Dropping the Hammer Page 8

  She had a nauseating suspicion that Roy Sales was orchestrating all this, trying to pull her back into his sphere of evil for his own sick pleasure.

  His madness was real, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t smart enough to manipulate a whole team of psychiatrists.

  Too bad she couldn’t just scrub every memory of him from her life. But there was no cleanser that strong in all the world.

  * * *

  BY TWO IN the afternoon, life at the Double K Ranch had settled into a quiet, sleepy Sunday afternoon bliss. Esther was stretched out on the couch watching a Lifetime movie. Sydney and Tucker were taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather to attend a winter festival in a neighboring town.

  They’d invited Rachel to go with them, but she had enough sense to know it was private time together they were looking for. With their careers taking them in different directions, they cherished the time they had together.

  Sydney truly loved working with the FBI. She thrived on the excitement and even the danger, the same way Tucker couldn’t imagine life without the rodeo.

  Indications were the lifestyle worked for them. Rachel envied them that.

  She’d thought she’d found her niche in life, and now she wasn’t even sure she wanted to take the firm’s very generous promotion offer. Her priorities seemed to be shifting by the hour.

  She was tempted to call Luke Dawkins, but what was the point? Roy Sales wasn’t physically strangling her the way he did in her recurring nightmares, but he was emotionally strangling her.

  Luke was interested in getting to know her better, and that would lead to the attraction building. How could she trust herself in a romantic entanglement with her life in a tailspin? She had nothing to offer but trouble. She liked him too much to add her burdens to his.

  Weakening in her resolve not to call him, she walked back to the guest bedroom and grabbed her purse and her keys. She didn’t bother to change from the denim cutoffs and loose-fitting T-shirt she’d changed into after lunch. She had to get out of here.

  Her phone rang as she was pulling into a parking spot on Main Street. She answered as she climbed out of the car and started walking. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Rachel. Glad I caught you.”

  “Luke.” Her pulse quickened at the sound of his voice. This was quickly swelling out of hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

  “Me, too. That’s why I called you. How about I pick you up and we take a drive, give me the opportunity to see how the area’s changed since I moved away?”

  “What happened to our scrubbing hoedown?”

  “Believe me, this mess is more than you want to tackle. I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “In the kitchen, of course. Kitchens always have more grease and grime than any other area.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “I am. My brain is exhausted, but my muscles are atrophying.”

  “In that case, I’ll pick you up as soon as I make a run to the store for some supplies.”

  “I’m already in town. I’ll stop off at the market, pick up the supplies and drive to your place. And don’t worry, I won’t charge you the full price for my billable hours.”

  “I should have known there was a catch.”

  “Well, you are dealing with an attorney.”

  He gave her easy-to-follow directions. She turned to start back to the car, but then stopped and looked around her. Two youngsters holding doubled-dipped cones of chocolate ice cream walked past her, the melted treat dripping from their mouths and hands.

  Their youthful parents followed close behind, laughing and chatting and holding hands like lovers.

  Small-town Texas. Friendly. Safe.

  Until that facade had been shattered by a psychopath who’d chosen his victims from this very street. Familiar fear crawled inside her like a hairy spider. She stopped walking and looked around as the apprehension swelled.

  No place was ever completely safe.

  She walked a few feet and then stopped to stare into the Christmas shop. Even in January, miniature villages, their roofs topped with fake snow, filled the display windows. A little girl walked up and stopped next to her, her nose pressed against the glass, no doubt already dreaming of Christmas.

  Rachel took deep breaths until the unwanted flare of tenseness eased. Then she quickly walked to her car and drove the short distance to the market.

  She stocked up on cleansers, protective gloves and some fruit, chips and salsa in case she needed some calorie fortification for the tasks at hand. Having no idea what kind of munchie Luke liked, she picked up some peanuts and a couple of packs of cheese crackers and cookies.

  The last stop on the way to checkout was the beer aisle. She figured she couldn’t go wrong with that.

  Once she checked out, she made a phone call to Sydney to let her know she would be spending the afternoon with Luke Dawkins. There was no answer. She left a message.

  Minutes later, she was on her way to Arrowhead Hills.

  Still a bit uneasy, she tried to soothe her mind. How much trouble could she possibly get into scrubbing floors with Luke Dawkins?

  Chapter Ten

  Luke stuck his head into the oven for one last check. “Spotless as new and ready for inspection,” he announced. “My guess is for the first time in years. I could almost swear there was part of a pizza I warmed up eleven years ago still stuck to the top shelf.”

  “Gross.” Rachel walked over and checked it out. “I’m impressed. I’d actually eat something cooked in there now.”

  “And mess up my clean oven? No way,” he protested. “We’re not turning on that oven for anything.”

  “Not even for pizza?”

  “There might be some exceptions.”

  He leaned his backside against the counter—which was also spotless—and watched Rachel as she went back to returning foods to the dust-and crumb-free pantry.

  “Now that we’ve thrown away everything that was out-of-date, you’ll have to restock,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Another day. It’s gotta be Miller time by now.”

