had been thorough when he tore everything apart, but that destruction didn’t compare to the devastation marring Rachel’s expression as she looked up at him from her position on the bed. Her hands were curled around something metallic, the item pressed to her breasts. Blood trickled through the back of her fingers.
With a curse, he stepped over the debris to hunker down in front of her. He gently pulled her fingers away from the shattered hand mirror gouging her tender flesh. She gave one tug of resistance, but released her grip. Fresh blood seeped from the pads of three fingers, and he could see a chunk of glass imbedded in the middle of her palm.
Scooping her into his arms, he strode from the room out of sight of the wreckage. He carried her past the mastiff guarding the hallway and down the passage to his parent’s bedroom. He didn’t stop moving until he sat on the king-sized, four poster bed wit
h her in his lap. “Rachel?” he said. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”
Brown eyes met his, dark and bruised with pain. “H-he, m-mama’s—”
Patrick didn’t need to hear the loss shadowing her voice to know the mirror had a special meaning for her. “It’s okay, honey,” he said, stroking her satiny cheek. “We can fix it. Let’s deal with your cuts, first, okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said quietly.
Patrick hated to let her go because he wasn’t convinced she was fine, but he had to check in with Joe, have his brother call in the cavalry. At the rate things are going, you should keep the police station on speed dial. “I’m going to get the first aid kit,” he said. “Will you be alright here for a few more minutes?”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around her waist protectively.
His jaw clenched. “I’ll be right back.”
Downstairs, he quietly told his brother about the trashed room so the kids weren’t alarmed. They looked perfectly happy drowning their graham crackers in glasses of milk. “Keep them distracted?” he asked. “Let me make a couple of calls and take care of Rachel’s hand.”
“You might take a look at your side, too. Unless that’s Rachel’s, you’re bleeding.”
Looking down, he saw his brother was right. He’d reopened his wound running up the stairs, when he collided with Rachel, or when he carried her to his parents’ bedroom. Blood was seeping into his work shirt. Not much, but enough to be a pain in his ass. “I don’t have time for this,” he said, pulling the material away from his ribs.
He lifted an eyebrow at Joe. “Call Sam? Tell him I need stitches. I can’t go to the hospital so he’ll have to come here as soon as he can leave the ER.”
When he agreed, Patrick left the kitchen. Pulling his cell phone from his jeans pocket as he located the first aid kit in a cupboard in the downstairs bathroom, he called the precinct and talked to Jack, who promised to swing by the house first chance he got. In the meantime, a patrol car was on its way. Then, squaring his shoulders, Patrick made the call he dreaded most.
