Jeannie Watt Read online

  “Well, you know what?” Eddie said as he heaved himself to his feet. “I think you’d better buy me a farewell drink. That way the guys will all see we’re buds and I won’t get crap from them.”

  Matt considered his options and then caved. “One drink,” he said. “And not if you’re going anywhere near a motor vehicle.”

  Eddie laughed. “Hell. I haven’t been allowed near a motor vehicle in years.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  TARA THOUGHT IT WAS ODD, but not unprecedented, when the car following her down the highway also turned down her road. She didn’t get a lot of traffic by her house since only a few people lived past her, but it was a county road and it was Saturday night—party time for kids.

  The prom-dress rehearsal had gone without a hitch even though Stacia had been noticeably absent and Dottie had taken over. All in all, it was a decent evening.

  She parked near the house and was already on her way up the porch steps when headlights swung across the front of the house, momentarily blinding her. She put a hand up to shade her eyes, then dropped it as she recognized the vehicle. A white BMW. Ryan. She walked to the door and calmly fit the key into the lock. She was not going to talk to him; she was not going to allow herself to be bullied by him. She went into the house, shut the door and turned the dead bolt. Then she stood for a moment wondering what to do. She decided to wait in the parlor with the lights off until he left. She heard his heavy footsteps on her porch, the faint rattle of glass as he knocked on the ornate front door.

  She didn’t move.

  “Tara!”

  He’d slurred the single word. He was drunk. Tara shook her head, feeling more secure. All she had to do was outwait him. He would tire and eventually—

  The crash of glass shattered the thought.

  Tara raced to the foyer in time to see Ryan’s hand, dimly illuminated by the porch light, reach through what was left of the leaded glass front window and fumble with the lock. She grabbed the first thing at hand, an antique umbrella Aunt Laura had kept by the door for the infrequent Nevada rainstorms, and swung it at his arm. He howled with pain as she connected, then cursed and reached through the window with his other hand to flip open the lock.

  Tara turned to run, making it all of three steps before she tripped over a rumpled drop cloth and went sprawling. She was scrambling to her feet when Ryan shoved the door open and switched on the light.

  His arm was bleeding.

  “Bitch!” His face contorted with anger. Tara held his eyes, her own wide and fearful in spite of herself, slowly working to get her feet under her so that she could bolt again. “You told Stacia lies!” he shouted.

  Tara shook her head. She wasn’t going to talk to him, knowing instinctively it would only amplify his rage if she argued. She’d never seen Ryan like this and she was scared. Very scared. She swallowed, holding his brutal gaze, slowly shifting her weight, gathering the strap of her small purse, in case she had to swing it as a weapon.

  “Filthy bitch!”

  He started toward her and she sprang up, praying she could make it through the kitchen and out the back door before he caught her. She heard him hit something that went clattering to the floor with a hollow metallic clang as she charged through the kitchen and slammed to a stop at the back door. She fumbled at the lock, finally sliding the bolt free. She jerked the door open, raced out onto the side porch and vaulted over the rail. He was behind her. Close. Too close. She darted to the side, heard him slip on the newly watered grass and go down. She raced across the dark lawn behind the gazebo and plunged into one of Luke’s favorite hedges. Then she froze, huddled in the dark, itchy foliage.

  She could hear Ryan’s footsteps, stealthy now that he knew she was hiding. He was hunting her. Her purse had caught on something as she crawled into the hedge and she hoped desperately that he couldn’t see it. And that he didn’t have a flashlight in his car.

  “Tara, baby, I know you’re here somewhere…Tara,” he singsonged her name, “come on out, sweetheart, we have something to discuss…. Get out here, you bitch!” Ryan didn’t sound so drunk anymore. His voice was taking on an edge of hysteria.

  “She thinks I’m cheating on her!” he screamed. “Because you told her I was!” He was getting closer. Tara held her breath as he kicked at a bush a few yards away. “She broke our engagement and it’s all because of you. First my job and now this. I’ve had it with you, bitch!” He kicked another bush. “Where are you?”

