Читать книгу Navy SEAL Rescuer - Shirlee McCoy - Страница 13

FOUR

New security system.

New windows.

New locks on the doors.

Everything secure thanks to Personal Securities Incorporated. The owner, Ryder Malone, had made sure of it. Catherine had met him while she was in prison and had been surprised to see him again, but he knew his job and he did it well, working with an efficient team.

And with Darius.

Darius.

She shoved the name and the man from her mind, refusing them the same way she refused the panic that edged up and threatened to spill out.

Locked in.

Locked up.

But all the locks and windows and security systems in the world couldn’t make Catherine feel safe. She paced her room, the heat of the day still thick in the battened-down house. Sweat trickled down her neck, and she pulled at her tank top, tugging damp cotton away from sticky skin, aching to go outside and sit on the front porch, let the evening air cool her, breathe in a little of the freedom she’d thought she’d never have again.

Now she had it, but fear held her prisoner.

She hated it.

Hated the weakness in her that had her pacing the room instead of walking down the stairs, punching the code into the security system and going outside. Her heart thumped and stuttered at the thought, and she walked to the window, looked out over the front yard.

The full moon bathed the yard in golden light and cast long shadows across the grass. The whitewashed picket fence stood stark against the gray-black landscape, the gate closed just the way it had been since the last security team member had walked through it. Dark hair gleaming in the sunlight, T-shirt clinging to broad shoulders and firm muscles, his limp barely noticeable as he closed the gate and walked away.

Darius.

There in her mind again.

She shoved him out again, because he was just a man who’d happened to be in the right place at the right time to save her. But he was still just a man, and men couldn’t be trusted.

She’d learned that the hard way.

She didn’t plan to repeat the mistake.

Her heart thumped again, her chest tight and aching.

She needed fresh air.

Now.

She opened the window, stuck her head out to take in great gulps of cool air. Late August in Pine Bluff and the scent of evergreen and grass hung heavy in the still night. She’d craved this during her years of incarceration, and she wouldn’t deny herself now. No matter the fear.

She closed the window, eased open the bedroom door and crept down the stairs, bypassing the two steps that creaked and walking softly across the foyer. The hiss of Eileen’s air conditioner would probably drown out any noise, but Catherine was careful anyway, punching in the security code to turn off the system and stepping out into the chilly night.

Freedom.

It tasted sweet and fresh and clean, and Catherine lifted her face to the moonlight, let it dance across her face. At moments like this, she knew that God was there, just a prayer away, and she was tempted to reach for Him, try to recapture the faith she’d had before she’d been accused of murder, before she’d been betrayed by the man she’d loved, before her life had come crashing down around her, all her dreams crashing with it.

“Please, don’t take Eileen from me. Not yet,” she whispered, her only answer the gentle breeze that rustled grass and leaves.

She leaned against the porch railing, silence settling around her as deep and thick as the darkness.

A car engine drifted on the breeze, the sound growing louder with every heart beat. Coming closer.

Headlights splashed on the dirt road, and Catherine jumped back, nearly falling into the open doorway in her haste.

Close the door!

Turn on the alarm!

Her hands shook, but she managed to do both, her heart pounding frantically as she ran up the stairs, looked out her bedroom window again.

A car idled in the driveway, lights off now, doors closed. No hint of light from the interior. No telling who the driver was.

She could imagine, though.

Could picture the same masked figure that had stood at the edge of the yard, chased her to the road and toward Darius’s house. Put his hands around her neck.

She shuddered, grabbing her cell phone and dialing 911 as the car door opened and a dark figure climbed out.

* * *

Darius eased around the side of Catherine’s house, approaching from the back rather than the front, hoping to catch the car’s driver by surprise. He could have brought his truck, but that would have warned the guy off before Darius got a good look at who he was dealing with.

The bushes near the corner of the house provided perfect cover, the full moon laying thick shadow against golden light. Darius hugged the edges of the porch, tensing as a door closed and an engine revved. Leaving?

