Backwoods (21 page)

Her gaze trailed down his lightly furred chest and hard stomach. His upper thighs were heavy with muscle, a shade paler than his hair-dusted calves. The contrast struck her as absurdly sexy. She imagined pressing her lips to him, dragging down the waistband of his boxer shorts to take him in her mouth.

As she stood before him, her pulse racing, his eyes skimmed her breasts and the wet fabric between her legs. Her flesh tingled at his perusal, her nipples tightening. Although her invitation had to be obvious, his fists stayed clenched at his sides. He seemed reluctant to stare at her body, let alone touch it. Maybe he was worried about taking advantage of her precarious mental state.

She turned around, presenting him with her disheveled hair. “Can you help me?” she asked over her shoulder. She’d tried to comb her fingers through the tangled strands, but they were full of leaves.

He didn’t respond right away. She could feel heat coming off him in waves. Her white panties were so transparent she might as well have been naked. She indulged in a vivid fantasy of him tearing the lace and bending her over the tub.

Instead of doing what they both wanted, he removed the debris from her hair. When he tugged on a stubborn knot, she swayed toward him. Her bottom brushed his crotch. Making a strangled sound, he locked his arm around her waist and urged her down on his lap. He was rock-hard, throbbing against her.

Abby’s pulse raced with excitement as he swept her hair aside and placed his mouth on the tender skin at the nape of her neck. Kissing her there, he moved his hands to the front of her body. One cupped her breast. The other slid between her legs.

God. Three seconds in and he was already on third base.

“I want you,” he panted against her neck. His fingertips rubbed the soaked fabric at the apex of her thighs, wrenching a groan from her lips. She was swollen and sensitive, already aching for him.

“I can tell,” she said, her voice hoarse. Once again, she thought of him stripping off her panties and taking her from behind. That was another intimacy she hadn’t shared since Ray. Catching him with Lydia that way had soured her to the position.

“We shouldn’t...”

Abby knew all of the reasons they
shouldn’t,
and she didn’t want to hear them. Turning in his arms, she removed her wet tank top, exposing her breasts. He was a man, and therefore susceptible. When he saw her naked flesh, his eyes darkened and his mouth went slack. Resistance was futile.

She twined her arms around his neck. Her breasts plumped against the hard wall of his chest, making her shiver. She flattened her palm on his cheek and brought her lips close to his. They were both shaking with need. His erection nudged her belly. Her fingertips pressed into his shadowed jaw. Their ragged breaths mingled. When their mouths met, it was like a flash of lightning. She’d never felt anything so raw and sexually charged. Once he decided to go for it, he really went for it. His kiss wasn’t gentle. He was hungry and demanding, taking full possession of her mouth. His tongue plunged in and out, delving deep.

With a low groan, he groped her bottom with big hands. She squirmed against him, kissing him back with enthusiasm. Desperate to get him inside her. His fingertips slipped beneath the waistband of her panties and between her cheeks, touching a base no other man had ever been on with her. She went still, bracing her palms on his chest.

He stopped kissing her. His hand froze.

Her lips tingled with sensation and a heavy beat pulsed between her legs. She wasn’t pushing him away or saying no. She was so turned on, she wouldn’t deny him anything. Her body was his for the taking.

Instead of continuing into uncharted territories, he removed his hand from her panties. Throat working in agitation, he peeled the wet fabric down her hips. When she was completely nude, he stared at her for several seconds. Then he molded his hand to the back of her neck and brought her forward, kissing her mouth again and again.

Abby lost track of everything after that. Drunk with desire, she focused on him. His mouth, his hands, his hair-roughened skin. Nothing existed except this pool and this moment. She was pliant in his arms. He cupped her breasts, squeezing her stiff nipples. They were still sensitive, but she preferred more pressure, even pinching when she was near climax. He had no trouble finding the perfect balance. His hand slid between her legs again, strumming her cleft with his fingertips. By the time he set her on the side of the tub and pushed her thighs apart, she was melting for him.

He kissed his way down her quivering belly. Normally she was shy about oral sex, more comfortable giving than receiving with a new partner. With Nathan, she seemed to have no inhibitions. She vibrated at his touch, taut as a bowstring.

When his mouth closed over her clitoris, sucking gently, she groaned. It was so good, she wanted it to last and last. She lay back against the cool rock and gripped the side of the tub, watching him work. Rain drizzled down on her like a caress, collecting in beads on her skin. He flicked his tongue over her clit and circled it lazily, in no particular rush. The orgasm built to a spectacular crescendo. She clutched his hair and cried out, bucking against his mouth as waves of pleasure washed over her.

