Navy SEAL Rescuer (7 page)

She walked across the room, staring out the window over the
sink. The moon had already sunk beneath distant mountains, its greenish glow
haloing shadowy peaks. She wanted to go back to Eileen’s place, get in the old
Buick and drive until the mountains were behind her, the moon ahead of her,
drive until all she had were fresh opportunities and new beginnings.

“Catherine, if you’re not up to continuing, we can finish the
interview tomorrow.” Logan spoke into the sudden silence, and she thought about
taking him up on the offer. Unfortunately, putting off the interview wouldn’t
make the danger that stalked her go away. It wouldn’t change the fact that
Eileen was ill and that Catherine was tied to Pine Bluff for however long it
took for Eileen to be healed or to...

She cut the thought short.

She’d stay in Pine Bluff for the rest of her life if it meant
having Eileen around.

“Now is fine.”

“Do you have any enemies?”

“Maybe you should ask the people in Pine Bluff that.” She
turned, leaning her hip against the counter, her words directed at Logan, but
her gaze caught and held by Darius.

He watched with an intensity that made her squirm, his light
green eyes glowing in his deeply tan face.

He’d been injured terribly, but he didn’t show it. Not in the
way he moved or the way he acted. If there were real heroes in the world, he
might just be one of them.

He quirked an eyebrow in question, and she blushed, looking
away.

“Was there anyone in prison that you might have made an enemy
of? Maybe an inmate who took a disliking to you?” Logan continued.

“I didn’t spend much time with the general population.” There’d
been death threats made against her before she even entered the prison system.
Catherine had been placed in isolation to protect her from inmates who wanted to
punish her for preying on the elderly.

“Right. I’d forgotten about that.” Logan scribbled something in
a small notebook.

“What are you writing?”

“Just notes so I can type up the report. Is there anyone you’ve
run into since your release that stands out as a potential threat?”

“No.” She spent most of her time working on the house and
taking care of Eileen. The few times she went to town, she avoided people as
much as possible, terrified she’d run into an old school friend or, worse,
Peter.

“You’re sure?”

“I don’t think I’ve spoken more than five words to any one
person in the past two months. I work on the house, I take care of Eileen.
That’s my life.”

“We’ll have to keep digging, then. I’m just not buying the idea
that someone in town is trying to kill you because he thinks you’re a murderer.
We’ve already contacted several of the victims’ families. The only thing we’ve
gotten are apologies for your wrongful convictions.”

“My conviction was nothing to do with the families.”

“It did have something to do with Sharon Mackey. She testified
against you and accused you of manipulating her grandmother into changing her
will.”

True, but Sharon’s accusation had been a drop in the bucket.
There’d been plenty of other people testifying, plenty of circumstantial
evidence. “Sharon got her money. I’m sure she’s off living the high life
somewhere and hasn’t thought of me in years.”

“We haven’t been able to track her down yet, but if I remember
correctly—”

“She attacked me at the trial, but I think that was more a show
for the news crews than real anger.” Catherine had been in handcuffs when Sharon
spit in her face and slapped her. As attacks went it hadn’t been much, but
talking about it rehashed the feeling of helpless humiliation that had plagued
Catherine for years.

She shook it off, wishing she could walk away, retreat into the
quiet world she’d been living in for the past couple of months.

“She did attack you, though. Once we figure out where she is,
we’ll know if she has any continued resentment regarding her grandmother. Was
there anyone else at the trial or after it who made threats against you?”

“No.”

“All right. I guess we’re done, then.” Logan stood, his dark
hair ruffled, his uniform a little wrinkled. He looked like he’d barely slept,
the dark circles under his eyes and stubble on his chin evidence of long nights.
Catherine’s heart stirred, the warm feelings she’d once had for him bubbling
up.

They’d been friends a lifetime ago.

She didn’t plan to revisit that relationship. She didn’t want
any connections with Pine Bluff once she left. Still, she’d never been able to
turn away from someone she cared about. That had been her undoing five years
ago, and it would probably prove to be her undoing again.

“Are you okay, Logan? You look tired.” Her hand hovered over
his arm, but she didn’t touch his sleeve or him.

“So do you, Catherine. I guess it’s been a long few years for
both of us. I’ll be fine. You and Eileen will be, too. I plan to make sure of
that. I’m heading back to your place. I’ll call when we’re finished there, and
then come escort you and Eileen home.”

