Yesterday's Gone (Two Daughters Book 1) (9 page)

“Ms. Lawson? I’d like to talk to you.”

Light glinted off to one side. She turned her head and was almost blinded by the flashlight beam shining in one of the small windows. A voice called excitedly, “I see her! She’s in there.”

Her teeth chattered, and she fumbled for her phone.

CHAPTER EIGHT

S
ETH
TOOK
THAT
damn driveway so fast, his head whacked against the roof of his SUV when he hit a rut wrong. He’d made the drive with lights flashing and siren screaming. He was ready to kill someone, to hell with the consequences.

His headlights swept over three separate vehicles besides Bailey’s in the small clearing and a bunch of people who all swung his way. Son of a bitch, wasn’t there a grain of conscience among them?

Slamming to a stop, he turned off the siren but left on the flashing light to make a point. He climbed out and stalked toward the porch, his hand resting on the hilt of his weapon. To make
another
point.

“Anyone still on this property thirty seconds from now will be under arrest,” he said loudly.

The two people on the porch began to protest.

“There’s no law says we can’t knock on someone’s door,” one of them argued.

He began to count. “One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three.”

The yellow beams of flashlights pierced the near-complete darkness as shapes behind them materialized from the darkness to each side of the cabin. Christ. They’d been looking in the windows? Imagining Bailey’s fear made him pause in his counting.

“Ten-thirty at night, this is an isolated home, and you’re shining flashlights in the windows in hopes of terrifying a lone woman into coming out?” His voice was harsh. “By God, I
want
to arrest every last one of you.”

“We’re going, we’re going,” one of them said as she scuttled by him.

A woman. He wondered how
she
would have felt, huddled by herself in that cabin.

He took up his count to allow for the time since he’d left off. “One thousand and twenty. One thousand and twenty-one. One thousand and twenty-two.”

One set of headlights came on, then another. Car doors slammed. Vehicles backed up, maneuvered around each other and his SUV, and he saw red taillights.

He turned then. “Bailey? You okay?”

After a moment, the door opened a crack. He saw only darkness inside. “Are they gone?” Her voice shook.

Son of a bitch. “Yeah. Can I come in?”

“Yes. Okay.” The door swung wider. She must have reached for the light switch, because that bare overhead bulb came on.

The rage in him swelled when he saw her face, pale and pinched, and her body held tight as if to make herself small. He took one step inside and gathered her into his arms.

For an instant, she stayed stiff, so tense it was like gathering in a bundle of high-tension wires. Then she made a muffled sound, threw her arms around him and sagged against him.

He pressed his cheek to her head. “I can’t believe they did that,” he growled.

“It was my fault.”

“What?”

“I forgot to watch for someone following me,” she said miserably. “It was...kind of a full evening, and I got careless.”

“There’s no excuse for that bunch of weasels. They were trying to scare you out.”

“You warned me,” she mumbled into his chest.

“I didn’t expect anything like this.” His hands moved up and down her back. “I doubt any of this bunch were working for the
Seattle Times
or any reputable national magazines. They don’t operate this way.”

Bailey pulled back a little, crying, “Then who
were
they?”

One hand now wrapped her nape. He squeezed gently. “At a guess, freelancers. People who don’t get a paycheck unless they produce a story. Apparently, any way they can.”

Her breath came out in a gust, as if she’d taken a blow, and she let herself lean against him again. A couple of minutes passed. He didn’t say anything, just gave her time to gather strength. Unfortunately, he became increasingly aware of her breasts pressing against his chest, the silky texture of her hair beneath his cheek and mouth, a scent that was indefinably her, and the delicate lines of her back, shoulders and neck. He tried to hold her so she wouldn’t notice he was becoming aroused, but, damn, he didn’t want to push her away, either.

When finally she sighed and straightened, it took him a beat too long to let her go.

If she noticed, she didn’t comment. “Will they come back once they see you leave?” she asked.

He frowned. “I doubt it, but we’re not taking the chance. You can’t stay here anymore, Bailey. It’s time for Plan B.” Or were they on C?

“Which is?” Her tartness sounded more like the gutsy woman he was getting to know, the one who hated needing to be rescued. “One of those freeway motels?”

