Читать книгу Vow To Protect - Ann Voss Peterson - Страница 10

Cord Turner didn’t get invitations. Not to parties. Not to bank credit. Not to anything. Fine with him. He didn’t expect to be invited to anything. Hell, he probably wouldn’t go if he was. So when he plucked the square white envelope from his afternoon mail and pulled out an invitation to a wedding reception, he had damn good reason to be confused.

Questions buzzed in his mind and drowned out the music playing over his tinny kitchen radio. He stared at the thick white card in his hands, his blunt fingernails coarse and stained against the delicate white embossing. He didn’t know anyone who was getting married. Certainly not anyone who would invite him. Hell, he didn’t know anyone at all—at least not anyone worth knowing—and he’d like to keep it that way.

He opened the card.

Your presence is requested at a reception celebrating the recent marriages of Sylvie and Bryce Walker and Diana and Reed McCaskey. Black tie required.

He moved his eyes to the bottom of the card. There was no signature, no name identifying the party’s host, simply a single line.

“The father of the brides.”

Cord let the card fall from his hands. During his eight years in prison, Cord had only met a handful of men whose evil radiated in the air around them like heat from a blast furnace. And although he’d never met Dryden Kane, he’d known the killer was such a man the first time he’d seen a picture of Kane’s dead ice-blue eyes.

Ice-blue eyes Cord had inherited.

No doubt Cord’s half sisters Sylvie and Diana had nothing to do with planning this party. They would want even less to do with their father than they would want with Cord.

He picked up the card and thick, foiled envelope. He needed to get rid of the damn thing. Diana’s cop husband already suspected him of scheming with Kane based on nothing but the fact that the killer’s blood was flowing in his veins. One whiff of this invitation and Cord’s parole officer would give him a violation so fast he’d be back in the system before the evening news.

About to stuff the card into the envelope and crumple the whole thing into a ball, he noticed a slip of paper still tucked inside. He flipped the envelope upside down. The paper dropped to the counter. A severe black scrawl marred white vellum.

“Melanie Frist will be your date. I’ll give her a personal invitation.”

The name hit Cord like a kick to the gut. His pulse throbbed in his ears, overwhelming the radio commercials leading to the three-o’clock news.

How did Kane know about his past with Mel? And since the killer was in prison, what did he mean by a “personal invitation”?

Cord eyed his cordless phone lying among his other mail on the kitchen counter. She wouldn’t want to talk to him. She hadn’t visited him in jail, hadn’t attended his sentencing, hadn’t visited him in the more than eight years he’d spent behind bars. And he would bet she hadn’t tried to look him up in the two years since he’d been paroled. She wasn’t going to change her mind about seeing him now.

But did that matter in light of a threat from a serial killer?

He ran his gaze back over the scrawled note. He’d seen evil. He’d smelled it. He’d lived it. And one of the first things he’d learned in the joint was you never turned your back on it.

He picked up the telephone and punched in the four numbers before setting it back down. If Mel had caller ID, he doubted she would pick up. Not if she saw his name on the screen. He’d have to drive to her house. To face her.

Fishing his truck keys from his pocket, he tried to ignore the jittery feeling that seized him low in his stomach. He reached to switch off the radio. The urgent tone of the announcer’s voice stopped him cold.

“The Banes County Sheriff’s Department has issued a warning to all residents in southern Wisconsin after an accident early this morning claimed the lives of an unidentified man and four officers from the Banesbridge Correctional Facility and hospitalized one additional officer. The accident involved a convoy that was transporting incarcerated serial killer Dryden Kane from the prison to the Banes County jail to be arraigned on new charges stemming from the copycat-killer investigation. The sheriff’s office is dragging the Wisconsin River bed, but the serial killer’s body has not yet been found. If alive, Dryden Kane is considered armed and extremely…”

Cord didn’t wait for the rest. He raced for the door, his truck keys’ sharp edges digging into his palm.

WHEN MELANIE STEPPED out the door of her house shortly after arriving home, the main thing on her mind was retrieving the day’s collection of mail-order catalogs, credit card offers and bills from the box.

All thoughts of mail vanished the moment she saw Cord.

He slammed the door of a small gray pickup and strode up the sidewalk. He’d been a boy of eighteen when she’d last seen him. Now he was a man. The baby fat was gone from his face, replaced by sharp angles and hard planes. Tattoos covered thick, strong arms that strained the sleeves of his T-shirt. Powerful thighs filled out faded jeans.

