Ripples (15 page)

After dark, as we’re about to step out into the meadow, Mercedes grabs my arm and whispers, “Down.” She ducks behind some bushes for cover.

I start to protest, but she covers my mouth with her hand. “Shh ….” Her eyes widen.

She raises up to study a solitary figure approaching the opposite side of the corral. She whispers, “Way too big to be Amy. It’s gotta be a man.”

I raise up to see for myself.

“Anyone you know?” she asks in hushed tones.

“Don’t think so.” I point to the corral. “The mare made it back.”

“Yeah, but no sign of Amy.”

We watch the stranger prop his shotgun against a fencepost and climb onto the top railing.

I gulp. “Is he planning on stealing the mare?”

Mercedes opens the breach of the shotgun she’s been toting and digs into her pocket for a shell.

“What the …” I mutter.

“Just in case,” she whispers.

As she closes the breach, a pair of headlights rounds the curve in the dirt road coming up from the highway. The solitary stranger jumps off the fence
, scoops up his weapon, and takes off into the woods above the barn.

Mercedes ducks down. “Company.”

I roll onto my back.

She glances between the bushes and whispers, “Sheriff’s cruiser.”

As the cruiser stops in back of the ranch house, sensors activate the flood lights. A lone deputy steps out of the vehicle, armed with a flashlight, and slips past the yellow tape into the house. We track his movements from room to room by following the flashlight’s glow. When he finishes inside, he proceeds to the barn.

It’s not long before the cruiser’s speeding back down the dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust. We stake out the ranch house for another half-hour, waiting for the stranger to return. When he doesn’t, Mercedes says, “We don’t need to search for Amy down there. The deputy would have hauled her out, if she was anywhere to be found.”

I nod. “We should at least get the mare.”

Two figures creep down from the woods on the other side of the corral. My pulse quickens. By the way they’re moving, one is clearly a boy; the other could be a girl. Not the girl from across the lake, though. This one has grace and confidence. God, could it be Celine? My heart races.

I watch and wait for the flood lights to come on so I can get a better view of them—more than just their silhouettes. When the boy climbs onto the fence, the area lights up. He drops down into the corral and sidles up to the horse, collecting its reins. The horse follows him out through a gate and lets him mount without resistance. The boy rides over to his companion and pulls her up in the saddle behind him.

Shadows obscure the girl’s face, but I have an impulse to call out to them anyway. Then more images of Celine flash through my mind. It’s not her. After a couple of minutes, they disappear, and I venture down to the house, to find out what happened here that night of chaos.

At the backdoor, a horrible stench draws stomach acid up into my throat. I pull out a bandana from my jacket pocket and cover my nose and mouth before going inside. The odor is dense, almost unbearable.

In the back bedroom, I take off my pack to retrieve a flashlight. Caked-on slime and blood stains cover the carpet. The sight reminds me of Jesse lying with Celine’s mother in a pool of blood.

The stabbing pain starts again, just behind the ear, arcing to the top of my head. I grab my pack and stumble to the hallway—bracing myself against the doorpost. After a couple minutes, the throbbing goes away.

The moon peeks out from the clouds then hides. My clothes are soaked. I shiver, ache all over. Curl up in a ball, teeth chattering.

Where am I? Who am I? Names pop into my head. Some I think I know. None stick. My heart’s beating fast, my throat’s too tight to swallow.

My left arm throbs. When I try to sit up, pain sucks my breath away. Head’s spinning, stomach gurgles. I’m burning with fever.

I’m freezing again. I roll to the
side and prop up on my good elbow. There are trees nearby. I push up off the ground, but stay on my knees ’til the fog clears from my head. The wind kicks up. I stand and touch a sore spot behind my ear. It’s tacky. When the moon comes out again, I study the smudge on my fingers. Blood.

I hobble over to the trees—a line of bush pine and live oak. A big pine’s low-hanging branches reach out to me like hands. I crawl under it and hunch up. Hang my head. Shut my eyes to keep tears from pouring out. They come anyway. My shoulders shake.

Please, let someone be coming for me.

A dog barks in the distance. I snap my head up. My heart pounds. Coyotes? Don’t let them eat me. Bryce says they eat girls. A crazy girl all by herself will die out here.

