Close Proximity

by Donna Clayton

  The wiper blades slapped a steady, lulling beat, and she began thinking about the hot shower and dry clothes that were waiting for her when she returned home. About the glass of red wine she’d enjoy with her burger and spicy fries in front of a toasty fire. About how she’d razz Rafe for leaving her stranded in the rainy March chill…

  When the car that had been following her pulled out and made to pass her, she murmured, “Idiot kid.”

  No one but a young, inexperienced driver would try to pass in weather like this. The rain made the oncoming cars nearly impossible to see. Instinctively, Libby took her foot off the gas pedal, allowing gravity to slow her car. But the driver of the dark automobile cut back into her lane much too soon, its brake lights blaring bright red.

  Her foot stomped the brake pedal and she cut the steering wheel hard to the right. The roar of sound and vibration seemed to block out all thought.

  The squealing of the tires. The rumble of loose gravel. The nauseating motion of the rear of her car sweeping violently, veering out of control as she careened off the road, bumping over uneven ground.

  The impact caused the air bag to burst out from the steering wheel. Then pain knifed through her skull when her head hit the side window.

  Dazed, Libby sat there a moment before she realized it was over. All was still. The jarring, disjointed sounds had ceased, and all that could be heard was the relentless beat of the rain against the roof of her car, the steady thump of the wiper blades on the windshield.

  The deep, slow inhalations she pulled into her lungs helped to calm her. But her whole body felt weak and glutinous, as if all her muscles had turned to warm rubber.

  She pulled the handle of the car door, but it only opened about four inches before metal grated sharply against metal. Rain pattered against her face, and when she turned her head, a dull pain throbbed up through her temple. Nausea swam in her stomach.

  A car pulled to the side of the road and Libby heard the sound of a car door slamming shut as someone got out. A face peered through the crack of her door and a woman shouted, “You okay?”

  Libby tried to nod. “Are the others okay?”

  “Others?” she asked, pushing her nose a little closer. Only a slice of her features showed. “You’re not alone?”

  “I’m alone,” Libby said. “I mean the people in the other car. A dark car. A kid was driving.” Her stomach rolled, and she murmured, “Must have been a kid.”

  “There’s nobody here but you. Now you sit still. Help is coming. I’ve already called 911 on my cell phone.”

  Libby glanced out the windshield and saw that whatever she’d hit had made her hood fly open. And the driver side of the car was mangled to the point that the door wouldn’t open.

  She sighed, resting her aching head against the seat back.

  “All this for one of Jake’s sirloin burgers.”

  Seven

  The automated doors opened and Rafe rushed into the emergency room of Prosperino Medical Center. Worry had turned into tiny mice that had nibbled at his mind ever since he’d been forced to call the police station to let Libby know that he’d be late picking her up. The officer who had answered the phone assured Rafe that he had Libby in sight and would give her the message.

  But Rafe had come to know Libby and he suspected that her inherent impatience wouldn’t allow her to wait for him for very long. When he’d arrived at the station to find Libby nowhere to be seen, his worry had turned to icy fear. Especially since he’d heard David’s blood-chilling story.

  Who could have blackmailed David all those weeks ago, threatened him to keep silent about the illegal dumping in order to keep his daughter safe. Most likely the same person who was responsible for the DMBE contamination of the local aquifer. No other theory would make much sense. But was just one person behind all this, or was there a group involved? He, Libby and David could be facing a whole band of subversives, a single person with a twisted mind, or someone who was completely sane yet cold and calculatingly intent on a single purpose. Not knowing exactly what they were up against was daunting.

  What the hell had Libby been doing out on the highway headed out of town?

  He stopped at the front desk. “I got a call,” he told the receptionist, “that Libby Corbett was brought in.”

  “Yes, sir,” the woman said. “She’s in examining room B. Are you family?”