Afterward, he lifted his head and studied her sex. She felt like a wanton on display, flushed and spread-eagled. He moistened his lips, as if tasting her on them.

“Do you have a condom?” she asked.

“If I did, I’d be buried inside you right now.”

She straightened and reached for the waistband of his boxer shorts. When she lowered it, she had to smother a moan. He was wonderfully thick and hard. Her insides shivered with longing as she wrapped her hand around his shaft, stroking him up and down slowly. Torturing him, she placed the tip of his cock against her soft inner thigh. Dangerously close to the place he wanted to be buried.

“You’re killing me,” he said, lifting his hand to her cheek. He traced her parted lips with his thumb. When she drew his thumb into her mouth, applying sweet suction, he groaned. “I’m dying to fuck you.”

She was tempted to let him.

He removed his thumb from her mouth, dragging it down her chin. She continued to caress him with her legs spread wide and his cock poised at her opening. His restraint was impressive. Covering her hand with his, he urged her to use a firmer grip. She pumped him with her slippery fist. Then she heard a strange noise, like shouting voices.

Someone was coming. And it wasn’t Nathan.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

B
ROOKE
WAS
SOBER
by the time they arrived at the hospital.

Monarch had a small urgent care facility, which was closed. They had to continue to the larger town of Bishop. Leo used Bud’s phone to call the police. He stayed on the line for almost thirty minutes, sharing every detail of their experience. When he hung up, he said that officers would meet them in the emergency room. They were organizing a search-and-rescue crew for Abby and Nathan. The rain had abated.

“Don’t worry,” Leo said, looking over his shoulder at Brooke. “Everyone jumps when they hear my dad’s name.”

That was true. Nathan Strom was a baseball legend.

Bud parked his Jeep and stayed in the waiting room with them. He was a nice man. He offered to buy her a coffee after they sat down.

“She doesn’t drink coffee,” Leo said.

He looked terrible under the harsh fluorescent lights. His clothes were splattered with mud and his jeans were torn, showing bits of ragged flesh underneath. His complexion appeared more gray than olive. She realized that he’d been running on adrenaline for the past few hours. Now that they were safe, he’d crashed.

A pretty nurse took them both to the treatment area. Leo’s bed was separated from hers by a curtained partition. Brooke didn’t think she needed medical care, but the nurse drew blood and took her vital signs. Leo was wheeled to another room for an X-ray.

The nurse wouldn’t let Brooke shower until after she’d been examined. Two uniformed police officers came to interview her. They asked if she wanted to speak with a rape counselor or a female detective. She said no.

The interrogation process was long and unpleasant. She answered the same questions over and over. Her memory of the events was fractured from whatever drugs she’d been given. Fear and stress might have warped her reality. By the end of an hour, she was half-convinced that the kidnapping had been a figment of her imagination. She couldn’t tell if the officers believed her or not. One was much older than the other, with a weathered poker face. The younger officer seemed surprised that she hadn’t been sexually assaulted. She shuddered to think of how much worse she’d feel if she
had
been.

Both officers thanked her and left, saying they were checking up on some information. The nurse brought her a package of graham crackers and juice. Brooke was ravenous. She wanted a full-course meal, not a snack.

Leo had to go into surgery. They were going to remove bits of shrapnel from his thigh and calf. Brooke wasn’t allowed to accompany him to the operating room. She held his hand and kissed his forehead, distressed.

The officers returned with a laptop. They showed her photos of a clean-cut soldier named Gary Nash. He was a decorated veteran, trained in combat. He’d done a tour of duty in Iraq. He’d also been a prisoner of war in Afghanistan. Brooke studied his picture and saw little resemblance to the wild mountain man who’d taken her captive.

“I don’t recognize him,” she said, exhausted. She wanted her mother.

The younger, more tech-savvy officer brought up a second photo on the screen. “This is Wyatt Nash, his son.”

Brooke examined the boy’s face. It appeared to be a school picture. He had dark brown hair that stood up on top. Dark brown eyes. Goofy, gap-toothed smile. Big ears. “That’s him. That’s the boy I met.”

“How sure are you?”

She looked again. “Ninety percent.”

“This was taken six years ago, when he was ten.”

“He told me he was sixteen. He said his mother was dead.”

The officers exchanged a glance. “Elizabeth Nash was killed in a household accident in Petaluma, Florida. There wasn’t enough evidence to press charges. Nash brought his son to San Diego shortly after her death. Their trailer home was destroyed in the earthquake. They’ve been missing, presumed dead, ever since.”