“I’ll give them a ride back, Randal. That’ll save you some
effort. You have my number, right?” Darius spoke up, and Catherine didn’t have
the energy to protest. She didn’t really
care
enough
to protest. It didn’t matter who gave them a ride home as long as they got
there.

“Sounds good. Thanks, Osborne. I’ll see myself out.” Seconds
later, Logan was gone, the front door opening and closing.

“So, tell me about Sharon Mackey.” Darius topped off her coffee
cup without asking.

She met his clear green eyes, felt her heart do a crazy little
dance and realized she’d made a big mistake.

Who they got a ride home with
did
matter.

Logan was an old friend.

Darius?

He was dangerous.

Too late to do anything about it now.

She was stuck.

“What do you want to know?” she asked, looking down into her
cup, and trying desperately to believe that the little shimmy she felt in her
heart was nothing more than the last vestiges of her fear.

SEVEN

S
queezing blood from a turnip would be
easier than getting information out of Catherine, but Darius didn’t plan to stop
trying.

“Did you have any contact with Sharon after you went to jail?”
he asked as she stared into her coffee cup, her knuckles white against the blue
mug. Her fingers were long and graceful, her nails chipped and short. Pretty and
capable-looking hands. He imagined they were well suited to the job she’d been
doing before she’d gone to jail, and he wondered if she planned to go back to
nursing.

He also wondered what it would be like to smooth the tension
from her fingers, press his lips to her knuckles, her wrist, her...

He pulled his thoughts up short.

“No.”

“How about any other family members of victims?” he asked, and
she finally met his eyes, a spark of fire in her gaze.

“I’ve just been interviewed, Darius. There’s no need to
interview me again.”

“Is there some reason why you don’t want to answer my
questions?”

“Last time I answered a bunch of questions, I was charged with
eleven counts of murder.”

“The only one in danger of being charged with anything is the
guy who attacked you and planted the bomb.”

“Five years ago, I thought the only person in danger of being
charged with murdering my patients was the person who did it. We both know how
well that worked out for me,” she responded, a tinge of bitterness in her
words.

He couldn’t blame her. He’d be bitter, too.

“That was then. This is now.”

“History has a way of repeating itself, Darius. Who’s to say it
won’t this time? The way I see it, the fewer questions I answer, the less likely
it is I’ll incriminate myself.” She moved across the room, the coffee cup still
clutched in her hand.

“There’s one thing you’re forgetting, Cat. I’m not the police.”
He turned her so they were facing each other, took the cup from her hands and
set it on the counter.

“Trust me. I’m not forgetting it.” Her cheeks heated, and she
looked away.

“So, let me help you. Tell me what you know, and I’ll dig
around, see if there’s anyone who might still be holding a grudge. My boss has a
good friend who owns a P.I. firm. They’re good at what they do. Really good.
Give me the word, and I’ll put them on the case.”

“Give me the company name, and I’ll put them on it myself.”

“Information Unlimited. The owner is Kane Dougherty. He’s
local. I’ll get you his contact information as soon as it’s early enough for me
to call Ryder without being killed for calling too early.”

“Thanks. I’d call him myself, but...it’s hard.” She brushed a
loose thread from her cutoffs, her cheeks pink.

“What’s hard?”

“Talking to people. Connecting. It’s been a long time since
I’ve had to make idle chitchat or search for the right words to say. It all
feels...awkward.”

“It’ll come back to you, eventually. You just have to give it
time.”

“You say that with such confidence, Darius, but you can’t know
it. Besides, I’m not sure if I want it to come back. I like my life the way it
is.”

“What way is that?”

“No connections or commitments.”

“You’re connected to Eileen.”

“That’s different. She raised me. Once she’s gone...”

“You’ll crave what you don’t have. Trust me on that.” He knew
all too well how empty life could be without family. He’d spent the past
eighteen years without it. Had thought he’d build it with Melody, but that
hadn’t panned out.

“Maybe, but even if I crave connection, I’m not going to look
for it here. Pine Bluff is too full of memories. Too full of people who...”

“What?”

“It’s amazing how quickly friends can turn to enemies when
times get tough. When I needed them most, the people who supposedly cared about
me proved they didn’t.”

“So, if you’re not going to stick around Pine Bluff, where will
you go?”