  She eyed him up and down, and Rafe was suddenly conscious of his dark skin, hair and eyes. There was no way he could be taken as part of the auburn-haired, Caucasian Corbett clan. His spine straightened, and the familiar feelings of resentment and frustration simmered in the pit of his gut. The officer who had called him had said that Libby was fine, but no one was going to keep Rafe from seeing with his own eyes that she was okay. Without another word, he headed toward Exam Room B.

  “Sir!” But her attempt to detain him was halfhearted at best as the phone by her elbow rang and she turned her attention to answering the call.

  Nurses and doctors were coming and going but at an unhurried pace. Just as in every other hospital in the country, the sharp scent of antiseptics hung in the air. One young woman sat staring at a computer screen, nibbling on some crackers as she input information. A disembodied female voice hailed a doctor, and then an orderly, over the intercom. A technician backed out of one cubicle, nearly colliding with Rafe, the small tray of blood-filled tubes he carried rattling with his abrupt halt.

  “Sorry,” the young man said, obviously distracted, his gaze focused on some point at the far end of the hallway.

  “No problem.” But he’d rushed away too quickly to even hear Rafe’s response.

  The sight of her sitting there on the bed caused relief to flood through him. He hadn’t felt that kind of dizzying lightness in…well, in many, many years. It was the same kind of sensation he’d experienced each and every time he’d had to leave his mother and brother alone with Curtis James. Rafe would invariably return with his heart in his throat until he saw them, touched them, knew that they were safe and sound.

  “Libby.”

  Although he tried to hide the emotion churning inside him, the fear and relief he felt must have registered on his face or in his voice, for her gaze took on that look, the one meant to reassure and assuage.

  “I’m fine,” she said. Then she repeated, “I’m just fine.”

  “I’m Kade Lummus.” The officer who had been talking with Libby reached out his hand to Rafe.

  “I was the one who called you.”

  “Thanks,” Rafe said, shaking the man’s hand. Lummus looked to be in his midthirties, tall and tough. Not a hair on his head was out of place, and his uniform looked crisp despite the rainy day. Rafe suspected that nothing got past those perceptive brown eyes of Lummus’s.

  “I appreciate the call.” Rafe directed his gaze at Libby. “What happened? Where did you go? Didn’t you get my message? I asked you to wait—”

  “Whoa.” Libby held one hand up, palm out. The other, she pressed to the side of her head. “Slow down. You’re making my head hurt.”

  He saw the cold pack sitting on the bedside table, and anxiety shot through him. She had been hurt. Damn it. He hadn’t kept her safe like he’d promised David. Like he’d promised himself.

  “I did get your message,” Libby told him. “And I did wait.” Her full mouth quirked up at one corner, pointedly. “For over an hour.”

  Irritation laced the edges of her tone, but the frailty of it told him that time had diminished its intensity.

  “When I went out onto the street to look for you, I was verbally molested by a reporter.”

  Her gorgeous gem-colored eyes closed for a moment.

  “I just couldn’t take it,” she said, her weariness showing. “So I walked home.”

  The arch of her brows silently asked his whereabouts.

  “I was held up at the ranch. One of my horses isn’t well. I had to call a vet and wait for him to show up.” The concern in her expression had him hurrying
to tell her, “The horse is going to be just fine.” After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “But the question is, are you?”

  “Just a little bump on the head.” Reaching up, she touched the left side of her skull. “I was telling Sergeant Lummus here that it had to be some kid. Someone with no driving experience. No one would have tried to pass in such a heavy downpour. You could hardly see the headlights of oncoming traffic.”

  Lummus looked at Rafe. “The passerby who called for help didn’t see anyone else on the road. But like Ms. Corbett said, it was raining pretty hard. Visibility was hampered.”

  “Did you get the plate number?” Rafe asked Libby.

  She shook her head.

  “Make or model of the car?”

  Another shake of her head.

  “Color?”

  “Dark” was all she was able to provide.

  “She said it could have been any color,” Lummus provided. “Navy, green, black, even dark gray.” The sergeant looked at Libby and grinned. “You haven’t given me much to work on.”

  “I know,” Libby said. “And I’m sorry. But it all happened so fast.”

