Читать книгу Texas Stakeout - Virna DePaul - Страница 15

Chapter 6

“Tell me.” The deepness of Rachel’s own tone sent a vibrato through her throat. What did the marshal know that he hadn’t told her? What was her best friend keeping from her?

In front of her, Julia shifted from foot to foot, her laptop slung under one arm, the other arm crossed in front of her chest. As if she was on guard. From Rachel? Or from what they were about to tell her?

Dylan had risen to his feet, as well. Unlike with Julia, his arms were wide—hands fisted and placed on his hips. With his feet apart, he reminded her of some top-notch official in the military. Or a bully.

Neither spoke.

Rachel fought back a swearword. “I said tell me. Tell me what’s happened to Jax.”

Julia took a tentative step forward. “You know what? Maybe I was wrong. You’re dealing with too much, Rachel. Maybe you should focus on Peter right now. Let your concerns about Jax go for a bit. You’ve had a shock, with Josiah passing away and Peter running off. I’ll handle Jax’s situation.”

Rachel turned on her. “I handle Jax. Me. You’re his lawyer, not his mom.”

“And you’re not his mom, either,” Julia pointed out. She’d used a soft tone, but the words pinpricked Rachel’s heart. “Your son needs you. Be there for Peter. Let me and the marshal handle Jax.”

Rachel fought for control. “How did you get my best friend to suddenly be on Team U.S. Marshals?” she snapped out at Dylan. “I know my son needs me. And I know my brother needs me. He’s alone out there, scared.”

“Who are you talking about, Rachel?” Dylan asked, his voice low. “Peter or Jax?”

She slumped. Both, she thought. How was she supposed to be a mother to two boys who needed her—one who was her biological son and still a kid, and the other whom she’d parented for the past eleven years and who could barely be considered an adult?

Tightening her spine, she stood straight, then stalked out of the kitchen and onto the wooden porch, letting the screen door slam behind her. The wind, light and gentle but stronger than a breeze, ruffled the tops of the grass in front of her. Peter needed to run the mower over the lawn. The alpacas needed feeding, the babies needed worming, the chickens and pheasants needed to be fed and watered and to have their cages cleaned. The horses needed to be turned out into the pasture. And it was just her. No ranch hand. No son. No brother.

Tears pricked her eyes. She ached to hold her son in her arms. To rock him and tell him Josiah’s death was not his fault. But the days when she could rock her son were long over. He’d be home soon. He always came home—either willingly or yanked by the ear by one of the deputies. But he wouldn’t want a hug. Would deny comfort, both for himself and for her.

And what of her brother? How could Rachel fix things for him this time?

The squeak of the screen door and the heavy thud of boots on the porch let her know Dylan had joined her. She remained standing, staring into the distance at the faraway creek, at the brush that rose on either side, and at Peter’s favorite cottonwood.

“Julia’s headed back to her office. She said she has some paperwork to file on your brother’s behalf.” Dylan stepped closer, his heat emanating off his chest and meeting her back. It made her feel as if a warm blanket of comfort and care had been placed on her.

Although he didn’t touch her, her hair was up in a high ponytail and the hairs on her neck quivered. She shivered involuntarily as she imagined him touching her—massaging the back of her neck with his strong fingers, his warm palm pressed against her skin.

And her body responded.

Aching in long-forgotten places that emphasized how different they were. How strong and masculine he was. How perfect he was made to press against and inside her softer more feminine parts.

God, how she wanted to lean back and rest her weight on this man. The man who’d come riding to her son’s rescue. The man who’d stood by her when she dealt with the death of her ranch hand and friend. The man who smelled of mint and melon.

The man who thought her brother was a scumbag drug dealer who’d kill an old man and endanger his family.

His very presence was a threat to her and those she loved.

She turned and shifted away from him, making him frown. The rough wood of the porch railing dug into her back. “Tell me,” she said quietly. “Please.”

His jaw clenched before he abruptly nodded. “I’m sorry, Rachel, but there’s not much a lawyer can do for Jax now. I’m afraid it’s bad. Jax didn’t just run off, though believe me, that would be no small matter to deal with. During the escape, two U.S. marshals who’d been transferring him to another prison were shot.”

“Oh, God...are they...” She couldn’t bear to say the word.

“One’s dead. The other’s been in a coma and is in critical care.”

She dropped her gaze to the faded wooden planks of the porch floor. The bones in her legs threatened to break into a thousand pieces and the shaking started. Surely he wasn’t telling her that Jax—

He slid a finger under her chin and tipped her head up.

“Rachel, I need you to look at me. I need you to understand.”

Unwilling, she met his deep, dark gaze.

