Lone Rider

by Lauren Bach

  Barry Neilson waited for her at the hospital, ready to transport her to a nearby motel.

  “You might want to contact your family first thing,” he suggested as they drove. “News of the arrests will be made public later today. I can keep your name away from the press for a day, perhaps two, but that’s it.”

  Tess looked out the car window watching but not seeing the scenery. Her family.

  “They never knew I was missing, did they?”

  Her thoughts went back to the beginning of the summer. Tess had been eager to head west. Her father and brother had just kicked off a huge hotel expansion project. And her mother was spending the summer in Europe. Normal stuff.

  “I’ve sent a liaison officer to speak with your father personally, to explain what happened. I’m sure your family’s main concern will be that you’re unharmed.”

  Barry’s words reminded her that, thanks to Dallas, she hadn’t been hurt. If Snake had been the one to find her that night, the liaison officer could have been delivering very different news. Tess shivered.

  “Would you have preferred to tell them yourself?” Barry asked.

  “No.” The thought of answering fifty questions right now was overwhelming. Letting someone else rehash the story bought her a little more time to herself. A little more distance.

  At the motel she showered and was provided with clean clothes. The tags were still on the clothes, indicating a recent purchase. The sizes were correct. A lucky guess or had Dallas picked them out? Told someone her size?

  A meal was sent to her room, but she couldn’t eat. The female agent who stayed with her was solicitous but professional, asking no questions. The questions, Tess discovered, came later. Giving her statement took over six hours.

  She gave a chronological description of her captivity, squirming when the queries turned personal. When pressed, she acknowledged her physical relationship with Grey and was grateful the subject was dropped soon after establishing mutual consent. She didn’t, however, believe it would be the last she heard on the subject. She wondered if Grey was facing the same questions, wondered at his responses. Did he offer excuses for their lovemaking? Cast the blame on her?

  The questions intensified, the toughest ones centering on that first night, the night she was abducted. How many men had ridden up with Snake? Could she identify them if she saw them again? What exactly had been said? She told her story, hearing the words as if spoken by another.

  Some of her recollections seemed hazy, while others were eerily detailed. Like how the red plaid shirt Snake wore that night had two patches on the left elbow, one blue, one black. How Matt Michaels had been wearing a faded green T-shirt with a beer logo. And how his blood had swirled in Technicolor beneath him, as his body convulsed. She wept as she described Matt’s death, breaking down completely at the end.

  By the time Barry escorted her back to her motel room it was evening. “I know this hasn’t been easy,” he said. “Unfortunately, we’ll need to go over it again in the morning. See if you recall any other pertinent details. In the meantime, if anything comes to you, write it down, no matter how insignificant. I’ve seen entire cases broken on small, seemingly irrelevant, facts.”

  Tess nodded halfheartedly. Earlier Barry had outlined the next steps. She would fly home tomorrow afternoon. The FBI would have additional questions, then someone from the U.S. Attorney’s office would contact her. After charges were pressed, there would be depositions. And ultimately the trials.

  Barry had also explained that the case was federal in scope. A government agent had been murdered; a federal capital crime. The list of other federal violations was lengthy. Drug trafficking and kidnapping were only the tip of the iceberg.

  Right now the processes seemed daunting. Once again her thoughts wandered to Dallas. She hadn’t seen him since leaving the compound early that morning. She wanted to talk to him, see him.

  “Is Dallas staying at this motel?”

  “Grey. Grey Thomas,” Barry corrected gently. “I know you only knew him by his undercover name.”

  And only by his undercover persona, Tess recalled. Her chest tightened. Did the man she knew -- or thought she knew -- even exist?

  “Grey will probably be busy most of the night,” Barry continued. “Would you like Franklin to stay with you?”

  Franklin was the female agent who’d been with her most of the day. Tess shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  “I’ll post a guard outside your door, in case you need anything.” Barry removed his glasses, his own exhaustion evident by the circles beneath his eyes. “Look, if it’s any consolation, I’ve known Grey Thomas for years. He’s a great guy. A great cop. Anything he did, he did for your protection or for the well-being of the other women involved. Now...well, now it’s probably best if he stays away.”

  Tess didn’t miss the subtle note of censure. Was Barry discouraging her against seeing Dallas...Grey? Or simply trying to reinforce that Grey had been doing his job?

  She slipped into her room, shut and locked the door, alone for the first time all day.

  Alone and free.

  She’d been a captive for over three weeks, had thought of this moment thousands of times. So why didn’t it feel better than this?

  In retrospect, she realized she’d thought in terms of her life picking up where it had left off. As if her kidnapping, Matt Michaels’ murder, had never happened. But it had, and there was no going back.

  She looked around the small room, at the bed made up with a faded turquoise spread that matched the faded turquoise drapes and knew she’d have a hard time sleeping tonight. Without Dallas.

  She’d grown accustomed to sleeping in his arms. To making love with him before she slept. In the night, if she had bad dreams, he’d awaken her, comfort her. Then he’d make love to her, pushing in very, very, slowly as if she were more precious than life, until she thought she’d die from too much pleasure, too much sensation. Too much hot, hard, flesh.

