My Tye (8 page)

Then again, maybe not. It all depended on what Tye would say once he knew the truth.

* * * * *

After the nurse removed Laine’s IV, she lightly bandaged her wrists and ankles and helped dress her in the scrubs. All that was left of the clothes they cut off her last night were a pair of spike-heeled black sandals. Tye pulled them from the plastic bag the ER provided and held them in one hand. He glanced up and met her stare only for a moment before she looked away.

“If it’s all the same, I think I’ll just wear these lovely hospital socks to the car,” she said, wiggling her toes inside the light blue skid-proof socks.

“Sure,” he answered, and shoved the shoes back in the bag. He got it, got that she wasn’t ready to deal with it all. But once he had her at the ranch, she wouldn’t be able to avoid the subject. The longer he waited to find out what happened, the harder it would be to catch the man who hurt her.

Besides, if he actually saw her in those shoes… Damn, at any normal time he probably wouldn’t be able to hold back. A tingle sprang up at the base of his dick just from allowing himself one tiny image of how her slender legs would look in those heels.

Christ, talk about inappropriate. But it wasn’t as if he could help it. He was one big ball of testosterone whenever he found himself around her. Luckily for him though, he was able to pull back on all that happy-happy-joy-joy that typically took place in his pants. Wasn’t too difficult when the bandages around her wrists and ankles were such a vivid reminder of everything she’d been through.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect when an orderly strolled into the room pushing a wheelchair. Tye took over and positioned the chair beside the bed without saying a word. He locked the chair in place, moved to the front and simply held out his hand and waited.

She studied his eyes first before dropping her gaze to his waiting hand. He clenched his jaw as every other muscle in his body froze. He wouldn’t force her to take his hand, he wouldn’t utter even a single word to talk her into it. That was a rule he had with women, one that he never faltered on. Nothing was ever to be forced.

After what felt like an eternity, she slipped her fingers over his palm. He blew out a heavy breath and had her settled in the chair within a few racing heartbeats. “Ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“This isn’t a death sentence, you know.” He hated seeing her so despondent. “I guarantee you’re going to love the old place.”

She slid him a look that said “We’ll see,” as he moved behind the wheelchair. She stayed tight-lipped the entire ride to his truck, and only murmured a few
ow
s and
easy
s as he helped her climb in and get situated. By the time he handed off the wheelchair to the orderly and jumped in on his side the cab, she’d already closed her eyes and had her head lolled back against the headrest. She didn’t move a single muscle as he turned the key and the truck roared to life. And as he steered out of the hospital parking lot and onto the street, he figured that was probably just as well.

Ten minutes into the drive, she broke the silence. “Can we stop…” She cleared her throat, drew her eyebrows together and started again. “Can we stop by my place?”

With her head still against the headrest, she turned to look out the side window when he glanced over at her. It surprised him that she asked to go there, especially since she avoided saying she wanted to go home when they spoke last night.

“Just for a minute,” she went on in a whisper, now looking down at her hands in her lap. “I need a few things. Clothes and stuff.”

“Sure,” he said, doing his damnedest to keep the conversation between them relaxed. When she groaned a little and shielded her eyes with her hand, he unclipped a pair of sunglasses from the visor and held them out to her.

“Oh. Thanks,” she said, putting on the shades. “Turn left up here on Maple. It’s the red one about halfway down.”

He knew exactly where she lived, but didn’t tell her that. All he did was nod as he changed lanes and flipped on the turn signal. He watched her with his peripheral vision, and as they got closer to her house, she noticeably tensed. Her once lax fingers were now clenching into fists in her lap and she chewed on her lower lip. Uneasiness radiated off her, which only served to raise his hackles. His shoulders bunched as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. With one eye pinned on her, he scanned the rest of the neighborhood.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Something had her riled, though. Something she was keeping close to the cuff. Something she was keeping from
him
. He was damn certain he’d get to the bottom of whatever it was eventually, but now was not the time to grill her or make any sort of demands. If he did, she’d close up tighter than a drum and he’d lose any forward momentum he’d created with her so far.

So instead, he kept his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open. He pulled into her driveway and headed for the detached garage behind the small Cape Cod. He parked between it and the house, killed the truck’s engine and waited for her to make the first move. When she didn’t, he said, “Want me to go in with you?” Not that he’d ever let her go in there on her own to begin with, but she didn’t need to know that either.

“Um, sure.” Still, she just sat there.

Taking charge, he got out and surveyed her backyard, her next door neighbor’s yard and a good portion of the side of the house as he came around the rear of the truck. Nothing off, that he could see anyway.

“C’mon,” he said, opening her door.

He helped her out, keeping a steadying hand on her elbow and an arm around her waist. She felt so small under his hands, so fragile. After a few steps, though, she stopped dead in her tracks.

“Wait. I, um… I don’t have the key.”

Despite the waver in her voice, he nearly forced her to keep moving. At least until he caught sight of her back door. “Something tells me you’re not going to need it.”

The small, square window pane closest to the handle on the door had been smashed in. Tiny shards of glass settled over the concrete at the base of the door. A few of the pieces lay as far away as a foot, as if they’d been strewn around by someone walking over them.

Laine followed his stare and stiffened in his grip. With his arm still around her waist, he let go of her elbow to reach for his sidearm. He kept the gun holstered while maintaining a death-grip on the butt. “I’m going to guess your door wasn’t like this when you left home last?”

“When I…” she started. “No,” she said then, quiet yet resolute, which gave him a momentary glimpse of the strong woman he’d always known her to be.

“You should wait out here while I—”

“No, I’ll go,” she said, cutting him off with a jerky step out of his reach.

