Читать книгу San Antonio Secret - Robin Perini - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Fighting the adrenaline rush, Rafe carefully set the bottle on the rickety nightstand. This wasn’t happening. Not again. Right before Thanksgiving he’d searched for her. He’d barely gotten her out alive. He didn’t like the twisting in his gut, the uncomfortable panic driving his heart to race.

“When did you last see her?” He fought to stay calm.

“A couple days ago. She left a cryptic message about not making it to Sunday lunch. She’s been so reclusive since the attack, we gave her the space, but I went by her house to check on her. She’s gone with at least one suitcase, bed unmade, dishes in the sink. That’s not like her. I’m worried about her, Rafe. She hasn’t been the same since—”

“Archimedes. Damn him.” His teeth ground together. Good thing Archimedes was dead. Rafe would have taken great satisfaction in killing the psycho for what he’d done to Sierra. “You tracked her cell phone?”

“She knows how to block her signal. Or someone else does. That’s what I get for having a sister who’s better than I am at electronics. Even if she doesn’t believe it.”

“Zane might be able to hone in on her location.”

“He’s at CTC headquarters. I don’t want the boss thinking she’s gone off the deep end.” Noah hesitated. “I know we don’t want her working for CTC, but when Ransom put her on indefinite leave after Archimedes—at our insistence, if you remember—the light went out of her eyes. We screwed up there.”

Rafe adjusted the patch over his eye and rose from the bed. “No, we didn’t. The job’s too dangerous. She could get hurt. Or worse.” He’d be damned if Sierra put her life on the line any longer. She’d almost died once. If anything happened to her...

Rafe grabbed his duffel from the top of the closet. “I’ll find her, and I’ll bring her home. Then it’s your job to keep her there.”

“Just make sure she’s okay. She’s not herself these days, Rafe. She can’t sleep. She’s got circles under her eyes. I don’t want to lose my sister. You and I both know how the nightmares can take over your life.”

Yeah, Rafe knew. He’d had his fair share. He also had up-close-and-personal experience with Sierra’s demons. Her bad dreams had led to the best—and one of the worst—night of his life.

Spending time in Sierra’s arms had made him want more. That’s when he’d known he’d fallen way too deep. She’d ripped a hole in the Kevlar protecting his heart. She’d made him want forever. Except Rafe had learned all too well that love destroyed. He didn’t matter, but he couldn’t bear to hurt her more than he already had. So he’d walked away—for her sake—and instead had taken to watching her from afar. To make certain she was always safe.

She’d nearly caught him more than once, and he’d begged Ransom for another assignment. Something that would get her out of his constant thoughts. He’d believed he’d wanted distance, but he never should’ve ended his surveillance. If he hadn’t, he’d know exactly where to find her. “Did you check the buses and airlines?”

“I’m working on it.”

“I’ll call when I find her.” Rafe stuffed his 1911, a Bowie and his P-11 with its ankle holster in his bag, along with ammunition, a secure satellite phone and some of Noah’s more interesting tracking devices.

Now all Rafe had to do was find her.

He tapped a few keystrokes into one device and started the search. He had a bad feeling. He didn’t know if his gut was warning him of trouble or if he simply dreaded seeing Sierra again. Once he found her, could he resist her? Could he walk away again...and did he even want to try?

* * *

ILLUMINATED SIGNS DOWN the San Antonio street kept the road brightly lit even though night had fallen. The 18-wheeler’s engine rumbled in idle. Sierra clutched the door handle and shoved it open.

“Thanks for the lift,” she said, easing out of the truck.

“You sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?” the driver asked.

When her foot hit the ground, a shot of pain pierced her thigh. She couldn’t stop the wince.

“I’m fine.” And doing a lot better than Mallory and Chloe. First she had to take care of her leg. She’d be no good finding them if she passed out and ended up in the ER. Gunshot wounds at the hospital meant cops. Cops meant trouble.

She forced a smile and turned to look up at the man who’d saved her life when he’d stopped. She dragged the bag containing her laptop, extra money and credit card from the seat. She’d stashed it in the trunk when she and Mallory had left to pick up Chloe. Even though the car keys had vanished sometime during the abduction, luckily Sierra had been able to pop the trunk release just inside the driver’s side door and retrieve her belongings. “Thanks again.”

The diesel revved before the truck’s horn blared and the vehicle rumbled down the road. Sierra walked away from the motel, limped down several long blocks and hurried as best she could across four lanes of traffic. If anyone asked the trucker about her, they wouldn’t locate her easily.