“Somewhere no one knows me. Hopefully, that won’t happen for a
while, though. Eileen won’t leave town. I tried to talk her into it, but she
wants to stay at home.”

“You’re good to her.”

“How could I not be? She raised me after my parents died. I
don’t have many memories of them. Eileen is the only parent that I’ve ever
known.”

“You’re fortunate to have had her. Not every kid is so
blessed.”

“I know. You’re right. Twenty-seven years is more than a lot of
people get,” she responded, studying his face.

What did she see?

Surely not the secrets he’d held close for so many years.

Not the fear or the confusion or the anger that he’d felt when
his mother had died and he’d been thrown into the foster-care system. A
fourteen-year-old boy whom no one wanted.

“You’re right about that.”

“I’m sorry, Darius.”

“For what?”

“I wish you’d had an Eileen in your life. Someone who picked up
the pieces after your mother passed away.” She touched his wrist, her fingertips
warm and silky. Heat shot through him at the contact, searing a path straight to
his heart.

Catherine must have felt it, too.

Her eyes widened, and she stepped back, bumping into the
counter. “I need to go check on Eileen.”

She ran from the room, her rapid footfall echoing through the
house as she escaped.

It took everything in Darius not to follow.

She was safe. No threat could get to her inside his house.

He wanted to follow anyway.

She made him feel something he hadn’t felt in years, and he
wasn’t sure he could ignore it.

Wasn’t sure he had any choice but to do so.

Catherine had made her feelings clear. She wanted nothing to do
with Pine Bluff or the people in it. Darius wanted everything to do with both.
He craved connection the way others craved food. Friendship was his fix, his
addiction, and he cared about his friends as if they were family.

Because for him, they were.

It could have been different.
Should
have been different.

He refilled his coffee, took a sip of the bitter brew. It had
been years since he’d spent much time thinking about Melody. Her betrayal had
hurt deeply, because he’d expected that she’d become the family he’d longed for.
He couldn’t say she’d been the great love of his life, but she’d made him dream
of a future filled with commitment and connection.

“Darius?” Catherine reappeared, her face paper-white, her lips
leached of color. “Eileen won’t wake up. We need to call for an ambulance.”

“Is she breathing?” He grabbed the phone, dialed 911.

“Yes, but her respirations are quick and shallow. Pulse thready
and weak.” She relayed the information as he spoke to the 911 operator, then
left the room.

He followed, crossing the guest room and touching Eileen’s
cool, dry cheek. She looked bad, her face sunken, her skin yellowed. “The
ambulance will be here soon.”

“I just hope it’s soon enough.” She lifted Eileen’s wrist,
checked her pulse again, gently shook her shoulder, calling her name.

Eileen didn’t respond.

Not good.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

“Just open the door and lead the EMTs back here when they
arrive.” She touched Eileen’s forehead, her hand shaking.

Darius grabbed it, squeezing gently. “She’s going to be
okay.”

“She’s dying, Darius. That’s not okay. It’s not even close to
okay.” A single tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed it away
impatiently.

“It’s okay to cry, you know.”

“It’s okay, but it never does any good.”

“Sometimes, it’s not about doing good, it’s about letting
go.”

“I’m not ready to do that. I’m not sure that I ever will be. I
hear the ambulance. You’d better go meet them.” She touched Eileen’s forehead
again, turning her back to Darius.

He ran to the front door, opening it as an ambulance pulled up
in front of the house and several EMTs got out.

“She’s in the back bedroom,” he said, leading the way.

“Cat? What’s going on?” the man in the lead asked as he
approached the bed. Medium height with broad shoulders and a muscular build, he
looked to be in his early thirties, his face smooth and a little too pretty.

Catherine didn’t acknowledge him, just stepped aside so Eileen
could be tended to.

“Ma’am? Can you hear me?” One of the men leaned over Eileen,
checking her pulse, looking in her eyes. Older, with salt-and-pepper hair and a
wrinkled, weathered face, he worked with competent ease.

“Is she diabetic?” he asked.

“No. She has metastasized liver cancer. Stage 4. She had chemo
today.”

“What medicines is she taking?”

Catherine rattled off a list that made the paramedic frown.
“We’d better transport her. What hospital do you prefer?”

“Sacred Heart.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather bring her to the Valley? You
did your nursing practicum there and—” The guy who’d called her Cat tried to
speak, but Catherine cut him off.