  Sometimes that was all he did. Enter her. The joining itself so phenomenal, so special, it required nothing else. Going so deep he touched her soul. When he was inside her there was room for little else. Only him. It was a total possession of body and mind.

  She closed her eyes recalling his touch, his heat, his strength. God, how could she miss him?

  The phone rang, the shrill, unfamiliar, ring startling her. She hesitated a moment, uncertain if she should answer it, worried that if by answering it she would only find herself subjected to more questions, more mental poking and prodding.

  She stood there for several more rings before realizing that for the first time in weeks she needed to make a decision. That she had a choice.

  She crossed the room.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Grey.” The connection crackled, indicating he was on a cellular phone.

  Tess sank down on the bed, the sound of his voice softening her knees. “Where are you?”

  The melancholy note in her voice tore at him. “I’m on my way to Billings.” Matt’s autopsy was scheduled for late that evening, and Grey couldn’t let his friend suffer that final indignity alone. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Okay? She looked around the austere room. She’d be better if he were there with her.

  Then she recalled Barry’s words. It’s best if Grey stays away.

  “Tess? Is something wrong?”

  “I’m tired,” she hedged. “It’s...been a long day.”

  Grey frowned, trying to imagine what it had been like for her, cursing the state of affairs that kept them apart.

  He’d spent most of the morning at the compound with a small army of crime-scene technicians, helping tag and ID evidence. Then he’d started the tedious debriefing process. Though most of the criminal acts he’d witnessed had already been meticulously documented through another field agent, Grey had over eighteen months to cover.

  He didn’t want to think about what lay ahead. The mountains of paperwork, the intervi
ews, the depositions. There would be multiple charges. A case of this size, with international scope, would take months to build. The trials could stretch interminably. Then there’d be appeals. It was far from over. For him. Or for Tess.

  While part of him knew he had to leave her alone, bow out of the picture -- he couldn’t. She’d become an integral part of his existence these past weeks. She’d come into his world and breathed life back into what little humanity he’d had left.

  Leading a double life, going that deep undercover for so long extracted a heavy toll. She’d saved him even before he’d realized he’d needed saving. And she reminded him of why he’d taken on this assignment in the first place. To uphold justice. To serve.

  To protect the innocent.

  He winced, recalling Tess’ innocence. Even now he wanted her, missed her presence. He’d been questioned extensively over the issue of whether their physical relationship had been truly consensual. Tess had, after all, been held against her will. Whether he could have been stronger, resisted a little bit longer was a moot point.

  He also knew it wouldn’t be the last he heard on the matter, knew he was expected to keep a professional distance from her. But he couldn’t simply forget and walk away.

  She had affected him deeply. Was different from anyone he'd ever met. And it bothered him that the why was so illusive. Had it truly just been the heat of the moment? The life-or-death intensity of their circumstances? Would he feel different if they hadn’t made love?

  He thought back to his prior relationships. He’d managed okay with casual affairs -- the ones where sex was the glue. But the most important ones he’d screwed up.

  So where did Tess fit in?

  He didn’t know. And right now, he didn’t have time to give it more thought. Right now he needed to put her mind at rest about another matter.

  “I spoke with Barry earlier. He said you’d seen a doctor. I know that wasn’t pleasant. I know the questions they asked weren’t easy.” Hell, none of this was easy, so he waded right in. “I wanted to assure you I’m in perfect health, Tess.”

  She knew immediately what he was referring to. Sexually transmitted diseases. She flushed, glad now for her solitude.

  “Thanks,” she stammered, her mind fumbling for a different topic.

  But Grey wasn’t finished. “And if you’re pregnant--”

  “No!” The word escaped unbidden, the denial too sharp. “I mean, I can’t be.”

  Her tone told him two things: She wasn’t certain, and the subject upset her. Hell, the subject unsettled him, but it didn’t relieve him of responsibility. He tried to pick his next words carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was cause this woman more anguish.

  “I just want you to know I’m here for you if you are pregnant and--” The hiss of static cut him off.

  The next word she heard was “shit.” More static. “I’m losing my signal,” he said. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

  The last thing she wanted to think about or discuss was a possible pregnancy. However, she did want to see him. Talk about other things.

  “Tomorrow,” she confirmed.

  But the line had already gone dead.

  * * *

  Tess didn’t see Grey again.

  By morning, the story of her kidnapping and rescue had hit the wire services. Reporters, eager to capitalize on the Marsh name and the sensational aspects of the story, descended on the motel. With so many different agencies involved in the arrests, it was impossible to determine who leaked the information of where Tess was staying. Under Barry Neilson’s watchful eye, she was hustled out under heavy security and flown back to New York on a private jet.

  The reunion with her family was not without some tension. Their initial relief at Tess’ safe return soon gave way to a more predictable course of action. Her father and brother alternated between heated debates of whether the FBI should have contacted them sooner, and recriminations over their own failure to keep closer tabs on Tess.