Brooke was convinced, but not comforted, by the information. The fact that Nash had been a prisoner of war sent a chill down her spine. He’d probably killed Wyatt’s mother. He was physically and mentally abusive with Wyatt. He could survive in harsh conditions and blend into his environment. “Is the rescue crew ready?”

“They’re en route,” the older officer said. He walked away from Brooke’s bed, maybe to share their findings with his superior.

“We can’t let rescuers enter a potentially deadly situation,” the younger officer said. “They need support from law enforcement.”

Brooke pictured a SWAT team creeping through the forest. “Will they shoot Wyatt? If he tries to defend himself, I mean?”

The officer seemed puzzled by her concern.

“He’s not like his dad,” she said. “He’s not a killer.”

“He opened fire on your stepbrother.”

“He was forced to. I don’t think he’d hurt anyone by choice.”

The officer nodded, acknowledging her statement. He didn’t say he would pass it on to the team.

A crime scene photographer joined them a few minutes later. He took photos of her, paying special attention to the rope burns on her wrists and ankles. Then the police officers asked for her clothing. She changed into a hospital gown behind the curtain. They put her clothes in an evidence bag and thanked her for her cooperation.

After they left again, Brooke waited for word about Leo. She finally approached the nurses’ station and inquired about his condition. The nurse said he was still in surgery. Even though his injuries were minor, it took time to remove the metal debris and flush the wounds. Brooke used a landline at the nurse’s desk to call her dad’s cell phone. He didn’t answer; it was past midnight. She left a message on his voice mail.

Her aunt Ella picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”

When Brooke heard her voice, she sank into an empty chair. Her legs wouldn’t hold her weight anymore. “It’s me.”

“Brookie? What’s wrong?”

The story poured out of her, along with an overflowing of tears. She hated replaying the events in her mind, but it was a lot easier to tell someone she loved. Her aunt believed in her without question.

“I’m coming right now,” Ella promised. “Paul’s getting a bag ready and we’re going to drive straight there.”

“Okay,” Brooke said, sniffling.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

Brooke said goodbye and hung up, wiping her cheeks. In the public restroom, she washed her hands and face, scrubbing at every stray fleck of mud. The antibacterial liquid soap irritated her skin. Taking a deep breath, she braced her hands on the sink and studied her reflection. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were puffy from crying. She looked insane.

Brooke had never obsessed over her appearance, like her mother. She’d never cared about nice clothes or perfect hair. But she experienced a sudden flash of intuition over her mother’s personal habits. The divorce had torn her world apart. Then the earthquake had almost killed them. She’d felt powerless. Weak. Her focus on outer beauty wasn’t a shallow conceit. It was an attempt to project calm and stay in control.

Brooke knew she’d been targeted because she was convenient and female. That man, Gary Nash, had tried to take away her power. He would have kept her locked up for his sick amusement and treated her like an object. A pretty toy to destroy. Even though she’d escaped, she wasn’t unscathed. She didn’t feel the same inside.

She wanted to be herself again, to put on a strong facade. This weepy, damaged girl in the mirror wasn’t her.

When she came out, the nurse gave her a hand-me-down outfit and told her she could wait for Leo in his private room. She used the shower and pulled on the ill-fitting clothes. Leo returned from surgery, groggy but awake. He was wearing a hospital gown. A male nurse helped him move from the wheelchair to the bed.

After the nurse left, Brooke curled up next to him on the mattress. It was a narrow space, but they made it work. “Is this okay?”

He put his arm around her, unperturbed. “Sure.”

“I don’t want to hurt your leg.”

“Where’s my dad?”

“Not here yet.”

“I should call my mom,” he mumbled.

“I left her a message.”

“Thanks.”

She closed her eyes and just drank him in. They must have let him shower before surgery, because he smelled good. Not familiar-good, like the laundry detergent Lydia’s maid used, but nicer than mud and sweat. “I love you, Leo,” she whispered.

Maybe he was asleep, because he didn’t answer.

* * *

A
BBY
PULLED
HER
HAND
away from Nathan, horrified.

There were flashlights on the path leading to the hot springs. She grabbed her tank top to cover her breasts and sank into the water. He barely had time to drag his boxer shorts up his hips before a pair of strange men burst onto the scene. They wore raincoats and had shotguns strapped to their backs.

Abby was too mortified to speak to their rescuers. The fact that they’d interrupted an intimate moment couldn’t have been more obvious. Her panties were floating on the surface of the water. Nathan looked particularly unhappy about the intrusion. Help had arrived a few seconds too soon.

