Close to Home (44 page)

Jade's heart sank.

Candice couldn't fight him alone, and there were others who would join him soon! The engines were roaring. Close. So damned close. Oh, God.

She heard the sound of tires crunching on gravel, men's voices over the thrum of idling engines.

“Let me out!” Dana yelled, locked up again and hurtling her body against the door to no avail.

Damn it,

“Come here, you,” he yelled, and Candice let out a frightened little mewl.

No!

Click!
The dead bolt on her stall slipped.

The door flew open.

Under the overhead light, Candice—frightened, appearing about to pee her pants—took one look at Jade, then dashed away as Jade rushed into the open area of the stable.

He was there. In a heartbeat. One huge hand caught her by the throat and lifted her off her feet. Damn! “Get back in there!” he ordered, his eyes wild, his face a vibrant shade of red. She didn't think twice, just reached into her blouse and yanked out the horseshoe, swinging it hard and slamming it against his skull.

His legs wobbled, and he lost his grip as Candice opened another stall door. Rosalie burst out and wasted no time. As Jade struggled with the bastard and the sounds of more vehicles arriving reached her ears, Rosalie threw open the other doors, letting the girls into the common area. God, how many men were coming here to bid on them? Sick, sick, sick!

“What's goin' on?” A man shouted from outside the building. “Valente!”

Valente?
Jade had heard the name before. Oh, shit was this jerk-face a
relative?
She struggled to get away from him, but though he was dazed, he flung himself at her as she scrambled to get free. She went down hard, her chin slamming against the floor. Pain exploded through her jaw, her skin splitting open again.

Blood poured from the wound.

She kicked at him again as he dragged her backward. Twisting around, she shook off his grip with several hard kicks and stumbled to her feet. He was up too, but staggering backward. She saw his phone, peeking out of the pocket of his slacks, and leaped at it, yanking it from his pocket just as Rosalie, from out of nowhere, sprang onto his back, one arm around his neck. He spun around, trying to knock her off, as Jade frantically dialed 911.

“Help!” she cried as the operator came onto the line, and Rosalie, reaching around the bastard, swung hard and rammed the small weapon she had in her fist into the monster's eye. Blood spurted. He yowled, a shriek of agony, and fell to his knees, while she clung to him like a burr. She pulled her bloody fist back, then jabbed it even harder into his eye socket. Again. His scream of pain was a bloodcurdling shriek that streaked to the heavens. Crazily he reeled, howling and trying to dislodge her, but Rosalie hung on with a vengeance.

Boots rang outside. Men shouted at each other.

“What the hell's going on?”

“Let's get out of here!” The male voice was panicked. Gravel crunched. Engines roared to life. Too late!

Sirens suddenly began screeching and finally the interior of the stable pulsed in vibrant red and blue.

“Oh, shit, cops!” one of the men yelled.

The police were here? Jade staggered to her feet.
Thank God!

Boots crunched outside. Men shouted.

Finally, swearing, the bastard flung Rosalie off him. Blood poured from the socket where his eye had been, and he yowled in desperation. “Help!” he cried, but Rosalie didn't wait.

“Die, fucker,” she said, and jabbed what she had in her fist into his throat just as the cops, weapons drawn, burst through the door.

“Stay back!” the lead cop, the woman detective, yelled, but one man following behind her, didn't listen. Clint Walsh raced inside, one step behind Bellisario. His expression was tense, dread in his eyes until his gaze landed on Jade.

Then without saying a word, ran forward, reached Jade and scooped her into his arms as if he would never let her go.

“Oh, God, are you all right? Are you?” he said, his voice cracking.

Nodding, unable to speak, she clung to him, her nose buried in his shoulder.

“Oh, honey,” he said.

Jade's tears flowed, filling her eyes but as she peered over his shoulder, she saw her mother and Gracie, huddled together in the doorway, their eyes round, anxiety and relief evident in their strained faces.

Jade let out a shuddering sob and buried her face in the warmth of his neck, realizing she was finally safe.

The next summer
Blue Peacock Manor

 

 

A
wild shriek rose to the heavens, and Sarah, standing on the widow's walk, looked down to the yard, where, she saw, the new peacock was showing off for the hens that were with him. She smiled and thought about the past nine months and all that had changed.

The sun, reflecting off the swift waters of the Columbia far below, was warm and promised another bright day. Her life had finally stabilized, and for the first time in years, she felt a well of happiness. At the sound of a truck's engine, she looked up and grinned, watching as Clint drove that awful old pickup of his up to the house.

They'd decided to move in together and were even discussing marriage and the possibility of another child, but they were taking things slowly. For her girls. Gracie had blossomed over the past year, looking less like a girl and more like a teenager who was interested in makeup and boys, along with her fascination with ghosts and now, it seemed, after the ordeal of the previous autumn, criminal investigation.

Sarah walked through the cupola, glad that she no longer feared the upper floors of the house, nor even the basement, though it still was far from her favorite place on the property.

