She Can Tell (36 page)

The Watcher wrenched the knife free and caught the limp body. Warm blood soaked the sleeves and front of his hooded sweatshirt. Just like another night, long ago. There was no surprise and no panic this time. He ducked and dragged the body across his shoulders. Will was bigger and heavier than Harry had been. Liquid trickled down the Watcher’s back.

He hiked down the game trail and deposited Will behind a shrub. He’d deal with the body later. After Rachel was eliminated.

“Does your property flood?” Running a towel over his wet hair, Mike strode naked into the bedroom. Rachel was bending over and picking up her panties. She put them on. Pity.

“No.” She shook her head. “Those old Quaker farmers knew their stuff. The house and barn are on high ground. Flooding shouldn’t be an issue, but the roof is questionable. I really do have to get home.”

Mike dressed and slid his gun into his holster. A loose rain jacket concealed the weapon. He tossed a duffel bag on
the bed and stuffed a couple of changes of clothes in it, then headed to the bathroom for his shaving kit.

She pulled her tank over her head. She eyed his bag. “So, you’re staying for a while?”

“You bet.” He added socks and underwear. “You’re going to make me sleep on the couch, aren’t you?”

“Sorry.”

“It’s OK. You’re right,” he grumbled.

“Could you get my clothes out of the dryer?”

Mike stepped up to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “If I don’t give you clothes, you’ll have to stay.”

She laughed, her breath warm against his skin. “Don’t worry. You’ll get another chance to get me naked.”

“It’s not just that.” He tucked her head to his chest and breathed in the lemon scent of her hair. “Since we’ve been here, no one’s tried to kill you.”

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into Rachel’s driveway. Mike’s phone buzzed. Pete’s cell number appeared in the screen.

“Pete?”

“We have an emergency,” Pete shouted.

Sirens in the background made the lieutenant’s voice hard to hear. Mike covered his other ear.

“The supports under the bridge on West Drive washed out. I’m en route, so is the rescue squad. Could really use you.”

“Are you sure you want me there?”

“Yes. I have two cars in the creek and people trapped inside. Thank God the creek’s not that deep, even at flood level, or they’d all be dead already.”

Mike’s gut twisted with indecision for a few long seconds. But there was only one thing he could do. The rescue squad
was mostly volunteers. There wouldn’t be enough strong backs to haul people out of flood currents. West Drive was only a mile from Rachel’s farm. He could be there before the squad. “I’ll be right there.”

Mike hung up and dialed Sean. “Can you come and stay with Rachel?”

After securing Sean’s promise, Mike explained the situation while hurrying Rachel into the kitchen. “I’m sorry. Stay inside with the alarm on. Sean’s on his way.”

She scooped up the yapping dog. “Be careful.”

“I don’t like leaving you.” Every muscle in his body was tense, protesting his exit.

“People need you.” Rachel kissed him as he opened the door. “Go.”

He heard the locks click behind him as he jogged to the truck. The rain had stopped, at least for now, but the damage was already done.

“What happened? Where’s Mike?”

Rachel turned as Sarah walked into the kitchen. A full laundry basket was tucked under her good arm.

“The bridge on West Drive is out. People are trapped in cars in the creek.”

“Oh no.”

Rachel followed her sister into the laundry room. Sarah dumped the load into the washer, added detergent, and closed the lid. She pressed start. The machine chugged to life with a loud
thunk
. Water rushed into the tub.

They wandered back into the kitchen. Rachel paced to the cabinet and checked the Pop-Tart supply. She pulled out the last box.

“Worried?” Sarah asked.

Rachel took out a foil sleeve. She paused, the unopened pouch in one hand, the box in the other. Nerves swirled in her belly. Mike was a hero by nature. He’d risk his life to save strangers without hesitation. She checked her phone on the counter. The display was blank. “Yeah.”

Sarah smiled. “Finally.”

“Finally what?” Rachel put the box away. She walked into the den, switched on the TV, and tuned to a local station. Nothing.

Sarah followed her. “You’re finally in love.”

Rachel’s butt dropped to the sofa. Yeah, she
loved
him. But
in love
? It would explain a lot of things. The way she blubbered all over him without shame. The way her heart went all high school every time she saw him. The strange sense of comfort in his touch. “Do you really think I’m in love with him?”

“Why is that such a surprise to you?” Sarah sat next to her.

Rachel offered her sister a Pop-Tart, her hunger dimmed by turbulent thoughts. “Well, you know, Mom.”

Sarah pointed at her with a strawberry pastry. “Are you really worried about that? You are not Mom.”

Rachel chewed. The Pop-Tart tasted like fruit-filled cardboard.

“If anything, you are the polar opposite of her. Mom didn’t take responsibility for anything. I loved her, but she was very selfish. She never put us or Dad before her own desires. You put everyone first.”

“I always felt bad for leaving you in that house.”

“You shouldn’t. You had the chance at a career. Why wouldn’t you take it? What would turning down the opportunity have done for either of us? Marrying Troy wasn’t a
good choice, but it was
my
mistake, not yours. I tried to take the easy way out.” Instead of eating it, Sarah stared at her Pop-Tart. “You know, she wouldn’t have been able to do what she did if Dad didn’t let her.”

