Читать книгу Deadly Fall - Elle James - Страница 13

Chapter 4

Dix smiled down at the little girl with the spun-gold hair splayed out on the pillow. She remembered a picture of herself at about Leigha’s age. Her hair had been long and wavy, and she’d been full of curiosity and mischief. Her mother had never been able to keep up with her. Looking back, she was surprised she’d lived through some of her more dangerous escapades.

If her mother had known where she’d been exploring, she would have had more gray hair. To the young Dix, life had been one big adventure.

Joining the military had been a logical choice for Dix. She related better with men than with women, and she’d always liked getting dirty and shooting guns with her father. In fact, she liked fishing, hunting, yard work and anything her father had liked. Housekeeping, cooking and laundry had been her least favorite things to do growing up. She’d been happiest outdoors in the sunshine.

So why did her heart skip several beats and then tighten in her chest when she stared down at the little girl lying against the cool sheets, her body warm from fever?

Something she’d never felt before welled up inside. A fierce desire to protect this small creature so dependent on adults to keep her well and alive. Was this how parents felt about their children? While her mother had wanted to hold her back, she’d done it out of a desire to keep her safe. Her father, on the other hand, had wanted to share his love of the outdoors with her, to show her some of what she could do if she broadened her mind beyond the walls of their little house in the country.

The deep, resonant tone of Mr. Stratford’s voice filled the room, making it seem smaller, more intimate. The soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand brought them closer together. They probably looked like a family.

Dix jerked upright. She hadn’t come to Stratford’s mansion to become part of his family. She’d come to protect this family.

She glanced around, wondering where Leigha’s mother was and why she wasn’t there, taking care of her child.

Fontaine had told her she would be the bodyguard for the Stratford family. From what she could tell, that family consisted of two. Father and daughter. And the daughter called her father “Mr. Stratford.”

Why?

As her father read, Leigha’s eyes closed. Dix backed away from the bed, her hand clenching around the damp cloth. Her goal was to leave the room and perform the search of the giant house for any weaknesses in entry and exit points.

She’d almost made it to the door when a little voice said, “Please, don’t go.”

Dix turned to find Leigha staring across the room at her, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glassy.

“Your father will stay with you,” Dix pointed out, hating to disappoint the girl but feeling the need to escape. This sweet little family scene threatened to choke her. After all she’d been through, she doubted seriously she’d ever have children of her own or be the mother they needed.

“But I want you to stay, too,” she said, her voice trailing off, a single tear slipping from the corner of her eye. “I don’t feel good.” She raised her little hand, reaching for Dix.

Mr. Stratford stopped reading and turned to add his gaze to his daughter’s.

Her heart contracting, Dix couldn’t step through the door and leave when the little girl had asked her so sweetly to stay.

She sighed. “I’m only going to wet the cloth again and make it cooler. I’ll be right back.” Dix changed direction and headed into the bathroom. There she turned on the cold water and dipped the cloth beneath. While she soaked and squeezed the excess out, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

I can’t do this.

Fighting in the MMA had given her an outlet for her anger and sorrow. Without it, she had no way to channel the energy or to push aside the pain.

This father and daughter pair already had her gut tied into a very twisted knot and she hadn’t been there for even a day.

Dix’s parents had died in a helicopter crash while touring the Grand Canyon. She’d been deep in Army Ranger training on the field training exercise when it had happened. The training officers hadn’t told her until she’d completed the most challenging portion of the exercise.

No one had been there when she’d graduated, nor had she had the opportunity to celebrate because she’d gotten right onto a plane and flown to her home state of Texas to attend her mother and father’s funeral.

Going home had been the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life. The house hadn’t been the same without her mother and father in it. She’d listed it with a Realtor, packed a few photo albums, her great-grandmother’s antique candy dish and given the rest of the furnishings and clothing to a local charity.

She hadn’t had much time to manage it all before she’d had to report back to her new unit only to ship out within two weeks to the war zone.

All of those memories were still raw, even though it had been years.

Dix glanced down at the cloth she’d squeezed so much it barely retained any water. She dampened it and started over. A minute later she returned to Leigha’s bedroom and draped the cloth over the girl’s forehead.

“You came back,” she whispered and reached for Dix’s hand. She pulled her closer until Dix was forced to sit on the side of the bed.

The little fingers in hers were too warm. She wondered how long it would take for the fever to break. If it didn’t, they might be making an emergency trip to the hospital before the night was over.

Mr. Stratford glanced up, his gaze connecting with Dix’s.

A sharp stab of awareness coursed through Dix’s veins. She averted her gaze and stared down at the little hand resting in hers.