She started toward the door, but he was faster. No way in hell was she going near that house, not if he had anything to say about it. He grabbed her hand and yanked her to a stop before she reached the step.

“You can’t go in there, Laine.”

She ripped the sunglasses from her face. Despite cringing at the sunlight, she was still able to throw him a look that could only be described as defiant. Clearly she wasn’t used to anyone telling her she couldn’t do whatever it was she wanted.

“Like hell I can’t,” she said. Her voice sounded more gravelly with every word. “This is my house, Sheriff.
Mine
. Don’t tell me—”

“It’s a crime scene. I can’t let you—”

“
Let
me?”

He bit back an edgy growl. “There could be evidence in there. Or worse, someone could still be inside. That’s police procedure 101, first day of school stuff, Laine. You
know
that.”

She paused only a moment. “I know. Damn it,” she whispered, lowering her head and cradling her forehead in one hand. “My purse. My ID was in it. There’s a good chance—”

She didn’t have to say another word.

“Get back in the truck and lock the doors. Let me go in and take a look around. I can grab a few of your things while I’m in there. We’ll head straight for the ranch the second I’m done.”

The defiance she’d shown him mere moments ago was nowhere to be found now. He opened the driver’s side, settled her back inside and tapped the truck’s horn. “Pound on this if you need me. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

He locked her in and pulled out the kit he stored in his truck bed box for situations such as these with one hand as he dug his phone out of his pocket with the other. He yanked out a pair of latex gloves and shoved them in his back pocket—just in case—and hit the speed dial for the station at the same time.

“Julie, it’s Tye. Notify whoever is on duty and tell them to haul ass to 717 Maple, stat. We’ve got a break-in.”

He waited for her confirmation before muttering a thanks and repocketing his phone. He un-holstered his gun and held it in front of him so Laine wouldn’t see, placing his finger alongside the trigger and double-checking the chamber.

He really had an off feeling about this.

Once he got closer, he noticed that whoever forced their way in had also left the door slightly ajar. Made his job easier, helping to leave the point of entry mostly untouched. With the tip of his gun, he pushed on the door until it drifted open. Watching where he stepped, he entered, cautious yet prepared for damn near anything.

Other than more shards of glass on the floor, the kitchen appeared to be intact. Everything was neat and tidy, just as he assumed her house would be. A stack of mail graced her kitchen table and a single coffee mug with a spoon resting in it sat in her sink. He crept on, past the refrigerator decorated with eclectic magnets holding up pictures of babies and old Christmas photo-cards until he reached the archway leading to the rest of the house.

The living room told much of the same story, neat and orderly with nothing disheveled or out of place. As he got closer to the hallway, though, that’s when his cop’s gut revved into overdrive.

There wasn’t a sound in the house, nothing but the hum from the air-conditioning unit and the steady tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. Not that he could hear a damn thing over the pounding of his own heart. Adrenaline shot through his veins, surging with every step he took.

When he came across the first gouge in the wall next to the linen closet, he bit out a nasty curse and raised his gun higher. Seeing the next, a round gash with a deep cut trailing three feet behind it, made the muscles in his already tense shoulders cramp that much harder. By the time he got to her bedroom door, he’d started to sweat and held his jaw so tight he thought for sure he’d grind his teeth away.

He couldn’t believe what he saw.

Instinct rushed through his body. He dug his phone out of his pocket and called Julie again. He didn’t wait for her to get through her typical greeting before cutting her off. “It’s Tye again. Call Steve on his cell and see if you can get him back out here. Yes, yes. SBI Steve. Tell him to grab his gear and bring it to the address I just gave you. Tell him we’ve got a problem.”

He didn’t say what the problem was or link Laine to it in any way. And he was thankful his status afforded him the temporary luxury of not having to explain himself. Because if he had to describe the scene in front of him, if he had to verbally associate the twisted carnage he saw with Laine…

Rage replaced the adrenaline rushing through his body. As he stepped closer to the bed for a better look, his stomach roiled and tightened. Red paint—at least it smelled like paint. For fuck’s sake, it
better
be paint—had been splashed all over Laine’s yellow comforter. Dead-center in the middle of the bed lay a child’s doll—one of the newer kinds he’d seen his nieces play with, a twelve to fourteen inch dark-haired, makeup-laden fashionista all dressed up in revealing, sparkly clothes. The thing even had on black plastic high-heeled shoes.

He clenched his hand tighter around the butt of his gun when he got a glimpse of the paint-splattered screwdriver shoved through the belly of the toy. And to add to the depraved twistedness of the setup, the doll’s wrists and ankles were cinched together with thin pieces of rope, while another circled the neck. He followed that piece to where it ended in a double knot around a rung of the headboard.

There was no mistaking the meaning of this sick display, or the intentions of the creep who set it up.

He knew now that Laine held back way more to her story than the meager “I’m in trouble” statement she’d given him early this morning. Hell, trouble was putting it mildly. Trouble didn’t come close to the danger she now faced.

The distant wail of sirens told him he had only a few more moments alone before his deputies arrived. He scanned the rest of the room quickly, remembering his promise to grab some of Laine’s things. But there was no way he could take a single item out of here, not since everything inside this house was now a potential piece of evidence. She’d just have to survive using some of his stuff at the ranch until his men were able to give him the all clear.

He made his way out of the house just as carefully as he made his way in. Once outside, he jumped down the three steps of her back porch and stood there, silent and with his hands on his hips, staring at Laine through the truck window.

Tires squealed on the street out front, but he never took his eyes off her. He knew by the dread on her face that his own expression came across grim and troubled. No point in lying or making nice about what he found inside. And when she rolled down the window and spoke, he knew he didn’t have to.