Harlequin Superromance January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Everywhere She Goes\A Promise for the Baby\That Summer at the Shore (11 page)

“You know that's not what I meant. Have you called your brother?”

“Yes. Right after you.” She cocked her head. “That's probably him now.”

It was. He opened the front door to see Colin moving as fast across the pocket-size front yard as he had earlier. Noah would have sworn McAllister's dark SUV was still rocking.

Her brother's gaze went to her face first, assessing, worried. Then it hardened when he looked at Noah.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, irritation plain.

“I called him,” Cait said.

Bristling, he entered the town house. His gaze swept the front room, bare but for the lonely sofa, pausing on the fireplace, moving on to the entirely empty dining area and the French doors covered by drawn vertical blinds.

“All right,” he said. “Show me.”

She nodded, tension tightening her face again, and led the way to the kitchen and the back door with the glass pane inset.

Colin said what Noah was thinking. “This place would be damn easy to break into.”

She rolled her eyes. “It would be so cozy without windows.”

Despite the snappy comeback, her hesitation was more obvious than Noah suspected she'd want it to be before she opened the door. She peered outside like a turtle sticking her head out of her shell, then led the way.

Colin had brought an enormous black flashlight, which he switched on to supplement the porch lights. They all stared at the spray-painted writing, which got larger, more ragged, angrier, as it went. The lettering was scrawled across the French doors, windows, kitchen door.

“Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry.”

Colin growled something profane as the beam of his light moved steadily across the back of her rental. It stopped at the end, where “Sorry” changed to “Is that enough?”

Both men looked at her.

Her arms wrapped herself tightly and she pressed her lips together. Nobody moved.

“The last time I saw him,” she said in a taut, reluctant voice, “he kept saying he was sorry and he asked how many times he had to say it.”

“Sorry for
what?
” her brother asked suspiciously.

She didn't want to tell them; that was obvious. Her gaze darted from Colin's face to Noah's and back again, her eyes widening at the implacable expressions she saw.

“What difference does it make?” she cried.

Noah let Colin handle this. He didn't trust himself to open his mouth.

“Did that piece of shit hurt you?”

Brother and sister stared at each other for a long moment. Then she straightened. “I will not discuss my relationships with you. Or what ended this one. It really doesn't matter. I told him apologies were irrelevant. He's refusing to accept that I'm done with him. I have no idea why he won't let go of the idea that saying ‘I'm sorry, I love you, come back to me' is all he has to do.”

Noah wanted to get his hands on that scumbag. Ralston might have lost his temper and hurt her; he might have cheated on her. Either way, Noah could understand her not wanting to talk about it. But, by God, he wanted to know which it was.

“All right,” Colin said with a sigh. “We'll get pictures in the morning. The usual. I want you to pack a bag and come home with me.”

“You don't really think he'll be back tonight.”

He frowned. “No, I don't, but I can't be sure. What if he shows up on your doorstep to find out whether you
are
satisfied by his apologies?”

“I won't answer the door. I'll call 911.”

A predictable argument ensued. Noah stayed silent, although he'd have been happier if she'd agreed to go home with her brother. He wished he understood whether she was just being stubborn because that was her nature, or whether this had to do with the argument the two of them had had.

Finally Colin snapped, “On your head be it,” and stomped back into the house. The front door closed a moment later.

“Let's go back in,” Noah said, gripping her arm above the elbow.

He locked the door, thinking how useless it was to install a dead bolt when all a would-be intruder had to do was tap the glass to break it, then reach in. Still, the glass breaking would give Cait some warning.

He started opening cupboard doors. “Do you have tea? Something warm and sweet would be good.”

Her eyes were a little glassy. “Oh. Yes. To the left of the refrigerator.”

At least she
had
done some serious grocery shopping. He put water on to boil in the one and only saucepan she had, then chose a decaf orange-spice tea. She had only one mug, too, which meant he was probably the only visitor she'd entertained here yet.

“If you want something—” she began.

He shook his head and found a ten-pound bag of sugar in another cabinet beside bags of white flour, whole wheat flour, rolled oats and other staples. Tearing open the sugar, he put two spoonfuls into the mug.

She still stood in the middle of the kitchen, her arms wrapped around herself. It was all he could do to lean a hip against the counter and keep his distance.

“Why don't you pull up a stool?” he suggested as gently as his rough voice allowed.

Cait nodded with unexpected docility and obeyed. He was able to pour boiling water into her mug and carry it over to her, staying on the kitchen side of the breakfast bar.