Stratford started another chapter of the book, his voice droning on until Leigha finally slept.

Dix slipped her hand free of Leigha’s and stood.

“You can go. I’ll take it from here,” Mr. Stratford said.

With a nod, Dix left the room. Once in the hallway, she dragged in several deep breaths before she started down the stairs and took her time going through each room on the ground floor, checking windows and doors to ensure they were all secured.

All the while, she thought of the little girl and her father in the room upstairs. Other than a housekeeper and a dog, they seemed incredibly alone in the huge old mansion. How sad. Even if the mansion was a family inheritance, she would have converted it into the hotel it seemed more suited for or she’d have sold it. The McGregors had the right idea converting their big old house into a bed-and-breakfast. At least it was full of people, not dark and lonely.

All of the doors and windows on the first floor were secured. In the kitchen, she found a door leading into the basement. She flipped the light switch. A yellowed bulb gave an eerie glow that barely lit the stairs halfway down. Hollywood had given basements a bad reputation. Everyone knew a lone female going into the basement by herself was a bad idea. It never ended well.

Dix snorted. Having trained in snake-infested swamps as well as having significant experience in hand-to-hand combat and mixed martial arts, she didn’t consider a basement a threat. But she wasn’t stupid. Dix grabbed a butcher knife from a drawer and descended the stairs. At the bottom, she found another switch. When she flipped it, bulbs lit at different locations. Some appeared burned out.

The space below the mansion was almost as extensive as the first floor, broken up by thick posts, crates, old furniture, a room set up as a wine cellar and stacks of cardboard boxes. A veritable maze. Scattered around the outer walls were tiny windows and one exit leading to a trapdoor that probably opened out into a garden. She pushed against the door. It held firm, no matter how hard she tried to open it. In the morning she’d check it from the outside. She suspected it had a padlock holding it in place. The small windows were locked and, other than a creepy feeling, the basement appeared secure.

As she started for the stairs, something moved in the shadows with a scuffling sound. As big as the house was, it might have a mouse or rat problem.

A shiver slipped down Dix’s spine and her hand tightened around the handle of the butcher knife. She inched forward, her ears straining to pick up the sound again. If she could pinpoint the direction, she might actually find the culprit.

There it was again. Only this time it sounded more like a footstep. Dix ducked behind a stack of boxes and waited. Whoever it was shouldn’t be sneaking around the basement. If it was Mr. Stratford, he would have announced his presence, wouldn’t he?

Or was he like her, wondering who would be sneaking around a basement so late at night? Dix opened her mouth to say something, announcing her presence. She didn’t want to startle the man. He could be carrying a gun and react by shooting first, asking questions later. Before she said anything, she shut her mouth and remained silent. The footsteps faded away into silence.

Dix waited several minutes before moving again. Why hadn’t Stratford said something? If he’d come down to the wine cellar, he would have passed her stack of boxes. But no one had walked past her hiding place.

Shrugging the tension from her shoulders, she stepped out from behind the boxes, calling herself every kind of fool. She knew better than to let a creepy old mansion scare her. It was just a building. She’d performed sweeps of many buildings in her Army career. The difference being she’d carried an M4A1 rifle, worn protective gear and had a trained team backing her.

She had just placed her first foot on the bottom step leading up to the kitchen when the lights blinked out.

The darkness in the basement was so complete, Dix couldn’t see anything but the sliver of light beneath the door to the kitchen at the top of the stairs. But, wait—how could the light be on in the kitchen and not in the basement? Someone had to have turned out the lights or a breaker had tripped to cut the electricity to the lights where she stood.

The sound of wood crashing against the concrete floor made Dix jump. She stumbled against the riser, nearly stabbing herself with the butcher knife as she scrambled for a handhold. She found her footing and raced up the steps toward the slim bit of light finding its way beneath the door.

At the top, Dix held her breath, twisted the knob, flung open the door and burst into the kitchen, running into a solid wall of muscles.

A strong hand wrapped around her wrist, holding it and the butcher knife at a distance.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to run with a knife in your hand?”

At the sound of Stratford’s voice, Dix sagged against him, at once relieved, quickly followed by chagrin that he’d found her running out of a scary basement because of a noise. Some bodyguard she’d prove to be if his house gave her the willies.

She pushed her free hand against his chest, inhaling the faint yet tantalizing scent of aftershave. “Thank you, but I was doing fine until you stepped in my way.”

He chuckled. “Where were you going, brandishing that butcher knife?”