He shook his head. “You’d be lucky to make it through the night before the vultures descended again. They’ll be watching for you. Desk clerks at that kind of place can be bribed.”

Her expression became mulish. “Then what?”

“You do have a bedroom waiting for you at the Lawsons, you know.”

She closed her eyes. “I can’t.”

Seth didn’t say anything, but he wrapped his hands around her upper arms and felt her shiver.

“I know it’s dumb. I mean, they’re nice people.” She fell silent for a minute. “Maybe...maybe they’d let me sleep on the sofa. Or...or in Eve’s room.”

He couldn’t pretend to understand what was bothering her—he wasn’t even sure
she
knew—but her horror seemed genuine.

She drew a shuddering breath and met his eyes. “I don’t have a lot of choice, do I? Um...give me a few minutes to get my stuff. And I shouldn’t leave the food to rot, should I?”

“I’ll pack the food while you gather your things.” When she started toward the bathroom, he said, “Bailey.”

Her teeth had closed on her lower lip when she turned.

“I’m going to take you home with me tonight.” Oh, man. Was he nuts? “It’s late to knock on the Lawsons’ door no matter what. I have a spare bedroom,” he finished gruffly. “Nobody will bother you at my place.”

She searched his face with those desperate eyes. “I’ve sort of cornered you, haven’t I? I didn’t mean to.”

Seth shook his head. “My house is the most secure place for you right now.”

“Won’t you get in trouble? I mean, since I’m part of, well, an investigation?”

He had no idea what his lieutenant would have to say about it, never mind the sheriff himself, enough of a politician to make Seth queasy on occasion. He discovered, however, that he didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. “It’s not like you’re a suspect, Bailey.”

“No, but—”

“We can talk in the morning about alternatives,” he said quietly.

Instinct told him she’d hate knowing how much vulnerability she was betraying at that moment, as she hesitated. But finally she nodded.

More relieved than he’d have admitted, he found where she’d stashed the plastic grocery bags and began repacking what he’d bought for her...not today, yesterday. By the time he was done, she was ready, the handle of her rolling suitcase clutched in one hand, the sleeping bag efficiently rolled.

“You okay to drive?” he asked.

“Of course I am.”

Her indignation made him smile. “Okay, just follow me, then.”

She turned out the light, locked up and handed him the key. As they made their careful way in the dark to their respective vehicles, her voice came to him. “I kind of liked it here.” She sounded wistful.

“Didn’t turn out to be as peaceful as I’d hoped.”

“No.” She hopped in her car and the slam of the door brought an end to the conversation.

There wasn’t much traffic at this time of night, which made it easy to watch for anyone following them. Apparently he’d scared that last bunch enough; none of them had hung around hoping for another shot at her. Bailey stuck so close behind him during the drive he could have ticketed her for tailgating. He understood, though; whether she was happy about it or not, he was her rock right now. The Lawsons would be there for her, too—she had to know that—but she must feel a lot of confusion about them right now. He was neutral.

Yeah, he thought, unless she blamed him for the nightmare her life had turned into since she walked into the sheriff’s department that first day. Man, he hoped she didn’t hate him. But he kind of thought she wouldn’t have leaned against him so trustingly if she did.

His house was nothing special—an older rambler with the typical two-car garage that really only had room for one car along with the workbench, tools, lawn mower and sports equipment. He used the remote to open the garage door, but parked as close to one side of the driveway as he could get and jumped out to wave her in. She gestured for confirmation; he nodded, and she finally, tentatively, edged inside the garage.

He grabbed the bags of groceries, locked his SUV and walked into the garage, where she was getting her suitcase out of her trunk.

“You’re trying to hide me,” she said.

Seth raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you rather have your car out of sight?”

She made a face at him. “You know I would. I feel bad you couldn’t park in your own garage, though.”

He smiled. “If it was pouring or snowing, I might mind.”

He ushered her inside, closing the garage behind them, and set the bags down on the kitchen counter. “Spare room is over here,” he said casually, and led the way. The house was your basic three bedrooms, two bathrooms boxy. He had a guest room set up only because his mother or sister and her family visited. A double bed and simple dresser were the sole furnishings. A cot kept in the closet could be unfolded for one of the kids.

