Читать книгу Special Agent's Surrender - Carla Cassidy - Страница 6

Jacob recognized her immediately even though the last time he’d seen her Layla West had been about nineteen years old. Even back then she’d liked her jeans tight and her heels high and it looked as if nothing had changed. She’d be about twenty-eight now, definitely not a kid anymore.

There was some small part of his brain that processed the scent of her sexy perfume in the air, part of him that was drawn to the shine of her long blond hair, but the bigger part of his brain stared at Benjamin through angry narrowed eyes.

It would be just like his well-meaning brothers to set up something like this in an effort to pull him from his self-imposed isolation. Nothing like a hot, sexy woman to pull a man back into life. Yeah, right, he thought bitterly.

“Is this some kind of a joke because if it is I’m not laughing.” What he wanted to do was shove both Benjamin and the lovely Layla West right back out the door. Instead he got out of the chair and approached where Benjamin stood.

“Of course you’re not laughing,” Benjamin replied tightly. “That might make you human.” He dropped Layla’s suitcase on the floor and looked at her. “Layla, would you excuse us for a minute?”

He grabbed Jacob’s arm and pulled him toward the door. The two men stepped out on the porch and into the cold night air. “This is not a joke,” Benjamin said, a touch of uncharacteristic anger in his voice. “This isn’t about you and any issues you might have, Jacob. We’ve all pretty much left you alone out here for the last six months. We’ve asked damn little of you and hoped to hell you’d pull yourself together.”

The cold December wind sliced through Jacob’s sweater almost as effectively as the disgust in his younger brother’s voice. He jammed his hands into his pockets and waited for Benjamin to finish whatever it was he wanted to say.

“Layla was attacked this evening when she got into her car after work. She managed to get away but she didn’t see who was responsible. We need to stash her someplace where nobody will know where she is for a day or two while we figure out what’s going on.”

“Why don’t you put her at your place? You could hide her there. Edie doesn’t strike me as the loose-lipped kind of woman.” Edie and Benjamin lived at the ranch house up the lane.

“Edie isn’t, but you know Walt. He means well but he has never met a secret he could keep.” Benjamin jammed his hands into his coat pockets.

Jacob sighed, knowing his brother was right. Walt Tolliver was Edie’s grandfather, a nice old man who had become something of a local hero after being responsible for bringing to light a scheme involving illegal experiments on the dead of Black Rock. Walt meant well, but Benjamin was right, the old man had never met a secret he could keep.

“A couple of days at the most,” Benjamin said. “Surely you can force yourself to be civil for that long.”

Maybe he could pretend she wasn’t there for that length of time, Jacob thought to himself. “Whatever,” he finally said, the cold seeping deep into his bones.

He stepped back in the door where Layla stood poised for flight next to her suitcase.

“Take off your coat. Relax, you’re staying,” he said grudgingly as he threw himself back into the recliner where he’d been seated before they’d arrived.

“Great, this should be fun,” she said with a touch of sarcasm. She took off her coat and draped it over her arm. “Where do you want me to put my things?”

“There’s only one bedroom,” Benjamin said. “I’m sure my brother would want you to have it.” He pointed to one of the doors off the main room.

Layla looked at Jacob as if to see if that was okay. He nodded. Most nights he slept in the recliner or on the sofa anyway. Besides, if he was lucky she’d stay in the bedroom and out of his hair until Benjamin came back to retrieve her.

“We’ll stay in touch,” Benjamin said to Layla as he backed toward the front door. “You’ll be safe here, Layla. Just give me a call if you need anything.”

With that, Benjamin left. Jacob picked up the remote control to the television and turned the volume up enough that conversation would be difficult. He knew it was rude and he didn’t care.

He’d stopped caring about anything six months ago when he’d left his job in Kansas City with the FBI and had returned to Black Rock and this cabin. All he wanted was to be left alone with the crushing guilt that never left him and the images of dead women that haunted him.