“You want to talk about this?” he asked.

Her eyes met his, then shied away. She shook her head.

“What do you think he'll do next?”

She used the spoon he'd left in the mug to stir, her head bent. “I don't know.”

“You have any reason to think he's done this kind of thing before with other women?” Noah asked. Surely Colin had looked for a police record.

“I... If he has, I didn't know. Neither of us were seeing anyone else when we met. At the time, he seemed smart, funny, kind of intense but in a flattering way.” She stole a look up at him. “How could I have had a clue?”

Noah shook his head. “You couldn't,” he said flatly. “Short of doing a background investigation on every guy you date.”

“And even then...”

“He may never have been this obsessed before.”

She screwed her face up in an unhappy expression. “Wow. I hope that's not true. I don't want to think there's something about me—”

“Don't be ridiculous.” He found he was scowling. “This isn't your fault in any way, shape or form. Got it?”

Her lips quivered into a near smile. “Understood, sir.”

Okay, Mr. Sensitive he wasn't.

“Here.” He pulled the plastic trash container out from beneath the sink. “Let me have that tea bag.”

She squished it with the spoon and deposited it in the container, watching as he put it away again. “It was nice of you to come, Noah, but I'm okay now.”

“Trying to chase me out?”

“As soon as I finish this—” she lifted the mug “—I need to shower and get to bed.”

His entire being revolted at the idea of saying good-night and leaving her there alone, but he really didn't see the scumbag making another appearance tonight. And anyway—what was he doing there?

Say it again.
I am not her boyfriend. I'm not even a friend.
There was a whole lot of awkwardness attendant on him doing something as stupid as offering to spend the night on her sofa.

“All right,” he said with deep reluctance. “You'll keep your phone close.” It wasn't a question.

“Of course I will.” She finally took a sip of the tea and grimaced. “How much sugar did you put in here?”

“Drink it. You've got to be in mild shock.”

She heaved a sigh and slipped off the stool. “I'll walk you to the front door.”

What could he do but let her escort him out? He told her to call him if anything happened, said good-night, then hovered on the porch until he heard the dead bolt strike home.

Then, every bit as unhappy as her brother had been, Noah left, knowing damn well Cait was unlikely to get any sleep at all.

* * *

C
AIT
CAREFULLY
SET
the iced tea and sandwich on the table in Subway and let her heavy bag slide from her shoulder onto the seat beside her. She had maybe ten minutes to eat, which meant gobbling. Sitting so she faced the back wall was her best tactic for going unrecognized, so she might actually
have
a chance to gobble without interruption.

“Mind if I join you?” said a cool voice.

Oh, God. Nell.

In the act of unwrapping her sandwich, Cait looked up. “Of course not, but I have to tell you, I'm in a huge hurry.”

“That's okay, I don't plan to eat.” Her sister-in-law slid into the booth across from her.

“How did you find me?”

“I just finished grocery shopping at Safeway and saw your car when I was leaving.”

Cait swallowed. Funny, she'd believed herself more anonymous here than she'd have been in a deli near city hall. “I'm assuming you want to chew me out.”

A girl-next-door face like Nell McAllister's—freckles across a small nose, pointy chin, childishly high forehead—shouldn't be able to project icy disdain. Maybe she'd been taking lessons from Colin.

“Tell me you don't really think Colin would have killed some guy in cold blood because he dared to screw around with your mother twenty years ago.”

“I told him I was sorry, that I didn't mean what...what I guess it sounded like.”

“
Sounded
like?” Nell echoed, her incredulity plain. “I saw your expression. I heard you. You devastated him.”

Cait bent her head. She was having weird symptoms, her body flashing hot one second and cold the next. “It was...it was only for a minute. You weren't there—”

“I was!”

“I mean back when I was a kid.” She made herself look at Nell. “He was already taller than our dad. And so filled with hate. He was scary. You don't know what it was like.”

“What I know is that he was trying to draw your father's fists so he didn't use them on you or your mom.”

Heat blossomed on her cheeks. “I do know that,” she said in a small, tight voice.

“Because he loved you.”

“I know that, too.”

“He built that apartment above the garage for you. That's the only reason. In case you ever needed him. Until me, he said you were his only family. Having you come home was this huge gift to Colin, and now it's like it's blown up in his hands.” Nell slid out from behind the table and stood. “You are so wrong. In hurting him this way, you've lost something precious.” She shook her head as she looked down at Cait. Then she walked out.