  “Don’t tell me a little housework is harder than being in the marines.”

  “Only difference is you’re holding me hostage with a broom instead of enemy fire.”

  She returned the last item to the top shelf of the pantry and surveyed the finished product.

  Luke walked behind her and put his arms around her waist. “Do you have any idea how sexy you look right now?”

  “I suppose you’re about to tell me you’re turned on by the fragrance of bleach.”

  “Is that what that is?” He sniffed behind her ear. “I thought it was awfully pungent for perfume.”

  He was telling the truth about her being sexy and so damn easy to be around. But she was right about one thing. Now that he knew, he couldn’t help thinking about what that monster had put her through.

  He’d love to meet that guy in a dark alley with only their fists between them. Fat chance he’d get that opportunity, but it riled him to think the guy wasn’t tried and sentenced to life in prison. There was no doubt the guy was evil, but he wondered just how crazy he really was.

  Rachel was vulnerable like Tucker had warned him. She’d have to be after what she’d been through. But she was also tough and smart. And energetic.

  “Wonder Woman in denim,” he said.

  She straightened a can of peas and then closed the panty door. “Are you summoning a superpower to rescue you from the slave driver attorney?”

  “I was talking about you. You are amazing. Up at sunrise to go horseback riding. Sun’s setting and you’re still going, gung ho, unlike the poor cowboy trying to keep up with you.” He nibbled her ear.

  She stepped out of his arms. “This isn’t work. It’s therapy, and you can’t let your father return to
this. When will he be coming home?”

  “I don’t know. I have an appointment with his doctor tomorrow. I’ll stop by and see Dad after that. After the greeting he gave me yesterday, I’m not sure he wants to come home if I’m here.”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Wait till you meet him. Which is a great idea now that I think about it. Why don’t you ride into town with me tomorrow? One look at you and he’ll forget I’m even around.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Sixty-nine, but he’s not dead. He’ll notice you.”

  Luke opened the refrigerator and took out two cold beers. He opened them both and handed one to her.

  She sipped and then turned slowly, pointing out their day’s accomplishments as she did. “Appliances shiny clean. Countertops and sink sparkling and hygienic. Cabinets organized. Kitchen window washed, ceiling fan blades dusted. Woodwork and floors thoroughly scrubbed.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you. Actually, I probably wouldn’t have attempted it without you. How about we take our beers and go sit outside?” Luke suggested. “My muscles ache. I think I’m allergic to all this cleanness.”

  “You’ll forget that once you get my bill.”

  “Now you’re scaring me—unless, of course, you want to work it out in trade.”

  “I’m not even going there.”

  * * *

  RACHEL WAS TIRED to the bone, but even that didn’t prevent her from reacting to every look and touch from Luke. She’d practically gone into orbit when he nibbled her ear.

  Working barefoot and shirtless, his jeans riding a few inches below his waist and his muscles flexing, had further certified his hunk status.

  That was just the start of what excited her about him. There was no pretense with him. Great sense of humor. Virile and masculine to the core but without any of the machismo that would have made her uncomfortable.

  Still she felt guarded, afraid that if she ever let her full fears seep out, they’d explode and spill all over her like a deadly poison.

  Luke was beside her, his hand on the small of her back, protective and possessive, as they walked through the house and onto the porch. The sun was low in the sky, but the humidity and temperature still made it feel like a summer day. The cold beer felt good in her hand. She suspected a cool shower would feel even better after all the work they’d put in this afternoon.

  She brushed a few wisps of hair from her face, pushed them behind her ears and headed for the old porch rocker.

  She started to sit down and then squealed and jumped backward as a large scorpion dropped from the arm of the chair and fell onto the seat.

  Luke flew into action, knocking the scorpion out of the chair. The despicable arachnid fell onto the porch and took off in her direction, its stinger curved and ready to strike.

  She dashed for the edge of the porch and climbed onto the railing, holding her feet in the air and almost toppling over the back, butt first.

  “Kill it,” she screamed. “Don’t let it get away.”

  Thinking quickly, he didn’t stamp it with his bare feet but grabbed a heavy pot of dead flowers and crashed it on top of the scorpion. The pot broke into a thousand pieces.

  The scorpion wiggled like a creature from The Walking Dead before finally lying unmoving in the grave of sunbaked dirt and pottery shrapnel.

  Luke broke into laughter.

  “There is nothing funny about scorpions,” she scolded.

  “No, but can I see that rail-riding stunt again? You may be ready for bronc riding.”

  She planted her feet back on the porch. “Very funny. And here I was about to claim you as my hero.”

  “In that case, scorpions are nothing. Wait until you see my finesse with a rattlesnake.”

  “No demonstration needed. I’ll take your word on that.”

  She walked to the busted pot, stooped and started picking up the larger pieces of broken pottery. She kept a wary lookout for any other bug that might be hiding in the chunks of dried earth.

  “Just pile the pieces on the step,” Luke said after the two of them had gathered the larger pieces. “I’ll get a trash bag.”