Dylan continued, saying, “The reason we have such an intense operation targeting your brother is that he’s dangerous. He’s a killer. And we need your help to trap him.”

* * *

Rachel jerked her head away from Dylan’s touch and barreled into the kitchen, the loud crack of the screen door swinging shut behind her sounding like thunder. Dylan’s entry through the door was notable but much softer.

“Rachel—”

She shook her head as she paced alongside the kitchen table, the floor cold against her bare feet. The sensation was in complete opposition to the heat running through her veins: the heat of anger, of fear and of...denial?

She’d raised Jax since he was ten. Held him in her arms when he’d woken up with nightmares about their parents’ dead and empty eyes. Admonished him and yet felt a sense of pride when he stayed up all night with his favorite alpaca when she was about to give birth. Got annoyed with him over the countless frogs and baby birds he brought into the house to rescue.

And she’d been there when the troubles in school had started. Then the troubles with the law. It hadn’t mattered.

Jax saved baby jackrabbits from coyotes. He didn’t kill people. No way would she ever believe otherwise.

And no way in hell would she help the U.S. Marshals trap her brother.

A whinny came from the barn—a subtle reminder it was well past time to feed the livestock yet one strong enough to act as a lifeline. She grabbed on to it for all she was worth.

Trying to convince Dylan of her brother’s innocence was a waste of time. She knew her brother; he didn’t. She turned, strode outside once more, then headed down the patio steps and toward the barn.

Once again, she heard Dylan following her. Heard him say, “Damn it, Rachel, stop.”

When she didn’t obey him, he gently took hold of her arm, halting her progress and turning her toward him.

With a vicious tug, she ripped her arm away. “Don’t touch me,” she shrilled.

He immediately put his hands up in a placating gesture. “Rachel, you have to listen to me—”

“No! I don’t. Because you refuse to listen to me. No way is Jax a killer. And no way will I help you trap him. Please leave. I have animals to feed. After that, if he hasn’t come back on his own already, I’ll go looking for Peter.”

He put his hands on his hips, his expression radiating impatience. “Have you considered that maybe if you help me, I can help you?”

“I don’t want your help!”

“You sure about that? Because the U.S. Marshals have resources, Rachel. One call and I can get a chopper in the sky, looking for your son.”

An incredulous bitter laugh tore out of her. “You’re telling me you have the resources to find a kid, lost and alone somewhere out in the wilderness of Texas, and you’re refusing to put those resources to use unless I help trap my brother? Isn’t that called blackmail?” When the man refused to answer, she showed him her back and continued marching down the trail to the barn, aware of Dylan on her tail.

“That’s not what I meant. Look—I was going to get the chopper in the sky whether you agreed to help us trap your brother or not. I’d already asked my team administrator to look into it before I got here, just in case Peter hadn’t returned. She’s likely got a pilot at the ready.”

“Ready to move if I do what you want,” she said with a sneer.

“No,” he snapped. “I won’t put your kid’s life in jeopardy by playing games. I’m just pointing out that our relationship doesn’t have to be contentious. You don’t have to fight me because you think I want to hurt your brother. I don’t. I just want him safely returned to custody.”

She stopped and whirled, facing him with arms crossed over her chest. “So you...what? Think we can be friends and do each other some favors? You’ll help me find Peter and you expect me to believe you won’t expect something in return? Something like me handing over my brother?”

He stood only a few feet in front of her so that she could almost feel the fire burning in his eyes. She forced herself not to retreat.

“I know you’ll never hand over your brother,” he said. “All I want is your cooperation, Rachel. No, strike that. That’s all I can ask for. Because anything else I want from you has nothing to do with your brother.”

She sucked in a breath. Looked away. Refused to acknowledge the heat in his eyes that seemed to flare a thousand times brighter as he’d finished speaking. He wasn’t admitting he was attracted to her. And even if he was, so what? Sexual attraction meant nothing; family did. “How, exactly, do you want me to cooperate?”

“Don’t treat me like the enemy. Don’t do anything to warn Jax away. Let me help. Him and you.”

“By putting him back in prison for a crime he didn’t commit!”

“He’s going back to prison,” he said quietly. “He was convicted for transporting drugs. The evidence suggests he shot those marshals, but he hasn’t been convicted of those crimes yet. He still has a chance to tell his side of things. You want to help him? Do it the way you have been doing. By working inside the law. Anything else is going to end badly and you know it.”

She did know it. Jax would never be safe, not labeled an escaped convict.

“You think he murdered Josiah.”

“I can’t ignore that as a possibility, but it’s a slim one in my mind. And I do give great weight to the phrase ‘innocent until proven guilty.’”