  “What were you doing out there?” Rafe asked her again.

  One of her eyes narrowed. “I was going to pick up your dinner.” Then her shoulders slumped. “Okay, okay. I was starved,” she confessed. “I was going after a couple of Jake’s sirloin burgers. And then that idiot kid tried to pass me and ended up causing me to have an accident.”

  That was no accident. Rafe would have bet his prized horses on that. And he was just as sure the driver hadn’t been an inexperienced kid who didn’t know what he was doing. Libby’s near disaster had been calculated. There was no doubt in his mind.

  “One good thing will come out of this, though,” Libby continued. “Jake will get some free publicity out of all this brouhaha. I told the newspaper reporter that Jake’s was my favorite burger joint and that’s where I was headed.” She chuckled. “Maybe I’ll get a free dinner for my trouble.” She grinned.

  “I don’t think this is very funny.” Rafe tucked his fist into the pocket of his jeans.

  “I know. I know.” She cut her eyes at Lummus. “Not to change the subject, but the sergeant here was good enough to talk to me for quite some time this afternoon.”

  The strangest sensation vibrated in Rafe’s chest, almost as if he was feeling vaguely threatened. He’d known Libby was going to the station to get what information she could on the death of the EPA employee. Rafe had dropped her off there himself. But discovering that she’d spent the afternoon hours with this officer, he was struck with the oddest feeling…

  Kade Lummus nodded. “At the station I heard about Ms. Corbett’s accident and I went right to the scene. I told the officers who were there that I knew her and that I’d follow her to the hospital and take her statement.”

  Jealousy. Is that what he was feeling?

  Not just no, but hell, no!

  “I think I’ve got everything I need for my report, so I’ll be heading out now.”

  Again Lummus smiled at Libby, and Rafe felt his chest huff with…annoyance. Protectiveness. No…covetousness.

  If his emotions had been visible at the moment, the green blob that sat in his belly like a concrete block would not be a pretty sight. He knew it.

  He heaved a deep inhalation, trying to shove away the unhealthy yet powerful feelings.

  Lummus said to Libby, “I’ll mail you a copy of the report.”

  She grimaced. “I’ll need it, I’m sure. My insurance company isn’t going to be happy about this missing driver who, as I’m claiming, is at fault here.”

  “You take care of yourself.” The officer nodded at Rafe. “Good to meet you.” With that said, the man was gone.

  Rafe stood in the examining room, and although he knew in his heart he should keep his thoughts to himself, he could no more stop the words from tumbling off his tongue than he could stop his lungs from drawing breath.

  “I was scared to death when I got to the police station and I couldn’t find you.”

  The bewilderment she felt was made plain in the frown that creased her brow, in the gently down-turned corners of her mouth.

  “Why should you be afraid for me?”

  What could he say that wouldn’t reveal everything? His intent to protect her from the very beginning? David’s bone-chilling story of threat and blackmail? The man’s fear for his daughter’s safety?

  Rafe might have to give himself away. But he didn’t have to betray David’s trust in him.

  Finally he admitted, “I’ve been worried about your safety from the beginning.”

  Her confusion deepened along with the pucker between her eyes.

  “I told you that I thought David was safer in jail than he would be out walking the streets,” he explained further. He let his gaze settle on her. “Well, you’re out walking the streets.”

  Her chest expanded with a silent gasp. “You think this wasn’t an accident? But that’s just plain silly.”

  “Silly or not, I want to change our base of operations. I want to take you to Crooked Arrow.”

  “The reservation? But…why? I’m perfectly safe—”

  “There are people I trust there. My ranch is surrounded by lots of open space. It wouldn’t be easy for someone to get at you there.”

  “But, Rafe—” her tone exposed just how ludicrous she thought his idea to be “—don’t you think that’s going overboard? I understand how you think Dad might be in danger, but I’m his lawyer—”

  “You’re also his daughter.”

  Her jaw snapped shut, her eyes going wide. “You don’t honestly believe someone would try to get at my father through me, do you?”

