Читать книгу Power of the Raven - Aimee Thurlo - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Gene went to meet Lori where she stood in front of her closed garage door. “We weren’t followed here. I’m good at spotting things like that,” he said, seeing her looking around, a frown on her face.

“Okay, then. Let me put my car inside the garage, then we can both go into the house and out of this wind.” She unlocked the single car garage’s door handle, gave it a twist, but nothing happened. “I got a door installed that I could pull open, but I think the springs are weak.”

Gene stepped over and pulled it up for her.

“Thanks,” she said.

Moments later her car was safely inside and the door closed and locked. Gene followed her through a side door.

He stepped inside what appeared to be a pantry, then into the kitchen.

“My house is a work in progress. This room’s already finished, so we can sit here without tripping over paintbrushes and cans.”

Gene followed her into the dining alcove that faced the front. “How long have you lived here?”

“I was born and raised in the Four Corners, but in this house, only about five months. I wanted to own, not rent, and I got a really good deal on this place. The important things like the heating and cooling and the plumbing all work fine, so I figured I’d add all the finishing touches as time and money allowed.”

Lori waved him to a chair by the table, but he shook his head. “Let’s find a place in the living room so I can have a better view of the front yard and street. I’d like to keep a lookout for a while longer.”

“You think he’ll come here?” she asked, her voice rising slightly.

“Even assuming he knows where you live, he probably wouldn’t push it right now. This guy has no way of knowing what the police will do next, like maybe set up a neighborhood patrol. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

“Maybe I should turn on more lights,” she said, leading the way into the living room.

“Not necessary. The one in the kitchen is enough. Any more, and it’ll be harder to see outside because of the glare on the windows,” Gene said, walking past the ladder propped against the wall. The living room held more paint buckets, brushes, drop cloths and assorted tools than furniture.

She waved him to the sofa after removing a cardboard box containing paint rollers and a plastic tray. “It’s cold in here,” she said. “Why don’t you put one of the logs in the fireplace? I’ll bring us something to drink. I’ve got beer and colas.”

“Beer’s good.”

She went into the kitchen and came back a second later. “I should have told you. It’s not alcoholic beer.”

He stared at her. “There’s another kind?”

“Yes, and it tastes much better,” she said, laughing. “Want to give it a try?”

“Sure.” He watched her leave. Everything about this woman was just a little out of the ordinary. Even the firewood wasn’t firewood, but one of those artificial logs wrapped in paper. He placed it on the fireplace grate, found a matchbox on the mantel and lit the paper wrapping below the arrows.

Lori soon brought out two amber bottles and, seeing him sitting on the hearth, placed one bottle in front of him. “All my glasses were jelly jars at one time, so I figured you’d prefer to have it straight from the bottle.”

He laughed. He’d been right. Everything about Lori came with a qualifier. Yet despite that, or maybe because of it, he found himself liking her anyway. Except for those heels, there was a down-to-earth quality about her. She was who she was and made no apologies for it. That took confidence and it appealed to him.

Moments later they sat on the hearth rug in front of the fireplace with a huge paper bowl of popcorn between them. “I see you’re still using paper dinnerware,” he said with a quick half smile. “Is this left over from when the kitchen was being redone?”

She shook her head. “No, actually, since I don’t really know how long I’ll be staying here, I try not to weigh myself down with stuff. The only exception to that rule is shoes and purses. They’re my weakness.”

“So you’re planning on selling this place after you fix it up?”

“Hopefully, but as far as the timing goes, that’ll depend on the housing market. I consider this my starter home, something that will eventually allow me to buy up.”

He unscrewed the top off his bottle and did the same for hers. After taking a cautious sip, he smiled. “Hey, this is pretty good.”

“It’s low in calories and tastes better than regular beer. It’s brewed from barley and hops, but hasn’t been fermented. Think of it as nonalcoholic young beer, or wheat soda.”