She stared at Dylan. Took several deep breaths. Took a couple of steps back to put some distance between them physically even if she couldn’t run and hide from what he was saying.

“So don’t warn him away. That’s all you want from me?”

“Not quite. Let me stay here, on the ranch. Pretending to be a ranch hand. That way if Jackson—Jax—shows up, he won’t be suspicious. He’ll think I’m hired help. We can take him in easily—no ugliness.”

A ranch hand. Dylan was proposing to pretend to be her ranch hand. Right. As if a city slicker like him—a man who didn’t even know how to ride Western, for God’s sake, could be an actual ranch hand. She snorted.

She didn’t need his help. Peter was fine. He’d be home soon and then she’d lock them both inside the house. Away from this man and his ugly accusations. First, however, she needed to get her chores done.

“My answer is no.”

Using all her strength, she strode to the barn and raised the iron bar that held the doors open. When sunlight streamed into the darkened barn, the livestock grew agitated. Usually Josiah had fed, watered and turned them out by now.

“Hungry babies,” she murmured, then grabbed a pitchfork. First went oat hay to the quarter horses, Anchor and Row. Next she distributed pellets down the alpacas’ trough, taking time to ruffle soft necks or murmur to the babies—the crias. All the while she was aware of Dylan following her.

“How much longer will you be?” he finally asked.

She refused to turn around. “I work until sundown. And now that I’m missing two helpers, I’ll be working even longer.”

Behind her, she heard rummaging and the clanging of metal against metal. She craned her neck to look around a stack of hay bales to see Dylan, feed bucket in each hand.

“Tell me what to do.”

“I told you. I’m not betraying my brother by letting you stay here.”

“I heard you. I want to help, anyway, okay?”

She stared at him suspiciously. “Sure you do. Do you think Jax is hiding underneath some hay?”

“I think you need to get that I’m just doing my job, Rachel. If you don’t willingly allow me to stay here, I’ll go right back to sitting on the ridge on Ginger, binoculars trained on every move you make, my teammates at the ready to take your brother down by force if he shows up. Before I do that, why not let me help?”

Help. Hanging around ready to nab Jax wasn’t exactly what she’d consider help. But if she didn’t agree, Dylan and his team would still spy on her. How much of her privacy could she afford to give up? She’d need to call Julia—find out what her legal rights were. Julia’s specialty was appellate law, but she’d probably be able to advise Rachel on the legalities of the U.S. Marshals spying on her property. On her every move. Every move her son made.

Peter.

“Weren’t you going to call a chopper?” she asked. “I mean, I know Peter’s fine. But the sooner he’s back, the better I’ll feel.”

Dylan set the buckets down, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a phone. Swiftly, he arranged for a chopper to sweep the immediate area around Rachel’s ranch.

When he disconnected the call, he stood silent. Waiting.

Rachel cleared her throat. Forced out, “Thank you. I appreciate you doing that.”

“I want your son found, too, Rachel. I’m not here to harm either of you. I wish you’d believe me.”

But he is here to harm me. How could he think otherwise given what he was accusing Jax of? Her head suddenly started pounding and all she wanted in the world was to lie down, cover her head with something until the world dimmed to nothing and sleep.

That, of course, wouldn’t accomplish anything. Not for Peter. Not for Jax.

And not for her.

She could deny and hide all she wanted.

Dylan Rooney wasn’t going away any time soon.

She swallowed, then said, “I do believe you. It doesn’t change much between us, but I do believe you want to keep Peter and me safe.”

“And your brother, too. I want to bring him into custody but I want to do it in a way that’s best for everyone. Him included, Rachel. Like I said, the best chance I have of doing that is if he thinks I’m on the ranch helping you out.”

“God, you don’t give up.”

“No, ma’am.”

Rachel studied him. “He hasn’t been here and he’s not going to come here. He didn’t kill Josiah.”

“I hope that’s the case. I really do. Even if it is, you can still use my help. Free of charge. What do you say?”

Rachel hesitated. Struggled with the knowledge that if she didn’t give in to Dylan’s request, he’d still keep an eye out for Jax. Maybe the best thing she could do was keep Dylan close and do her best to convince him of Jax’s innocence.

“Fine,” she said. “The alpacas get a full bucket of pellets, sprinkled all the way down the feed trough. There’s a hose on the other side of the barn, outside. Empty the water bucket, scrub it out and fill it with fresh water. Then join me back in the house. I’ll...I’ll think about letting you stay on the ranch and give you my answer then.”

“Yes, ma’am.” For a brief second, she thought she saw a smile quirk his mouth sideways.

What stunned her most was how, despite everything, she felt that smile in her bones. It made her want to smile back. And worst of all, it made her want to feel the press of his lips against hers.