Sacrifice of Passion (Deadly Legends) (18 page)

Vaguely, she realized that he hadn’t said the words back to her. What did he want from her? Did he want her to stay? Or were they back to payback? He let her guide his thumb, bringing her higher again. So close… Her body quivered. “No, I won’t—”

A sound from the stairwell her made her shut her mouth and still instantly.

“Oh, shit,” Vic muttered, yanking his hand out of her pants.

She collapsed against him, her ribs shooting pain, her orgasm torturously frustrated.

The rapid thunder of footsteps crashed down the hallway. She worked to pull herself together, knowing what was coming next. Time to shift gears. A second later, Zach poked his head around the doorjamb, staring into the den.

“Zach,” Vic said over her shoulder, immediately on dad duty. “What’s wrong, buddy?”

“I heard Sheila.”

Delaney looked up, hope rising. “Really? Outside?” Did pigs find their way home the way dogs and cats did? For Zach’s sake, she hoped so.

In one fluid motion, Vic lifted her off of him, gingerly maneuvering her down next to him on the couch. The next second he was up and moving across the room. “Come on, buddy,” he said.

She wanted to go with them, to see if Sheila was back and safe, but Zach needed his dad without her interference.

As they headed out of the house and disappeared in the darkness, the unfulfilled ache in her body diffused—somewhat—and rational thought returned. She’d told Vic that she loved him, but he hadn’t returned the sentiment.

Why had he demanded the words from her if he didn’t feel the same way? She was terrified to admit it to herself, but she couldn’t deny her feelings anymore. She wanted Vic and Zach and the ranch. The whole package.

But was there a place for her in his life? Did he even want her there?

Walking down the hall, then heading up the stairs, she grew hyperaware of every sound in his house, every detail he’d taken to make the place a home. Second door to the left. She opened it and stopped to take in the details. A queen-sized bed with thick, rustic posts sat against one wall. A rocking chair with a quilt draped across one arm was in a corner, a dresser that matched the bed against another wall, a cozy brick fireplace that looked well used.

She lay down on his bed, pulling the blankets up under her chin, hoping Vic and Zach found Sheila. And hoping that when she woke up in the morning, she’d know what to do about her feelings for Vic.

Thirty minutes passed. Finally, she heard them come back inside. Heard Vic getting Zach tucked back in bed, heard the low sound of their voices like a distant and sad lullaby. They hadn’t found the piglet, she realized, and disappointment filled her. How many losses could a child take before he lost hope of love being something that lasted?

Vic’s footsteps retreated to the den, paused, then made their way back down the hall. Toward her. She closed her eyes, feigning sleep as he entered the bedroom. They couldn’t recapture the moment they’d been wrapped up in a little while ago. She couldn’t, anyway.

He hadn’t said that he loved her, and that was enough to keep her deathly still.

She felt the slow, quiet movement as he walked over to her, felt the warmth of his body as he touched her back and as his heat spread across her skin. She kept her breathing steady.

She tensed, realizing he was getting ready for bed right here. Surely, he wouldn’t—

But he did. He slipped in next to her, the bed dipping with his weight. She almost jumped when he touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek. She waited breathlessly for him to do more, to touch her more intimately, but his fingers just slid away.

The solid wall of his body was so close she could feel the heat of his skin warming hers. But he didn’t press up against her.

“Good night,” he said softly, and she ached to answer him. To nestle against him and sleep enfolded in his strong arms.

After a few minutes she knew by the gentle rise and fall of his chest he’d fallen asleep. She turned her head, feeling the pull of his body as he slept next to her. Breathing in his scent. She let her eyes drift shut. And slowly her thoughts stopped spinning and sleep claimed her.

Hours later, when she felt the early morning sun on her face through the window, she was amazed the night had passed so swiftly. No more rain. No more dark clouds. And no sleepwalking. She smiled at that.

She glanced at the man slumbering next to her, and her smile turned wistful.

Everything seemed clearer during the daylight hours. And she suddenly knew that if she had any chance of making it work between them, they would need a fresh start, with nothing hanging over them.

Which meant she needed answers.

Their conversation last night had solved some of the big issues that had stood between them. But one of the biggest remained. Or rather, two.

