by Docter, K. L
Her lips curved into a smile as he drew near. “Patrick, I—”
“Do you realize how close you came to killing yourself?”
Her smile disappeared. “You think I threw myself into that shaft on purpose? I was pushed!”
“No. I mean—” He paused, not sure what he meant.
The memory stole through his head. Brutal. Breath stealing. Karly, lying on the slab in the morgue. His identification. The report that witnesses said she jumped in front of the bus that ran her over. The relentless belief she’d taken her own life because of their argument over her pregnancy, her worry of family history being passed on to their innocent child.
He blinked at the woman in front of him. Not Karly. Rachel, the woman who gave her heart, body and soul to protect a child that wasn’t hers. “Tell me how you ended up in the elevator shaft.”
“I already told you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Someone snuck up behind me and punched me in the back.” Bristling, she stood up and began to pull at the buttons on her work shirt. “Want to see the bruise? It might be difficult to delineate it among all the other bruises, but hey, I’m happy to reassure you that I’m not imagining things.”
“I believe you.” Patrick caught her fingers before the third button was pushed through the hole. “You just scared the crap out of me,” he said, soothing as he buttoned her back up. “I want to find whoever did this to you so they can’t do it again.”
“Oh.”
The confusion, anger, and hurt in her eyes prompted him to pull her into his arms. He kissed her temple. His heart rate settled the longer he held her. When he remembered he was standing in the middle of an unfinished floor at Southgate with a dozen of crewmen watching, he set her back. Not that he cared that every last one knew Rachel was his to protect.
God help the bastard who tried to push her to her death. When Patrick found him—
His foreman nodded when their eyes met. “Can I talk to you a minute, Patrick?”
“Whatever it is can wait, John.” All he wanted to do was take Rachel home and check her injuries, assure himself that she was alright, but he still had no idea how she’d ended up hanging for her life in the elevator shaft. He had to call the polic—
“This can’t wait.” John waved something in his hand.
About to put him off, an odd-looking letter on the creased paper caught Patrick’s eye. Was that another…?
“Rach,” he guided her back to the pallet of four-by-fours, “sit here a minute. Let me take care of this and then we’ll talk.”
When she nodded, he dragged the back of his knuckles over her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
Moving several feet away with John, he reached for the note. “Where did you find it?”
John kept his voice as low as Patrick’s. He nodded toward the elevator shaft. “Over there, about three feet beyond the opening. It must have gotten kicked aside when we all came running.”
Reading the note, put together with letters cut from newspaper and magazine headlines, Patrick had little doubt this threat was the companion to the one he’d found in his truck almost a week ago.
You wILL PAy
4 taKinG WhaT is N0t YOurs
Anger ripped through him again, only this time, he had a target. Bishop. Patrick wondered how Rachel’s ex-husband had found a way onto the site without anyone seeing him. If he did manage to get on site, unseen, how did he get to this floor with the note, shove Rachel into the shaft, and escape without getting caught?
He didn’t. It’s wasn’t Rachel’s ex-husband.
Patrick’s stomach churned as his brain worked around the dangerous thought. Rachel would have seen Bishop come up the elevator. She was standing right there. Maybe he was already in place when Patrick summoned her, but the man couldn’t have known she’d be there at that specific moment. God knows, Bishop was capable of murder if the attack on Rachel’s doctor friend was any indication. But, despite his threats, it was unlikely he’d kill his only access to the James fortune.
Giving himself a mental shake, Patrick re-examined the note. It was the same as the first one. If both were the same and Bishop couldn’t have gotten on the site, then someone else left both notes and pushed Rachel into the shaft.
He frowned at his foreman, suspicion raising its ugly head. Had John found the note on the floor or did he pull it from his pocket to make sure Patrick got the message? He had missed seeing it. But then, he was so focused on Rachel’s precarious position, he wasn’t looking at the floor. For all he knew, the note was right where John said he’d found it.