  She did and then she spotted a hose that was hooked up to a faucet on the side of the porch. Exactly what she needed to wash the dirt off the porch before it got tracked back inside and ended up on her freshly scrubbed kitchen floor.

  She turned on the hose and adjusted the nozzle to a jet spray. The powerful flow made quick work of getting rid of the dirt and tiny pieces of pottery.

  Now that she was at it, she decided to wash off the rest of the porch and the old rocking chair that might have any number of creepy, crawly things hiding beneath the weathered slats.

  She didn’t hear or see the front door open and wasn’t aware Luke had rejoined her as she turned to aim the spray at the chairs.

  He yelped.

  She turned to see him wiping water from his face and eyes with both hands. His hair was dripping wet. So were his jeans.

  She aimed the spray into the yard. “Oops. Sorry.”

  “Oops?” Luke yelled. “Too late for ‘oops’ and ‘sorry.’ That was an act of war.” He started toward her.

  She backed up, sprayed him again and then dropped the hose and ran. He picked up the hose and aimed the spray at her. In minutes, they were both soaking wet.

  By the time Luke dropped the hose, he was laughing hysterically. She started laughing, too. Hard. Uncontrollable. She laughed so hard that tears started running down her face.

  Laughed the way she hadn’t laughed in months and maybe longer.

  Then, as if someone had slapped her across the face, the tears became bitter and the laughter became choking sobs. Tremors shook her body.

  Luke ran to her, alarm firing in his eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Or angry?”

  “No,” she murmured through the painful sobs. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I’m crying.”

  She expected him to back away fast from the crazy woman having a meltdown over too much fun. Instead he picked her up and cradled her in his arms as he carried her inside the house. “Cry if you need to, baby. Cry all you want. I’m here for you and I’m not going anywhere.”

  He settled in on the brown leather sofa, still holding her in his strong arms.

  “I never used to lose it like this,” she whispered through the sobs and the knot in her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “You’ve done nothing to apologize for, Rachel. Your emotions are raw and have every reason to be, but maybe it’s time you stop trying to be so strong. Maybe it’s time you stop holding all the hurt and fears inside and just let them pour out.”

  “I think maybe it is,” she admitted. More important, for the first time since the abduction, she thought maybe she could.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I can’t remember the last time I ate canned chicken noodle soup,” Rachel said.

  Luke wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Me, either. It’s better than I remember or else the mess hall food set a really low bar for tasty.”

  “Good that it’s edible, since it’s basically the only food option available now that the expired choices have been eliminated.”

  “Yeah. I guess I should buy some staples, like you said. I can’t expect Esther and the Lawrence brothers to feed me all the time, though it’s worked well so far.”

  “Wait until you try Esther’s award-winning peach cobbler and homemade ice cream. If you can keep from going back for seconds, you have no taste buds.”

  Rachel tugged a bit on the soft cotton blanket she was wearing sarong-style, conscious every second that she was naked beneath it.

  She’d been trembling when Luke carried her inside, chilly after the bout with the hose, but mostly emotionally shaken.

  H
e’d insisted she get out of her wet clothes. He’d given her the blanket and pointed her to the bathroom. While she’d showered under a refreshing spray, he’d thrown her jeans, shirt and undies in the wash.

  Her hair was still wet when she’d met him back in the kitchen, once again wrapped in her cotton blanket. A box of tissue rested on the corner of the table. Obviously, Luke was prepared for the next meltdown.

  He’d changed out of his wet jeans and was wearing clean ones and a sky blue pullover. But still no shoes. Inexplicably, his bare feet made the scene cozier, made him seem more familiar, like a friend she’d known for years instead of a stranger she was considering spilling her guts to.

  She spooned up another mouthful of warm soup, but this time it didn’t soothe. As she swallowed, the sickening image of Roy Sales stamped itself into her brain.

  “We can talk whenever you’re ready,” Luke said, likely fearing from her facial expression that she was on the verge of another flood of tears.

  “Not that I’m pressing,” Luke added, “but if you keep things bottled up inside you too long, they have a way of eating you alive.”

  “I’ve found that out the hard way,” she admitted. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “How about the beginning?”

  “You do have a way of cutting to the chase, Luke Dawkins.”

  “I’m a simple man.”

  That, she wasn’t buying, but she trusted him and that was what mattered now. “I left my house on Friday, the eighth of September. We’d just won a difficult case that should have ended days before. I’d already booked a spa resort in Austin for some much-needed R and R.”

  “Were you traveling alone?”

  “Yes. I often do, or at least I did. I haven’t traveled anywhere except here to see Sydney since then. I spent that Friday night in the small town of La Grange and then, on the recommendation of the owner of the B and B, I drove to the quaint western town of Winding Creek on Saturday morning.”

  “Was that your first time in Winding Creek?”

  “Yes, at that point neither Sydney nor I had ever met Esther Kavanaugh or the Lawrence brothers. I stopped at Dani’s Delight for coffee and a pastry, so luckily I met Dani that day. As it turned out, she was an important lead to Sydney’s finding me.”