With her back turned, Cait couldn't watch her go. She sat, not moving, feeling sick. She couldn't eat now.

After a minute, she wrapped up the sandwich, a drippy thing she didn't dare stow in her messenger bag. When she felt confident she could stand, she dropped drink and all in a trash can and went straight to her car, parked only a few slots from the door.

Having you come home was this huge gift to Colin.

She'd known that. She'd known for a long time how hungry he was to reclaim her as his sister. His family. And as long as she'd known, she had resisted, as if...

That was the part she didn't know. The only two people she'd ever really trusted were her mother and Colin. Even though what Mom had done with Jerry had nothing to do with Cait, it still had felt like a huge betrayal.
My mother had an affair.
In Cait's youthful world, her father had been the monster, her mother the...the good queen who had saved the princess by taking her away even though Mom didn't have the skills to make an adequate living at first. Cait hadn't told Colin that she and Mom lived in shelters off and on that first year. The battered wife who had fled with her young daughter. After finding out what else there was to the story, Cait wondered if she'd been a prop. She did know that Mom never mentioned the son she'd left behind to counselors or welfare workers. She also never said,
I was having an affair and that might be what enraged my husband.

And maybe that wasn't true at all. Cait's father might never have known about Jerry Hegland, or other men if there were any. But...he might have, too.

Cait
didn't
think Colin would have killed Jerry. Why would he have? It all happened so many years ago. He'd been mad when she'd told him, but probably only because she'd turned a part of his history inside out and it felt as if it were happening
now
to him, just as it had for her when she had found out. All she had to do was remember the way she'd gone off like a rocket, screaming at her mother the minute she'd walked in the door.
And
clung to her disillusionment all these years, as if...it was a form of protection?

She shied away from the thought, which didn't really make sense anyway. And, gee, what great timing to be psychoanalyzing herself. She'd already been in a hurry to get back to the office. Sitting there brooding was accomplishing exactly nothing.

Her hands mostly steady, Cait finally started her car, put it in gear and looked over her shoulder for the next opening in traffic.

CHAPTER SEVEN

C
ALL
HER
OLD
-
FASHIONED
, but Cait liked maps. Real ones printed in color on paper. Laminated was okay. She even liked folding and unfolding them. She'd left the one of Angel Butte and environs spread out on her passenger seat even though once she'd scanned it she knew where she was going.

She had yet to find a map updated since the annexation. Bond Road, the object of so much interest recently, meandered out of town, following Allen Creek and ending at a small lake. Most of the length of it would have been outside the city limits two years ago. She was surprised at how completely she'd left town. The road traversed stretches of the dry forest typical of the area interspersed with a few small ranches. A faded sign in front of one advertised trail rides with horses to suit all ability levels.

Cait speculated on why the line had been drawn to encompass an area with so little growth. Had Phil and other developers already owned land out here and wanted to latch on to city services? It might be interesting to find out whether the two developers who sat on the council also contemplated projects west of town.

She had decided to take an hour or so to check out both the site being considered for a septic treatment plant and the acreage Phil owned. Having already stopped and looked at the uninteresting plat that was Noah's current favorite for the city-owned facility, she was now keeping her eye on the rolling mileage counter on her dashboard, unsure whether Phil had marked his acreage. Of course, he'd have been glad to give her a tour if she'd asked, but a little of Phil Barbieri went a long way.

Cait had passed only a couple of cars going toward town, and they looked like they belonged to visitors. Maybe there was a campground or rustic resort on tiny Lupine Lake, where Bond Road ended.

Once she reached the mileage marker she'd been told to watch for, Cait slowed. Supposedly an access road had been bulldozed in for a quarter of a mile or so. Spotting it almost right away, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw an SUV or pickup closing in on her. She promptly put on her turn signal and eyed the dirt track, which plunged at a steep decline for the first fifty feet or so. Her small hatchback did
not
have four-wheel drive. At best, this little outing would result in a detour through the car wash.

Resigned, she turned anyway, aware of the SUV starting to pass. She forgot it when she heard a popping sound and the steering wheel spun out of her control for a frightening instant. Grimly, she grabbed it and hung on. Flat tire. She knew that feeling. Thank God she'd already slowed down, she thought, pulse racing, still battling for control on the sharp hill with only loose dirt for traction.

When the ground leveled out again, she was able to brake to a stop. Shaken, she didn't move for a minute.