“I told you where I want her brought, Peter. If it’s going to
be a problem—”

“It’s not a problem, ma’am. Sacred Heart is closer, anyway, and
the sooner we get to the hospital, the better. Peter, Kent, can you two grab the
stretcher? I’m going to get some fluids started.”

Both men departed, but not before Peter cast Catherine a look
that held a boatload of longing.

Obviously, there was history between them.

Not a surprise since Catherine had grown up in the area.

But history that led to longing...

That was a different kind of history than just friendship or
school chums or acquaintances.

“Sorry about Peter being here, Catherine. I’m sure it’s
uncomfortable for you. If we’d known your grandmother was the patient, we would
have had another team member come along.” The older paramedic prepared Eileen
for the IV, swabbing her inner elbow.

“I don’t really care who’s helping her, Nick. As long as she’s
being helped.” Catherine hovered a few feet away, watching anxiously.

“She’s really sick. You know that, right?” he asked as he
inserted the catheter and hooked up the IV line.

“I couldn’t
not
know. She’s faded
to nothing these past few weeks.” Catherine had been hoping it was the chemo and
not the cancer that was making her grandmother thin and gaunt. A few more weeks
and treatment would be over. Catherine would cook hearty meals and watch as
Eileen rallied.

That’s what she’d been telling herself.

Now, she was thinking she might not have that chance.

She swallowed hard, touching Eileen’s cheek, calling her name
one last time. Hoping,
praying,
that Eileen would
answer.

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she couldn’t let them fall.
If she did, she might never stop crying.

Darius put an arm around her waist, tugging her to the side as
Peter and Kent pushed the stretcher into the room.

She avoided Peter’s eyes, watching as Eileen was lifted onto
the stretcher, her body nothing more than flesh stretched over bones.

Dying.

The tears she’d been holding in fell hot and horrible down her
cheeks.

“Shh.” Darius rubbed her back, pressed her head to his chest,
and she let him. Let his shirt absorb her tears, his hand ease her tension. Let
herself lean on him for just a minute, because she had no one else, and because
being in his arms felt better than anything had in a very long time.

“Do you want to ride with us?” Peter asked, and she stepped
away from Darius’s comforting warmth.

“Yes.”

“Let’s go, then.”

She followed the ambulance crew outside, Darius at her side,
his shoulder brushing hers.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Of course,” she said, because she had no choice. Falling apart
wasn’t an option.

“Make sure you stay in the hospital until I can get there, all
right?” He looked into her face, his eyes blazing with concern, and her heart
did its strange little shimmy again.

“You don’t have to come to the hospital, Darius. I’m sure I
can—”

“Let’s not waste time arguing, Catherine. You’ve been attacked
twice, and there’s no reason to believe the perpetrator won’t attack again if
he’s given the opportunity. We’re not going to give it to him.”

“I can call Logan.”

“Call him if you want, but I’m coming anyway. Eileen matters to
me. I want to make sure she’s okay.” He walked away, giving her no chance to
argue.

She wouldn’t have argued anyway. Not after hearing the
sincerity in his voice, seeing it in his eyes.

She climbed into the back of the ambulance, stiffening as she
met Peter’s eyes.

Of all the people she didn’t want to see, he was at the top of
her list.

Best friend. Boyfriend. Fiancé.

He’d been all those things, but he’d never been the one thing
he’d promised he would be—husband.

It was for the best.

A man who would betray her trust, refuse to believe in her
innocence and throw her to the wolves wasn’t the kind of guy she wanted to be
married to.

She didn’t acknowledge him as she sat next to Eileen and took
her hand.

“Eileen?” She bent close to her grandmother’s ear, tears
clogging her throat. “Can you hear me?”

“She’s in a coma, Catherine,” Peter said softly as the
ambulance raced into the night, sirens blaring, lights flashing.

Catherine didn’t respond. She knew. She also knew what it
probably meant. The end.

She wasn’t ready for that.

She didn’t think she’d ever be ready.

Please, Lord, if You’re ever going to
listen, if You’re ever going to answer, let it be now, because I really
don’t want to lose her yet.

The prayer whispered through her mind, settled into her soul,
and she wanted so badly to believe God heard, wanted so badly to believe that He
cared, that tears spilled out, dripping onto her hand and Eileen’s as the
ambulance sped toward the hospital.