A wave of heat washed over her, followed by panic. “Why are you here?”

He closed the gap between them. Swirling with light blue the color of a winter sky, his eyes drilled into her. Eyes that hadn’t changed. Not one bit. “We have to talk.”

Alarm writhed inside her. She couldn’t stand here and talk. What did he expect to chat about? How he’d nearly ruined her life? How he’d broken her heart? “No. No we don’t.”

“Mel, please. I know it’s a shock to see me. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t have a damn good reason.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and forced herself to stand her ground. If only she could hop in her car, drive away and avoid this entire reunion. But she couldn’t. Ethan would be getting off the bus any minute.

Ethan.

Her mind stuttered.

This was worse than an uncomfortable reunion. Worse than reliving a broken heart and shattered dreams. Much worse. This was Ethan’s future in jeopardy.

She glanced down the street. A red convertible streaked down the pavement toward them, moving too fast in the residential neighborhood. A squatty white mail truck stopped at the opposite curb. No sign of a bus.

She had time.

She swung her focus back to Cord. If he was still anything like the boy she’d once loved, he wouldn’t leave until he’d said his piece. Her best bet would be to hear him out then cut him off. “Why are you here?”

He cleared his throat as if preparing to launch into a rehearsed speech. “You have to get out of here.”

She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t this. “Why?”

“A man is after you. A bad man. You understand what I’m saying?”

She didn’t have a clue. “Who’s after me?”

“Dryden Kane.”

She couldn’t have heard him right. “The serial killer?”

“He escaped this morning.”

“I heard.” In the world of serial killers, Dryden Kane was as infamous in Wisconsin history as Dahmer and Gein. But while Kane was a very dangerous man, especially to women, there were thousands of women in southern Wisconsin. “Why do you think he’s after me?”

“Because he told me.”

Now he was really freaking her out. “What are you up to, Cord? Why are you saying this?”

He raked a hand across short sandy-brown hair. “I don’t know how the hell to explain. I can still hardly believe it myself.”

She fought the urge to grab him, to shake him. “Just say it.”

“Dryden Kane is my father.”

“Your father?” She let her arms fall limp to her sides. It couldn’t be true. Could it? “You always told me you didn’t know who your father was.”

“I didn’t. Not until about two months ago.”

“And it’s Dryden Kane? You’re sure?”

“Have you seen a picture of Kane recently? I look just like him.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“Yes, it does. I had a DNA test done after I found out.”

She felt sick to her stomach.

“You have to come with me. Kane might be on his way right now. Understand what I’m saying?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mel, you have to.”

“I want you off my property.”

“You’re not listening.”

“I’ve heard enough.” She needed Cord gone. Right now.

“You have to get out of here.”

She intended to. Just not with him. When Ethan got home, she’d whisk her son off to a safe place and hold him tight to her heart. Whether Ethan thought he was too old for hugs or not.

“Kane is dangerous.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Her stomach balled into a hard knot. She’d struggled so hard. To lift herself out of the violent world she’d grown up in. To give Ethan a real future. And now this. “How dare you bring this stuff back into my life? How dare you bring Dryden Kane down on my head?”

“I’m sorry, Mel. I’m so sorry. But right now you have to get out of here. You have to come with me.” He reached out, trying to grasp her arm.

She yanked it away. “If you don’t leave, I’m calling the police.”

“Call them.”

“What?”

“Call the cops. Go with them. I don’t care. You just have to get out of here before Kane shows up.”

“Okay. I’ll call them. Now go.”

“I’ll stay until they get here.”

“Not necessary.” She gave the traffic a quick glance. Something caught her eye beyond the building afternoon glut of panel vans and sports cars. A flash of yellow turning off a side street.

“He might be watching us right now.”

“I don’t want your help. You’ll only make things worse.”

“Listen, I’ve seen what guys like this can do, what they enjoy doing. It ain’t nothing nice.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I’m not leaving until I know you’ll be safe.”

She glanced down the street again. Behind a blue minivan and a white sedan, the bright yellow school bus barreled toward them.

“What are you looking for?”

A thick ache lodged in her throat. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” The school bus rumbled up the street, desperation drilling deeper into her bones the closer it came.