“I guess I’ll just get settled in,” she said, raising her voice to be heard above the television.

He watched as she pulled the suitcase toward the bedroom, unable to help but notice how her jeans cupped her curvy behind. As she disappeared into the bedroom he got up and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

In the past six months beer had become his best friend. Although he never got falling-down drunk, he drank just enough to dull his senses and aid in a little selective amnesia.

Hopefully it would take her at least an hour to unpack that suitcase, which had looked big enough to hold a month’s worth of clothes, and hopefully she’d only be in his personal space long enough to wear one of the outfits she’d packed.

He took a long pull on the fresh beer and tried to ignore the scent of her that still eddied in the air. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smelled the pleasant scent of a woman or touched warm silky skin in a fevered caress.

The only women in his life in the last year had initially been faces on flyers who had eventually become bodies in crime scene photos. And their deaths had been his fault.

He shook his head and took another deep swallow of his beer to dispel any horrible visions that might drag across his brain. He didn’t want to think about those women, knew that dwelling on them would cast him into the darkest of despair.

As if this personal baggage wasn’t enough, his sister had disappeared almost four months before. He’d used what resources he could in an attempt to find any trace of her whereabouts, but had come up empty-handed, as was the case in all his brothers’ investigations.

He had a feeling his sister was dead, otherwise they would have found something, heard something by now. It was just a new grief he refused to acknowledge.

He frowned as Layla emerged from the bedroom and sat on the sofa. He glanced at her and she gave him an overly bright smile. “So, what are you doing here? Are you in hiding, too?” she asked.

“Something like that,” he replied. The red sweater she wore enhanced the pale blond of her hair and the blue of her eyes. Suddenly his thoughts turned to another woman. Sarah. She’d been wearing red the last time he’d seen her. His stomach clenched tight.

“I usually hear all the gossip but I haven’t heard anyone mention that you were back in town.” Her voice was raised to be heard over the blaring television.

Reluctantly he lowered the volume. “Besides my family I’d prefer nobody know I’m here.”

“Why?”

“Because I want it that way,” he replied curtly and hoped she’d drop the subject. He didn’t intend to tell anyone what had brought him back here, the culpability he’d had in the last case he’d worked.

She crossed one long slender leg over the other and leaned back, looking as comfortable as if she were in her own home. “So, what do you do to pass the time?”

He sighed. She was obviously determined to have some sort of conversation with him. “I drink beer and watch television or I listen to the silence,” he replied pointedly.

“I’ve never been a beer drinker. I like wine, especially a light blush, and sometimes a strawberry daiquiri is good. But if I’m celebrating something special I love a glass or two of champagne.”

Shoot me now, Jacob thought as she continued explaining what drinks she liked and didn’t like. She certainly didn’t act like a woman whose life had just been threatened. It was just his luck to be cooped up with a superficial woman hell-bent on talking him to death.

When she finally wound down her alcoholic drinks speech, she launched into a monologue about how much she liked Christmas. He tuned her out, making her voice white noise in his head.

“Jacob?”

He reluctantly tuned back in as he realized she must have said his name several times. “Is there anything around here to eat?” she asked. “I skipped dinner and now I’m starving.”

He pointed toward the kitchen. “Help yourself.” He breathed a sigh of relief as she got up and disappeared into the next room.

There had been a time when he liked nothing more than sitting with an attractive woman and indulging in a little flirtatious small talk, and if it led to something more all the better. But, that had been before Sarah, and before the case that had broken him.

And he was broken.

As an FBI agent.

As a man.

He took another long pull of his beer as he listened to the sounds of rattling pots and pans from the kitchen. Benjamin always made sure he had plenty of groceries so she’d have any number of things to choose to eat.

His stomach rumbled as the scent of frying bacon filled the air. He hadn’t eaten supper and he’d skipped lunch, as well, opting for a liquid diet of booze.

Most of the time if he was going to eat he either made himself a sandwich or zapped something in the microwave. Food had lost its appeal, as had most things in life.