  Then, suddenly, he shut up and she heard him stride away.

  He was trying to fake her out. He was walking off, hoping she’d make a break for it. Or he was—

  She heard him climb the porch steps and enter her house. And then she heard the awful crash of things, her things, being broken and destroyed.

  She crawled forward, wincing at the sound of a particularly loud crash. Her purse…if she could find her purse, her phone was in it. Another crash. Tara poked her head out of the bush and saw the strap hooked on a branch.

  It was suddenly silent in the house and she froze again. Then she heard him in her kitchen. She reached out to untangle the strap and then eased her way out the back of the bush. Now that she was shielded from view of the house, she crept toward the road. Ryan’s car was parked haphazardly behind her own. She wanted more than anything to make a dash for her Camry, but the house had become quiet again. She had no idea where Ryan was.

  She eased back into the willows and turned her phone on, shielding the keypad so Ryan wouldn’t see the glow. The only numbers she had on speed dial were the Owl and Rafe. Rafe’s voice mail came on. She silently cursed and pushed the other button, hoping for Jack. 911 would be her last resort, since it dialed into Elko and not Night Sky. A few minutes later a nasally voice answered.

  “Eddie?” Tara whispered, her heart sinking. Why was Eddie answering the phone? “Put Jack on.”

  “Speak up, girl, I can’t hear you.”

  “Jack,” Tara growled.

  “Not here.”

  “Eddie, this is Tara. Send the sheriff to my place, okay?”

  “I can’t hear you,” Eddie complained so loudly that Tara was afraid Ryan might be able to hear the man’s voice if he were outside. She was about to hang up when there was fumbling on the other end and then another voice came on—a very welcome voice.

  “Rafe,” she whispered, overwhelmed with relief. “Ryan’s at my house. He’s wrecking it.”

  And then her front door crashed open with a tinkling of glass and Tara hit the power button.

  MATT’S HEART was hammering as he took the last corner to Tara’s house too fast. Rafe was in front of him and already pulling into the drive. That bastard Somers…if he had hurt her in any way…

  The lights were on in Tara’s house and the BMW was parked behind Tara’s Toyota. Matt swung his truck in behind the Beemer.

  He heard a crash inside the house. The two men, both out of their vehicles, looked at each other. Rafe’s hand went to his weapon. They moved silently up to the open front door taking a place on either side of it.

  “Sheriff’s department!” Rafe yelled. “Come on out, Somers.”

  There was a long silence. “It’s about time.” Ryan finally yelled. “I’m here trying to help Tara. Somebody tore her house apart.”

  “He’s wasted,” Rafe muttered, making eye contact with Matt. “Come out, Somers,” he called again. “Don’t make me come in and get you.” He nodded when Matt indicated with a gesture of his head that he was going around back.

  “You really should see what somebody did in here,” Somers called. “It’s a-appalling.”

  “I will come see it as soon as you come out.”

  The back door was wide open and Matt eased his way inside, listening as Rafe engaged Ryan. Every drawer in Tara’s kitchen had been yanked out and its contents spilled, so Matt had to pick his way carefully across the floor.

  Where was Tara? Hiding somewhere, he prayed. There was blood on the floor, but not enough to indicate a le
thal injury. But still, if that bastard had hurt her in any way…

  He carefully peered around the kitchen door and saw Ryan with his back to him, stealthily approaching the open front door with…an umbrella? Must have been the only weapon he could find, Matt reasoned as he came out into the hall and inched his way closer.

  “Somers,” Rafe called again. “Right now I only have you for breaking and entering, but if you continue to—”

  Matt brought Ryan down with a tackling lunge, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it up behind his back just as Rafe came in the front door.

  Ryan writhed and cursed and Matt pushed the wrist higher. “You’re breaking my arm,” Ryan protested in a high-pitched voice.

  “Where’s Tara?”

  “You’re brea—”

  “I don’t freaking care. Where is Tara?” Matt demanded, fully intent on snapping the man’s bone if he had to.