Well.
She had a jack and a spare tire, albeit one of those shrimpy ones that looked like they'd been made for a motorcycle. Or—better option—she'd call for a tow truck. Given that she'd worn a favorite linen suit, she thought it would be worth paying someone else to change the blasted tire.

Decision made, she grabbed her phone, then got out to see which tire had gone. To her surprise, she caught a glimpse of the silver SUV backing up. The driver must have seen what happened and was being nice enough to stop. Maybe some chivalrous guy would offer to change the tire for the helpless little lady and save her a boring wait
and
some bucks.

On the other hand... It occurred to her how very alone she was out there. That silver color was really common for rentals. If the driver had hung back, he could have been following her without her noticing. This scenario was made to order for someone like, say, Blake.
He
could be chivalrous and say things like,
A woman alone can get in trouble, you know,
and she'd have to be nice as if she were glad to see him.

Driving out here all by herself might have been a dumb thing to do.

No. She had to do her job.

The vehicle didn't pull into the access road. Instead, it hovered, blocking the turnoff. Uncertainly she stood there beside her open car door, noticing the passenger-side window of the SUV was down even though no one sat in that seat. With the sun bright behind the strange vehicle, she couldn't make out the driver. Was he going to get out? The silence was absolute but for the sound of the idling engine. She was weirdly aware of everything: the sharp scent of volcanic dirt and ponderosa pine, her skin, the rasp of every breath, her own heartbeat, the smooth texture of the phone she clutched.

And then there was movement and she thought, oh, he's leaning down to say something, only what she saw made her think—

Pop.
Cait dropped to her hands and knees as the window inches above her exploded into shards.
Pop.
She scrambled behind the door then around to the front of the small car.
Pop.
Her Mazda shuddered. She turned her head frantically. All he had to do was get out and walk down there. Could she make it to the closest trees? But the trunks were scrawny, and there was virtually no undergrowth to hide behind.

911. Call 911.
But when she tried to dial, her hand shook so badly she dropped the phone. It landed in a small puff of dust below the bumper. She scrabbled for it even as she strained her ears for the sound of a door opening or closing. Or, please God, another approaching vehicle.

Nothing. She felt like an animal hiding from a predator but knowing it was helpless. A weapon. She had the spray in her purse—but her purse was in the car. She desperately wanted to poke her head out and
look.

Suddenly she heard the engine rev, and she worked up the courage to creep toward the far side of her car and peek. The SUV was swinging in a sharp U-turn and accelerating. Disappearing from her sight.

A dry sob escaped her before she could muffle it with her hand. What if there'd been
two
people in that SUV, and one of them had slipped out to hunt her?

No, that didn't make any sense. It had to be Blake, didn't it? Only...he'd never had a gun that she knew of. They'd talked about things like that. He'd been a big believer in tighter gun control.

That's when she heard the engine again.
Oh, God, oh, God, he's coming back.
She pulled herself to a crouching position and prepared to dash for the trees. But the vehicle she saw wasn't silver; it was black, and it was way bigger than the SUV she'd recognized as a crossover.

This one was slowing as if to stop, too, but instead it turned in and she saw the familiar insignia and front grill. Chevy Suburban.

Noah.
Could it be?

Cait dropped to her knees, then to her butt. She leaned against the bumper, afraid she'd topple over without its support.

The engine was turned off; a door opened and then slammed.

“Cait?” he bellowed. “Cait!”

“I'm here,” she called, then realized how whispery and tremulous her voice was. “I'm here,” she repeated louder.

In seconds, he rounded her car, the fear on his roughcast face enough to turn her to jelly.

“Oh, damn.” He crouched in front of her. “You're hurt.”

She shook her head and tried to smile, although her eyes were filling with tears. “No. Just, um...” She fingered tattered tights. “I think my suit is toast.”

He swore and fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around her as if he had to feel her against him to know she was all right. Cait seized on to him with more strength than she'd known she had. Nothing had ever sounded better than the slam of his heart beneath her ear.

* * *

N
OAH
DIDN
'
T
THINK
he'd ever been as scared in his life as when he had seen the bullet hole through the rear window of Cait's little Mazda—and then realized that the glass was missing altogether on the driver's-side window. There was the door, just standing open, and no sign of her. It had looked like a classic abduction scene. All he could think was,
That bastard has her.
His knees had about buckled when he'd heard her voice.

Noah and Cait held each other for a long time, him kneeling in the dirt, his cheek against her hair. He'd been scared badly enough that it was a while before he started noticing that her breasts were pressed against his belly and that her hair smelled really good.