Making up her mind, she slipped out of bed. She knew what she had to do. She quietly found her boots and put on Vic’s jacket. She wasn’t going to tell him everything, but she didn’t want him to worry, so she scribbled a note on a pad of paper:

Vic, I need some space. I went back to my parents’ house. I’ll call you later.

Contemplating how to sign the note, she finally wrote,
Laney
, and left it on Vic’s beautiful knotted wood dining table.

Making sure the door locked after her, she let herself outside and took off into the breaking light, heading back to her parents’ ranch, where temptation couldn’t interfere with getting answers to all the questions circling in her mind. The questions that would interfere with her having a future with Vic.

Or, possibly, of her having a future at all.

Chapter Seventeen

Vic checked his watch for the third time. He stood next to Zach, waiting impatiently for the school bus. The bus wasn’t late…yet. But the minutes were moving at a snail’s pace.

He couldn’t shed the feeling of dread that had washed over him when he’d awakened to find Delaney creeping from the bed. He’d watched, surreptitiously, as she’d dressed, gone downstairs, written him a note, and finally sneaked out of his house. He knew she wasn’t sleepwalking and he debated going after her, forcing her to stay, but then took the time to read the note first.

Fine. She wanted space, so he’d give her some—for now. In the light of morning, he’d figured not much could harm her, but once again, he made sure a sleeping Zach had been locked in the house, then followed her from a distance as she made her way back to her folks’ place. He figured he’d come back to the West’s later, after he got Zach off to school, and have it out with her and Red and Louise. The West ranch was not a safe haven for Delaney. That was the place where she had been brutally violated. Where all the bad had started for her. And him.

Plus, being at her folks’ house hadn’t stopped Laney from sleepwalking. When she sleepwalked, she could end up anywhere. At the mercy of a maniac. Just look at what had happened the last time.

No way would he allow her to spend another night anywhere but with him. He didn’t care what he had to do to make it happen—he’d make her move in with him. And Zach.

He’d returned home, woken Zach up and got him ready for school, then walked the kid to the bus stop, his mind still full of Delaney’s past. How had her parents not known what had happened under their own roof? He was still beyond furious at the details of what she’d been forced to endure. When she first told him she was raped, he’d been shocked to the core, but it hadn’t really sunk in. Last night it had. Big time. As she’d spoken, he’d been so enraged he could have killed the man by flaying his skin from his miserable hide inch by inch, then covering him in—

He shut down his thoughts of revenge and jetted out a breath, wrestling his fury into submission. Not helpful.

The bastard who’d hurt her was still out there. Attempting to hurt her again. Or worse, this time. Vic needed to be stone cold and in control if he was going to catch the man and deal him the punishment he deserved. Inadvertently, he let out a low growl.

Zach glanced up at him.

Vic flashed his teeth in an imitation of a smile. “Any minute, son,” he said, checking his watch again.

He needed to get back to the West place. Now. Screw her need for space. What about his need for her?

He whipped his hat from his head, raking his hand through his hair. Peering down the deserted road, he cursed under his breath. Where was the damn bus?

He heard it before he saw it, the whine of the engine carrying on the wind.
At last
. It came to a bumpy stop. “I’ll meet you here after school, buddy,” Vic said, noting how his son’s eyes were sunken and rimmed with dark circles. Zach hadn’t slept well after their failed search for Sheila.

“Yeah. See you later.”

Baby steps, Vic told himself for the hundredth time. He stayed rooted to the spot as Zach found a seat and the bus lurched into motion again.

A sliver of ease broke through his tension, knowing that Zach was safe and off to school. For the next six and a half hours, at least he didn’t have to worry about his son.

Jumping in his truck, he sped toward the West ranch, hoping Laney was still there and that Red would let him in. If he refused, Vic wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

Delaney was up to her neck in quicksand, and she seemed unable to pull herself completely out. He needed to be there for her.

A few minutes later he raced up the steps of the West porch, and pounded his fist on the door. He paced the porch, jamming his finger against the doorbell when his knock produced no answer.

He was in dangerous territory, in a place he’d never before been with a woman. He couldn’t stand the thought of not being with Delaney.

Hell, maybe
he
was the one in quicksand.

It sure as hell felt as though he were drowning, with Zach on one side, dragging him into depths of helplessness the likes of which he’d never known, and Delaney on the other side, his desire and fear for her safety weighing him down like an anchor.