“It’s smooth.” He went to the window and, standing to the side and out of view, looked toward the street. It was quiet and no one was lurking about outside. Satisfied, he returned to where they were sitting.

“Did you hear something?”

He noticed the way she gripped the bottle. Her knuckles were pearly-white. “No. Everything’s fine, just as it should be.”

“Good,” she said, relieved. Lori looked at her bottle, lost in thought, then spoke. “I really should take the plunge and buy at least two matching beer steins.”

“So your clothing budget trumps anything in the domesticity department?”

“Yeah, but there’s a reason for that.” Lori paused, as if trying to find the right words. “I can pack my clothes in several suitcases and be ready to go at a moment’s notice, but it’s different when it comes to household things. Some people equate filling every nook and cranny of their homes with security. I find that…constricting. Too many possessions can slow you down.”

“It sounds to me like you’re in a hurry to get someplace, or maybe just restless.”

Lori shook her head, her expression serious. “Neither. My life is in transition, that’s all. I’m searching for something that’ll give me a sense of purpose, that’ll make me greet each morning with a smile, or maybe just renewed determination.” She sighed. “It’s hard to put into words, but until I figure things out, I want to make sure my options stay open.” She glanced over at him. “What about you?”

“I’m where I want to be,” he said. “I’m a rancher, and though the days are long and the work’s hard, it’s what I was meant to do.”

“I envy you. You have what I’m searching for,” she said.

“A ranch?”

“No, your life’s passion. You’ve found your place in life, so your work is the embodiment of who you are.”

As they talked, time slipped by. After about an hour, a patrolman came by and took their statements. Unfortunately, the officer couldn’t offer any hope that he’d be able to do much more than file the report. Without a positive ID, the department had no evidence to go on.

After the officer left, Gene could see how the interview had worn Lori down. He stayed with her until he was sure she’d be okay, then looked at his watch. It was shortly after ten. It surprised him to see how quickly the evening had gone.

Gene gave her his cell number. “Call me if you run into any more problems. I’m staying at my brother Preston’s apartment while I’m in town on business.”

“Then back to the ranch?”

He smiled and nodded. “Maybe you could visit me there someday. It’s a real special place.”

As they said good-night at the door, their eyes met. The power of that one look shot through him like a bolt of lightning. He was aware of everything about her. He heard the catch in her breath and saw her breathing quicken. When she used the tip of her tongue to moisten her lips, he nearly groaned.

He wasn’t an impulsive man. He tested the water before diving in, but the temptation was too great to resist. He reached out to pull her to him, but instead of yielding, she suddenly stood on tiptoes and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

“Good night, Gene, and thank you so much for all your help,” she said softly. “If you ever need a friend, you can count on me.”

“I’ll see you again, Lori.” Even as he spoke he knew it wasn’t an idle promise. Something inside told him that he would, and sooner than either of them expected.

As she turned on the porch light and closed the door behind him, he started down the path to his truck. He’d gone only about ten feet when he caught a glimpse of movement off to his left.

It was probably just someone’s stray cat, judging from the barking dog next door, but he needed to make sure. Stopping, he reached into his pocket and pretended to be searching for his keys.

Although he never turned his head, his focus was on the bushes by the house. Next door, the neighbor’s dog continued to growl and bark, its head popping up intermittently as it jumped up and down just beyond the block wall.

A second later Gene saw the bushes beneath one of the windows sway slightly, odd because the breeze had died down after sunset. Uncertain of the threat, he took a few things out of his pocket, glanced down at his hand, then, as if he’d forgotten something, headed back to her door.

Gene walked slowly, furtively, studying the ground to his left in the glow of the yellow porch light. The footprints on the sandy earth didn’t belong to an animal, and were too large to belong to Lori. If he’d had to take a guess, he would have said they belonged to a size ten or eleven boot—not his own size twelve.

Gene knocked on her front door and Lori answered almost instantly. “Couldn’t stay away?” she said with a teasing smile.