“The bathroom across the hall is all yours,” he told her. “If you want to go straight to bed, that’s fine. If not, why don’t you come along to the kitchen. I have coffee, tea, cocoa.”

She nodded, not moving, and he left. Not anywhere close to ready to go to bed himself, he’d be disappointed if she didn’t want to talk. Listening to the silence, he started putting away her groceries. He was wadding the plastic bags up again when she appeared, expression tentative. Normally a graceful woman, right now the way she held herself was awkward, shoulders rounded and arms as far from relaxed as they could be, betraying how uncertain of herself she felt. She had brushed her hair, pulling it into some kind of bundle at the back of her head, only wisps of bangs softening her face. Whatever makeup she’d started the day with was mostly gone, though, leaving dark smudges under her eyes.

“Don’t you need to get to bed?” she asked.

“I’m not on the clock. I work long hours. If I show up a little later tomorrow, no one will complain.”

“Oh.” Keeping a wary eye on him, she climbed onto one of the stools pulled up to the breakfast bar that formed the end of the countertop. “You really have cocoa?”

Seth smiled, careful to appear relaxed. “Coffee would keep me awake. Anyway, I have a sweet tooth. Want some?”

“Please.”

The teakettle whistled. He silenced it long enough to dump mix into a couple of mugs, and then poured. He handed her one mug and a spoon and kept the second, leaning back against the counter edge. He liked to think he was a smart man, which meant keeping his distance.

“I miscalculated what was going to happen after the press conference,” he said. “My fault.”

Her forehead crinkled. “What do you mean?”

“We didn’t give enough detail.”

She absorbed that. “You mean, whether he sexually molested me.”

“That’s the biggie,” he agreed. “They want the whole story. What your life was like with him. How you could have forgotten your own name. Some of the stuff you’ve told me.”

Her chin came up. Her eyes were dark and turbulent. “And if I don’t tell them what they want to know?”

“They’re going to keep after you. At least for a while.”

Bailey ducked her head and sipped cocoa. Finally, she asked, “What do you think I should do?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Probably I should have said something tonight. Told them I’ve asked you not to say any more since this is an ongoing investigation.”

“Would they respect that?”

He shook his head and repeated, “I don’t know. The scene tonight was out of my experience.”

“If I tell them...it would be like stripping naked so they could critique my body. Them all circling me, poking at me, prying open my mouth to look at my teeth, telling me to spread my legs.” She shuddered. “You know?”

The picture she painted was a vivid one. And, God help him, he wished she’d strip naked for him. But he also understood what she was telling him. Much of the composure that seemed innate to her wasn’t. It was more like armor she donned to face the world. Stripped of that, she would be naked in a sense, exposed for everyone to see.

“We can hold out. Most of them will give up eventually. Alternatively, we can choose one journalist and you can give an exclusive. That might work best. Think about it.”

She nodded.

He hesitated. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

She went still and her eyes widened. He almost didn’t go on. He hadn’t even asked why she’d described her evening as “full.” Was that a euphemism for shitty?

But she was waiting, and he doubted she’d let him put her off.

“Today, I started tracing Les Hamby’s footsteps. The murder you told me about didn’t get me anywhere, but I found a couple of more recent citations in Oregon.” He told her about them.

“He was going to snatch a girl from that school.” Her voice vibrated with outrage and something like fear.

“That’s my take,” he agreed. “As it was, a parent spotted him loitering between the girls’ bathroom and an exit door and confronted him. A teacher called an administrator, who called the police. He was arrested but never brought to trial. He didn’t dare grab a girl in La Grande after that.” Here came the part he was telling Bailey only because he thought she deserved to know the truth. “A five-year-old girl was abducted less than two weeks later from her home in Nampa, Idaho, not very far away. Bailey...” He hesitated. “She looked a lot like you at that age.”

“Oh, God.” Obviously stricken, she set down the mug. “So...so it wasn’t just me. He didn’t stop.”

“No.”

And then her stare became fierce. “When was that?”

He told her, and saw her making the same calculations he had. “Oh, God,” she whispered again. “How many lives has he ruined?”