Slowly, Clint was moving in as the house was nearly finished—plumbing and electricity repaired, old wallboard and rotten boards removed, new walls in place. The kitchen was still a mess but workable, and all the bathrooms had been upgraded. She and the girls had already staked out their rooms—she, with Clint, hopefully, in the master, Jade in Dee Linn's old room, and Gracie, predictably, insisting on the corner bedroom that had once belonged to Theresa. Gracie still believed it was inhabited by her ghost, the spirit that Sarah had seen, though she also was certain the ghost of Angelique Le Duc was no longer on the premises.

“She's passed over, Mom,” Gracie had informed her.

Perhaps.

They'd moved into the guesthouse soon after the horrible events that had finally ended when Jade was rescued from Clark. Apparently he'd always been jealous of the “Stewart side” of the family. He'd never done anything worth a damn, had never married, and then had finally fallen upon a grand scheme to start searching for girls as potential “wives” for men who had no respect for women or the law. It was a bizarre plot, to be sure, but it had apparently been potentially very lucrative for Clark, who'd lost an eye at Rosalie Jamison's hands and was awaiting trial along with the mountain men. In an ironic twist, it seemed that Clark might be in line for some serious new money by selling his story to Hollywood. Negotiations were being pursued, if the court allowed, which was still much in doubt.

As far as Sarah was concerned, he should be locked up for life and never receive a nickel for the horror and pain he'd caused. Even though she'd reminded herself the ordeal could have turned out much worse, she would never forgive Clark. Not ever. She hoped he lived a long and wretched life within the walls of the penitentiary.

Jade, luckily, had been only slightly scarred from the ordeal, and though she swore she hated going to school at Our Lady of the River, she had begun dating Liam Longstreet, who'd been around the house a lot, helping his father, over the winter. Cody Russell had never once set foot in Stewart's Crossing, and that particular romance seemed to have petered out. Mary-Alice Eklund was still considered a mortal enemy despite the fact that they'd been held captive together, but who knew how that would eventually play out as Mary-Alice was heading off to school somewhere back East, according to Liam, whose own college career would be in state.

Sarah had come to terms with the part her parents had played in raising her. Her father, bastard that he was, had deserved an even worse fate than the one Arlene had dished out. Arlene, frail and disoriented, was locked away, awaiting a trial she would never understand. She'd murdered two men, it seemed, and she'd regretted nothing, though it was difficult to say in her distant state. Aunt Marge was “devastated” and swore never to speak to Sarah again, though Caroline didn't seem to care; she and her brother had never been close.

Clark had resided in a tiny apartment, not far from his mother, and had made his living buying and selling via the Internet, but he'd never made much money. It was while he was dabbling in guns that he'd hooked up with Josh Dodds and the mountain men. He'd met Rosalie Jamison at the diner where she'd worked and she'd become his first victim. Now, Sarah heard, Rosalie had moved to Denver to be with her father and was going to enroll in a community college in Colorado. According to Rosalie's mother, the girl was finally on the right track, ready to put the horror of her captivity behind her and start over.

So it was a time of new beginnings for everyone.

Sarah reached the first floor of the house and marveled that her siblings, after all the trouble, had decided to sell it to her. She hadn't been able to swing the deal on her own, of course, but Clint had suggested they put his place on the market and live together in hers. A deal had been struck, and now there was talk of the two of them turning Blue Peacock Manor into a bed-and-breakfast, though Sarah wasn't certain exactly what would happen.

She walked outside, where Clint was parking the truck. When he opened the door, the two dogs bounded outside and ran up to the peacock, which gave them the evil eye and another bloodcurdling wail. Tex and Xena lost interest, and Clint gave the fowl wide berth as he climbed the stairs to the porch.

“Not a great idea,” he said about the bird.

“Tell that to Gracie.”

“I know, but—” He shrugged, then swept her into his arms. “I missed you.”

“You've been gone three hours.”

“I know, I was trying to be romantic.”

“Make another stab at it,” she suggested, and a wicked light flared in his eyes.

“All right.” He grabbed her then and kissed her, hard, bowing her back, causing one of her feet to come off the porch so that she had to cling to him. Her bones melted, and she felt that same cocoon of safety wrap around her that she always felt when he was nearby. His tongue flicked against hers with more than a little bit of promise. “How was that?” he asked, finally lifting his head but still holding her in his tenuous embrace.

“Better.” She laughed. “Marginally.”

“You're impossible!” Righting them both, he grinned.

“I try to be.”

Chuckling, he said, “So where are the girls?”

“Gracie's at Scottie's and Jade is—”

“With Liam.”

“You got it.”

“So we're alone?”

“Most assuredly.”

“Good,” he said, the glint in his eyes growing positively devilish. When he scooped her up, she let out a startled cry, clinging to him as he strode to the front door and said, “Let's give this romance thing another go.”

Her answer was to kiss him hard, and with that, he walked across the threshold, pulled the door shut behind them, and carried her up the stairs.

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

 

Kensington Publishing Corp.
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New York, NY 10019

 

Copyright © 2014 by Lisa Jackson LLC

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

 

 

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Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2014934222

ISBN: 978-0-7582-5859-5

First Kensington Hardcover Edition: September 2014

 

eISBN-13: 978-1-61773-518-9
eISBN-10: 1-61773-518-3
First Kensington Electronic Edition: September 2014