  “I’m here,” she said from the front porch and then made her way into the foyer, stepping over a fallen coatrack “I thought I should stay out of the way.”

  Relief slammed into Matt. No blood, no torn clothing. She seemed fine, slightly dazed perhaps. Shock.

  “You showed remarkable willpower, Tara,” Rafe quipped as he snapped the cuff on one of Ryan’s wrists and nodded to Matt that he could release his hold. “Too bad Big Alice wasn’t that lucky when you took her on in gym class.”

  Matt got to his feet. He took a few steps toward her and she shifted her attention from Ryan to him. When he was close enough, he reached out to put an arm around her shoulders. She shivered as she leaned against him, but her voice was steady when she said, “How’d you get here so fast?”

  “I was having a drink with Rafe and Eddie when Eddie answered the phone,” Matt replied, lightly feathering his free hand down her face, convincing himself that she was indeed unharmed.

  “You were having a drink with Eddie?”

  “Long story. I’m just glad I was having a drink with Eddie.”

  Tara tore her eyes from his. “Look at this place.” She swallowed. Hard. Rafe cleared his throat.

  “I’m going to have to know what happened here, Tara, so I can make charges against this guy.” The “as many as possible” was implied in his tone. “We’ll talk outside,” Rafe said as he hauled Golden Boy to his feet and marched him out to the waiting SUV. Tara eased herself out of Matt’s embrace and followed. Matt noticed she didn’t let her eyes linger in any one place too long. He didn’t blame her. Ryan had gone berserk. Her house resembled a battlefield.

  He and Tara waited by his truck while Rafe parked Ryan in the caged rear seat and shut the door, effectively drowning out the epithets and racial slurs that had been growing louder.

  “Okay,” Rafe said, moving away from his vehicle. He took out a pad and placed it on the hood. “Take your time, Tara. We’ll talk again tomorrow, in case you forget something, all right?”

  “All right.”

  And then Tara described what had transpired in a steady, unemotional tone as Rafe wrote. Matt studied her as she spoke, impressed by her composure. He wondered whether she’d break later. Some people did, but it was often surprising who held together. Another shudder of relief went through him. Damn, but he was grateful she hadn’t been seriously hurt by that bastard.

  “He’ll be out on bail in a heartbeat,” Rafe said, flipping the book shut. “You need to understand that, Tara, but I’ll see to it he’s charged with as many things as I can think of and you might want to consider a restraining order. I’ll be by in the morning to see what I can do to help.”

  She nodded.

  Matt walked to the door of the SUV with Rafe, taking one last look at Ryan’s sullen profile. Rafe cast a quick glance at Tara, then back at Matt. “You might see if you can get her out of here.”

  “Yeah.” Matt gave Rafe a fat-chance look.

  “I see your point,” the deputy muttered and then he got into the vehicle and Ryan started voicing threats again. Lawyers. Life savings. Career-ending moves.

  Rafe pulled the door shut and started the ignition. A few seconds later he was rolling down the driveway, taking Ryan off the Sullivan property, hopefully for good. Matt walked back to where Tara stood watching the SUV as it turned onto the road.

  “Did he hurt you?” he asked, needing to hear her answer, even though he’d heard every word of her statement.

  “He didn’t have a chance.” Tara started walking up the path. “But he ruined my house,” she said icily. “I’ll probably have to call Mr. Bidart in the morning.” She raised her eyes toward the sky as though trying to hold back tears. Matt wanted to tell her she was entitled. “I don’t want to call Mr. Bidart.” For the first time since he arrived, her voice was shaky.

  “Don’t call. We’ll fix it.”

  “We don’t have time,” Tara muttered as they topped the last porch step, but Matt could see she was already plotting her attack. He hoped she didn’t start tonight, because he was probably going to have to stop her—for insurance reasons if nothing else.

  “Let’s close things up as best we can and get out of here.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “My place.”

  Matt shut and locked the door, for all the good it would do with the broken stained-glass panes. He wouldn’t have minded staying at the house to keep it secure, but he wanted to get Tara out of there, to a place where she could rest.