Layla stepped into the doorway. “I’m making a bacon and cheese omelet. Want half?”

He didn’t want anything from her, but his stomach decided otherwise and he nodded affirmatively. “Okay,” he agreed. Within minutes she called to him that it was ready.

“I’ll just eat in here,” he replied.

Once again she appeared in the doorway. “No way,” she said with a hint of steel in her voice. “I’ve got the food on the table and it’s only civilized that we eat there.”

“What makes you think I’m civilized?” he countered. God help him, not only did he have a chatty woman on his hands but apparently a bossy one, as well.

“If you want to eat, then you’ll come into the kitchen.” She disappeared from the doorway.

He stared after her. Who did she think she was to come in here and try to tell him what he should and shouldn’t do? If she thought she was going to run this place while she was here then she had another thing coming. Reluctantly he got to his feet.

He was starving and at the moment the issue didn’t seem important enough to fight about. He carried his beer bottle into the tiny kitchen where she’d set the small dinette table for two. He dumped the rest of his beer down the sink drain, tossed the bottle into the trash and then took the seat at the table across from her.

Above the scent of the bacon he could smell the ridiculously sexy fragrance of her perfume. Sitting this close to her he could see the gold flecks that sparked in her blue eyes as she gazed at him and to his stunned surprise a tiny flame ignited in the pit of his stomach.

“So, what happened to you?”

The question surprised him, along with his unexpected physical reaction to her nearness. “Nothing happened.” He picked up his fork and focused on the food in front of him even though he felt her gaze remaining on him.

“You look like hell,” she said.

Jacob set down his fork and gazed at her balefully. “We’re here together through no choice of mine. I don’t want to share personal feelings and experiences with you. I don’t want to make pleasant little chitchat. I just want to be left alone.” He picked up his fork and began to eat once again.

“Looks to me like you’ve been left alone too long,” she said as if unable to not be the one who had the last word.

He ignored her and ate as quickly as possible, ignoring the fact that she continued to look at him as she ate her dinner. When he was finished he carried his dish to the sink, washed it and set it in the drainer to dry.

He left the kitchen without saying a word and returned to the recliner that had become his second best friend, after his beer.

Within minutes she’d returned to the room and to his dismay once again positioned herself on the sofa. “So, Layla, what’s been going on in your life for the last couple of years?” she said. “Oh, not much. I own the only realty in town but unfortunately business has been pretty slow lately. I like Chinese food, I’m a Libra and I love to dance.”

For the first time in months Jacob felt the urge to smile. It stunned him. It felt like an affront to all the blood that stained his hands.

“Are you always so irritating?” he asked.

She frowned as if seriously considering his question. “I suppose it depends on who you talk to. My friends don’t find me irritating, but it’s possible some of my old boyfriends might. And just for the record you’re more than a little bit irritating, too.”

He felt her gaze on him as he stared at the television. “You didn’t used to be this way,” she continued. “In fact you used to be every teenage girl’s fantasy.”

“Yeah, well things change, and now I’m going to sleep.” He clicked off the television, lowered his chair to a sleep position and then closed his eyes.

He was acutely aware of her in the silence of the room—her scent, the bubbling energy she brought and the faint whisper of the sound of her breathing. He felt her gaze on him but refused to open his eyes.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard her finally get up, and a moment later the door to the bedroom closed. He opened his eyes and frowned thoughtfully.

She was going to be a pain in his ass. Beautiful and sexy, she was apparently a woman who was accustomed to getting her own way. Once again he told himself that she certainly didn’t seem to be traumatized by the events of the night that had brought her here.

A day or two, that’s what Benjamin had said to him. She just needed to be here for a short time. Surely Jacob could handle her presence for forty-eight hours or so.

He turned off the lamp on the end table and closed his eyes but visions of Layla instantly danced in his head. Even when she’d been nineteen and he’d been twenty-four and home for a visit, he’d been aware of her around town, but she’d been too young and he’d had his job in Kansas City and so he hadn’t pursued anything with her.