Who’s crazy? Who’s Bryce?

I slide onto a barstool next to a lean, clean-cut
cowboy type. He smiles. I return the favor.

The bartender eyes me. “What can I get you?”

“A beer.”

The cowboy raises his empty mug and winks. “Make it two—on me.”

I swivel and touch his wrist, letting my hand linger as I search his face. He’s eager. “Thanks,” I say.

The tug of loose cotton on my nipples sends tingles through my body and turns up the heat between my thighs. Back when I was twenty-something, stalking the corporate jungle, sex landed me in a mother lode of trouble. Sex also landed me Bryce when I needed help getting what was due me. It worked on Eric, too. Tonight I need to score a meal ticket—or two. I shove the images of mangled faces as far back in my memory as they’ll go.

The cowboy’s hand finds mine. “Not a problem. I hate to see a pretty woman pay for her own drinks.”

“They say a woman can’t live on beer alone.”

He calls the bartender. “The lady needs a menu—for starters.”

As the barkeeper steps away, the cowboy introduces himself. “I’m Roy.”

“Tess.” I guide his hand onto my knee. Hold it there.

“So, what’s a nice girl ….”

I throw back my head and laugh.

He copies my laughter. “Seriously, you’re not a regular.”

I slip my hand off his. “No. I’m just passing through. Been staying at a dive of a motel off the highway.”

Roy sips his beer. “Where you headed?”

“Haven’t figured that part out yet. Just away.”

“From what?”

“Trouble, I suppose.” My finger traces the rim of my glass.

“What kind of trouble?”

“My old man died. Left me broke … and alone.”

“My condolences.”

“No biggie. Guess that gives me a clean slate, huh?”

Roy picks up his glass and tips it toward me. “Every cloud’s got a silver lining.”

My glass clinks his. “Here’s to fresh starts.”

We chug our beers and Roy signals for another round.

“Where you from?” he asks.

“Up on the mountain.”

“So, you’re local.”

“Imagine you could say that. But never get to town much. Always think of town as—I don’t know—another world.”

He laughs. “You don’t get out much.”

“No, I don’t.”

“How long you lived around here?”

“About ten years—more or less.”

“And before that?”

“Drifted with my old man and girl for a couple of years.”

“Thought you were all alone.”

“Am now. She split.”

“Out of the nest pretty early?”

“More like flew the coop. Ran off. The old man was tough on her.”

“Does she know he’s dead?”

“Doubt it. She’s not in touch.”

“She still around?”

“I’m hoping she didn’t go far.” I check the view in the mirror behind the bar.

Roy signals for another round. “Maybe if you tracked her down you could get a fresh start together.”

“I’d like that, but we don’t have anywhere to stay.”

“You could crash at my place ’til you get on your feet.”

I gaze into his deep brown eyes. “Me and the girl?”

“While we’re searching, it can be your base camp.”

“You sure about that?”

“Got any better offers?”

I lay my hand on his knee. “That ‘we’ sounds like you’re offering to help me find her.”

His face brightens. “Barkeep.” He motions for the check.

I slide off the barstool. “Excuse me while I visit the powder room.”

“Take as long as you need.”

When I rejoin him, he’s got a local newspaper in his hands, reading intently. I lean into him, pretending that I’m interested. He slaps the newspaper with the back of his hand. “Getting to be as bad as the city.”

The headline reads
Ex-Financial Tycoon Charged in Local Murders.
I stare at the picture below the headline.

An owl hoots. Shivers run down my spine. Bryce’s hot breath, Tess’s shrill voice—I’ll take anything over this cold, damp freedom. Two other names, RJ and Mercedes. Are they searching for me, or are they like parents who never come to take a girl home?

That growling noise—? I scan the shadows for wild animals. Have to keep watch. Can’t close my eyes. Sleep’s no friend tonight. It’s the enemy. My head droops, eyelids flutter.

Something rustles the bushes. I jerk up, shake off the fog in my head, and peer into the night. Can’t let them eat me. I feel around for some kind of weapon. Come up empty-handed. Bryce—he’s the one who pounces on me in the night. Nothing I can do to stop him.

I wait for the next sound. Nothing. The pounding in my ears stops. I say out loud, “It’s not Bryce. I’m free.”

