Raylan

by Lindsay Cross

  “I haven’t, we aren’t on speaking terms right now.”

  Amber blinked, and then processed his words. He’d answered her question, but she felt like he’d lasered her to the bench with his stare. “I’m sorry.”

  Bo held her gaze and then he relaxed. “Don’t be. Just takes time.”

  Raylan’s grip relaxed a smidge. The possessive gleam in his gaze was doing things to her insides. Sheriff Lawson was a Greek god carved from stone and all, but she preferred her men to be dark-haired Cajuns with slow-as-sin drawls that curled her toes. “So, what is your plan for Tommy?”

  “Right now, we keep tracking him and looking for leads. No one has seen or heard from him. We’ve hit all his relatives, friends and acquaintances. We’ve dug through his finances. Everything. The only relative living in this vicinity is his mother, and she swears he hasn’t been around in months.”

  Bo snorted. “So you have no idea where he is, whether he’s armed, or what he might plan next?”

  “When you get that job at Greer’s office this week, you can ask me those kinds of questions, but right now, you are way out of your jurisdiction,” Sheriff Lawson said.

  Raylan’s gaze narrowed on Sheriff Lawson’s

  A tingle of suspicion slipped down her spine. A suspicion that bloomed when Raylan’s now hesitant gaze turned to her.

  “Don’t freak out.”

  “Raylan.” She drug his name out, letting the warning hang in the air. She’d heard nothing about a job interview. Nothing about his moving. He’d promised to be completely honest with her.

  “I have a job interview here with the local DEA on Tuesday.”

  “You’re moving here?” Amber couldn’t help the squeak in her voice any more than she could help repeating everything Raylan said. Her senses on overload, she jerked out of Raylan’s circle of comfort. And for lack of anything better to do, snatched up her napkin and wadded it into a ball.

  Was she ready for that? He’d declared he loved her, told her he wanted her to be involved in his and Riley’s lives. But was she ready?

  Was she ready to commit to Raylan again and risk getting her heart broken? Committing to Raylan meant committing to Riley. What if it didn’t work out?

  She crushed a napkin into a small ball, the sweat beading her palms soaked her napkin. Would he expect her to be a mother?

  Amber wiped her damp palm down her leg. And what if… What if Raylan changed his mind? “When were you going to tell me?”

  “This weekend, but after all this happened…” Raylan shrugged, as if to say, my bad.

  The urge to slap him, hit him, anything that caused some sort of violence to make up for the dramatic shift in her emotions swamped her.

  “I don’t want to pressure you, and I don’t expect you to just jump in head first. But I do want you in our lives, whenever you’re ready. Not before.”

  His honest answer chipped away her anger.

  “She looks like she’s going to throw up,” Bo said matter-of-factly.

  Amber gnashed her teeth, “I’m not going to throw up.” As long as she could get her rolling belly under control.

  “Thanks for the help,” Raylan snapped.

  Bo shrugged. “Anytime.”

  Amber’s chest clenched. Had she really wanted a long distance relationship? Raylan dividing his time between her and his precious son. She straightened, she wasn’t a nitwit, and she wasn’t a chicken either. And although she wasn’t about to tell Raylan how deep her true feelings went, not yet, she wanted him to stay around. “I wouldn’t mind if you got the job.”

  She wanted him here. Wanted to spend her spare time in his arms.

  Raylan gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him, his gaze flickering. “Do you mean that?” A loud siren passed by outside, drawing her attention away, but Raylan pulled her back.

  “Yes. Yes, I mean it.”

  Another loud siren, and then another. Amber glanced around and saw everyone else in the restaurant staring out the windows.

  “What the hell?” Sheriff Lawson shot out of his seat.

  Her phone rang and Amber looked at the screen. Her next door neighbor, Mrs. Peterson. A big wad of dread dropped into her stomach, weighing her down. The last time Mrs. Peterson called her cell, Mr. Peterson had been having a heart attack. Amber shuddered at the memory. She’d done CPR for the first, and hopefully the last, time in her life. She answered, “Hello?”

  “Amber, honey, this is Mrs. Peterson.”