And now she was all grown up and under his roof. Not that he cared, not that he intended to do anything about it. He had enough dead women in his mind. There wasn’t room for a breathing one, no matter how sexy he found her. He just wanted her out of his space.

His head once again filled with thoughts of Sarah. He’d met her when he’d been twenty-six years old and she’d been twenty-four, and he’d fallen hard. She’d been beautiful and fun, bubbling with the same kind of energy that Layla possessed. She loved to talk, loved to dance and had stolen his heart almost immediately.

It had taken Jacob months to get up his courage to ask her to marry him and when he finally had she’d laughed at him. She’d told him that she was far too young to get married, that she was just having fun and now that he’d gotten so serious about her it wasn’t going to be fun anymore.

That had been the last time he’d seen Sarah and his last attempt at a relationship with anyone. She’d devastated him and he never wanted to feel that way again about anyone.

He must have fallen asleep for the scream awakened him. He jerked up, disoriented for a moment as he realized the scream hadn’t been one of his own that occasionally woke him from a nightmare.

The fire had burned down to hot coals and the room had grown chilly. He reached out and turned on the lamp next to him. The sound came again, a sharp, piercing scream that sliced through him.

Layla! Full consciousness slammed into him as he recognized her scream. Had the person who had tried to harm her earlier in the evening found her again?

He fumbled in the drawer in the end table and pulled out his gun, then jumped out of the chair and raced toward the bedroom door, hoping—praying—that he wouldn’t find yet another woman murdered on his watch.

“Layla, come out, come out, wherever you are.”

The familiar voice shot terror through Layla, who was crouched beneath the old front porch.

“Come on, little girl. Take your punishment like a trouper.”

Layla’s breaths came in rapid, shallow gasps. Don’t let him find me. Please don’t let him find me. Her heart pounded in her chest so loud she was afraid he’d hear it. Maybe if she stayed hidden long enough he’d pass out and forget that he’d decided she needed a beating.

She screamed as a hand reached under the porch and grabbed her by the hair. Tears filled her eyes as her scalp burned and her body was dragged across the rocks and dirt.

She couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly she was in her car and hands wrapped around her throat and squeezed unmercifully. He was killing her and Layla didn’t want to die. She wanted to live and get married and have babies. She wanted to have lunch with her friends and be happy.

But she was dying, her throat being squeezed so hard no sweet air could reach her lungs. Inside her mind she screamed for help, but no sound escaped her lips. She knew nobody could help her. She was going to die alone—as she had been all her life.

“Layla!”

The deep voice cut through her, familiar and yet somehow frightening. She struck out with her fists, with her legs, desperate to get away from him, fighting for her very life.

“Hey, hey! Stop! Layla, wake up! It’s Jacob.”

She came awake with a gasp for air as her heart crashed in a frantic beat. She blinked against the brightness of the overhead light and then Jacob came into focus.

It was Jacob, not the man who had tried to kill her. It was Jacob, not her father who had been the source of so many of her nightmares.

Without thought, functioning only with need, she sat up and grabbed him around the neck, pulling him close as the residual fear from her nightmare shuddered through her body.

“You’re okay,” he said gruffly, not moving away but not engaged in the hug. “It was just a dream. You should be fine now.”

She shook her head and burrowed her face into the crook of his neck where warmth and the faint scent of minty soap and a spicy cologne comforted her. The dream had been a horrifying blend of past and present and her heart still rocked in her chest with an unsteady rhythm.

He released a small sigh and finally wrapped his arms around her. She felt the strength of his arms and shoulders, the very warmth of him that radiated through his T-shirt and her silk nightgown. She closed her eyes and reveled in the moment of safety, of complete and total security.

Even as she began to fully relax she felt the tension that filled him. It was finally he who disentangled himself from her and stepped back, his eyes dark and enigmatic. “You’ll be okay now,” he said and turned and left the room.