Mercedes—the girl who learned to survive. I remember her saying, only be afraid of what’s real … if it’s not real, it can’t hurt you … and just because something was real once, that doesn’t mean it still is.

I’ve survived Bryce’s touching. Closed my eyes and shut my mind, pretended it wasn’t real. That’s the secret. If he’s not here, he’s not real. I only have to be afraid of what’s real.

It can be done. Alone doesn’t have to be scary.

Tess

T
he morning sun streams through Roy’s floor-to-ceiling bedroom windows. I roll over and gaze at his tanned, taut body—it begs for my lips and tongue to slip-and-slide all over it. I’m coming up in the world so fast it makes me giddy. Satin sheets, king-size bed. Probably not as nice as the cabin across the lake, but a palace compared to the shack Bryce had us squatting in. This guy has something Bryce never did—class. Whoa, I would have settled for anybody who offered a meal ticket and an extra hand in finding the little bitch. I sure lucked out with this cowboy.

I ease my hand under the sheet and reach for his joystick. After all the years of Bryce’s bullying I haven’t forgotten how to enjoy a real man. Last night none of the orgasms were faked. Too bad I’ll have to use him and lose him.

Before his eyes open, a smile unfolds on his face and the muscle in my hand stiffens. He stretches as if offering me every inch of his hard body. I nuzzle up to him, bringing my hand up to his chest and caress him.

I whisper in his ear, “I’ve been thinking.”

His sleepy smile broadens into a grin. His eyes are still closed as if he’s savoring an erotic dream.

“Will you help me find my girl?”

He turns to face me with his eyes open wide. “Huh?”

I lean over, glide my tongue across my lips, and repeat, “Will you help me find my daughter?”

“Oh that.”

I brush my hand down his chest and stop just below his navel. “Well?”

“Anything you want.”

I lean into him and cover his mouth with mine, giving him my tongue. After a long, delicious kiss, I sit up. “Last night you said you’re a lawyer. That true?”

“Yeah—that doesn’t disqualify me from a second helping does it?” His hand finds my bare ass.

The corners of my mouth curl upward. “Maybe it can earn you dessert.” I reach down and caress his groin.

His abs tighten. “Tell me more.”

“Last night—the thing in the paper—the tycoon.”

“What about him?”

“I had no idea he was anywhere near here.”

His muscle goes limp. He sits up. “So, what’s your connection to this guy?”

I pull the sheet up around me. “Jacob Chandler’s my girl’s grandfather.”

Roy sits up on the edge of the bed. “The girl they say he’s searching for?”

“No. That’s a different girl … he claims another grandkid went missing years ago, but I hate to think what the truth is. All I know is, he’s hunting for me and my girl to make sure we don’t make a claim against his estate. And he’s serious. Like the paper said, he’s already killed two people.”

“But the paper said the victims were involved in his granddaughter’s kidnapping. She was kidnapped, right?”

I draw my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. “Like I said, that was my brother’s child—the legitimate one. But who’s to say what really happened to her? The kidnapping story could be made up. He’s not exactly famous for telling the truth about anything. My daughter and I got the boot years ago—said he’d never acknowledge a bastard grandchild. As far as he was concerned, she was dead. Maybe he plans to leave both girls out of his will.”

“Who would inherit his estate?”

“He’s never given a shit about family. I imagine he thinks he can buy some kind of immortality. I wouldn’t put it past him to dump it all into cryogenics … keep himself frozen until they find a cure for death or something … he wouldn’t want heirs around to turn off the damn freezer.”

“So how can I help?”

It’s been a long time since I used the pleading puppy dog eyes, but it’s worth a try. “Could you draw up some kind of legal document that gives me and my daughter what we deserve? When the cops find him—and we find Mercedes—maybe the DA can make it part of a plea bargain for the murders. And make it so that if he’s convicted—which is a pretty sure bet—we will be taken care of while he’s in prison. I only want what’s due us.”

“How much money are we talking about?”

“Billions.”

“Billions?”

I nod. “And since his cronies can’t be trusted, I ought to be the trustee of the estate while he’s locked away.”

“Why don’t I draw up a codicil that leaves the entire estate to you? No reason your daughter can’t wait for her inheritance.”