  “Are you okay? Is Mr. Peterson okay?” His heart attack still haunted her dreams. And the couple were getting older, in their seventies or eighties. Amber visited weekly to check on them.

  “Mr. Peterson is just fine, dear. He’s been walking three days a week just like Dr. Hartsfield ordered.”

  Amber heard the sirens growing louder through the phone. Her hand shook. “Are those sirens at the house?”

  “I don’t know how to tell you this dear, but your car is on fire.”

  Her strumming heart turned into a loud roar in her ears.

  “I called 911. I was outside calling Fluffy when I saw the smoke.”

  “Is my car gone?”

  “What’s going on?” Raylan said.

  Sheriff Lawson’s radio squawked. “All units respond to a fire on 211 Broken Bayou Boulevard.”

  The restaurant faded, and she clutched the phone to her ear. Her brand-new car, the one she’d chunked down over a year’s worth of her savings for…

  “Well, yes dear, quite gone, I’m afraid. The whole thing is in flames,” Mrs. Peterson said.

  “Dammit, Amber you’re scaring me.” Raylan crowded into her personal space, but Amber was too stunned to move back.

  “All this technology in these cars now. It’s a wonder everyone of them doesn’t burn up. I’ll stick with my Cadillac, tried and true. Just stick the key in the ignition and turn. None of those fancy pushbuttons and what not.”

  Amber could barely hear Mrs. Peterson’s voice as her world shrunk into a tiny pinprick. Her car. She knew Tommy was involved. No doubt about it. He’d set her car on fire to punish her.

  And she’d been terrified that he’d defiled her bedroom?

  “Amber, dear, are you there?”

  “Thank you for calling, Mrs. Peterson. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Amber—”

  Amber disconnected the call before her neighbor could say anything else.

  She turned to Raylan. “I think I need a ride home.”

  The half-mile drive to her house seemed to stretch into ten. As they got closer, the smoke plume visible over the rooftops in her neighborhood grew darker. Sinister. The hair at the nape of her neck stood on end, but this time the prickly feeling didn’t come from some eerie sense of being watched. It was the knowledge Tommy had taken his violation to a whole new level.

  They rounded the last corner and her house came into view. All the air left her lungs in a whoosh. This was reality TV without the TV, and it starred her car going up in flames.

  The invisible chains of Tommy’s control cinched around her chest. Her vocal cords wobbled like Jell-O in her throat. Twelve months—a whole years worth of savings was going up in flames right before her eyes.

  Raylan parked two yards away from Amber’s. People swarmed out of their houses, like fire ants after a bar of chocolate on the ground. Eager for their taste of the excitement. Ready to dig through the outer layer and find out what gooey gossip they could spread. Old and young alike, whispering behind their hands, some staying in their yards, others approaching the scene.

  Even from as far away as she stood, the smell of gasoline permeated the air. Amber tried to stiffen, fight for indignation and fury at the destruction of her belongings, but her overwhelming emotion was fear. “My car.” Her voice came out hoarse, like she’d inhaled the smoke billowing from her car.

  “I’m sorry, cher.” Raylan’s quiet words drew her attention. The bright orange and yellow flames cast a flickering glow on his tan skin, the e
ffect turning him into some kind of harsh bronze God with vengeance in his eyes. “I’ll track the bastard myself.”

  Raylan white-knuckled the steering wheel, and Amber looked back at her car, or what once was her car. “He’s not going to stop is he?”

  Not until she begged him to, groveled for him to take her back. That’s what he wanted. In his sick twisted mind, he probably thought he deserved her. And this was her punishment. Her punishment for daring to break up with him. To date someone else.

  “He will stop. ‘Cause I’ll stop him,” Raylan said.

  But what he didn’t say echoed through her mind. Tommy wouldn’t stop by himself; he wouldn’t stop with a restraining order. She didn’t need to be a cop to know that he’d light that piece of paper on fire, too. It would take the spray of bullets sinking into his flesh before he stopped.

  Or her death.

  The world tilted, and she grabbed the door, her chest so tight she couldn’t breathe. The smoke started to come through the air conditioner vent in Raylan’s truck, filling the cab and burning her lungs. Can’t breathe.