  The question led them too close to the whole truth.

  I don’t want her feeling afraid. Rafe remembered David’s words.

  “Let’s just say I’d like to play it safe.”

  “Well, I still say this was an accident.”

  But he saw worry clouding her beautiful aquamarine eyes. And he couldn’t help but recognize the similarities between Libby’s “accident” and the death of the EPA employee. He’d read all about O’Connell’s accident in the papers. The car the man had been driving had careened off the road in the rain, when visibility was low and the roads were slippery.

  Libby could have been killed.

  A knife slashed through Rafe, its blade arctic-cold. He wouldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t.

  Almost as if she’d sensed his silent comparison of the two car wrecks, Libby said, “Sergeant Lummus told me that there were plenty of unanswered questions regarding the death of Charlie O’Connell. They have some paint chips from the car’s bumper. White.”

  Her gaze connected with his when she mentioned the color and Rafe got the distinct impression that she was desperate to defend her thoughts that her accident was just that, an accident. Well, he didn’t mind allowing her that. But he refused to let her throw caution to the wind.

  “You’ll come to the rez?”

  Vigilance really was the main reason he pushed. His home would be a safe haven for her. But saying caution was the only reason he pressed her to go would have been a lie. He wanted to get her away from Prosperino. Away from the fancy trappings of this modern age. He wanted to show her how wonderful life could be with a slower pace, a more attuned focus on the world at large. He wanted to see her relax. He wanted to see her on the back of a horse, the wind flowing through her flame-colored hair.

  After a moment, she looked off toward one corner of the curtained cubicle, but slowly she nodded. And Rafe’s heart soared.

  Crooked Arrow Reservation was a most captivating place, and Libby couldn’t quite put her finger on why. The landscape that surrounded Rafe’s modest brick ranch house was the same lush rolling terrain as she saw in the countryside of Prosperino. Rafe told her that the reservation actually reached far up into the hills.

  As she stood by the fence that penned in some beautiful Appal
oosas, she surveyed the horizon. A ribbon of vibrant magenta cut a wide swath through the twilight sky. The storm had rolled to the east, leaving the air crisp and fresh. Everything was so open here, so free. Miles away, she spied the home of Rafe’s nearest neighbor.

  She heard no traffic, saw no people. The isolation gave her a tremendous sense of liberation, of boundlessness. An unrestrained abandon she’d never before experienced.

  Anything could happen here.

  The thought seemed to whisper from the very depths of her mind, and she smiled.

  She truly didn’t feel she was in any kind of danger. But she was actually thrilled with the idea of coming to Rafe’s home. If she were ever to gain a deeper understanding of the man, this was the place that would offer her that opportunity. Here she could feel free to ask him about his heritage. Here he would feel impelled to teach her about his culture.

  Rafe was proud to be Mokee-kittuun. And that deep sense of pride allured Libby. Terribly. It made her want to know all there was to know about the Native American way of life.

  Hearing the scuff of his boots against pebbles, she turned. He nodded a silent greeting, his long hair falling free over one shoulder, and then offered her one of the two mugs of steaming tea he carried.

  “Thanks.” The sweet aroma wafted warmth over her chilled cheeks as she lifted the mug to sip.

  “We won’t have the room here that we had at David’s house,” Rafe said. “But the boxes of evidence are all arranged just as you had them.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.”

  “No problem. Maybe the hospital should have kept you more than just one night. Anyway, I was glad you agreed with my suggestion that you have a rest. How’s your headache?”

  “I’m feeling better, thanks. Almost good as new.”

  A strange awkwardness had crept between them ever since they had crossed the border onto Crooked Arrow. She guessed it was part of the magnanimous mystique of the reservation she’d been pondering just before he’d made his appearance. Since they had first met, Libby had come to like Rafe. Respect him. She certainly was grateful for all his help. And he attracted her like a moth to a flame. But since arriving on the rez late this afternoon—since stepping onto his territory—she’d begun to feel acutely aware of him, keenly attentive to his every move, his every word and gesture.