Instantly she was chilled to the bone, bereft with the lack of his presence. She wrapped her arms around her own shoulders, seeking comfort as her mind raced with the images not only from her dream, but from her attack earlier in the evening.

Just go back to sleep, she told herself, but the idea of falling back into those same dreams was terrifying. What she needed was to talk about something, about anything that might take her mind off her dreams, off the fact that somebody had tried to kill her that night.

She eyed the doorway longingly, wanting to get out of the bedroom where she was alone with her thoughts. Jacob certainly wasn’t the most sociable creature on the face of the earth, but at the moment he was all that she had.

Making a decision, she slid out of bed, pulled on the sleek, short robe that matched her leopard print nightgown and went into the living room.

She turned on the lamp next to Jacob’s recliner and offered him a tentative smile. “I feel like talking. Do you mind?”

“Would it make a difference if I said yes?” One of his dark eyebrows rose sardonically.

“Probably not,” she replied truthfully and sat on the sofa. “I can’t go back to sleep right now. I’m afraid I’ll go right back into that horrible nightmare. Can we just sit here and talk for a few minutes?”

She could tell he’d rather eat nails, but he gave her a weary nod and put his chair into the upright position. “You want to talk about your nightmare?”

“Absolutely not. That’s the last thing I want to talk about.” She fought against the race of a shiver that threatened to walk up her spine. “I just want to talk about pleasant things.” He frowned, as if he couldn’t imagine anything pleasant to discuss.

“So, what’s your favorite food?” she asked, desperate to talk about something—anything—no matter how mundane.

“Pizza, anything Mexican and I like a good steak.” He stared at the blank television screen. “What about you?”

“I think it would be easier for me to list the kinds of food I don’t like. Brussels sprouts and lima beans. Other than those, I love almost everything.”

He focused his gaze on her and she couldn’t help but notice the quick slide from her face to the gaping top of her robe. His frown deepened as he once again jerked his attention back to the television screen.

An uncomfortable silence descended as Layla gathered her robe more closely around her. She knew she should go back to bed, but now she was afraid her dreams would be haunted by his dark gaze.

“What kind of television shows do you like to watch?” she asked in an effort to keep the conversation flowing. “Personally I love most of the sitcoms that are on now. There’s nothing better than a good laugh after a day of work. I’m also a reality show freak. They’re all so silly but they definitely take your mind off your own problems.”

Once again he looked at her, a wry lift to his lips. “And what kind of problems do you have? Whether to buy the shoes you want today or wait to see if they go on sale tomorrow?”

There was a derisive edge to his voice that instantly rankled her. “That’s right,” she replied with a forced airiness. “I’m all about shopping and going out to lunch and good times.” Her voice broke as a sudden wash of emotion gripped her. “I’m sure that’s why somebody hid in the backseat of my car tonight and tried to choke me to death.”

He cursed silently under his breath. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I’ve obviously lost my social skills while I’ve been cooped up here.”

He offered her a smile and in that gesture she remembered the man she’d once had a major crush on. “I really don’t know anything about you except that you said you owned the realty in town,” he said.

She nodded. “I opened the business four years ago, just after my father died. I love finding the right home for my clients and business was good for about two years. But it’s been lean lately.” She began to relax as she thought about her work. “Hopefully the economy is turning around now and business will get better again.”

“What about your mother? Where is she?” His gaze remained fixed on her face.

“She died when I was seven.” And that was when all the love in Layla’s life had also disappeared. A wave of grief tried to pull her into its clutches, but she fought it, refusing to go there.

“And you don’t have any brothers or sisters?”

“No, it was just me. You’re lucky to have such a big family. It must be nice to have people who care about you,” she replied.

“It has its moments, but it can also be a pain.”

“Are you still with the FBI?”

The smile instantly disappeared, as if it had only been a figment of her imagination. “I’m retired.”