She pulled her hand free and tilted her chin. “I was headed to the drawer to put it away.” As if to prove out her lie, she walked to the drawer where she’d found the knife and slipped it in. Gathering her wits, she turned to face him, her brows rising. “I have a question.”

“Try me. I might have an answer.”

“Where’s the breaker box?”

His brows dipped. “Why do you ask?”

“The lights went out in the basement while I was down there checking windows and doors.”

His frown deepened. “The breaker box is in the basement. I had the wiring upgraded several years ago. Since then, I can’t recall having issues with breakers being thrown.” He walked to the door Dix had stormed through a moment before and flipped the light switch. The light came on. “Seems to be working now.”

Dix’s face heated. Could she have hit the switches by accident?

“I’ll check the breaker box, just to make sure. But if this light is on, the others will come on, as well. The basement is all wired to the same breaker.”

Dix nodded. “I’d feel better if you did check. Perhaps there’s a short in one of the wires.”

Mr. Stratford descended the steps.

Dix followed, wishing she’d brought the butcher knife.

A wooden chair that had been stacked on top of an old table lay on the ground, its legs broken and splintered. She could have brushed by, dislodging it from its perch. But that still didn’t explain the lights extinguishing when they did.

She followed Stratford to a metal box mounted in the wall. He opened it, ran his finger down through the labels until he stopped on the one marked Basement. He flipped the switch and the lights went out.

The breath caught in Dix’s lungs and she strained to hear the sound of footsteps, like she had a few minutes before. Silence stretched until another loud click heralded the lights coming back on.

Stratford turned to her. “Seems to be working fine.”

Great. She looked like an idiot. But that didn’t bother her as much as the memory of shuffling footsteps when she’d been hiding behind the cardboard boxes.

She didn’t believe there was a real problem with the electricity. The problem was that something or someone had to have flipped the breaker to make all of the lights in the basement go out at once.

“Besides you, me and Leigha, are there any other people who live in this house?”

Stratford shook his head. “No. Mrs. Purdy comes in every day to cook and clean for us. But that’s it.”

Dix nodded. She’d be sure to carry a gun with her whenever she entered the basement. If for nothing else, to shoot at the rats.

“Any more questions?” he asked.

“Yes.” She stared up into his eyes. “Where will I sleep?”

Stratford cupped her elbow in his hand and led her toward the stairs. “I have Leigha in the room next to mine with an adjoining door. I’d like for you to sleep in the bedroom beside hers.”

Dix nodded, her skin tingling where his hand rested on her arm. In a structure the size of Stratford House, she could have been assigned a room in a completely different wing. She was glad he put her close to Leigha for the child’s sake. But being close to the man added an entirely different dimension to this task. “One more question.”

His lips quirked on the corners, making the wicked scar less menacing. “Shoot.”

“Where’s Leigha’s mother?”

The hint of a smile vanished, replaced by a fierce frown. “Why do you need to know?”

“I was sent to protect the family. I assumed husband, wife and child. If I’m to protect the entire family, I need to know who that consists of.”

“All you need to be worried about is making sure Leigha is safe. I can take care of myself.”

Dix persisted. Stratford wasn’t happy about something and he was avoiding a direct response. “Your wife?” She held her breath, part of her hoping there wasn’t a wife. The other part of her wondering why she cared. She’d just met the man.

“Leigha’s mother is dead.”

* * *

Andrew turned away from Dix and marched up the steps to the kitchen. He didn’t wait for her to follow. The sooner he got away from her, the better. All the old rage roiled up in his belly, threatening to take him to that dark place he’d lived in when he’d been in the hospital suffering the pain of skin grafts. All because of Jeannette and her horrible, hateful revenge.

A hand on his arm slowed him to a stop. He breathed in and out like a bull preparing for the charge, but he refused to face Dix.

“As a bodyguard, I feel like the more I know about you, Leigha and this place, the better equipped I’ll be to take care of all of you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to step over the line. I didn’t know.”

“I told you—I don’t need anyone to take care of me. Focus on Leigha. She’s the one who needs you. Not me.” He shrugged her hand off his arm.

“I’m sorry. Losing your wife is hard enough without someone dragging up the memory. You must have loved her a lot.”

Fury surged upward. Andrew was powerless to hold back. He spun, gripped Dix’s arms and shook her. “Jeannette wasn’t my wife, and I can honestly say that I hated her with every fiber of my being. Any mother who could willfully set fire to the apartment she shares with her daughter, and then stand by watching it burn with her daughter inside, is a monster. I’m glad she’s dead.” He shook her again. “Do you hear me? I might rot in hell, but I’m glad she’s dead.”