Jack’s task force was convinced Patrick knew his saboteur, was almost as certain the saboteur and the Angel Killer were one and the same. John had been Patrick’s foreman for most of the nine years he’d been building Thorne Enterprises. It was hard to believe John was his saboteur, let alone the Angel Killer. The man fit the gentle giant persona to a “T”.
Ted Bundy fooled the people who knew him for years as he killed countless women.
A shiver raced under Patrick’s skin as he scanned the open floor, examined the faces of the workmen standing around watching the proceedings with avid interest. Maybe it was one of them. John and at least three crewmen reached the elevator shaft before Patrick arrived. A dozen crew had collected by the time he crawled out of the shaft with Rachel. For all he knew, whoever pushed her might not have stuck around to admire his handiwork.
“What does it mean?” John asked, motioning toward the note.
Patrick smothered his uneasiness. “It means no one leaves the building until the police get here.” So Jack can take names and sweep the entire floor for fingerprints, evidence…whatever. So Patrick didn’t have to look into the eyes of his crew and wonder which one of them hated him enough to destroy everyone and everything he held dear.
Chapter Nineteen
Rachel ached from head to toe thanks to the wrench she took in the elevator shaft yesterday. She’d ignored Patrick’s insistence she get checked out at the hospital—nothing was broken and she was so sick of hospitals—but she’d been forced to depend on her landscaping crew to do the heavy lifting this morning. Simply scraping wood chips around newly planted trees was proving a challenge.
She rested both gloved hands on the rake handle and rotated her shoulders to ease the ache there, grateful Patrick hadn’t pulled her off the job altogether yesterday. She refused to be locked back up in the trailer. Short of firing her, he’d had little choice but to let her have her way. He’d not been happy about it though. If Jack hadn’t shown up and put an end to their argument, pointing out she was safer out in the open under the eyes of her watchful crew and bodyguard, she had a feeling she wouldn’t be standing in the sunshine today.
She understood Patrick’s concern. Especially after she learned about the threatening notes. She wanted to be angry at the man for keeping the first one from her—she could have told him it wasn’t from Greg, it wasn’t his style—but Patrick was so upset about the attack on her, she let it go.
It was a lot harder to ignore the fact she’d made it onto the Angel Killer’s radar. As a slim blond, she wasn’t his physical type—he seemed to prefer women with dark brown hair and curves—which is why Jack was more convinced Patrick’s saboteur and the Angel Killer were one and the same, that her attack was meant to punish Patrick for some reason. The message on the note backed up his logic, which is why the police vetted everyone in the building before they let anyone go home.
She knew Jack’s task force would dig deeper into the history of each, maybe request DNA tests from anyone they red flagged. The size of Patrick’s crew had prevented them from identifying specific suspects before. The one good thing that had come out of the incident was the police could investigate further into the lives of the thirteen crew and subcontractors who showed up for her rescue.
The biggest revelation to Rachel came after the last of the crew left, when Patrick lost his temper with Jack. He’d accused the police department of dragging their feet in not
capturing Greg or the serial killer, endangering everyone. Jack didn’t say anything for several minutes, letting his brother rant, until he finally said something to him that ended with, “This isn’t helping, Patrick. Go to the trailer with Mona and shut down the rest of the site for the day. I’ll bring Rachel down in a few minutes, after the techs finish up, and you can take her home.”
Patrick glanced at her, opened his mouth to say something, but his brother stepped between them and he stalked off.
Jack watched him get into the elevator with his partner and disappear. Then he walked to where she sat on the wood pile. “I hope you realize he doesn’t usually lose control like that,” he said. “Your fall scared him. It’s brought up memories of Karly—” He stopped, scowled.
Rachel couldn’t let the reference pass. “Everyone hushes up every time Karly is mentioned, Jack. Why?”
“She died.”
“Don’t be obtuse,” she said. “How did she die?”
His head tilted, he studied her. “Patrick will probably kill me, but I think you should know what you’re up against so you’ll give him time to wrap his head around his feelings for you. He’s under so much pressure to keep you safe he’s not thinking clearly.”