No one came to the door. He ran off the porch and jumped over the steps, the pit of his stomach acidic with worry. He cursed himself for not demanding she give him her cell phone number. Jesus. They lived in the twenty-first century. Wake up.

Finding her should have been easy, but he was at a loss. He checked the stable, but all the West’s horses were there. With the windowless garage locked, he couldn’t tell if her Jeep was missing. He got back into his own vehicle and headed to the only place left on the ranch.

In two minutes, he was at the cabin. He couldn’t believe she would come back here—not after what had happened there. But maybe she’d felt safe in the light of day. Maybe she was looking for evidence, just as he’d planned to do.

He exploded through the door, stopping short when Alan Maldano shouted in surprise, jumping up from the bed where he’d been sprawled.

Vic stared at Delaney’s clothes strewn over the bed. At Alan’s undone pants.
The fucking bastard.
Vic charged forward. “You son of a bitch—”

Alan sputtered, scrambling as he zipped up his fly. “Hey! You can’t barge in here.”

Vic grabbed him by the shirt. His pulse thundered, his veins popping in his temples. “She didn’t want you, so what, you took things into your own hands? You raped her, you sick—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The color drained from Alan’s face. “I’ve never touched her! You’re just pissed because she left you. You don’t own Del—”

“No. But I sure as hell—” He paused infinitesimally before laying out the truth. “I love her.”

“Then you’re a fool,” Alan spat. “I’ve loved her forever and she’s been nothing but a cold bitch to me.”

Vic squared his shoulders. The guy was a weasel. It would be so easy to believe that Alan was the chupacabra. That he’d been the one who raped Delaney so long ago and was tormenting her still. Vic prayed for the prick to give him a reason.

Alan sputtered again, nearly cowering. “She left me, too. Never even said good-bye. I’ve always loved her. Always wanted her. But I have no idea what rape you’re talking about.”

Vic studied Alan in disgust. The man was a groveling insect, but not a killer. Or a rapist. Delaney had known Alan for years. It would have been near impossible for Alan to have disguised his voice, his form, his mannerisms enough that she wouldn’t suspect him. Or recognize him. No, Alan wasn’t the one who’d changed the course of her life.

“Do you know where she is?” he ground out, releasing the man’s shirt.

Alan sank down on the bed. “I heard she was with you.”

Vic’s head throbbed. Would she have gone to see a friend? Carmen Rios was probably her only friend in San Julio. They’d been together at El Charro the night he’d seen Esperanza—

His heart thundered, a chill whipping down his spine. The curandera. She’d warned Delaney about the chupacabra. Had told Delaney to be careful or she would die.

He knew with absolute certainty where Delaney had gone.

…

Vic made phone calls as he drove, checking with the vet clinic and with Carmen, just in case his suspicions were incorrect. No one had seen Delaney. Esperanza’s was the only place left to look.

The curandera’s cabin faced the San Julio River. Further down the river road was another cluster of uninhabited shacks. The chained entrance to the river road was off the beaten track. The way was bumpy, the road full of washed out pockets of earth. After an agonizingly slow progress, he pulled off the river road and onto the rocky terrain that led to Esperanza’s ramshackle house.

Sure enough, Delaney’s truck was parked next to the curandera’s shack.

He breathed out in relief, suddenly realizing how deeply he’d feared that Esperanza’s warning had come true. She’d told Delaney to be careful or she would die. He didn’t want to believe it, but he knew better than to dismiss the curandera’s power. He was living proof.

He strode to the door and knocked, three rapid strikes. “Esperanza!
Soy
Vicente Vargas,” he called. “
Estoy buscando por mi mujer
, Delaney West.”

He hadn’t planned on calling Delaney his woman, but as the words shot out of his mouth, he realized that was exactly what he considered her. His. Delaney had always been his woman. The woman he loved.

The house was deathly silent. A trickle of alarm seeped into his veins. Aside from Delaney’s Jeep, there was no sign that anyone was here. The surrounding river property looked deserted. Only the bare branches of the cottonwood trees and the low sagebrush moved in the swift breeze. He could smell the tang of the sage and the earthy musk of the San Julio. The roar of the river and the white water pounding against jagged rocks sent another chill through him. He could almost hear the cry of la Llorona.