Surprised, he stepped out from the shadows, let the driver see him standing in the moonlight, his gun held loose in his hand.

Black Toyota. Tinted windows. No way to see the driver, but the car pulled away so quickly, he was positive the driver saw him.

Good.

He wanted the guy to know that Catherine wasn’t alone with Eileen. She had a neighbor who was keeping his eye on things. He tucked the gun back in his shoulder holster, and jogged up the porch steps, phantom pain shooting up from his phantom calf. He’d moved too quickly too many times today and his thigh muscles ached, the stump beneath his knee throbbing.

The porch light went on, spilling onto the newly painted whitewashed wood. No hint of the bloodred words that had been there earlier. Darius had made sure of that.

He thought about ringing the doorbell, but Catherine and Eileen were probably asleep, and he didn’t want to wake them. Not yet. He surveyed the door and windows. Everything locked up tight just the way it should be. No hint that anything untoward had happened.

He retraced his steps, this time veering to the left and the driveway where the car had been parked. Packed earth left no evidence. No tire marks. No tread. Nothing that would help trace the car.

A lock clicked, the sound loud in the silence, and Darius frowned as the door opened and Catherine stepped outside.

“He was over near that old pine tree,” she said, not offering a greeting, not seeming at all surprised to see him there.

“You saw him?”

“Yes.” She walked toward him, her legs long and slender in cutoff jeans, her arms well muscled and too thin, her tank top clinging to slender curves and a flat abdomen. She looked like a dancer—long, lean lines and graceful, upright carriage, but her eyes were wide in a too-pale face, her breathing shaky.

“You okay?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Fine, but he had something in his hands when he got out of the car. It wasn’t there when he got back in. I think it’s under the tree.” She gestured to the edge of the yard and towering pine that stood there.

“Wait here. I’ll take a look.”

“You’ve done enough already, Darius. I’ll look.” She started walking as if she really expected him to fall in line with her plans.

He snagged the back of her shirt, his fingers skimming over warm flesh before slipping into the belt loop of her shorts. “I don’t think so, Cat.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Let’s not waste time dancing around the real issue.”

“Which is?” She raised an eyebrow, her hair tawny in the moon’s yellowish glow.

“You don’t want me involved in your life, and I’m not. I just happened to hear a car pass my house, and I happen to have the kind of training that makes me more suited to dealing with danger than you are, so I came over. It’s as simple as that.”

“I don’t think there’s anything simple about you, Darius,” she responded.

“That isn’t the point, either. Stay here. I’ll go take a look.”

“But—”

He walked away, ignoring her protest.

Sirens split the night as Darius crossed the yard. Good. The police were on the way. The more people moving around, the less likely the perp would return. Since he didn’t think Catherine was going to hide in the house while he looked around, he’d rather the guy stay far away.

The pine tree sat close to a whitewashed fence that nearly glowed in the moonlight. He surveyed the ground, searching for signs that someone had been there. Wilted grass, a thick layer of pine needles, a few pine cones. Nothing that looked out of place.

Darius eased closer, watching his steps, studying the ground carefully. One jerry-rigged explosive device had taken his lower left leg. He wasn’t in the market to lose the other one.

Pine needles rustled, and Darius caught a hint of soap and something indefinable and feminine. Not flowery. More like rain on a hot summer day. Fresh and clean with just a hint of sweetness.

Catherine.

He frowned, glancing over his shoulder. “Stop.”

He barked the command, and she froze, her eyes gleaming in the bright moonlight. “Do you see something?”

“No. But it’s not what I can see that I’m worried about.” He studied the ground near his feet, crouching low and tracking a line of tamped-down pine needles to the base of the tree. The trunk was thick and rough, the bark flaking off, and at first, he thought that was all he was seeing. Old flaking bark, slightly darker than the wood. He let his eyes adjust, sirens screaming in the driveway behind him. Doors closing. Someone calling out, and he just kept staring at the trunk, his brain seeing what his eyes couldn’t.

