Private Eye Protector

by Shirlee McCoy

  “He was Rayne’s fiancé, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t playing around. Rayne called him a master manipulator. It seems to me that it might be a power trip for a doctor like that to manipulate his patient into his bed. As long as he wasn’t caught, what would the harm be? Then Chandra got pregnant, and she kept the baby. Maybe she blackmailed him or threatened to tell Rayne the truth. For whatever reason, he murdered her, made it look like suicide and then tried to get Rayne to give Emma up for adoption. Only Rayne isn’t easy to manipulate. She must have discovered Emma’s paternity after she moved here. Maybe contacted him, asked him to man up and do the right thing. He got desperate, knowing he’d lose his medical license if it was known that he’d seduced a patient. To a man like him, status is everything. He couldn’t risk losing that. He panicked, flew to Spokane with Mallory and Leon. Maybe he planned to kill Rayne after she left the airport, or maybe he hoped to talk her out of revealing the truth, and Mallory and Leon were his backup plan.”

  “If he ran her off the road, that would explain her accident.” Kane frowned, running a hand over his hair.

  “Why not kill her, then?” Kai asked. “Seems like a stretch to think he’d just leave her in the car.”

  “Not really. He’s crazy. Not stupid. If he murdered her, there’d be an investigation. If she died from cold and exposure in the wreck of her totaled car, he’d get away scot-free.”

  He walked into the hospital room, lifted Emma from the crib, and she laid her hand on his face, looked into his eyes.

  And he thought he’d choke on everything he felt.

  Love.

  Grief.

  Fear.

  Fury.

  “It makes sense, Chance. We just have to prove it.” Kane put a hand on his shoulder.

  “We need to find Rayne. Then we’ll prove it. Do we know where Rathdrum headed when he left here? Did anyone check security cameras?”

  Please, God, let her be alive. Help us find her.

  “Security camera caught the two of them getting into a car and heading west. Same direction as Rathdrum’s hotel. We checked there. The staff said Rathdrum checked in a week ago, but they won’t grant access to the room without a search warrant. We’re waiting for the sheriff’s department to get one,” Kane said.

  It wasn’t enough.

  It wasn’t nearly enough.

  “We don’t have time for that,” Chance responded, his body humming with the need to do something. Go on the hunt. Find Rathdrum. Find Rayne.

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Kane. You own a business. You have a family. You have a lot on the line. Me? I can afford to get in a little trouble.” Chance kissed Emma’s head and handed her to Ryder. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

  “What are you planning?” Kane followed him out into the hall, Kai right beside him.

  “I’m going over to the hotel. The police may not be able to get in the room yet, but I think I can.”

  “You understand that I’m not condoning your actions, right?” Kane asked.

  “Not condoning and not condemning?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And you understand that I know nothing about your plans?” Kai added, and Chance nodded.

  “As far as I’m concerned, you were never here. I’ll call as soon as I know something.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Ryder, stepping out into the hall and handing Emma to Kane.

  “You’re on baby duty, Ryder. It’s about all you seem to be capable of,” Chance growled.

  “I don’t do babies. As I said, I’m coming with you.”

  “I don’t have time to argue, so suit yourself.”

  Before either of them could move, a man rounded the corner, walking toward them with an easy confident stride.

  Tall. Ash-blond hair. Pale skin.

  Michael Rathdrum.

  Alone.

  “Where is she?” Chance grabbed him by his silk tie, slammed him up against he wall.

  “Cool it, bro. If I have to arrest you for assault, you’re not going to do Rayne any good,” Kai said, pulling him away, and Rathdrum frowned, straightened his tie.

  “If you’re talking about Rayne, I was hoping she was here. We went to a diner down the street, had a little tiff and she walked out on me. I thought she’d probably walked back here. She didn’t show?”

  “How long ago did she leave the diner?” Kane asked, but Chance wasn’t buying a word the doctor said.

  “What diner?” he interrupted, and Rathdrum shrugged.

  “I wasn’t paying much attention to the name. Some little dive about three blocks from here. She should have been able to walk that distance in less than twenty minutes.”

  “How about we take a ride down there, Dr. Rathdrum?” Kai said.

  “Sure, but I’ve been up and down the road ten times, and I haven’t seen her.” Rathdrum smiled, but there was nothing warm or sincere about it. He was playing a game and playing it well.

  Chance wanted to wrap his hands around the guy’s neck and shake the truth out of him.

  “Come on, Richardson. Let’s get back to our mission,” Ryder said, as he grabbed Chance’s arm and yanked him to the stairs.

  “I wasn’t done chatting with that scum.”

  “Yeah, well, you keep chatting and you’re going to waste our opportunity to get inside the hotel room and take a look at things before the police show up. No way did Rathdrum kill Rayne. Not yet. Any blood or bodily fluid on his clothes or hands, any gunpowder residue, and he’d go up for murder. You said yourself that he’s crazy, not stupid. He’s planned everything, created his own alibi. Once Kai confirms that they were at the diner and that Rayne left, he’ll have no choice but to let Rathdrum go. Rathdrum knows that. My guess is, he stashed Rayne somewhere, and he’ll go back to finish the job once the heat is off him. She’s alive somewhere, and someone as arrogant as Rathdrum is just foolish enough to think we won’t be able to figure out where.”