  Her mother, who was still in France, lamented that the story, with all its lurid conjecture, had made headlines overseas. Tess was grateful when her brother suggested their mother remain in Europe until the publicity died down in the States. Though she knew her mother cared, there were certain things Madeline Marsh did not deal with well.

  At her father’s urging, Tess took up temporary residence at the Marsh mansion in the Hamptons, a walled estate that now had twenty-four-hour, private, security.

  Tess’ first weeks home passed quickly as she was interviewed several more times by the FBI. None of the agents she met were familiar. And while part of her longed to inquire about Grey, she couldn’t bring herself to ask. She longed for him to the point it hurt, which she didn’t quite understand. How could she have fallen so hard, so fast for him?

  The question of whether the person she had fallen for even existed weighed heavily on her, and the fact that he didn’t make contact with her added to the confusion.

  Dallas Haynes was a myth.

  Grey Thomas was a stranger.

  She started seeing a counselor. While part of her resented the fact that she needed help to readjust, part of her rejoiced at being able to unburden herself to someone nonjudgmental. She learned about Stockholm Syndrome and how to deal effectively with the nightmares of Matt Michaels’ murder. She was also working through the shock, denial, and anger associated with traumatic events.

  Only one subject remained taboo: the malingering, wavering feelings she had for Grey. They seemed too personal...too private...and she wasn’t ready to have them wiped away with a term like white-knight complex.

  Not when she suspected she was pregnant with his child.

  Tess looked out the bedroom window at the neat expanse of lawn. It was the end of August, and she was still in the Hamptons.

  She should have been in Boston, getting her store ready for its fall opening. Instead she’d been forced to close her shop temporarily after it and her town house were vandalized. The break-ins occurred shortly after her return from Montana. While the police had no leads, they felt both acts were random, crimes of opportunity, fueled by newspaper reports that she was staying out of town.

  As much as she’d hated closing her shop, it was one less thing to deal with. And right now she had all she could possibly handle.

  She stared at the box in her hand. A pregnancy test kit. In mere minutes, she might know the answer to a question that had been bothering her since the first day she’d been freed.

  Was she pregnant?

  She sighed. She couldn’t put off knowing any longer. According to her calculations she should have had her period in early August. In the beginning she’d tried to convince herself she was late due to stress, kept thinking she felt the onset of cramps, but denial wore thin after the first week, replaced by a single, burning, question:

  What would she do if she were pregnant?

  She dismissed the idea of abortion immediately, knowing she’d keep the child in spite of the repercussions. There would be fallout. She’d be ostracized. Her family would oppose her decision, as would her friends. They would view pregnancy as an unwanted, unwelcome side effect of her captivity. Because none of them knew the truth of her relationship with Grey.

  A lump formed in her throat. She didn’t even know the truth of it. In reality Grey was probably no more prepared to deal with an unplanned pregnancy than she was. She thought back to their last night together. She’d already been carrying his child then--

  A knock sounded at her door.

  Flustered, Tess slid the box into a drawer and quickly shut it.

  “You have a call from a Mr. Barry Neilson with the FBI,” the maid said when Tess opened the door. “Do you want to take it?”

  Tess nodded. She hadn’t talked with Barry since she’d left Montana. Maybe he had a message from Grey?

  “Hello, Barry.” She knew she sounded breathless.

  They exchanged pleasantries, then Barry cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I have
some bad news.”

  Her stomach clenched. Had something happened to Grey?

  “Hector Sanchez was freed from jail on a technicality,” Barry continued.

  Her relief was torpedoed by disbelief. Sanchez was free? “How could that happen?”

  “The search warrant for his plane wasn’t signed at the time it was searched. Evidently there was a miscommunication between a couple agencies.”

  “But what about the other charges?”

  “He made bail and already skipped the country. We can’t touch him.”

  Tess thought about the women who, following Sanchez’s arrest, had been tracked down and freed from “private ownership.” She’d read an article about them. Some had been abused. All had been raped. And now, like a cruel joke, Hector Sanchez was free. Where was the justice for them?

  “Can he be extradited?” she asked.

  “Doubtful, but we’ll try. It makes me sick to think we were so close to nailing him, that one of my men literally gave up almost two years of his life to catch that man.”

  Barry was talking about Grey, of course. Before she could stop herself, she asked, “How is he?” Both of them knew who it was she asked about.

  Silence preceded guarded words. “He’s been busy, Tess. As you know, there’s a lot to be done on this case. And he’s trying to reclaim his personal life. He virtually walked away from everything he owned, his family--”

  “Family?” She closed her eyes, tried to picture Grey rushing home to a loving wife. She couldn’t. Not in his line of work.

  Children, though, were another story. She could picture Grey as a father, just as easily as she could picture him as a lover. Boyfriend.

  A new and sickening scenario presented itself. What if Grey had left a special someone behind? Perhaps he had only slept with her in the line of duty. A pregnancy would be unwelcome news indeed.