Читать книгу Unsanctioned Memories - Julie Miller - Страница 11

Walnut Avenue Tenement Hotel—Las Vegas, Nevada

“Die, bitch.”

He pulled the belt tighter and tighter around her neck, loving the invigorating strain that burned through the muscles of his forearms and biceps and chest. Sweat beaded on his skin. He was the man. The world was his to control.

The voiceless words that formed at her cracked, swollen lips stopped as a dying sound gurgled up from her throat.

“What are you saying, honey? Is that too tight?” He loved the power. At the slightest nod of her head he loosened the tourniquet. “There. Is that better?”

Her breasts thrust up as she sucked in a deep gulp of air, but he was more intent on her face. Her lips sputtered one word. And he waited patiently for her to repeat herself. “Why?”

Not please? Not sorry? Why?

Damn her!

He jerked back on the belt, pinning his thighs around her hips as he sat on top of her. She thrashed beneath him, her struggles only adding to her pain and his delight as she tore her milky white skin against the bindings at her wrists and ankles.

He was almost giddy with the gluttonous rush of energy that pulsed through him. He was masterful. Thorough. He towered over her with his strength. “You don’t have so much to say now, do you?”

He looked down on her as her eyes wept, beseeched, went blank, then closed.

“That’s it?” he crooned in a soft voice, exhaling a dissatisfied breath of air. She should have protested more. At the very least, asked for his mercy. But this one had been too shocked, too damn full of herself to even scream properly. Disappointing. His entire body deflated as the energy that had jazzed him to yet another high dissipated.

He slipped off her quietly, not wanting to disturb her imitation of slumber. He rolled up the stocking mask that had covered his face and dropped it into his bag. He hadn’t worried so much about hiding his identity as he’d enjoyed the symbolism of it all. He was man at his most base, his most powerful.

And he’d been triumphant.

A glance at his watch on the nightstand told him he had only a few hours before his flight. There wasn’t much time to savor his victory. But he couldn’t just leave.

He picked up his black jeans off the floor beside the bed where he’d stripped, and reached into the front pocket. He pulled out a pocketknife with a polished, inlaid ebony handle. It was a thing of beauty, a true find for his collection. He opened it up and tested its weight, appreciating the feel of it in his hand.

Padding across the threadbare carpet, he reached out and lifted a long, silky lock of her dark hair between his thumb and forefinger. Sawing delicately back and forth, he cut the lock from her scalp and lifted the fragrant strands to his nose. Beneath the odors of sweat and fear and that dusty mattress, he smelled the tangy scent of the woman herself.

It would be an appropriate souvenir of their night together.

“Unfortunately, I have to be leaving,” he whispered to her. He didn’t bother with meaningless platitudes. She’d served her purpose. There would be no next time for them. “Thank you.”

He stuffed the hair and knife into his pocket and went into the tiny bathroom. He chased the roaches from the shower and quickly cleaned himself. In a matter of minutes he was dressed and packed and ready to depart.

But he wasn’t done yet.

She’d learned her lesson. She didn’t deserve to be found trussed up like a turkey.

Sparing her a few precious moments of his time, he went to the bed and untied her. He pulled her legs together and crossed them at the ankles. Then he freed her bruised wrists and laid them neatly atop her naked belly. He pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed and covered her up, tucking the cover around her, tenderly putting her to bed.

This one wouldn’t cause him any more trouble. But that other one…that other one…

A fistful of that familiar rage tightened in his chest and made him forget for a moment his triumph here tonight. “I was in control tonight,” he reminded himself. Not this dead bitch. “I was in control.”

The anger left him almost as quickly as it had come. He pressed a hand to his chest and expelled a weary sigh. Her time would come. The one who got away—the one who could spoil it all—her time was coming. Sooner than she’d ever expect.

He smiled, feeling rational and benevolent and in control once more.

“Goodbye, love.”

He leaned over the bed and kissed her gently on her cool cheek. Then he disappeared into the night.

“SHERIFF HANCOCK, this is a surprise.” Jessica peeled off her gloves and dropped them onto the worktable beside the rusted toy wagon she’d been cleaning.

“Mornin’, Jessie.” Curtis Hancock slipped his broad-brimmed hat over his salt-and-pepper hair before climbing out of the white official county cruiser. “Fine September day, isn’t it?”

Jessica didn’t answer. She rarely judged her days by the quality of the weather anymore.