  “I’m not leaving,” she announced.

  Matt regarded her for a moment, and then shook his head. He reached his hand back inside the broken window and unlatched the lock. “We’ll stay.”

  He pulled the door open. Tara stood on the threshold for a moment.

  “I’m not in shock, you know.”

  Matt didn’t answer. He followed her as she walked into the house. She reached out and flipped on the light switch.

  “Denial isn’t healthy,” she said more to herself than to him. “It’s better to simply face things. Find out how bad they are so I can deal with them.”

  Matt followed a few steps behind her as Tara moved through the rooms facing the chaos head-on, taking silent inventory. She did all right until she reached the kitchen. There she stopped in front of her new refrigerator with its very damaged front panel. She bent to trace her fingers over the indentations. Tears started to roll down her face.

  That was when Matt took action. It was time for a little denial, healthy or not. He knew Tara had to handle this in her own way—they all had to handle demons in their own way—but she could handle her demons later.

  He took her arm, gently yet firmly propelling her down the hall to the bedrooms.

  Ryan had trashed Tara’s room. Matt closed the door and instead opened the door to Nicky’s room, which was thankfully undefiled. They went inside and Matt closed the door, shutting out the reality they’d be facing again all too soon.

  And then…they stood facing each other until Matt finally reached out and took Tara’s hands in his own. They were like ice.

  “Hell of a night, Sullivan,” he said quietly.

  “That’s an understatement,” she murmured back, clutching his hands. “I really am all right. The worst has happened and I’ve survived. Now I just need to figure out a way to fix it.”

  “Come on.” Matt motioned to Nicky’s double bed, which was pushed against the opposite wall. “Let’s talk about it.”

  “All right.”

  Matt snapped off the overhead light and led her across the darkened room. He climbed onto the bed, pulling her with him as he turned to sit with his back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. Tara settled beside him, her shoulder touching his. He slid his arm behind her, pulling her closer and her head came to rest on his shoulder.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to fix this.”

  Neither did Matt, but he was going to do whatever he could to make it right.

  “Maybe now people will understand what Ryan is really like.”

  “I’d say that
’s a definite possibility.”

  “Or maybe they’ll think I drove him to destroy my house.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Another silence. “How are we going to get this cleaned up before my guests arrive? I only have three days.”

  “We’ll get it done.” He felt her pull in a deep breath.

  “I hate this,” she muttered. “Feeling out of control. Lots of questions, no answers…no action.”

  “Control returns.”

  Spoken like a veteran of losing and regaining control. “So, what’s your story, Connors?”

  “My story?” He was more than a little surprised at the sudden change of topic.

  “Yeah. You have a story, and you’re about as good at sharing as I am.” She lifted her head off his shoulder, peering at him through the darkness. “I’d go so far as to say that you’re worse.”

  Matt raised his gaze toward the dark ceiling and compressed his lips for a moment as he dealt with possible ramifications of answering her question. It would take her mind off her house, but at what cost to him?

  Denial isn’t healthy, she’d said. He knew that from hard experience. And so what if he told her? What would it matter? He’d be heading back home the day after tomorrow anyway. He may as well talk. He could do this. For her.

  “It was in the papers. On the news,” he said in a low voice. “A standoff…an officer down.”

  “In Reno?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I did hear about it.”

  Everyone had.

  “You were the guy…”

  “Who dragged the injured officer out of the line of fire. Yeah.”

  “You were a hero.”

  “No.” There was no modesty in the word. It was a simple denial.

  He felt her gaze shift toward his profile. “Why?”

  Matt swallowed. “Because I was rash. I had something to prove.”

  “You’re going to have to explain that one.”

  “The officer had been shot and went down, and then the shooter kept shooting at him while he was lying there. Fortunately the guy was a lousy shot, but he was shooting and no one could get to him. At that particular time in my life, I didn’t feel like I had a lot to lose, and it seemed as if both the downed man and I had a lot to gain.”