Читать книгу Secrets and Lies: He's A Bad Boy / He's Just A Cowboy - Lisa Jackson - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

THE FITZPATRICK “CABIN” was a mansion. Hidden behind a brick fence and wrought-iron gates, the rustic building was nestled in a thicket of pines on the shore of the lake. A sweeping front porch, awash with lights, was flanked by cedar-and-stone walls rising three stories.

Rachelle climbed out of Erik’s pickup. The night smelled of pine, fir and water. Clouds gathered in the sky, blocking out the moon. The wind, too, picked up and rifled across the water, promising rain.

Music was throbbing through the open windows. Laughter and loud conversation were punctuated by the beat of a classic Eric Clapton tune. Though the night was muggy, Rachelle drew her jacket around her more tightly as she hurried up the stone path to the front door. She just wanted to find Laura and go home.

Even Carlie was getting nervous. She shot Rachelle a worried glance. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” Scott said, throwing his arm over Carlie’s shoulders. “Besides, Roy would be disappointed if you two didn’t show up.”

“He’d never miss us,” Rachelle predicted.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Erik drawled. He and Scott exchanged a look and a smile that made Rachelle’s blood run cold.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.” Erik herded them onto the porch.

The door was ajar, and they walked into a two-storied foyer resplendent with Oriental rugs tossed over polished hardwood floors. Objets d’art and antiques were positioned carefully in the entry hall. A spinning wheel stood near the coat closet, a loom bearing a half-woven rug had been pushed into the far wall of the living room and a suit of armor stood near the staircase, a can of Coors clutched in its iron-gloved hand.

Laughter and music wafted from the back of the house.

“This way,” Scott said, as he and Erik turned a corner and headed toward the rear of the house. Reluctantly Rachelle and Carlie followed. Rachelle regretted ever getting into the truck. What if someone called the police? What if no one was in any shape to take Carlie and her back to town? What if Laura was having such a good time, she didn’t want to leave? Well, Rachelle could always call her mother. She winced at the thought and decided that if worse came to worst, she could hike the seven miles back to town.

The party was in full swing in the game room. Glassy-eyed heads of deer, moose and elk were mounted on the walls. In one corner, a player piano stood untouched, in another a Wurlitzer jukebox, straight out of the fifties, was playing records. A pool table, covered in blue felt, was centered on the gleaming floor and Foosball and darts were arranged in other parts of the room. A wall of windows, two stories high, offered a panoramic view of the lake, while against the interior, a set of stairs led to a loft. Smoke filled the air and glasses clinked.

Looking for Laura, Rachelle recognized some of the faces of the boys standing around a keg and telling jokes. Others were playing pool. Through sliding doors, to one side of the game room, steam rose from a glassed-in pool where a couple, dressed only in their underwear, was splashing and laughing.

“Have you ever in your life seen a house like this?” Carlie asked in an awed whisper.

“Never.” Under other circumstances, Rachelle would have thought the rustic old house beautiful. Compared to the small cottage she lived in with her mother and sister, this “summer home” was palatial. Of course, the Fitzpatricks were the wealthiest family in town. They wouldn’t have settled for anything less than the largest house on Whitefire Lake. But tonight the place gave her the creeps.

She kept telling herself to relax and lighten up, that she’d made the decision to come here, and she had to make the best of it. She sat on the piano bench, her fingers curling over the chipped edge, and tried to smile. But her lips felt frozen, even when she saw kids she recognized: older boys—Evan and Jason Kendrick—rich kids who knew the Fitzpatricks, and were playing pool while Patty Osgood and Nadine Powell were hovering nearby, ready to laugh at the boys’ jokes and smile easily. Patty was drinking from a paper cup. She appeared a little unsteady on her feet and Nadine, the redhead, was leaning over the table, her face flushed as she flirted with Jason Kendrick. Both girls were wearing tight jeans and too much makeup. Patty, the reverend’s daughter, was rumored to be fast and easy, though Nadine usually kept out of trouble. But tonight, both girls were definitely interested in the rich boys.

Gold Creek seemed to be a town divided—the haves and the have-nots, all of whom had collected at Roy’s party. Rachelle wanted to go home more than anything right now. She had no business being here—

no interest in any of the people who’d come here to pay homage to the Fitzpatrick wealth.

“Surprised to see you here,” Nadine commented, raising a brow at Rachelle.

“Yeah, don’t you have a midterm to study for or somethin’?” Patty asked, then giggled and turned her attention back to her cup.

Rachelle felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Ignore her, she thought. Patty was drunk. As Rachelle watched, Patty draped one arm over Jason Kendrick’s back while he tried a particularly difficult shot. The cue ball skipped and clicked against the eight ball, sending it whirling into a corner pocket.