She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and whistled for Harry who was sunning himself at the far end of the porch. “Harry, come.” Shaking off his snooze, the big dog stretched and trotted over as soon as she gave him a stern look. She rewarded his instant obedience with a “Good boy” and a vigorous scratching along his chest and muzzle. “Harry, heel.”

Together, they walked down to the gravel parking lot while the sheriff adjusted his holster and utility belt around the waistband of his dark-brown uniform. Short and on the stocky side, thanks to his wife’s Southern-style cooking, Curtis Hancock was every inch the proper, old-fashioned gentleman. Maybe that, and the fact he was closer to her father’s age than her own, made her relax enough to smile. “Can I help you with something?”

The sheriff tipped his hat in a polite greeting. “Just making some rounds. I like to check on my favorite people in the county when I can.” He leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “I let my deputies check on the ones I don’t like.”

He straightened with a wink and Jessica laughed on cue. “I’m flattered.” She thumbed over her shoulder toward the cabin. “I still have some coffee in the pot. Would you like a cup?”

“No, thanks.” He rested both hands near the buckle of his belt, assuming a casual stance. But his dark, darting eyes surveyed her place with a thorough curiosity. “I’m having lunch with Trudy Kent in half an hour. We’re going over security for that big soirée she’s throwing tomorrow night.”

“Security? For a dinner party?” Gertrude Wallace Kensington Kent was one of Missouri’s wealthiest widows and liked to do things in a big way. But as the older woman’s neighbor, she’d also learned that Trudy did them with grace and style. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

“Half the county’s invited. It’ll be more like a political rally, I imagine. She and her son, Charles, are determined that the city not buy up any more property to build a highway or new industrial complex. The Kents have lived in this part of the county since before the Civil War. They intend to keep a pristine countryside.”

She nodded. Trudy Kent had a standing offer to buy Jessica’s adjoining property if she ever decided to sell. “And the business owners who are looking to expand or turn a tidy profit on land sales aren’t thrilled with Trudy’s plan. Are you really expecting trouble?”

“I just like to be prepared so I can control the situation should anything come up.” His gaze lit and narrowed at a distant point beyond Jessica’s shoulder. “Are you going to the party?”

His question was perfunctory and polite, but she could tell he was more interested in what he was watching than in her answer. She slowly turned to look over her shoulder, already guessing what had caught his eye.

Sam O’Rourke.

“I hired him yesterday.” She answered his unspoken question first. “There’s a lot I need to get done. Derek Phillips is busy after school with sports and farm responsibilities so he can’t put in the hours he did over the summer.”

Sheriff Hancock nodded. “Looks like a good worker.”

The big man with the shaggy black hair and granite eyes was pushing a gravel-filled wheelbarrow from the barn to her driveway. Perspiration from honest work glistened on his golden skin, making dark patches on his black T-shirt at the center of his chest and the small of his back. His biceps and triceps corded with the effort as he negotiated the heavy load across the bumpy terrain. Though she knew he’d shaved this morning, the navy bandanna tied around his forehead gave him a dangerous, street-tough look.

It was all unnerving somehow, having Sam O’Rourke around the place. “He’s doing fine so far.” She tried to focus on conversing with the sheriff. “At the rate he’s going, he’ll have the driveway, the parking lot and the road up into the woods regravelled by the end of the week.”

Though Sam hadn’t spoken to her beyond proposing a list of tasks, asking about tools and thanking her for breakfast, she hadn’t once forgotten he was there. She made a point of knowing where he was at all times.

But her vigilance wasn’t solely due to commonsense safety and a lingering distrust of the man. With her eye for detail, she couldn’t help noticing how his faded jeans hugged his lean hips and the solid trunks of his thighs. Sam O’Rourke was big. She was five-eight, and he towered over her by a good eight inches. He was in shape. His stomach was flat and his arms were corded like a man who worked out. And he was sexy. Not handsome. Not by any conventional definition of the word. Everything about his features was too strong, too angular—all set in stone without a smile or laugh line to soften them.

But he was undeniably compelling. A testament to honed strength and raw masculinity.

Jessica watched him fill three holes until he glanced her way and caught her staring. She quickly looked down, busying her attention with scratching Harry beneath his ears and praying the edginess that suddenly suffused her body didn’t show.

But she doubted Sheriff Hancock was seeing the same details about Sam that she was. Her cheeks heated at the realization. She hadn’t noticed a man’s looks in months. Only to size up whether or not he was a threat to her, and to try to decide if he was the one. She couldn’t remember the last time her body had buzzed with this long-forgotten awareness of a man.