After a quick stop at a convenience store for bandages, a burner phone and a few other supplies, she trudged another mile before locating the perfect, most nondescript motor inn on the street.

The place reminded her of another motel, another time. Another place.

She’d learned a lot from Rafe Vargas that week. Most lessons she preferred to forget. But how to disappear in plain sight, that was a skill she would find useful tonight.

Ready to collapse, she pushed through the motel’s office door, causing a dangling bell to chime. Within a few minutes, Sierra had laid down the last of her cash in exchange for a key. Once she’d locked herself inside the room, she sagged against the door.

She dumped the medical supplies on the rickety table and unbuttoned her jeans. She slipped them over her hips. The material stuck against her thigh. She hissed and froze. The blood had dried.

Closing her eyes, she slowly, gingerly tugged the denim away from her wound.

A sharp burn sliced up and down her leg. She whimpered. Maybe she should just rip it off, like a stuck bandage.

“One, two, three—”

A quick tug and the pants dropped to the floor. Sierra’s knees gave out. She sank to the floor, biting down hard on her lip to keep from screaming.

That hurt. Bad.

Her thigh throbbed, blood dripped from the reopened wound. For a moment she simply sat on the floor, rocking back and forth. When the spots stopped spinning in front of her eyes, she stood on shaky legs and padded to the bathroom.

Propping herself against the wall, Sierra irrigated the wound with hot water, picking out denim fibers and dirt, stopping every so often to lean her head against the wall and suck in several deep breaths before starting again.

A pounding knock sounded at the door.

Sierra limped to the table, wishing the kidnappers hadn’t taken her gun, and grabbed the scissors she’d purchased. As fast as she could, she crossed the room and slipped behind the door, knuckles white, her teeth biting into her lip.

“Mrs. Jones?”

The motel manager’s voice called through the door. He knocked again.

She said nothing. Surely he’d go away.

Her thigh throbbed in time with her pulse. She could hear every breath. She waited. After a minute or two, her muscles relaxed.

Urgent whispers filtered through the door, but she couldn’t make out the words. The doorknob jiggled. Metal on metal scraped. Damn. No one knew she was here. Had the men who kidnapped Mallory and Chloe found her?

Sierra skirted into the bathroom, gripping the scissors even tighter. If someone came in, she wanted a good look at him before she attacked.

“Mrs. Jones?”

Silent, Sierra peeked between the crack of the bathroom door just below the hinge. She made out the manager’s stout figure first.

The man frowned at the towels and trash scattered around the room. “She’s not here,” he said. “You’ll have to come back.”

The door creaked. “I’m her husband.”

She clutched the doorknob with a death hold. She’d recognize that voice anywhere, the deep rumble, the smooth velvet baritone, but she couldn’t believe those three words had escaped his lips.

“Rafe?” Sierra nearly rushed into the room before she stopped herself. Parading around in her underwear wasn’t an option. She peeked around the door.

“Hi, honey,” Rafe said, his expression grim, his voice soft and deadly. “I’m home.”

Before Sierra could contemplate how he’d found her, Rafe shunted the manager out of the room with an excuse, grabbed a bloodstained towel from the floor and wrenched open the bathroom door. He shoved the cloth at her. “What the hell is this?”

She snapped a clean bath towel from a rod and wrapped it around her waist to hide her high-cut panties and naked legs. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s a bullet graze,” he said, ignoring the question. He tugged the terry cloth back to reveal her injury, and before she could say a word, swept her into his arms. Gently, carefully he laid her on the small bed.

He straightened and tossed his Stetson on the chair beside the table.

With his six feet four inches of pure muscle and outlawesque eye patch, he looked like a hero who’d walked straight out of a romance novel. He’d certainly featured in more than one of her own fantasies. At least until the morning after one very passionate night. She’d dropped her guard, flayed open her heart and he’d stomped all over it.

“I don’t need the help. I’ve got the situation under control.” She propped herself up on her elbows and tried to shift to the other side of the bed.

He grasped her arm and held her in place, pushing aside the towel. He didn’t speak, but probed at the angry skin surrounding the wound, then arched his brow as he met her gaze.

Sierra squirmed under his lingering, enigmatic look. Rafe shook his head and rummaged through the supplies. He returned to her side with antiseptic, bandages, antibiotic ointment and tape.

He straightened her leg and held her down with a firm hand. “Let me do this. I’ve had a lot of practice.” He tilted the antiseptic onto a large gauze square. “Brace yourself,” he said, and dabbed at the flesh.