“Patrick doesn’t—”
Jack scoffed. “You think he hugs and kisses all his employees when they get hurt?”
When she didn’t respond, not sure what to say, he smiled. “I got an earful from several of the crew. Take my word for it. Patrick cares about his people, but you’ve kicked his protective instincts into high gear and his feelings are controlling his actions.”
“I don’t mean to—”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy you’ve pulled him out of the emotional hole he’s been in the last two years. He deserves happiness after everything he’s been through.”
“Does he still love her?” It wasn’t what she’d intended to ask, but it was out there, so she waited for his response.
“That’s a complicated question, one you should ask Patrick.” Jack sat down next to her and watched two technicians pack up their crime scene bags.
“Karly was—” He stopped, and then started again. “Mom met Karly at the homeless shelter where she volunteers. She brought her home one night, about two and a half years ago.
“Dad dragged all of us boys home, one after another, when he pulled us off the streets and set us on the straight and narrow. It wasn’t Mom’s usual M.O. though. There’d been a fire at the shelter, and they were looking for temporary housing for their guests.” He shrugged. “Karly never returned to the shelter.”
“Patrick married her.”
He nodded. “Karly was both a woman and a child. She was sweet, but tortured by her past. Things I don’t think she shared with Patrick. She didn’t stay long in any one place until she found a haven with Mom and Dad, and then Patrick.”
Jack’s comment sounded almost like a criticism and she was quick to defend Patrick. “It’s in your brother’s nature to take care of the people around him. Look at everything he’s done for me.”
“Well, Karly certainly triggered his protective instincts big time,” Jack agreed. “They married in just weeks. Six months later, Karly was dead.” He looked at Rachel. “He’s avoided getting involved with any woman since. You’ve shaken him out of his comfort zone.”
She triggered his protective instincts. Like Rachel did? As much as she didn’t want to compare herself to Patrick’s dead wife, Rachel’s story was too similar to dismiss. Evelyn had allowed her, a troubled woman, into their home. Everything Patrick had done since the day they met was aimed at protecting her. Was Jack saying she was just another of his mother’s charity cases, one Patrick couldn’t resist?
A knot lodged in her throat at the thought of the way she’d practically seduced Patrick the other night. He’d done nothing but protect her and Amanda, and Rachel had thrown herself at him. No wonder he’d distanced himself after their one night together. Yes, he’d hugged her yesterday, kissed her as Jack pointed out, but she wondered if Patrick’s actions were simply an unconscious response to the danger they’d escaped.
She took a breath—at least, she tried—and was rewarded with a twinge in her ribs. Slamming into the shaft wall when she stopped her fall had given her more than a few new bruises.
One of her crew called out to another and yanked her from her self-pity. Reminded she was supposed to be working, not torturing herself over a man she couldn’t have, she checked on the rest of the crew scattered along the berm. There were three two-man teams planting trees and bushes, while two more repaired an incorrectly installed sprinkler line.
She appreciated how quickly the team had rallied behind her. They were happy to keep their paychecks coming, but she got the impression they hadn’t been too thrilled with their previous boss’s management style. Evidently, that’s all he did…manage. He didn’t get his hands dirty and his crew liked that she worked alongside them. As a result, they were making better progress on the project than she and Patrick had hope—
Rachel’s phone vibrated in her jeans pocket, startling her. Her heart raced. Only four people—Katy, one of the managers Rachel put in place at the Kolthern Nurseries, Patrick and Jack—were given the number since she’d activated the phone six months ago. She called Katy nightly so they could discuss Kolthern nursery business and check up on each other, but the cell hadn’t actually rung since her arrival in Denver.
She glanced at the caller ID, and pushed her hard hat back. “Hi, Katy. I sent the Silver’s blueprints this morning. Sorry I didn’t get it to you last night.”
“You had enough to worry about. How you feeling today?”
