Shades of Grey (14 page)

Maybe it was Travis?

There was a pause on the other end.

“Hello?” she said again.

“Is this Sarah French?”

She didn’t recognise the voice. “Yes, who’s calling?”

“It’s John, John Baines… Macy Jo’s husband?”

Wow, on the phone he sounded normal, nothing like the terrifying man he’d been previously.

“What’s the matter, John?” Sarah still recalled how Macy hadn’t come to her aid last night and how it had hurt. Out of all the townsfolk, Sarah had been sure Macy would have been on her side. They’d been really good friends growing up, and Sarah had attended their wedding.

“Is Macy with you?”

Sarah frowned. “No, why? She was at the bar last night when a lot of shit went down. She rang you. Didn’t you go and help her out?” She straightened a picture, wondering what on earth was going on.

“I couldn’t make it. Babysitter issues. I phoned everyone I know last night. Shit, I even went knocking on neighbours’ doors to take the kids for an hour or two. Fucking nothing.”

Frustration bled from his voice, and she couldn’t help but think, if he’d been nicer, he’d have had no problem finding help with the little ones. She wouldn’t say it, though. John was like Clark, his temper unpredictable and volcanic when it started, and she didn’t have the head to deal with him right now.

“Look, John, I’m busy. What is this about?”

A pause ensued before he continued.

“Macy Jo didn’t come home last night.”

“What? Is that normal?”

“Yes.”

Sarah was confused. “What, it’s normal that your wife doesn’t come home after locking up the bar?”

“She sometimes stays there if she’s worked too late.”

“Have you phoned the bar? Maybe she slept over again or something?” she suggested.

“I’ve phoned. No one’s seen or heard from her. She left the bar, I know that, but she hasn’t come home. I thought she’d have gone to you to apologise about what happened. I heard she stayed quiet when Clark upset you.”

This morning was getting weirder and weirder.

Sarah was about to suggest he call the sheriff when a noise from the dining room stopped her. “Hold on, John, I think I heard something.”

She carried the phone by her side, heard him shouting her name down the line. He sounded panicked. She didn’t understand why—nothing bad ever happened around here. Macy Jo had probably stopped by somewhere overnight to get away from the crap that had happened. Who knew? Maybe she was pissed off at John for not going to the bar after she’d called him.

Sarah walked past the hallway into the dining room and stopped, catching something in her peripheral. She took a step back and looked at her open front door.

She heard John panting down the line and lifted the phone to her ear.

“What do you think happened to Macy Jo?” she whispered, walking to her door.

“Please, Sarah, please tell me she’s there.”

She opened the door a little more. There was nothing there. Sunlight lit the hills and valleys, but she couldn’t make anything bad out. Frowning, she shut the door, heart tripping.

“Sarah? Sarah?”

“I’m here, John.”

“Why are you whispering?”

He sounded worried, and Sarah couldn’t begin to describe the pounding in her chest or the panic taking over. Something was wrong.

“I think someone is in my house, John,” she admitted, moving her back to the wall. She peeked round the corner and glanced into the sitting room. She was sure she was losing her mind, but she couldn’t stop the fear snaking through her.

“Get the fuck out of there, Sarah. You fucking stupid?” John growled.

Usually, she’d have taken extreme offence at his talk, but right now she completely agreed with him. Like in the movies where she screamed for the silly bitch to run for her life, Sarah did the opposite and checked the rooms in her house.

“Please, phone someone, anyone, John. I’m keeping the line free in case I need to call the sheriff.” She cancelled the call and hugged the device to her chest. “Just so you know,” she called out like a mad woman, “I have a gun in every room!” Great, every other woman ran for their lives and she was here threatening the guy—without even picking up one of the guns she was threatening him with. What the hell was wrong with her? “Travis? Is that you?”

She walked to the kitchen and ran to the cooker. It was burning a towel on the hob. She switched the cooker off and turned, pressing her back to the oven. It was clear now, someone was here. She hadn’t left that damn towel there. She looked around the room, seeking any clue as to the intruder’s whereabouts. She cursed the house for being old and having so many different places for a person to hide. Cursed her damn self for not reaching into the sideboard to fetch the gun there.