It was probably just as well that her grip loosened about then and she finally eased back. He kept his hands on her upper arms.

“What happened?” he demanded.

She sniffed and swiped at her cheeks and then her nose. For someone with her air of class, the gesture was unexpectedly childish. If terror hadn't still been electrifying his body, it might have made him smile.

“Somebody shot at me.”

“I figured that out.”

She frowned at him. “How?”

“There's a bullet hole through the back window of your car.” He lifted his head. “Out through the front.”

She followed his gaze and blanched. “Oh. I guess I should call 911.”

“You haven't?” He swore and reached for his phone at his belt.

“I didn't exactly have time.” She looked and sounded affronted.

Noah held up a finger. Once he had the promise of units on the way, he glanced around. Here the two of them were, out in the open. “Is he gone?”

“Yes. I think he must have seen you coming.”

“Shit,” he growled. “An SUV went flying by.”

“Silver?”

“That was it. Oh, hell. I didn't pay any attention except to think he was driving too fast.”

“He?”

Noah shook his head. “No idea. I made an assumption.”

She told him what happened, not all in sequence, but he could see why.

“Your tire was shot out,” he realized, and she bit her lip and nodded.

“I didn't know. I heard a sort of pop, but I thought I just had a flat, like maybe I'd hit a rock and the tire had split open or something. Do they do that anymore?” she asked as if it mattered. She didn't wait for an answer. “I wasn't going very fast because I'd already turned in here, but the drop is really steep.” She gulped. “It was hard to keep the car on the road.”

That tightened the tangle in his chest some more. “We'd better call your brother,” he said.

“Yes.” She sank back until she was leaning against the bumper again. “My phone.”

They discovered she was almost sitting on it. Noah rose to his feet while she dialed. She'd worn that sunny yellow suit today, the one that had inspired such an idiotic and uncharacteristic flight of fancy in him, and she was right—it was ruined. The sight of her sitting there in the dirt, her palms skinned and her face filthy and her mascara smudged, looking defeated as he'd never seen her, filled him with an unfamiliar fury he had no way to vent. He listened with half an ear to the brief conversation, his gaze moving over the car, noting the crumbled glass beneath the open door.

If he hadn't decided to follow her out there...

She'd be dead.

The knowledge slammed into him, a kick to the chest that felt as if
he'd
been shot.

Not a single other vehicle had passed since he had pulled in. Her assailant—
why not name him, Blake Ralston
—would have had all the time in the world to finish her off.

When she started to struggle to her feet, he reached down to help her. She wasn't wearing heels, he saw; she had changed to athletic shoes before she'd headed out on this expedition. The rusty red dirt coated the gray-and-white leather and mesh.

“It's lucky you weren't wearing heels,” he said hoarsely.

She looked at her feet as if she hadn't noticed, but then she shook her head. “It wouldn't have mattered. I was already out of the car when—um, when I think I saw the gun. I just...fell. And then I crawled.”

Churning with emotions he had no ability to decipher, Noah couldn't help himself. He yanked her back into his arms, with no consideration for her fragile state. If she noticed, she didn't protest. She leaned into him as if she belonged right there, resting against him. Was that a very distant siren? He didn't care.

“Cait,” he said hoarsely.

She looked up, her eyes dark, and the power of all that rage, helplessness and tenderness overcame him.

He kissed her.

Not as gently as he should have. He nipped at her lips, rocked his until she opened her mouth and let him in. And then his tongue drove in, as if, God help him, he was claiming her.

She didn't sag in his arms; she hugged him hard and responded with a ferocity to equal his. The kiss got deep and slick and hot. One of his hands closed over her ass and lifted her. She helped by rising on tiptoe and trying to climb him. He'd have laid her back on the hood of that car and hiked her skirt if...

His long-lost sense of self-preservation awoke with a jolt. The siren was screaming now. A blue-and-white police unit screeched to a stop at the head of the access road. His large SUV blocked some of the responding officers' view, thank the Lord, but he needed to unpeel her body from his
now.

No matter how fiercely his body protested the loss.

He untangled his fingers from her short hair. “Cait,” he said in not much better than a growl.

She stared at him without comprehension.

“The cops are here.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God,” she exclaimed in a tone of sheer horror that pissed him off. She tried to leap back, colliding with the bumper of her car. He grabbed her arm. Staggering, she righted herself with his help, then retreated again so that several feet separated them. “Colin?” she asked.

“Uh...” He looked past her. “I don't think so. Not yet.” Yeah, that wouldn't have been so good.