A too-regular shape a foot up from the base of the tree, nearly hidden by the lowest boughs. Sharp edges that didn’t occur in nature. Something that shouldn’t be there, but was.

What?

“See anything?” Logan Randal crouched beside him.

“Maybe. Do you have a light?” He took the flashlight Logan offered, shone it on the tree trunk, his pulse jumping as the strange shadow came into full focus.

Wires.

Explosives.

Set on a timer? A remote?

“Back off. Now!” he ordered, but Logan was already moving, jumping back from the bomb, words spilling out as he called into his radio.

“What is it?” Catherine moved forward, heading in exactly the direction she shouldn’t be. Darius snagged her waist, hauled her up and away, her body stiff and unyielding, her skin soft and pliant.

“Put me down!” She panted, fighting his hold as if he were a stranger taking her to certain doom rather than a neighbor trying to keep her from it.

“Gladly,” he responded as he crossed the threshold into the house, set her down in the foyer, his hands sliding along the smooth skin of her abdomen, heat spearing through him.

“Go get your grandmother. We need to get out of here.”

“What did you see? What was it?”

“Enough explosives to blow that tree down and take half this house down with it. Get Eileen, or I’ll do it.” He started down the dark hall, knowing the way to Eileen’s room, and ready to carry both women out the back door if necessary.

Catherine could fight him all she wanted, but he’d have his way in this.

They were going to his place until the police cleared the explosive.

Maybe for longer.

Obviously, a security system hadn’t deterred Catherine’s attacker.

“I’ll get her. If you walk in there, she’ll be mortified.” Catherine brushed by, her body sliding along his. He felt every touch, every sigh of breath, every trembling muscle.

And he knew he was in trouble. Knew he was being pulled deeper than he wanted to go.

He’d come to Pine Bluff to settle in and settle down, and that was all he wanted. Not a relationship. Certainly not a relationship with someone like Catherine. Someone who had trouble seeping from every pore.

She walked into Eileen’s room, her gentle whisper carrying through the silent house. Outside, men and women shouted warnings and directions, but here, in the dark old farmhouse, time seemed to stand still, the scent of illness and cigarette hanging in the hot air.

He’d give the women ten seconds, and then he was going in.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

“It’s not going to matter that your hair is a mess if you’re dead, Eileen.” Catherine’s words carried clearly this time, her exasperation obvious.

Six.

Five.

“We need to go. Now. Not in a minute.”

Four.

Three.

Bed sheets rustled. Footsteps padded across wood flooring.

Finally, the two women appeared, Eileen tottering a little, drowning in an oversize night dress, Catherine a step behind her.

“So, the hunky hero has returned to take us to safety, huh?” Eileen put a hand on his arm, her skin cool and dry, her fingers trembling.

“I’m not sure hero is an accurate description. I’m just a neighbor trying to help out,” he responded, moving as quickly as her frailty would allow them to. Down the hall, into the gutted kitchen and out onto the back deck.

It took too long to get her down the deck stairs. He wanted to pick her up and carry her, but she swatted his hands away. Finally, they were down, and she paused for breath, her narrow shoulders heaving as she shivered in the moonlight. He pulled off his jacket, wrapping it around her, expecting Catherine to be right beside them.

Or maybe he didn’t.

Because, he didn’t feel at all surprised when he looked and she wasn’t there.

“Is anyone else in the house, sir?” a uniformed officer called out as she rounded the side of the house.

“One person. I’ll get her.” He jogged back up the stairs, his leg nearly giving out, pain shooting from the stump to his hip.

It hurt, and that pissed him off.

Catherine pissed him off, because she didn’t seem to understand the kind of danger she was in.

Or didn’t want to understand.

Or, maybe just didn’t care.

He ran into the house, ignoring the officer’s command to wait. He’d find Catherine and drag her outside if he had to.

Because, as irritated as he was, he couldn’t leave her behind.