She sucked in a sharp breath. Her leg jerked.

“Easy does it.” He bent over the wound and blew, easing the sharp sting.

Sierra glanced away, her cheeks burning as he poked and prodded close the top of her thigh. He was nothing but professional, even distant. In fact he’d acted as if it were nothing but business as usual.

They hadn’t seen each other since a very awkward Thanksgiving dinner at her father’s house the week after he’d rescued her.

One look and her heart had leaped at the memory of the way he’d touched her, the way he’d driven away her nightmares. At least for a few hours.

Until he’d vanished from their bed. And then walked away without a word after the family gathering he clearly had only attended to out the fact that she worked for CTC to her family. Noah in particular.

Sierra’s dreams had returned with a vengeance. Rafe hadn’t come back. A time or two she’d imagined she’d recognized him in a crowd, that he’d found her, that she’d been more than a convenient and willing night of passion, that he hadn’t simply used her.

She’d been wrong. A second glance and the imaginary figure had vanished. So had the rose-colored glasses.

How had she allowed herself to be duped? That she’d trusted a man who could so easily walk away.

Well, she wouldn’t allow herself to be seduced again. By his memory, by her fantasies. She couldn’t trust him. Not with her heart. She’d learned her lesson. And she was an excellent student.

He pressed the final strip of tape against her skin but didn’t move his tan hand from her thigh. A tingling of awareness rose across her skin, settling deep in her belly.

Now if she could just convince her body to listen to her mind.

Rafe simply looked at her, the muscle in his jaw pulsing, holding her gaze hostage.

Despite her decision and best of intentions, she couldn’t control her response to his closeness. Being in her underwear on the receiving end of Rafe Vargas’s hot stare was a bad place to be. The man could still make her heart flip-flop. Even when he was obviously furious, like now.

She blinked, breaking the spell, and quickly tossed the bedspread over her naked legs.

Only one way to handle him. Get on the offensive and don’t back down. “In what fantasyland are you my husband?”

* * *

IF THE MOTEL owner hadn’t been so damn protective of Sierra’s room number, Rafe wouldn’t have had to resort to the lie. He wasn’t about to dwell on why the statement had crossed his lips all too easily, nor was he willing to apologize for it.

He’d dreamed of having Sierra in his bed for the past two months. His hand stroked the bandage on her thigh gently. But not like this. Never like this. When Rafe had first entered the room and had seen that bloody towel on the floor, his knees had nearly buckled.

A few inches and the bullet would’ve nicked her femoral artery. She’d have bled out.

She’d come too damn close to dying. Twice.

But she was alive. And mostly well. She lay propped up on the bed, shadows beneath her eyes, her cheeks pale. He cataloged the injuries he could see: the scrapes, the bruise darkening her jaw and cheekbone. She must be black-and-blue.

Someone needed to pay.

At his silence, a flash of blue fire erupted in her eyes. He’d witnessed the flame more than once: usually when someone crossed her, but also when she’d wrapped her arms and legs around him.

Her very presence drew him in. The small motel room’s walls closed in on him. He had to let the past go.

Every instinct inside him fought the urge to wrap his arms around her, breathe in her scent and just hold her close. If he closed his eyes, he knew he could feel the silk of her skin beneath him, smell the clean scent of her hair, remember her generosity as he held her, giving him her heart and soul.

And he’d been stupid—or smart enough—to throw it away when all he’d wanted was to stay with her.

He’d done the right thing. He had to believe that. The alternative—well, he just wouldn’t consider the alternative.

Instead of acting on his urges, he cocked his head to the side. “What am I doing here? Oh, no reason. I get a call from Noah that you’d vanished from Denver without telling your family only months after being held captive by a serial killer. And then, after you use your debit card at a convenience store, I find you a mile away in a barely up-to-code motel room, shot and obviously assaulted. I don’t know, Sierra. Why don’t you guess what I’m doing here? Saving you one more time.”

“A mile would’ve been far enough if anyone but you had been searching,” she muttered under her breath. Her lips flattened in a straight line. “Go home, Rafe. And tell Noah if he wants to send a babysitter, pick someone else.”

The words, though expected, still hurt. No distance would ever be far enough if she was in trouble. “Tough. You got me. And I’m not budging.” He lifted his hand and hovered over the stark mottling on her face. “Honey, who did this to you?”

Her eyes glistened and she looked away. “Don’t be nice. I can’t take it.”