  “You’ve got a point.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “So, maybe when this is over, I won’t knock your block off for letting Rayne walk away with the killer.”

  “And maybe I won’t knock yours off for saying I’m only good for baby duty.”

  Chance ignored the jibe and the challenge. Didn’t care enough to respond. Just ran across the parking lot, jumped into the SUV, barely giving Ryder time to get in before he pulled out.

  Heart pounding.

  Body humming.

  Everything inside screaming for him to hurry.

  Time was ticking by.

  Rayne was missing.

  He had to find her.

  He would find her.

  Please, God, let me find her.

  He hadn’t thought he’d ever get a second chance at love, hadn’t even thought he wanted one until it was right within his grasp. All those dreams, all those hopes that had died with his marriage, surging to life every time he looked into Rayne’s eyes.

  And he wanted it, wanted her, with a desperation that left him breathless.

  Please, God, please, help me find her.

  NINETEEN

  Cold.

  Cold, cold, cold.

  The word chanted through Rayne’s mind, chasing away everything else.

  She shivered uncontrollably, her teeth chattering as she tried to think past the word, the feeling, the ice that seemed to flow over her, fill her.

  How long had she been lying in the dark cellar, trussed up like a prize hog?

  Minutes? Hours?

  How long until Michael returned?

  Because he would return. He might not have wanted to get his hands dirty by shooting or stabbing or strangling her, but there was no way he would leave things to chance. He’d come back before he left town, make sure nature had done what he couldn’t.

  He wanted her dead. He hadn’t even hidden the fact, and he’d make sure it happened the same way he’d made sure that Chandra died.

&nbs
p; Poor Chandra.

  So happy to be a mother.

  So excited to bring Emma home.

  Dead at her counselor’s hands.

  Why?

  Rayne had asked Michael, but he’d refused to explain.

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re going to die, too, so be glad you’re prepared.”

  His words echoed through her mind, and she shoved them away.

  She was not going to die.

  Not going to freeze to death. Not going to starve to death. Not going to be shot or stabbed or pumped full of drugs or whatever else Michael might have planned for her.

  Please, God, I don’t want to die.

  Don’t want to leave Emma.

  Don’t to want leave Chance.

  The frantic prayer filled her mind as she rubbed her wrist along the cellar’s dirt wall, trying desperately to loosen the duct tape that held her arms together.

  Blood seeped from the torn stitches in her shoulder, spilled onto the floor, but she couldn’t stop. If she did, she would die in the dark, cold cellar. Die, and no one would even know what had happened to her.

  Michael had planned everything perfectly.

  So perfectly that it might be years before she was found.

  If she ever was.

  He’d driven her to a diner, made her walk inside, his gun prodding her through his jacket, reminding her that if she tried anything someone would die. They’d sat down, ordered, pretended they were just regular patrons while Rayne’s heart slammed against her ribs and the metallic taste of fear coated her tongue.

  And then he’d told her to get up and walk out.

  One wrong move, one shouted scream for help and the waitress would die.

  The pretty cheerful waitress with her white-blue curls and joy-lined face.

  No. Rayne couldn’t let her die.

  So she’d walked outside and around the side of the building just as he’d instructed, stood in an alley near an old black truck, felt pain like she’d never felt before in the back of her head.

  Thought that death had come until she woke up in the bed of the truck, trussed up and gagged and bouncing under a heavy blanket.

  Not dead after all.

  But she would be if she didn’t escape from the root cellar Michael had thrown her in.

  She rubbed her wrists harder.

  The stench of blood and sweat and her own desperate panic filled her nose, clogging her throat until she started to retch against the duct tape over her mouth.

  She’d choke.

  Die.

  And no one would ever find her.

  Sweat and tears and blood all mixed together, and she didn’t know where she was, how she’d gotten there, felt nothing but hopelessness.

  Shh. It’s going to be okay.

  Chance’s voice whispered through her head, pulling her back from the brink.

  She’d broken the three rules of heart-healthy living for him.

  And now she needed a new rule. One she couldn’t break.

  Maybe: Don’t ever, ever, ever die before you find out how happy breaking all those other rules will make you.

  Good enough. Now don’t break it.

  She slid her arms against the wall again, scraped them back and forth. Scraped and prayed and scraped and prayed for endless minutes.

  Please, God. Help me!

  Scrape.

  I know You can hear me. I know You have the power to save me. Please, Lord, don’t take me away from Emma.

  Scrape.

  Please.

  Something gave, the tape snagging, tearing, burning, and she twisted her arms, felt the tape give more and more and more.

  And then she was free, ripping duct tape from her mouth, from her legs, trying to stand, gasping for breath.

  Alive.

  She just had to stay that way.

  She felt along the walls, her fingers numb with cold as she searched for a way out, but the cellar was small, barely tall enough to stand in, so narrow she could touch adjacent walls by stretching out her arms.

  No way out except for up.

  She felt the area above her head, her fingers catching on old wood and metal. There. The door Michael had pulled open right before he’d shoved her into the cellar.