  Amber choked, bent forward, and wrapped arms around her knees. No air. She was suffocating. Tommy would win. He would keep coming and coming and coming until she caved.

  “Amber!” She felt Raylan’s hands grip her shoulders, but he wasn’t strong enough to pull her out of this tailspin of panic. She couldn’t be with Raylan, couldn’t afford to. After today, she had no doubt Tommy would kill him.

  A tight hand gripped her lungs and squeezed. Amber gasped. He might kill Riley, too.

  She couldn’t be responsible for their deaths, not because she’d made the wrong choice with the wrong man. Her door opened, and then Raylan pulled her from the truck, but she couldn’t stand up, not with her lungs collapsing, and her heart trying to kick box out of her chest.

  “Look at me.”

  Maybe she could find Tommy. Tell him she’d made a mistake. That she wanted him and no one else.

  A shudder worked through her. She couldn’t, couldn’t let him touch her. Too much. It was too much.

  “Amber, if you don’t look at me, I’m going to turn you over my knee right here in front of your entire neighborhood.”

  Raylan’s harsh shout snapped her back. The pavement came into focus, charcoal gray and gleaming with humidity. Raylan’s boots, his blue jeans.

  “That’s it, cher. You can do it.”

  Yeah, she could lift her head. But she couldn’t breathe, wouldn’t ever be able to again.

  “That’s it, come on.”

  And then, she was staring into Raylan’s molten dark eyes. So different from Tommy’s.

  Tommy—was he watching now?

  “No, no, look at me.” Somehow Raylan’s command had her looking up.

  “Good girl. Now focus on my voice. Keep looking at me. You can beat this. I want you to take one deep breath.”

  She shook her head frantically. He didn’t understand. She couldn’t unlock her lungs. Pain, sharp and jagged, in her chest. No stopping it. No stopping Tommy.

  “Focus baby, focus. You can do this. All I need is one, one time. Breathe in, now.”

  Stars danced around her periphery, the glow of flames flickering in some mad alter universe.

  “Breathe, baby, for me.” Raylan took her chin.

  Amber saw worry in his dark gaze. Could she really just give up and let Tommy take control?

  She gasped and sucked in a small breath. No.

  “That’s it. Now, another one.”

  Amber concentrated. She’d been breathing her entire life. Suck it in, girl, and suck it up. She clutched his arms and took a breath, choked. Took another. Sweet, heavenly air cooled her insides, throwing cold water on the burning flame in her chest.

  Another breath.

  And another.

  Raylan yanked her into his arms, and she started sobbing and blubbering like an idiot.

  “It’s okay, baby. You scared me to death. I’m so proud of you.”

  “My car. My house.”

  “Shhh, don’t worry about that, now. We’ll work it out.”

  More sirens sounded in the distance, growing louder by the second. Men shouted.

  Amber flattened her cheek against Raylan’s chest. A big red fire truck parked in front of her house, and men scrambled, pulling a long white hose and anchoring it to a fire hydrant. Seconds later, they sprayed a big gush of water on her car. Steam rose, the putrid smell of burnt metal and gas intensified.

  And what was left was the blackened shell of her red Mazda Miata crumpled like some giant had reached down from the sky and crushed it in his fist. Warped and twisted and broken.

  Just like Tommy.

  Thirteen

  A car whipped around the corner right behind them and braked before slamming into an eight-year-old girl on a bicycle. Her mom wasn’t far away, but her face was buried in her phone, videoing the crime scene. Typical bystanders. Nosey. Noisy. Nuisance.

  And about as much help as a sack full of balls.

  A redheaded deputy, overeager—Raylan bet this was his first year on the job—rushed over to the car, face flushed, hand on his baton.

  The scared teenager rolling down the driver’s side window stared at the young officer like he had no idea what was the big deal.

  The deputy stopped beside the car door. “You almost hit that kid!”

  Raylan predicted the boy’s response before he even opened his smug mouth. Casual shrug. I could give a fuck attitude written on his face. “My bad.”

  Part of Raylan wanted to cross the ten feet separating them, yank the young turd right out of his jeans and give him a good thrashing like they would’ve done when he was a boy. But then, half of the phones turned on the deputy. His gaze darted left and right, face even redder than before, he muttered, “Drivers license and insurance.”