She looked at him in surprise. “You’re awfully young to be retired. What are your plans for the future?”

“To get some sleep before morning comes.” His voice was clipped, filled with a new irritation as he reclined his chair once again. Layla knew the moment of tenuous peace and conversation between them was over.

“Then I guess I’ll just say good night.” She got up from the sofa, turned off the lamp next to him and then went back into the bedroom.

The bedroom was small, the double bed covered with what appeared to be a handmade patchwork quilt. A dresser with a mirror stood against one wall and a nightstand was against the bed.

It was a nice room and there was a photo of the entire Grayson family hanging on the wall next to the dresser. She moved over to it and studied it.

Mr. and Mrs. Grayson stood together, looking happy and in love. They were dead now, killed in an airplane crash that had left their adult children alone.

The Grayson children all shared the trait of rich dark hair. Jacob stood with his arm around his sister, that charming devilish grin lifting his lips. All the Grayson men were drop-dead gorgeous, but they were also known as men who had humor in their eyes and a flirtatious smile on their faces.

Where was Brittany now? And where were the other women who had disappeared? There had been some speculation that one of the women had simply left town, but the others had seemingly vanished into thin air.

She moved away from the picture and turned off the bedroom light. Instead of getting into bed she moved to the window. It was a perfectly clear night, the moon a gigantic silver orb in the sky.

Her thoughts were momentarily consumed by the man in the next room. What had happened to Jacob Grayson? What had brought him to this cabin, living like a hermit with dark shadows bruising his eyes?

Something had happened to Jacob, something terrible, and she couldn’t help but be intrigued. She also couldn’t help but remember those brief moments when he’d held her in his arms. It had felt so safe and yet had held just a little bit of dangerous attraction.

And somebody out there in the darkness tried to kill you tonight. Once again the reality of what had happened slammed into her.

As she finally climbed back into bed, she prayed whoever it was wouldn’t find her again.

Brittany Grayson awoke suddenly, her heart beating frantically. She remained unmoving on the cot, eyes open to the utter darkness that claimed the shed or whatever structure they were held in.

How many days had it been? How many weeks or months? She’d lost track of the time that she’d been held captive. There were now four of them, four women held in jail-like cells. The last one had been brought in earlier in the week. Casey Teasdale had hung over her captor’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he’d carried her in and placed her on the cot in the fourth cell.

“Almost time,” he said to Brittany as he’d locked the door to assure Casey’s imprisonment. The ski mask he wore effectively hid all his features, making it impossible for Brittany to identify him.

He gestured toward the empty cell. “One more and then the real fun begins, and I’ve got a special woman in mind to fill that one. A pretty blonde who is a bit feisty and managed to escape me once. She won’t escape the next time.”

He’d whistled as he’d strolled out of the shed, leaving her with a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the building. One more and then the real fun begins.

One woman taken was a crime. Two had been a pattern and three made him a serial offender, but four was a collection. The monster who held them was collecting them like fancy figurines and she had a feeling once his collection was complete he’d take great pleasure in smashing his figurines.

She sat up, unsurprised to hear Jennifer’s sobs. Jennifer Hightower had been crying off and on since the moment she’d arrived.

Say something to comfort her, a small voice whispered inside Brittany’s head. But, as she reached inside herself for the right words she realized she had no more comfort to give.

For the first time since she’d been kidnapped she was without hope, her very soul had been depleted.

Initially she’d been so sure that her brothers would find her. She knew they’d move heaven and earth to find out what had happened to her. But with each day that had passed without rescue, her fear had grown stronger and now it was screaming like a banshee in her head.

Enough time had passed since her disappearance that her brothers probably thought she was already dead. Maybe they’d even stopped looking for her. She lay back down on the cot and squeezed her eyes closed. No, they wouldn’t stop looking, but she’d lost the hope that they might find her in time.

One more and then the real fun begins.

She knew in her gut that the real fun meant death to all the women that were in the cells.