“I know. She lived to hurt him, and he lived to take care of her.” Rachel picked up the remote and checked the other local channels. Nothing. “So, what do we do now?”

“Not repeat their mistakes, I guess. Though I can’t see you acting like her
or
putting up with that kind of behavior. I did a lot of excusing stuff with Troy. But no more.” Sarah got up and turned toward the kitchen. “Oh my God.” She pointed to the window.

Rachel jumped up. Her gaze followed Sarah’s finger. A plume of flames and smoke rose from the barn.

Panic seized Rachel’s next breath in her chest. “Call the fire department!”

Sarah jolted into action and grabbed the phone.

Rachel pulled her work boots on her bare feet and tucked in the legs of her jeans. “Stay inside with the girls, no matter what happens. Reset the alarm.”

“This could be a trap!” Sarah yelled at her back.

The possibility that the fire had been intentionally set had already occurred to Rachel. The fire at the town hall was still fresh in her mind.

“I know, but I can’t let those horses burn to death.” She grabbed her jacket, pulled the door open, and ran. Panicked whinnies carried over the cracking of wood burning. Slipping and sliding down the back lawn, she sprinted to the barn. Her foot skidded on the slick grass, but she scrambled back to her feet. On the way past the water trough, she dunked her jacket before tugging it on.

An animal’s high-pitched scream lifted the hair on her nape. Visions of trapped animals burning alive played in her mind. Her stomach clenched. She had to save them!

The flames were contained to one front corner of the wooden structure. Recent rains had left the exterior boards wet, hopefully giving her a few precious minutes. She pulled her wet hood over her head and plunged into the aisle. Smoke swirled, hot and acrid, around her face. Her eyes watered. She threw open the door and unlatched the first stall. Wild-eyed and snorting, the big bay plunged through the opening. She chased the horse out of the barn, then moved on to the next.

Smoke thickened as she pulled a chestnut pony out. Rachel blinked through the black smoke and worked methodically through the barn. Her eyes burned and soot clogged her throat as she opened the last stall. Rojas’s gray snorted and reared in panic, its eyes rolling wildly back in its head, exposing the whites. As his feet hit the dirt, Rachel moved forward and secured the lead to his halter. She pulled, but he resisted. Rachel slid out of her jacket and tossed it over the animal’s head. She dragged him out of the perceived safety of his stall into the increasing heat of the aisle. The blindfolded and terrified horse trembled. His sides bellowed. Rachel wiped a forearm across her eyes. The front exit was engulfed in flames. She’d been afraid to open the back door. More air could fan the flames higher, creating a chimney effect as wind blew through the building. The fire gave her no choice now. The back door was the only way out. She pulled on the handle, ignoring the searing burn of the hot metal on her hand.

As she’d feared, the fire grabbed the fresh air. It licked up into the rafters and caught the hay in the loft. Rachel tripped and went down hard in the dirt. Choking on thick
smoke, she struggled to regain her footing as the black cloud thickened around them. The gray, smelling the fresh air just beyond the doorway, staggered forward. Rachel gripped the rope tightly in her fists and let the horse drag her out.

She lay on the grass, gulping cold, wet air into her lungs for a minute before pushing herself to her hands and knees. Coughing and gagging, she looked up at the horse. Black streaks marred the gray’s pale coat. His sides heaved, and there were several burns on his back and haunches that would need treatment.

Neither of them would come out of this unscarred, but they were both alive.

Something crashed to her left. The barn was totally engulfed. Flames shot into the black sky. Wood creaked. A piece of the roof caved in with a loud crash and a shower of sparks. Rachel crawled backward, numb with shock, eyes riveted on the burning building as her dreams turned to ash in front of her.

An enormous explosion of sparks sprayed into the air. Tongues of flame licked at the remaining structure, wrapped around rafters and joists, and pulled them to the ground. Embers flew through the air as the walls collapsed, consumed by the raging fire.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Something squished in the grass behind her. She swiveled her head. A shape loomed over her. The fire reflected over a tall, hooded, and blood-covered form. The shocking image transposed over her nightmares. Doubt paralyzed her for a few seconds. Was it real or was she hallucinating?

Her brush with indecision cost her. He lunged. A blade gleamed in the firelight. One steely arm wrapped around her middle. He pulled her to her feet and pressed the knife to the tender skin of her throat. Something warm trickled
down her neck. Before she could react, he lifted her off the ground. She shot a hand over her shoulder to strike his face, but smoke inhalation had left her winded and weak. Her body seized in a fit of coughing. He tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Blood rushed to her head as it bounced against his back. He hurried into the woods. Five long minutes later, she heard the rush of water.

“Put me down.” She hacked. Her lungs burned as she struggled to inhale sufficient air. She twisted to see where he was taking her. His flashlight beam gleamed on water. The river. A boat was tied to a tree. Her captor whirled, his light sweeping over the riverbank. Half concealed under thick underbrush was a body. She barely recognized the dead-white face of Will Martin. Blood soaked his shirt.