“More stiff and sore than when we spoke last night,” she admitted. It could have been worse. It didn’t hit her until after she’d gone to bed that she could have died. Sleep was a long time coming after that. “It’s better than the alternative.”
“Yes, it is.”
Her friend’s voice was too quiet. “What’s wrong?”
Silence greeted her question. Then Katy sniffed, cleared her throat.
Was she crying? “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong? Tell me you aren’t in the hospital again!” She’d only found out a couple of days ago the older woman wasn’t in Austin with her brother at his dude ranch. Rachel should never have left the stubborn woman behind in Dallas.
“Of course not. I’m fit as a fiddle,” she replied firmly. There was another pause. “I do need to tell you something though.”
Alarm squeezed off Rachel’s air. Her friend didn’t prevaricate like this unless she had bad news. “Just spit it out, Katy.”
“Your dad’s in the hospital.”
Her heart stuttered. “What?”
“Your dad. He went into ICU a couple of weeks ago. Pneumonia. But then he fell and broke his hip and—”
Intensive Care Unit? Two weeks? Rachel’s knees buckled. She sat down hard in the pile of wood chips at her feet. When Carl Sprang headed toward her, she waved him off. “Are you saying he’s,” she hesitated, “dying?”
“I-I don’t know. He wouldn’t let me tell you before.” Katy sniffed. “I know how you feel about what he did, but he’s asked to see you and Amanda. Please don’t miss this chance to mend your fences.”
It was a struggle to get the words past the lump lodged in her throat. “Where?” She swallowed. “Where is he, Katy?”
“Denver Central.”
“He’s here?” When he’d hired guards to protect her and Amanda, it had never occurred to her he was this close. She also hadn’t questioned how he knew where she was or that she was in trouble. Just hearing his name had lit her anger and shut down her brain.
Her pulse galloped. With dismay. Anxiety. Eagerness. Confusion. Rachel knew Katy and her mother were friends in college. Katy had never mentioned her father. Did Katy know where he was when she sent Rachel and Amanda here? Of course, she did. He’d been in the hospital for two weeks! What else hadn’t Katy told her? The questions swi
rled through Rachel’s head, each one leading to yet another.
“Rachel?” Katy’s voice broke through her bewilderment. “I’ll never ask anything again, but you have to do this. Go see him, if only for me? Please? Don’t let him…I can’t stand it if you two don’t make up before…just go, girl.”
For several long moments, she couldn’t speak. “I-I’ll call you.” Clicking the off button, she tried to stuff the phone back into her pocket but couldn’t quite get the device secured while sitting on the ground.
A strong, masculine hand came out of nowhere and Patrick helped her to her feet. He eased the phone from her nerveless fingers and tucked it into his shirt pocket. When she swayed, he pulled her into his arms. “Tell me what I can do,” he said his voice gentle.
Getting lost in his dark eyes, she didn’t question why he was there at the exact moment she needed him. “I—”
Her forehead fell down to his sun warmed work shirt as she fought for composure. She filled her lungs with Patrick’s scent, the mix of sweat, sawdust and man that made her pulse race. Then settle. Drawing on his strength, she lifted her head and told him what she had to do.
~~~
The smell of antiseptic easily overpowered the aroma of half-eaten patient lunches stacked on a rolling rack several feet away, ready for removal, but did little to subdue the air of illness that had saturated the hospital walls over time. Of course, Rachel knew that notion was all in her imagination. The Pulmonary ICU at Denver Central was modern and clean, and one of the best chances a patient had of beating the odds. And, from the sounds of it, her father required the best.
Was she finally to see her dad after all of these years only to lose him? After spending the past fifteen minutes with his doctors, that possibility felt all too real. If they were dealing only with the pneumonia that had put him in the hospital, it was one thing. But, thanks to the degenerative disease that was a byproduct of her father’s rodeo career and his fall that broke his hip the day after his admission, his doctors hadn’t been able to agree on the best treatment.