“Too bad,” Jason’s older brother, Evan, said, but chuckled at his brother’s misfortune.

Rachelle saw Carlie inching her way through the throng of kids, talking and laughing with several before plopping down on the bench beside Rachelle. “Where’s Laura?” She was holding a cup, sipping beer and trying to look as if she’d done it all her life.

“Probably with Roy,” Rachelle guessed.

“But where?”

“I wish I knew.” Rachelle pretended not to be worried as she glanced around the room again, but she felt trapped. And Erik’s cryptic words about Roy wanting the girls there made her uncomfortable.

Erik retreated to a corner with a group of boys. They were laughing and telling jokes, but Erik’s dark eyes never glimmered with the faintest trace of humor. Scott hung out at the keg, but his eyes kept returning to Carlie. “He likes you,” Rachelle said, and Carlie bit her lip.

“I know.” She took a sip from her cup.

“Aren’t you flattered?”

Before Carlie could reply, some of the football players showed up. Brian Fitzpatrick, of course, Joe Knapp and a few others swaggered in. They bellied up to the keg, started drinking and became louder and louder, replaying the game over, down by down, drowning out the music and other conversation.

Wouldn’t Coach Foster be proud? Rachelle thought with a trace of sarcasm. She had no right to judge the football players, though, did she? She’d shown up here, too. Of her own free will. No one had pointed a gun at her head and forced her into Erik’s truck.

Brian smiled when he noticed Rachelle and Carlie. “Joinin’ the big boys, eh?” he asked, holding up his mug of beer. Some of the foam sloshed over his meaty fingers.

Rachelle managed a smile. “I think we’re about ready to leave,” Rachelle replied. “As soon as we find Laura. We just need a ride.”

“Laura Chandler?” Brian said, grinning widely. “She’s probably with Roy.” He sniggered to his friends and then glanced to the loft. “She and Roy have been seein’ a lot of each other lately, and I mean a lot.”

This caused a roar from the crowd and Rachelle couldn’t stand it another minute. “Let’s find her,” she said to Carlie. She started toward the pool but stopped when she spied Laura slipping through the door. Her clothes were wrinkled, her hair a mess and mascara streaked her cheeks.

Rachelle and Carlie surrounded her. “Where have you been?” Carlie asked. “What happened?”

Laura ignored Carlie’s questions. “So you made it,” she said bitterly to Rachelle. “I was stupid enough to think you wouldn’t show your face here.”

“This was your idea,” Rachelle reminded her.

“No it wasn’t. It was Roy’s.” Laura’s voice was filled with a cold fury. “That’s why I started hanging out with you. Because he was interested in you! I thought I could change his mind, but I was wrong.” She sniffed loudly and her eyes glittered. “He wants you, Rachelle. He just used me to get close to you.”

“But I’ve hardly ever talked to him—”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. He’s seen you. At the games. At school. At your job with the Clarion.”

“It’s only freelance—”

Laura laughed harshly. “Doesn’t matter. Roy remembers you. You did a couple of articles about him when he was a senior. And, can you believe it, he’s even impressed that you write for the school paper—that you’re ambitious!” Tears had collected in the corners of her eyes and she wiped at them. “God, I need a cigarette.”

Carlie dug into her purse, found an old pack of Salem cigarettes and shook one out for Laura. Grateful, her hands shaking, Laura lit up and blew smoke to the ceiling. “God, I’m such a fool,” she whispered, her voice cracking as tears streamed again.

Some of the pool players glanced over their shoulders and a few of the girls stared openly at the cheerleader from Tyler High as she blinked rapidly and fought a losing battle with tears.

“Look, let’s just get out of here,” Rachelle suggested.

Carlie looked at Rachelle as if she were crazy. “How?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll find a way.”

“You—you don’t want to stay here?” Laura was flabbergasted. She took a long drag of her cigarette. “Roy will want to—”

“I don’t care what Roy wants! I want to leave.” Rachelle really didn’t believe that Roy had any interest in her, but she wasn’t going to argue with Laura now, not in the state Laura was in. And Rachelle didn’t give two cents for Roy Fitzpatrick. “We can find someone to take us back—maybe Joe Knapp,” she said.

Laura’s chin wobbled and tears drained down her face, streaking her cheeks with mascara. “I love him,” she said simply, and Rachelle felt a deep sadness for her friend—because she believed that Laura really did think she was in love. “I just…” Laura blinked hard but couldn’t stop crying. “I’m so embarrassed.” She wiped at the waterworks in her eyes.

Carlie grabbed hold of her hand. “Come on. You can clean up in the bathroom.”