“What can I say? You’re great company,” he said, laughing, then leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Don’t react, just go call the police. You’ve got a trespasser out here beside the house.”

Lori pulled him inside. “Come back in,” she said, shutting the door behind him.

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “I’ve got this covered. I’m going to slip out your back door and go after the guy. Keep the kitchen lights off and call the police.”

“Are you crazy? You don’t know what you might be up against. He could be armed! Wait here with me for the police.”

“I’ll surprise him before he even knows I’m coming. Stay here.”

Gene opened the door a crack and slipped outside. He knew how to move through the shadows without making a sound. Hosteen Silver had said that his ability was the natural result of always being in harmony with his surroundings. He wasn’t sure about that, but he knew he was a match for whoever was out there sneaking around.

As Gene slipped around the far corner of the house he heard a low scraping sound. He waited, peering into the darkness, allowing his eyes to adjust. Despite the long gray shadows, he could see a shape huddled below the window directly ahead.

Gene moved toward the man cautiously, scarcely breathing and carefully placing each footstep to avoid making any noise. In the muted half-light, he could see the figure ahead. From the sheen and flattened appearance of his face, it was obvious the person was wearing a stocking mask. He could see something in his gloved hand, too, some kind of tool. It was probably a screwdriver, undoubtedly intended to help the intruder pry the window open.

Gene moved even closer, then stopped, hearing slow footsteps behind him. Nobody had ever been able to successfully sneak up on him—that was one skill he’d had as far back as he could remember. More than once, as a kid, that ability had helped him avoid getting beaten up by a bully.

He flattened against the wall of the house, farther into the shadows. A second later, Lori appeared, crouched low and holding something in her hand.

He grabbed her and covered her mouth with his hand as he pulled her toward him.

She slammed her elbow into his gut.

“Be still. It’s me,” he whispered.

The intruder must have also heard, because quick footsteps sounded up ahead.

Gene placed himself between her and the intruder just as something came flying in his direction. Gene blocked the object with his forearm, and it bounced off the house with a loud thud. It was the screwdriver.

“Wait here,” Gene told Lori, then took off after the running man, who’d now ducked around to the front of the house.

As Gene raced around the corner, the fleeing man stumbled over a lawn sprinkler and nearly lost his balance. Seeing Gene closing in, he grabbed a rake from the neighbor’s yard and hurled it at him.

Gene dodged, but it slowed him down, and when he looked up, the man had reached a car parked on the opposite side of the street. Before Gene could narrow the distance separating them, the guy raced off and Gene had no chance to read the plates.

Gene cursed as he stared at the fading taillights. If Lori hadn’t come outside and tipped the guy off, he would have had him for sure. He was crossing back across the street when Lori came out toward him, holding a mop handle in one hand and a flashlight in the other.

“I wish you’d stayed inside,” Gene said, his voice calm now. It was no use getting riled up after the fact. “He heard you coming and spooked.”

“I won’t abandon a friend and you were out here alone. I grabbed the closest thing I had to a weapon, and came to help you.”

The tremor in her voice sliced through what was left of his anger. Although she’d been terrified, she’d risked her own safety to help him. The gesture was touching. With the exception of his foster family, no one had ever done that.

Lori was unpredictable, but she had heart. As he looked at her, he felt the tug in his gut—and lower.

“Give me the flashlight, then stay close behind me,” he said, forcing his thoughts back on to safer channels. “I want to take a look around, but I don’t want you out of my sight again.”

“The police are on their way,” she said.

“Good. Just give me some room. I want to figure out what he was up to out here,” he said, walking back to the house.

Using the flashlight, and careful not to obliterate any footprints, he studied the gouges on the window.

Next, he aimed the flashlight beam toward the ground and quickly located the screwdriver. Hoping there was still a chance of recovering the man’s fingerprints, he left it on the ground and backed away.

“He tried to pry that window open,” he said, pointing. “What’s on the other side?”

“My bedroom,” she whispered in a shaky voice.