He’d grown up fearing the spirit of la Llorona. Even now, as an adult, it seemed more real—more plausible—that the ghost of a betrayed woman in love would haunt the riverbed than that a vampire-like creature would go on a killing rampage.

But it was the chupacabra legend that had become all too real.

He knocked again, cocking his head when he heard the
click
of Esperanza’s cane. The door creaked open and the old, hunched woman stood there.

“
Buenos dias
,” Vic said.

“
¿
Que quiereth, ganadero?
” Esperanza whispered.

What did he want? He wanted Delaney. “
Ver mi mujer, Delaney West
,” he repeated, looking over the woman’s shoulder. A sliver of light shone from a back room; otherwise, the house was dungeon-like.

“Ah,” she said, stepping back. “
Entontheth, ven conmigo
.”

Good. At least she was calling him her friend and inviting him in. Esperanza turned her back on him and hobbled into the darkness. Vic crossed the threshold and followed her into the depths of the small house. In all his years in San Julio, he’d never actually set foot in the curandera’s house.

He slowed long enough to look around. His mother had always said that Esperanza had been born a Catholic and that her ability to heal was a gift from God. Seeing the
milagros
—little crosses ordained with tiny charms—that hung around the doorframe, the crucifix above the back door, and the slew of Aztec masks decorating the other walls, proved it to him. He felt as if he were crossing over to some alternate universe, one where logic and science had been replaced with faith and superstition.

And he teetered somewhere in between.

Whatever he believed didn’t matter right now. What was important was finding out what Delaney wanted with Esperanza, and if the curandera could help them.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen after her, he finally saw Delaney. Her back was to him as she examined the shelves lined with jars and containers. He was struck by the innate strength in her posture. She wasn’t cowering in a corner, waiting for someone to save her. He knew she’d earned her strength the hard way, coming through an ordeal that would have broken many others. As much as it pained him to have been the cause, it also made him unspeakably proud of her.

“Laney,” he said, moving toward her.

She turned, her gaze flicking to Esperanza and then back to him. “What are— How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t exactly rocket science.”

“I need to know what she meant when she said I would die. I have to know if I’m the chupacabra.”

Grim, Vic pulled her into a corner, away from Esperanza’s ancient ears. The old woman huffed, and melted into the shadows. He put his hands on Delaney’s shoulders. “It wasn’t you.”

Her posture softened, the confidence he’d seen in her slowly starting to wilt. “You don’t know that. The blood—”

“The blood on your shirt will lead the cops to the real killer,” he headed her off firmly. He knew in his gut she was just a victim, not a murderer. “What did Esperanza tell you?”

She folded her arms, frustration crossing her brow. “I don’t know why I came. I can’t understand a word she says.”

His lips curved, his tension ebbing just a little. “Good thing I showed up, then, isn’t it?”

She lifted her chin. “You really think she can help me?”

He leaned forward and gave her forehead a kiss. “If anyone can, it’s Esperanza.”

…

Soaking up Vic’s assurance, and touched by his affectionate peck, Delaney took a deep breath. Pain rippled through her ribs, reminding her sharply of her reason for being here. She hoped Vic was right about the old woman.

In the tiny room he towered above everything, the top of his head nearly brushing the low ceiling beams, the width of his shoulders taking up more space than any of the furniture. His presence was reassuring, but she wasn’t here for reassurance. She was tired of running. She was here for the truth. “She said I would die.”

Vic’s eyes narrowed. “She said to be careful or you would die. There’s a big difference.”

“Semantics.” She made a gesture with her hands, brushing away his suggestion. “How does she know these things?”

“I don’t even pretend to understand.”

She stared out the window behind Vic. The skeletal branches of the cottonwoods stretched and jerked in a dance macabre. The steady roar of the river sent a chill through her, which she fought off. “Then how—”

“She helped my mother once,” he said, his voice low and memory-laden.

Her gaze darted back to him. He’d never told her that. “Really?”

“A long time ago. My mother was pregnant and the baby hadn’t moved for days. The doctor said it was going to be stillborn.”

The angles of Vic’s face were starkly shadowed in the dimly lit room. He reached out to take her hand. “Esperanza made my mother a special tea. Gave her
cumino
.” Vic’s expression had taken on a quiet reverence. “Her labor started two hours later.”