“I left my purse outside. My makeup and wallet and everything…” She dissolved into tears again, and Rachelle felt more than one set of eyes staring at them. Erik Patton, from his position near the keg, lit a cigarette. Through the smoke, his eyes found Rachelle’s and he shook his head, as if he found Laura’s emotional condition pathetic.

“I’ll get your purse,” Rachelle offered. “And I’ll find us a ride back.”

Laura stubbed out her cigarette. Her hands were still trembling. “Thanks. I think I left it in the gazebo by the lake.”

Rachelle didn’t waste any time. “I’ll meet you two by the front door in fifteen minutes.”

While Carlie hustled Laura to a bathroom, Rachelle worked her way through the thickening crowd to the door. Outside, the air was heavy and close and the first fat drops of rain began to plop to the ground.

“Great,” she murmured, hurrying along a lighted path that wound through the pines. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees and the breath of wind blowing across the lake was now cool with the rain. Her feet slapped against the bricks, and her hair streamed out behind her as she ran up the two steps to the gazebo.

Roy Fitzpatrick was waiting for her.

“I was thinkin’ I’d have to go in after you,” he drawled, his voice smooth as silk.

She stopped dead in her tracks. “I just came for Laura’s purse.”

“Here it is.” He picked up the purse by the strap and let it swing from his fingers. “Come and get it.”

Fear slid down Rachelle’s spine. “Why don’t you just toss it over here?”

“What’s’sa’matter? You scared of me?”

Scared to death, she thought, but shook her head. “Of course not.” She stepped forward and grabbed for the strap, but Roy was quick. He caught hold of her wrist and pulled her down hard against him. “Hey, let me go!” she cried in surprise.

“Didn’t Laura tell you I wanted to see you?” Roy asked. His breath reeked of beer and cigarettes, and his arms circled her back, holding her close.

“Laura’s really upset,” she replied, trying to wriggle free. This was crazy. What was Roy thinking? “Look, we’re all leaving.”

“You ain’t going nowhere, honey,” he whispered against her ear, and with a jolt Rachelle realized he wasn’t kidding around.

“Roy, please—”

“Please what?”

“Just let me go.”

“No way. I’ve been lookin’ at you for a long time. Too long.” Roy was strong, his muscles toned from years of athletics. As she pushed against him, he laughed and to her horror he placed a kiss against her hair. “Mmm, baby, you smell so good.”

“Stop it,” she warned, but his arms tightened and she was pressed hard against him.

Rachelle struggled, but her fight seemed to arouse him all the more. She tried to scream, but he covered her mouth with lips that were hot and eager. His tongue pressed anxiously against her teeth, trying to gain entrance. The heat of his body radiated into hers. “Come on, baby,” he whispered, and she jerked her head away. His kisses brought a hot taste of fear to the back of her throat, but he wouldn’t stop and the hands that held her were as strong as steel.

“Stop it,” she ordered when he finally drew his head away. His expression in the darkness was intense. His eyes bored into hers in a savage way that made her insides curl. He transferred both her wrists to one of his hands and he kissed her again. This time his free hand slipped beneath her jacket to palm a breast.

She screamed then and tried to kick him, but he moved and covered her mouth with his hand. “No one’s gonna come to your rescue here, girl. Don’t you know that? All the guys—they’re lookin’ for their own fun.”

She bit his hand and he yelped. “You bastard!” she shrieked as he flinched. She tried to scream again, but he flattened his lips to hers and kissed her hard.

“You know you want it,” he whispered roughly, his breath tinged with stale beer. His fingers felt clammy and cold.

She kicked again, throwing all her weight into the effort as she aimed for his crotch. He shifted and her foot connected with his shin. He howled in pain but didn’t let go.

“You little bitch!” He shoved her hard against the bench, and she screamed.

“Roy, don’t—”

“You, don’t. Ya hear?” he screamed in her face. “I’m the one giving orders and you’re going to give me whatever I want and you’re going to like it—”

Suddenly he was ripped off her and tossed across the gazebo like a rag doll. Her blouse tore with a horrid ripping sound.

Roy yelled, “Hey—what the—” as he crashed into the bench on the far side of the slatted structure.

“Leave her alone,” Jackson thundered, appearing out of nowhere. Rachelle hadn’t heard his bike or boots. She gulped back tears, limp beneath a tidal wave of relief at the sight of him. He glared over his shoulder at her. “Run!”

Rachelle tried to get to her feet, but she could barely move.

“I shoulda killed you when I had the chance,” Roy yelled, struggling upward and lunging at Jackson. But the beer had made him sluggish, and as he scrabbled for Jackson’s neck, Jackson shoved him back down.

“Leave her alone,” Jackson ordered, then shot Rachelle a furious glance. “Damn it, I told you to run.” He grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her to her feet. “Get outta here!”