Not since Alex. And her attraction for him had dimmed the moment he’d introduced his wife at that museum fund-raiser. That had been during that same fateful trip to Chicago. Her sexual appetite had soured that night in the face of his arrogant deceit. Later, it had been destroyed by something much, much worse.

But she was noticing Sam O’Rourke.

And it scared her. Scared her enough to tighten her fingers around the cold steel of Harry’s collar to steady herself. What was she thinking? Her therapist said when she started to heal, she’d begin to think of men in a sexual way again. That that was normal, and not to be afraid of the feelings.

But when she thought of how much she’d been hurt, how humiliated she’d been, how degraded and stupid she’d felt at letting a man…

No. You didn’t let him do anything, she chided herself. He attacked you. He used you. The scars on her fingers and neck, her wrists and ankles reminded her of how valiantly she’d fought. The fact she’d been naked and battered beneath a threadbare blanket when she’d hailed that cab proved she’d been in fear for her life.

One man had done something unspeakable to her. One man.

Not the entire male population.

She loved her brothers and father. She could conduct business with men, carry on a conversation with them. She could look at—and even admire—them. That was all normal.

But she’d be a suicidal idiot if she allowed herself to get close to another man. If she allowed herself to feel anything—even empathy or attraction—for a man.

Not until she knew which man had stolen twenty-four hours from her memory and left her to die.

“Jessie?”

Jessica flinched, almost swinging out at the hand that grasped her shoulder. Harry growled in immediate response to her distress. Sheriff Hancock. Quickly orienting herself in the present and shutting off the vengeful commentary inside her head, she exhaled a calming breath.

“Easy, Harry.” She smoothed the wiry hair atop his head, reassuring herself as much as the canine. Curtis Hancock didn’t know what she’d gone through six months ago in Chicago. No one did. Secrecy was a necessary byproduct of her shame. Even if she never felt it again, she had to at least act as if she was normal. She even dredged up a shaky laugh. “I’m sorry.”

The sheriff held up his hands and shook his head. “I’m the one who’s sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jessica shook aside his apology, moving on without offering any explanation. “I got my invitation to Trudy’s, but I’ll probably stay home. Since I’ve expanded my business onto the Internet, I’m having a hard time keeping up with orders.”

“Is that why you hired the new man? What do you know about this new fella, anyway?”

Ah. The real reason for the unannounced visit. Curtis Hancock knew just about everyone in the county, from retirement-home residents to newborn babies. A stranger from the East Coast was definitely worth checking out.

Funny how a woman alone seemed to bring out the protective urges in every male. Except one. Sam O’Rourke seemed content to mind his own business and bury himself in his work. She could understand that need to lose himself in something long enough to forget the pain for a while. In the past months she’d treasured finding an escape like that—putting together her Web site to expand her five-year-old business, training Harry. Because the guilt and the pain never truly seemed to go away.

She’d better put Sheriff Hancock’s concerns to rest before he took his questions any further and alerted her family. “Don’t worry. I checked him out. This morning I called his supervisor back in Boston. He said that Sam had taken a leave of absence for personal reasons, but that he’d always been reliable and above reproach.” She smiled and pretended complete confidence in her choice. “I wouldn’t hire some bum with a criminal record.”

“I know you Taylors are a big deal in the city. But out here in the county I’m your first line of defense.” If Hancock could have puffed out his chest a little more when he said that, he’d have busted a button at the front of his shirt. “You won’t mind if I do a little checking on this guy myself?”

“No.” She didn’t mind his interference as long as he didn’t make a big deal out of it. “Just tell me if you find out something, before you let anyone else know.”

“Absolutely.”

“Thanks.” She thumbed over her shoulder toward Sam. “Do you want to meet him?”

A soft, guttural woof from Harry alerted her to the gray-and-white tabby cat tiptoeing through the grass toward relative safety beneath the porch. Harry didn’t much mind the cats who’d taken up residence in the barn and took care of the mice. He was more likely to go after the rodents and their larger cousins in the woods. But he was always careful to assert his dominance as chief pet.

“Hey, kitty.” Sheriff Hancock’s portly face creased with a smile. “Here, baby.” He circled around Jessica and Harry and scooped up the willing feline in his arms. “Aren’t you a sweet thing,” he cooed, stroking the cat’s striped coat. “This one’s not full-grown yet. How many of these you have?”