  She pushed, felt it give.

  “Just a little more,” she gasped, her throat raw and hot.

  Something shuffled in the darkness to her right.

  A rat? A mouse? Something that had slithered out of the ground and was ready to bite her?

  The thought filled her with terror, and she shoved at the door again and again and again until her hands bled and her heart raced and she was ready to collapse.

  Another sound broke the silence, different from the first. Not the shuffling movements of a mouse or rat. Not some slithering creature rising up from the depths of the earth.

  A car.

  Probably a truck.

  Probably Michael coming back to finish her off.

  He was going to be disappointed.

  And he was going to have a fight on his hands.

  She searched the ground, tried to find a weapon. Settled for a fistful of dirt. Waited as the car engine grew louder, then shut off. Waited as a door opened, as feet tapped against wood.

  Waited.

  Prayed.

  Listened to something being dragged across the floor.

  She backed away from the hatch, feeling for the walls of the cellar as something dripped onto the floor inches from where she stood.

  Gasoline!

  The fumes filled the small cellar, burning her eyes, her nose, her lips. She pulled her shirt over her mouth, refusing the cough that welled up.

  Don’t let him know you’re free. Let him think his plan is going off without a hitch, that you’re going to be burned alive in the tiny little cellar.

  Footsteps again.

  A door again.

  Smoke flowing into the cellar.

  Heat.

  Get out now or you won’t get out at all!

  She shoved against the hatch, pushing with everything she had, Emma’s face drifting through her mind, the sweet baby smell of her lingering beneath the scent of smoke and gasoline. Chance’s gray-blue eyes seeming to beckon her from the darkness.

  Wood cracked and splintered, the door breaking with the force of her blows.

  Smoke poured over her as she clawed her way through the narrow opening, wood snagging flesh and fabric, trying to hold her back, prevent her escape.

  Pull yourself up!

  Get out!

  She hauled herself up and over the edge, flames shooting up a foot away from her face.

  She coughed, crawling across the floor, lungs clogged with smoke.

  Black all around.

  Outside.

  Inside.

  Dizzy.

  Emma.

  Chance.

  A hundred dreams she wanted to come true.

  Please, God. I don’t want to die.

  Coughing, gasping, no air. No way out.

  Crawling anyway, because she could do nothing else.

  A glimmer of light.

  A window?

  An open door?

  Faster. Move faster or you’re going to die and break rule number four.

  She stumbled to her feet, tried to run, the cabin creaking and groaning around her, fire roaring behind her.

  Go!

  Go, go, go!

  Cold air slapped her cheeks, and she was falling, crawling away from the roaring fire.

  Spent.

  Used up.

  She collapsed. Coughing, choking, gagging.

  Barely hearing the crunch of frozen grass, the shuffle of feet.

  “You should have stayed in the cabin, Rayne. It would have been easier for both of us.” Michael’s voice.

  Icy cold.

  Emotionless.

  The man in the doorway of the hospital room.

  The car chasing her in her dreams.

  Death.

  The man she’d
thought she’d loved.

  She levered up onto her hands and knees, felt the cold barrel of the gun pressed against her head.

  “I’m sorry it has to end this way, Rayne.”

  “It doesn’t.” She lunged, slamming her palm into his nose, bone cracking, blood spurting.

  Go. Go, go, go. Go!

  She raced around the side of the burning building.

  No time to think. No time to plan.

  Running blind in thick smoke, slamming into something hard but giving.

  Hands grasped her waist and she screamed, the sound hoarse and feral.

  She threw punches wildly, connecting with jaw, shoulder, stomach as she was pulled in tight, held so close she couldn’t move, could barely breathe.

  “Snap out of it, Goldilocks. We don’t have time for hysterics.”

  Chance!

  She sagged, felt herself slipping away.

  No!

  If she passed out, he’d have to carry her.

  That would slow him down. Slow them down. Give Michael and his gun an opportunity to catch up.

  And that was not going to happen, because Rayne was absolutely under no circumstances ever going to break rule number four.

  “I’m not hysterical,” she managed.

  “Then let’s get out of here.” He grabbed her hand, dragged her through the smoke and out into a field of bright white snow.

  She wanted to run.

  Wanted to, but her legs gave out and she fell, the sound of a gunshot exploding behind them, snow and ice and dirt spewing up a yard away.

  Chance scooped her up, raced for a cove of pine trees.

  Another gunshot.

  Another.

  He stumbled, went down, blood pouring from his chest.

  No!

  She crawled to his side, pressed her hands against the bubbling wound as another gunshot rang out.

  Then silence.

  Tears fell, dripping onto her hands as she leaned close to Chance’s face, let his breath tickle her cheek.

  “Don’t worry, Goldilocks. I’m alive. The bullet hit my clavicle, not my heart,” he said, and she backed up, looked into his eyes, relief making her weak.

  “You’d better be alive. I’ve spent the past few hours making sure I didn’t break rule number four, and I’d hate for all my efforts to be wasted.”

  “I thought there were only three rules.”

  “There were until today. I had to make up a new one to fit my new circumstances. Come on. I’ll help you up. We need to get out of here before Michael finds us.”