A dozen of Roy’s friends converged on the gazebo. There were shouts and hoots; the smell of a fight was heavy in the air.

Roy climbed to his feet, reached into his pocket and pulled out a jackknife. Jackson glared at him. Roy clicked the knife open. The blade gleamed wickedly in the night.

“No—Roy—” Rachelle cried, horrified.

But Roy smelled blood. He swung at Jackson, and Jackson spun, but not quickly enough. Roy drew back and the blade slashed downward. With a sickening rip, the knife connected with Jackson’s leg.

Jackson sucked in his breath as Roy struck again, this time plunging the knife into Jackson’s shoulder.

“Stop it, Roy!” Scott McDonald yelled.

“Butt out! This is my fight!” Roy snarled.

Jackson backed up and Roy slashed wildly.

Rachelle screamed.

“I’ll kill you, man,” Roy vowed, swinging at Jackson savagely, the blade slashing through the air as Jackson wheeled and dodged. Roy raised the knife again, and Jackson grabbed his wrist with one hand and landed a hard punch to Roy’s midsection. The knife clattered onto the gazebo floor.

Jackson smashed his fist across Roy’s cheek. Roy tumbled backward in a heap. Shaking his head, he spit and coughed. “You’re a dead man, Moore! I’ll kill you, I swear it.”

“You’ll never get the chance.”

Jackson must’ve spied Rachelle from the corner of his eye. “Are you still here?” he demanded. “Get out of here before—”

“She stays!” Roy commanded, and Jackson lost no time.

“For crying out loud!” Grabbing Rachelle’s arm firmly and half carrying her with him, Jackson vaulted the latticework of the gazebo. Together they landed in the bushes and scrambled to their feet. Jackson nearly stumbled as his leg gave out, and Rachelle pulled him upright. He was breathing hard and sweating. “Unless you want more trouble than you bargained for, you’d better get out of here now!” he advised.

“Listen, you illegitimate SOB,” Roy bellowed, “she stays here!”

“No way!”

With Jackson still tugging on her arm, Rachelle started running with him, holding her tattered blouse and jacket together as they dashed through the shrubbery, Jackson spurring her on, though his gait was uneven and he was breathing heavily.

“Stop Moore—stop him!” Roy yelled but his voice was muffled now. Jackson led Rachelle through a garden and between trees to the driveway where his bike was parked. Three boys were standing guard and when they saw Jackson emerge from the woods, Erik Patton smiled wickedly.

“Well, look what you found—Roy’s little piece,” he taunted, but Jackson ignored them.

“Get on,” Jackson told Rachelle, and without thinking she climbed astride the huge machine.

Erik lit a cigarette with exaggerated calm. “You’re not gonna get far,” he predicted, then cupped one hand around his mouth. “Hey, Roy, they’re over here! Moore and the girl.”

Jackson tried to start the bike. Nothing happened. Rachelle shivered visibly. Roy was coming. She could hear him. Her heart slammed in fear. “Come on,” she whispered, and Jackson tried again. The engine wouldn’t even turn over.

He glared at Erik for a heart-stopping second, then swept his gaze back at Rachelle. She didn’t doubt if she weren’t there that he would have climbed off the bike and torn Erik limb from limb.

“This way,” he said, hopping off the motorcycle and dragging her along. They ducked into the woods again, and Rachelle wanted to cry. She was terrified of Roy, and knew instinctively that she was safer with Jackson, yet the night was too awful to believe. Roy had intended to rape her and Jackson, her savior, wasn’t exactly a knight in shining armor. She only hoped her instincts about him were right, because she guessed by the way he touched her, by the glint in his eye, that beneath his bad-boy exterior, there was a trace of good. She clung to that notion like a drowning man holding fast to a life preserver.

Twigs and thorns tore at her skin and hair, but she took Jackson’s advice and began running, as fast as her legs would carry her, toward the rocky beach surrounding the lake. She tripped twice on berry vines, but Jackson helped her struggle up and keep plunging forward. She didn’t know if they were being chased, didn’t want to take the time to look around and find out.

Her throat was hot and thick and tears streamed from her eyes. Rain poured down her neck. She couldn’t forget the skin-crawling feel of Roy’s body against hers, the terror that he wouldn’t stop until he’d stripped her of her clothes, robbed her of her dignity and…oh, Lord, she couldn’t think of that! She wouldn’t.

The trees gave way and she was on the beach, running north, against the wind and rain that swept over the hills. Jackson’s breathing was labored, and he ran with a limp. Now it was she who was pulling him, half dragging him up the beach. Help me, she prayed as the rain pelted them both and her legs began to ache. She held back sobs of fear and just kept running, clinging to Jackson’s hand as if he were, indeed, the knight who was destined to save her from the evils of Roy Fitzpatrick.