He turned and displayed the cat in his arms as if he’d just picked up a new grandbaby. Jessica drifted back a step, responding to an unfamiliar impulse. “I don’t know. Ten? A dozen?”

“Would you consider parting with one or two of them?” He buzzed his lips, imitating the cat’s purr. Jessica pressed her hand to her stomach, wondering at the sudden knot of nerves that clutched inside her. “I’d pay you a fair price,” he offered.

Right now she was more creeped out by the cat he was petting than concerned about striking a business deal. Something toyed at the fringe of her subconscious mind. The cat. She was scarcely aware of the irregular pattern of her breathing now. “Take the cat.”

“Are you sure?” the sheriff asked. “My wife’s been bummed out ever since we had to put her yellow tabby, Peanut Butter, to sleep. Lord, how she loved that cat. Had her sixteen years.”

Jessica didn’t understand the panic that was sending intermittent shocks of terror through her system. She took a conscious step back, away from the cat. “Take however many cats you want. They’re free. Just take them. With my compliments.”

“Why that’s right nice—”

“Is everything all right, Miss Taylor?” A giant shadow fell across her, temporarily blocking out the sun and breaking the inexplicable spell that had seized her. Sam O’Rourke pulled off his work gloves and stuffed them into his back pocket, circling around the sheriff and stopping at a respectful distance beside her. “I saw the sheriff’s car parked—”

“Just paying a friendly visit.” Sheriff Hancock angled his head to the side to mask how far he had to look up to see Sam’s face. “It’s my philosophy that the law needs to show up from time to time, even when there isn’t any trouble.” He shifted the cat to one arm and extended his free hand. “I’m Curtis Hancock, County Sheriff.”

Sam’s pale eyes narrowed as they studied the proffered hand and the man it belonged to. He paused long enough for the silent duel of wills between the two men to overshadow her own discomfort. Then he wrapped one big paw around the sheriff’s and shook hands. “Sam O’Rourke. My car broke down outside of Lone Jack yesterday morning.”

Sheriff Hancock pulled back, wise to Sam’s subtle effort at intimidation. But he was the one with the badge, and Jessica watched him reassert his authority. “That’s what Ralph Edmonds told me,” he said, informing Sam he’d already been watching him. “So you’re from Boston, huh?”

“Born and raised there. My parents were immigrants from Belfast, Northern Ireland.” That explained to Jessica the hint of non-New England accent in his voice.

“Were they caught up in the conflict there?” asked Hancock.

“Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate.

Like a fool, Jessica hadn’t even considered looking into Sam’s personal background. She’d checked one work reference and trusted her gut that he was a loner without much of a stake in anything beyond his grief. Maybe she’d just invited some sort of Irish rebel to live in her garage apartment. Very foolish. Her hand automatically slid to Harry’s collar.

“I see.” Thankfully, Curtis’s attention had shifted from her to Sam. Though she wondered at the unexpected relief she felt at having her hired hand join the conversation. “Where you headed?”

“San Diego,” Sam answered. His voice was as clipped and unrevealing as his answer. “Is there a problem with me working here, Sheriff?”

The older man absorbed Sam’s dare with a good-ol’-boy smile. “There’s not a problem for me as long as there’s not a problem for Jessie.”

Jessica felt rather than saw the icy gray gaze sweep over her. But the deep voice was surprisingly warm. “I don’t want to cause her any trouble.”

Struck by the soothing tone of Sam’s low-pitched promise, Jessica tilted her head and caught a glimpse of shadow darkening his pale eyes. A glimpse of what? Regret? The gray eyes shuttered and he looked away before she did. What a crazy notion. It was probably just the terminal sorrow he seemed steeped in that gave a false impression of caring.

As if she should trust her instincts about men, anyway.

Needing to end this torture of doubts and suspicions and constantly being on guard, she tapped on the crystal of her watch. “Oh, Sheriff, look at the time.” She forced herself to smile. “You don’t want to keep Trudy waiting.”

He jumped in his shoes as if he’d just gotten goosed. “Oh, Lordy, no. Here.” He thrust the gray tabby toward her. Jessica recoiled as if the furry creature had attacked. “Jessie?”

“I—” Oh, God. A giant door slammed shut inside her head, triggering an instant headache. Nothing rational could escape, only a tidal wave of instant, all-consuming fear. “Get away from me!”

She backed off, instinctively grabbing Harry and putting the big dog between her and the invisible threat that advanced on her.

“Jessie?”

“Miss Taylor?”