She’d been caught giving a man a hand job, hours after her daughter had been kidnapped. It was the most embarrassing moment of her life.

The men with the flashlights said that Brooke and Leo were safe. They had ATVs ready to take Nathan and Abby to civilization. Abby thanked them profusely, clutching her tank top to her chest. When Nathan asked the men for some privacy, they left the immediate area, seeming as chagrined as Abby.

Nathan climbed from the pool, wearing the ghost of a grin. “I’ll get your backpack and bring you some dry clothes.”

“I can’t believe you think this is funny.”

He dragged on his wet pants. “It’s either laugh or cry.”

She found herself smiling back at him. His lack of shame wasn’t surprising; his bad-boy reputation wouldn’t suffer. But she also realized that the opinion of strangers didn’t matter. They hadn’t done anything wrong.

He returned with both backpacks a few minutes later. She found a pair of leggings and pulled them on, along with a T-shirt and a light rain jacket. As soon as they were ready, their rescuers led them toward the ATVs. They’d parked as close to the camp as possible, carefully skirting the kidnappers’ fortress.

The ride was uneventful. They doubled up on the ATVs and took it slow. No rifle fire or underground traps awaited them. It was dawn by the time they reached the forest service road, where they met a group of law officers.

A member of the rescue crew wrapped up Abby’s ankle. Nathan needed first aid for the cut on his arm. They were both given pain relievers.

Once they were comfortable, Nathan and Abby were asked for very specific descriptions of the kidnappers’ dwelling. Using topography maps and GPS imagery, Nathan pointed out its exact location. They spent the next few hours at the sheriff’s station in Monarch. One of the deputies passed them photographs of an army lieutenant and a ten-year-old boy.

“This is the father,” Abby said, studying the older man. He was younger, and clean-shaven, but she recognized his dead eyes. “I’m not sure about the boy.”

Nathan couldn’t identify either. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head.

At the conclusion of the interview, the deputy gave them an update on the search for the kidnappers. “Our team of investigators found the dugout you described, but it was empty. Both suspects are still at large.”

Abby and Nathan exchanged a worried glance. “What if you don’t catch them?”

“I’m confident that we will. Forest rangers are combing the woods, and they have bloodhounds. I have to ask you not to leave the area until they’re taken into custody.”

“Of course,” Nathan said. “We’re happy to cooperate.”

The deputy drove them to the hospital in Bishop. Before he left, he suggested they stay in a local hotel rather than returning to the remote cabin. Abby nodded her agreement. Her ankle felt better, but she was exhausted from the sleepless night.

They met Leo and Brooke in a private room. Leo was eating breakfast. Brooke sat in a chair at his bedside. Abby’s throat closed up at the sight. With a sound of surprise, Brooke stood, rushing toward her with open arms. Abby had never felt anything so emotionally fulfilling as her daughter’s strong embrace.

When they broke apart, Abby studied Brooke’s face. Her blue eyes were clear and lucid. She was crying happy tears.

“I was so worried about you!” Brooke said.

Abby turned to Leo and Nathan, who were both more reserved about showing affection. Nathan squeezed Leo’s shoulder in greeting. The tray on Leo’s lap would have gotten in the way of a hug. It was part male stupidity, part logistics.

A few minutes later, Ella and Paul arrived. Abby had never been happier to see her sister. After a round of introductions, they decided to walk across the street to the hotel. Nathan stayed with Leo to sign the release forms. He said goodbye to Abby, promising to catch up with her later. His dark gaze indicated that he remembered their unfinished business. Her stomach fluttered in anticipation.

Abby didn’t have her credit cards or ID, so Ella paid for two rooms at the hotel. Paul stayed in the downstairs café, claiming he had to work on lesson plans. He probably just wanted to let them talk. Ella ordered breakfast while Abby took a long shower. When she came out, clean and refreshed, they sat down to eat.

Brooke tackled a stack of pancakes with her usual good appetite. She also gave a chilling but somewhat detached account of the abduction and the near assault. It seemed that Wyatt had made a positive impression on her. She felt certain he was a captive or a reluctant accessory to his father’s crimes. He’d tried to help her.

Abby hugged Brooke again, disturbed by her ordeal. She thanked her lucky stars that Brooke hadn’t been seriously harmed.

“I’m going to take a bath,” Brooke said, drawing away from her. “Will you brush my hair when I get out?”

“Of course,” Abby said, touched by the request.

When they were alone, Ella asked for Abby’s side of the story. She shared every detail from searching for Brooke in the morning to losing her grip on reality last night. Ella didn’t appear surprised by the blackout; Abby had experienced similar anxiety attacks before.