“What are you involved in?” He leaned closer and with gentle fingers clasped her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. “An op?”

“You and Noah got me suspended, remember?”

“And if I remember correctly, you seem to find ways to insert yourself into places you shouldn’t be.”

“The Kazakhstan situation was different. Zane needed help. He just didn’t know it yet,” Sierra countered. “I found the link between the terrorists and that charity, didn’t I?”

“Not the point. I’m not saying you’re not good at your job. Hell, you’re the best. We all know that.”

Her mouth dropped open, but instead of coming back at him like Rafe had expected, she gripped the sheets, twisting the fabric. “I might be good at the keyboard, but not in the field. I screwed up. I should’ve stopped it.”

Her eyes shifted away from his gaze. She seemed to be struggling for words. Finally a sharp curse escaped her. “I want more than anything to kick you out of this room and tell you and Noah to shove your concern where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Sierra—”

“But I can’t.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze, direct, unwavering. “I bought a burner phone to call Ransom. I need CTC’s help, Rafe. Someone kidnapped my best friend and her daughter. My goddaughter.” She paused, pain slicing over her features. “I let it happen, and I need you to help me save them.”

* * *

MALLORY COULDN’T STOP staring at the blood seeping from the dead man’s body. Her insides went cold. She glanced back at the trailer. She had to get Chloe out of here, but how?

“Get rid of the body,” the voice from the passenger side of the police car snapped. “And bring the girl here.”

“Yes, boss,” her guard said.

“No. Please.” Mallory would say anything, promise anything, to keep her daughter safe.

Two men picked up Judson and carried him to the side of the trailer. Mallory’s captor disappeared inside, leaving her alone.

Every instinct screamed to run.

A tall man opened the car door and stood. He wore a cop’s uniform. There was a touch of gray at his temples; his eyes were obscured by sunglasses.

“I wouldn’t advise trying to escape, Mrs. Harrigan. Or your daughter will pay the price.”

The aluminum door fluttered closed.

“Mommy! Don’t leave me anymore. I was scared.”

Chloe pulled at the cowboy’s arm.

“Let her go,” the cop ordered.

Within seconds Chloe raced to her mother. Mallory lifted her little girl into her arms and hugged her tight. She looked over her daughter’s shoulder. “Please let her go. She’s only five.”

“Chloe, do you want to leave?” the police officer asked.

The little girl nodded against her mother’s shoulder. “Princess Buttercup needs me. She has to eat her dinner. Kitties can’t miss dinner, you know. You have to take good care of them.”

The man smiled, a grin that made Mallory’s stomach roil.

“I’ll bring your cat to you, Chloe, but only if you tell me something very important.”

Chloe bit her lip. “I don’t know anything ’portant.”

“I imagine you do. Look at me.”

Twisting in Mallory’s arms, her daughter stared at the man. He stroked his chin. “What’s the name of the woman who tried to help you escape from the van?”

Mallory tightened her hold on her daughter.

“You’re squishing me, Mommy. Not so tight.” She wiggled and stared hard at the cop’s chest. “You have a shiny badge, so you’re not a stranger, but why do you want to know about Sierra? I saw her fall. Is she okay?”

With a silent groan, Mallory closed her eyes.

The cop smiled. “An unusual name. Perhaps your mother would be willing to tell us her friend’s last name.”

Chloe nodded. “Mommy knows it. I know it too. Just like my name is Chloe Harrigan. Sierra’s name is Sierra Bradford.”

The man nodded at his driver. “You get that?”

“Yes, sir.” Within seconds he’d placed a call.

Mallory’s hope sank. Now that her daughter had inadvertently put a target on Sierra’s back, how would her best friend ever be able to find them? She bit her lip, her mind whirling. She was on her own. How could she save them?

The cop crossed his arms in front of him, his smirk too satisfied. “Thank you for the information, Chloe. You’ve been a lot of help.”

“Where’s Princess Buttercup?” Chloe asked with a pout. “You promised.”

“And I always keep my promises,” he said. “Eventually. Right now, Glen will take you to your room. Your mother and I are going to have a little...chat.”

Leaning her forehead against her daughter’s hair, Mallory tried not to tremble.

Glen tugged Chloe from her mother’s arms.

“Mommy!”

The cop grabbed Mallory’s arm. Hard. She had no idea why they’d taken her, but she was afraid she’d soon find out.

“I have a few questions for you, Mrs. Harrigan. If I hear what I want, maybe your daughter won’t have to watch her mother die.”