She strode forward to get it out, but a heart necklace dangling from one of the hooks on the wall diverted her attention. She took it down and looked at it, not recognising the piece. It wasn’t one of hers. It was a locket, and she opened the latch. Macy Jo and John stared back from the small pictures placed in each side. One big black cross was drawn on Macy Jo’s face, and Sarah knew where the necklace had come from.

The scream in her throat got stuck and fear came suddenly and with full force. She had to get out of here—now. She dropped the necklace and the phone and ran to the back door. She pulled on the handle but the door wouldn’t budge, and her hand was now bleeding through the cloth from the window cut she’d got earlier.

Crying out, shaking her head at her stupidity in dropping the phone—had fear sent her dumb?—she ran for the front door and stopped when she saw the spare key in the lock. She’d painted the tip with some pink nail varnish so she knew which one was the main key and which was the spare.

Sarah stared at the key, terrified by what it meant. Travis should have that key. Was he and Macy both being missing significant? No, it couldn’t be possible. She knew Travis, didn’t she?

She backed away, shaking her head again, not knowing what to do. Her back hit a wall of hard muscle. A hand went over her mouth, covering her scream, while another bound her hands at her sides, holding her steady.

She tried to scream again but no sound escaped, the noise muffled by the meaty palm.

“Now, you’re a wee little thing, aren’t you? I can see what Clark likes about you. A fighter he wants to tame.”

The stench of bad breath and unkempt male assailed her nostrils and she almost passed out.

“I wonder what he’ll do to you first.”

The disgusting bastard behind her was revolting.

“What did it? The necklace or the key? What scared you the most, little darlin’?”

She recognised that voice. She knew his smell and panic set in further. His hand relented for enough time for her to let a scream out.

He dragged her out of the hallway, and Sarah bit down and kicked, lashing out as much as possible.

The phone rang in the background, and she heard John screaming her name in her mind.

Macy Jo was gone and she wasn’t coming back—Sarah knew that as well as she knew her own name. They’d all mistaken Clark for being the bad guy around these parts, but it was Rodney damn Dukes.

He laughed at her struggle, but she finally got free, running into the kitchen. She gripped a cup, threw it at him, then rushed for the back door. He was bigger, taller and faster. He grabbed her arms and threw her into the wall with enough force that her head slammed against it. She collapsed in a heap on the floor, tried to get away again but couldn’t move fast enough. She fought him as hard and as fast as she could, but he yanked her hair, dragging her back, then rubbed his crotch against her ass, making her retch.

“Get the fuck off me, you asshole!” she yelled.

“We’re going to enjoy you, little darlin’. Let’s see if your wolf boy will want you when we’re through with you.”

A cloth covered her mouth and, eyes wide with fear, Sarah fought the darkness for as long as possible. The throb in her hand eased. She looked at her hand, the cloth gone now, saw the cuts from the glass and the dripping blood through glazed eyes. She tried to gaze around the room, but her senses were dulling. She felt a few droplets of blood drip off her skin. Her head grew thick, mind syrupy.

He released her hair, and she fell sideways, letting the darkness claim her.

Chapter Eleven

Travis awoke but kept his eyes closed. He had a blinding headache and reached up a tentative hand to feel the sore spot on the back of his skull. He winced at a fresh slice of pain. His hair was hard, as though something sticky had dried on it. Something tickled his arm, and it felt suspiciously like…grass?

What the fuck?

He snapped his eyes open, realising several things at once—he was outside, under some bush or other, and he was fucking freezing. As though his acknowledging the cold gave his body permission to react, goosebumps spread out over his skin, and his teeth chattered. He looked at his hand. Dark red specks decorated his fingertips. Dried blood?

He crawled out from under the bush on hands and knees, remembering why he was here. Last night. Finding Macy Jo. Clark and Stephen appearing. Running to the fence, trying to find Sarah’s key. Being struck and blacking out. He sat on the grass—damn cold on his bare ass—his clothes and the fence nowhere in sight.

So he’d been moved from the spot where he’d been hit, then.