“No.” She pummeled her way through the barriers inside her head. A flashback. Only she wasn’t remembering any details about the attack or the attacker. She was only remembering the fear. “Stop it.”

“Jess!”

Sam’s sharp tone was punctuated by a bark from Harry. Like an electric shock stopping the defibrillation of a heart, hearing the personal abbreviation of her name snapped her out of that emotional hallucination. The darkness inside her mind vanished as if the combination of Sam and Harry calling out had switched on a light.

She was aware enough of her surroundings to see Sam’s hand reaching toward her and to feel the bunching of muscles in Harry’s shoulders as he prepared to defend her. “Down, boy. Harry, down.” She waved aside Sam’s attempt to help and commanded the dog to lie at her feet. “I’m all right.”

“You don’t look it.” Sam dropped his hand to his side and retreated a step.

She felt faint and embarrassed and completely confused. But she flashed a fake smile and said, “I’m fine. I guess Harry’s spoiled me. I’ve become such a dog person that I don’t like cats anymore.”

It was such a pitiful excuse for her behavior that it seemed neither man had the heart to question her.

Jessica studied the ground while both men studied her. Curtis Hancock was the first to break the awkward silence. “Well, I’d best not be late to Trudy’s.” He held out the cat, and she jerked away. Sensing the trigger of her discomfort this time, he set the cat down and shooed it back toward the barn. “I’ll bring a carrier out Sunday afternoon, if that’s all right? I’ll bring Millie with me so she can choose her own cat.”

“That’s fine. Sunday’s fine.”

“I hope to see you at the Kents’ tomorrow night. Jessie.” He tipped his hat to her, then nodded to Sam. “Mr. O’Rourke.”

Jessica stared into the branches of the old elm tree that grew near the corner of her cabin. She concentrated on counting how many of its green leaves were turning gold instead of dealing with the post-traumatic stress flashback that had tried to take her back to that night she’d subconsciously blocked from her memory.

Her therapist had told her that the memory would try to assert itself. It might come in bits and pieces or all at once. Something like the cat might trigger it, or it might come back when her mind was relaxed and focused on something else. Without any physical trauma to her brain, the only explanation for her selective amnesia was that her mind was trying to protect her from something.

Something she desperately needed to remember.

Something she was mortally afraid to.

She heard the sheriff’s car door shut and the engine roar to life. Without really seeing the white car, she turned and waved as he drove off through her gate.

“Jess—”

“Miss Taylor.” Jessica held up one pointed finger to halt Sam O’Rourke’s polite concern and remind him that he was her employee, not a friend. She didn’t think she could handle making nice and keeping her distance right now. “It’s not your job to worry about me.”

He propped his hands on his hips, hesitating for a moment, standing far too close for her peace of mind. “My apologies. I’ll get back to work.”

But when he relaxed his stance and headed toward his wheelbarrow, her shoulders sagged. She felt inexplicably abandoned. For a few horrible moments she’d been plunged back into that horrible nightmare.

But a deep, Irish-laced voice had pulled her free.

She wouldn’t explain what had happened. But he didn’t deserve her censure. Jessica inhaled a cleansing breath and called after his wide, retreating back. “Find a stopping place and wash up. It won’t take me long to throw together some sandwiches for lunch.”

He stopped and turned. “Sounds good.”

Then he strode away, his long legs eating up the ground while she watched the casual, controlled grace with which he carried himself.

Jessica shook her head and looked away. She had an eye for beauty, that was all. And the way Sam O’Rourke moved was a precise, powerful, beautiful thing.

She didn’t need to be thinking of him as sexy. And she certainly didn’t expect him to be her savior. Sam O’Rourke was just the hired hand. He had his own problems to deal with.

Harry whimpered, drawing her out of her depressing funk. She clicked her tongue and urged him to his feet, kneeling down and hugging him tight around his sturdy neck, finding strength in his unwavering loyalty. Finding comfort in the one male she’d let herself trust.

“I bet I can find a slice of turkey with your name on it in the fridge.” She stood up and rubbed her nose against his damp one. “Shall we go inside?”

The dog’s ears pricked up with excitement at the teasing tone in her voice. He ambled along beside her as she headed up the steps and into the house.

She tried to latch on to the dog’s joy at a potential treat and ignore her lingering thoughts.

Sam O’Rourke wasn’t looking for a relationship and neither was she. Besides, if he could dredge up one ounce of charm to go with that body of his, he could have any woman he wanted.

And he wouldn’t give a skittish recluse of a woman like her a second glance.