  Good boy. The overzealousness of youth and testosterone under control for now, the deputy reached for his writing pad instead of his gun.

  Disaster averted, Raylan scanned the crowd, stomach tight. “Do they think this is a block party?”

  Amber gave a shaky laugh. “You’re talking about high drama for this small town. My social media sites will be flooded.”

  “You’ve got a lot of friends, that’s good.”

  Amber shrugged. “Got a lot of nosy neighbors, too.”

  The way she said it, so matter-of-fact, without one ounce of dismay, made Raylan want to protect her. He yanked her to his side.

  “Too bad my panic attack will only be number two on the trending list.”

  “Give me the name of anybody who gives you shit.”

  Amber chuckled and placed a palm against his face. “Raylan, that would be the entire town. I think after the first twenty or so, you’d get awful tired.”

  Raylan nuzzled her neck, her fresh scent barely strong enough to compete with the gasoline and fire. “I’ll eat all my Wheaties first, maybe even get one of those energy drinks. I’ll be the energizer bunny of revenge.”

  Amber laughed out loud, and the rich sound warmed him from the toes up.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “You better.” His instincts shot into overdrive. He took her tempting lips in a kiss hot enough to make the ten o’clock news. When he finally let her pull away, a few slaps to his shoulder later, she blushed and glanced around, groaning with embarrassment. Half the crowd had turned to them, while the rest still focused on the smoldering car.

  “Just doing you a favor, babe. You said you didn’t want them talking about your panic attack.”

  Amber punched him in the chest. “You’re terrible. You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “I know. It’s even better, right?”

  “If you’re through mauling the witness I’d like to get a statement.” Bo came from the direction of Amber’s car, stopping a couple of feet away. The man’s clean pressed uniform had a few more wrinkles in it, and his eyes were bloodshot from the smoke. “Looks like Tommy’s found his fort
e.”

  “What do you mean?” Amber asked.

  Amber leaned into Raylan and he liked that she sought him for comfort.

  Bo swiped a hand over the back of his neck. Then he lifted a pair of tweezers with what looked like the remnants of a large bracelet dangling from the tip.

  “What is that?” Amber asked.

  A ball of trepidation formed in Raylan’s stomach. Shit. He knew what Bo would say before the man even opened his mouth.

  “Cat?”

  Bo shook his head.

  Mrs. Peterson rushed over and jumped right into the middle of the conversation. “Amber, dear, how dreadful. Your poor, beautiful new car. You know, I hate to say this, but you really should have listened to me. Cadillac’s are the best. Two thousand model or earlier. That was before all that gadgetry and whatnot.” The gray-haired lady took a deep breath and continued on. “But I know how much it meant to you, and I’m so sorry.”

  She patted her hair, smoothed a hand down what was obviously a new dress and looked around. “Why maybe you could do one of those lawsuits against the manufacturer, you know? Faulty airbag or something? It’s all over the news nowadays.”

  “Thank you for thinking about us, Mrs. Peterson, but I don’t think so. I’m sure it wasn’t faulty wiring.”

  The old lady’s eyes went saucer-wide, and she leaned in like a piranha nipping for the first juiciest bit of information. “You think someone did this? Who on earth would do that to you? You’re the sweetest girl I know.” She tapped a finger on her chin.

  Amber opened her mouth to speak, “Ms. Peterson—”

  Mrs. Peterson forged forward. “You know, I heard Mavis Carter griping about her hair the other day. Isn’t she one of your customers? You know what kind of temper that woman has.”

  Amber cringed against him. Damn nosey old lady. Why couldn’t she just go away?

  Amber said, “No, she’s not one of my clients.”

  Bo cleared his throat. “Mrs. Peterson, you’re the one who called it in. Did you see anyone around her vehicle before the fire?”

  She shook her head, gave a dramatic sigh, and Raylan braced for another verbal onslaught. Mrs. Peterson didn’t disappoint.

  “No, I was out back calling Fluffy when I smelled the gas burning. That’s when I saw the smoke over the roof and rushed to the front yard. By the time I got there the car was already up in flames.”