Grimacing from the pain in his throbbing head, he stood, his mind immediately going to Sarah. He could only hope that the key was lost, had fallen out of his pocket and nestled in the grass, and hadn’t been taken. He could only hope she was safe.

What time was it? The men on her ranch started early, almost when the cock crowed, so she wouldn’t have been on her own for long, not really. He’d left her about…what, two in the morning to investigate the noises?

He glanced at the sky and, judging by the placement of the sun, it was around ten. He hadn’t slept this late in years. He hadn’t intended on leaving Sarah by herself for eight hours either.

Clark’s revelation came back to him, barrelling into his mind, spreading like a rancid, bitter acid.

‘That’d be telling, wouldn’t it? Just like it’d be telling if I said the brew you’ve been drinking during tea breaks with us at the ranch has messed with your senses a little.’

What the fuck had been in it? Whoever had hit him last night—had they given him more when he was out for the damn count?

He decided to shift—better to be a wolf than a naked man—and run home then call Sarah to make sure she was okay. If he turned up at the ranch as a wolf he’d be shot without a doubt, and if he arrived naked they might not let him near her home anyway, no matter what he told them. They were fiercely protective of her, if only she’d stop and see it.

His need to reach her quickly caught hold of him, and he concentrated, shifting, the pain in his head vanishing.

Low voices came from his right, startling him a little. He backed into the bushes, spiteful thorns snagging his coat, and waited for whomever it was to pass by. From the looks of the field opposite, he was on the outskirts of Sarah’s land. Mountains lay ahead—those in the region of Gordon’s Creek if he wasn’t mistaken. He shuddered at the memory of being there, of what he’d seen.

What the hell are people doing this far out here?

Maybe a horse had bolted, he didn’t know, but he
did
know it was unusual for anyone to be taking a walk or working this far out. These fields were used for pasture when the grass in the ones closest to the ranch had been bitten down to the ground. He narrowed his eyes to see into the distance to his far left. No black dots scattered about. Why weren’t the horses grazing out there?

The voices grew louder, although they weren’t raised to anything above a low murmur. Two men, their identities indecipherable. Travis strained his ears for a clue. One came with the hoarse cackle of a laugh that chilled his bones and made the hairs on his neck stand up.

Fucking Clark.

What the hell had been the deal with him last night anyway? Travis knew Clark was a dirty son of a bitch, but to try to get him framed for murder? The bastard must want Sarah to himself real bad. And did that mean the deputy would be looking for Travis now? Why hadn’t the one who’d whacked him around the head told the police where he was? Why had he even
been
whacked when he’d left Clark at Gordon’s Creek? Who else wanted him harmed?

“He should be asleep for a little while yet,” Clark said. “The amount you gave him was too much, dipshit. I told you only five mils. I already gave him a jab at the creek. We need him alive if he’s gonna take the rap.”

So Clark still intended for Travis to take the blame for Macy Jo’s death. Fucking great. People around here were so small-minded, Travis would be banged up and judged before it ever got to court. He’d go down for a crime he hadn’t committed, the judge and jury too afraid of Clark to go against him and give Travis a fair trial.

“Sorry,” the other man said.

Rodney Dukes.

Motherfucker!

Travis stopped a growl escaping and peered through the foliage. There they were, coming towards the bush, walking as though they didn’t have a care in the damn world, like they were out on a stroll, nothing better to do with their time. How the hell did they sleep at night? Didn’t they have consciences? It looked as if they’d both taken time to shower, dress in clean clothes, and they’d even brushed their hats by the looks of them. Another day—another normal day to them.

Jesus Christ!

“She tied up nice and tight?” Clark asked, chewing on a matchstick, one hand grabbing his crotch.

Sarah? If they’ve fucking hurt her…

Travis wanted to spring out of his hiding place and attack them, but he couldn’t risk them drawing their guns. If they injured him—or, worse, killed him—he’d be no good to Sarah anyway.

“Yeah. You sure you want a piece of her?” Rodney coughed. “I mean, she’s not right clever. Had a phone on her at one point when I went to collect her but put it down. Doesn’t strike me as a woman with all her farcults in place.”