Ropes and Revenge (14 page)

His hand covered hers, pressing her closer to his skin. He wasn’t sure what his heart thought—he’d stopped listening to it the day Lily died, knowing he’d never make it through the day if he let his grieving heart call the shots—but he sensed Percy was right. More importantly, he knew he had to respect her decision. She wasn’t a child and she obviously knew her share about love and loss. If she wanted to stay here, with him, and take a risk on a broken soul, he shouldn’t push her away.

But he would warn her, one more time.

“Then stay,” he said. “But promise me you won’t hate me if I’m not as strong as that little girl.”

Percy’s lips curved gently. “It takes more strength to keep life out than it does to let it in. Just think about it,” she said, obviously reading the doubt in his eyes. “What took more strength? Resisting the urge to kiss me last night or what we’ve done the past hour and a half?”

Miraculously, John felt a smile curve his own lips. “Smart, sweet, and beautiful. Is there anything you don’t have going for you Spooky?”

“Lots of things,” she said soberly. “I talk a good game, but I don’t always make good choices. So I’ll promise not to hate you if you’ll promise not to hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” he said, drawing her closer. “But I would enjoy a shower with you. If that’s something you’re up for before I head home.”

“A shower sounds wonderful,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. “I’m so glad you’re not running away.”

He wasn’t running away. At least not right now. Right now, all he wanted to do was to get closer to this woman in his arms and show her all the earth-shaking, grief-shattering things she made him feel.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Eight Days Later

Percy

Be careful what you wish for.

It had been one of her great-aunt’s favorite phrases.

When her grand-niece yearned to be cast as the lead in
The Princess and the Pea
in the fifth-grade play and was paralyzed by stage fright on opening night: Be careful what you wish for. When Percy wanted to eat junk food like the rest of the girls in her school only to come down with a horrible allergy to preservatives the first time she ate a Twinkie at a sleepover: Be careful what you wish for.

Percy imagined her great-aunt would be saying the same thing right now if she could see Percy sitting in strained silence as John drove north toward the Thurman Federal Penitentiary.

Percy had insisted on staying in Lonesome Point and being given the chance to get closer to the man beside her. And in the past week, he’d given her exactly what she’d wished for. They’d spent time together every day—grabbing dinner at the hotel restaurant and escaping to her room after, taking his boys on a trail ride after school, grilling out with Cole and Layla on a particularly warm Wednesday night, and sneaking out to kiss under the stars after the guests were gone and the kids were in bed.

And then, on Friday night, John had dropped Peyton and Carter off at his mother’s house and finally spent the night with her, holding her in his arms all night long, the way she’d been dreaming about since the first time they’d slept together.

It had been every bit as wonderful as she’d imagined it would be…

She woke Saturday morning and rolled over to find John already awake. He looked even more handsome with dark scruff shadowing his cheeks, his hair mussed from sleep, and that gentle look in his eyes.

So handsome and perfect that she couldn’t keep her mouth from opening or her heart from flying out.

“I don’t want it to be morning,” she said, cuddling closer to his bare chest. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay forever.”

She felt him stiffen and immediately knew she’d said the wrong thing. “I’ve actually got to get going in a few minutes. The boys have karate class this morning.”

“I know,” she said, pretending it didn’t hurt when he eased away toward the edge of the bed. “I was just daydreaming aloud. Last night was wonderful.”

“It was,” he said, smiling at her over his shoulder. But it was his guarded smile, the same one that had crept across his face at the barbecue when Cole had asked him if things were getting serious between him and Percy.

She had been on her way upstairs to grab a long-sleeved tee shirt from Peyton’s room because he was getting cold jumping on the trampoline. She hadn’t been meant to hear the question, or John’s guarded “it’s only been a week” in response, so she’d tried her best to forget about it.

But this morning, with the closeness of last night so fresh in her mind and her body still aching from making love until midnight, she didn’t want to forget or hold back.

“John, wait,” she said, drawing the sheet up to cover her chest as she sat up in bed, stopping him before he could reach the bathroom.

“What is it?” he asked, leaning against the door.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

She’d always had a gift for knowing the right thing to say, but now that words mattered more than ever, her tongue stayed still and silent. None of the emotions swirling inside her were fit for speaking. John was right; it had only been a week. It was too soon for “I love you” or “I need you” or “I never want to be apart.”

It was too soon for how much it hurt to see him walk out a door and not know when she would see him again. And there was a chance that what felt so right to her still felt strange to the man she was falling for more completely every day.

“I need to use the restroom,” she finally said, forcing a smile. “Let me run in before you get in the shower.”

“Sure thing,” he said, his voice sounding relieved to her overly sensitive ears. “I should have asked first. I know you have the smallest bladder in the universe.”

“I doubt that.” She slid out of bed with the sheet wrapped around her, not wanting to be any more naked in front of him than she felt already. “I’m sure there’s a planet out there where people are cursed with even smaller bladders than mine.”

He patted her softly on the bottom as she walked by. “I hope not. Poor aliens would spend their entire lives peeing.”

She’d laughed and he’d laughed and the tense moment had passed, but he hadn’t called her Saturday night, had been withdrawn at brunch at his mother’s house on Sunday, and had canceled their dinner date Monday night ten minutes before he was supposed to pick her up in the lobby.

She’d half expected him to change his mind about letting her come to the prison to visit Wayne Wheeler with him this morning, but he’d pulled up at ten after seven, the way he’d promised.

Probably because he wants your psychic take on Wayne, not because he’s ready to let you in.

Percy risked a glance at John’s side of the truck. His expression was carefully neutral, the way it had been since Saturday morning, but she had no right to be angry about it. He hadn’t made her any grand promises. Quite the opposite. He’d tried to warn her that he was wasn’t ready for a relationship, but she’d insisted on staying and hoping and falling for a man who would no doubt ask her to leave as soon as he had the answers he needed.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Percy muttered, turning to gaze out the window at the hill-country scenery streaking by.

“What’s that?” John asked.

“Nothing.” Percy sighed. “We should be there soon, right?”

“That’s it up there.” John pointed ahead of them to a large white structure perched on a softly rolling green hill. The prison looked like the Alamo had met a church it liked very much and they’d made an unexpectedly lovely baby together.

“Wow. I didn’t expect it to be like this.” Percy leaned forward as John took the exit leading to the prison and started up a smoothly paved drive to the facility. “It’s beautiful.”

“They’re supposed to have a nice garden on the grounds, too,” John said. “It’s a medium security prison so the inmates can volunteer to work outside, taking care of the plants instead of staying in their cells all day.”

Percy frowned. “But I thought Wayne was convicted of attempted murder.”

“He was, but the maximum security prisons are overcrowded. And since Wayne had no history of violence against anyone but Layla they thought he’d be a good fit for Thurman.”

Percy made a disgusted sound.

John grunted. “I agree. Seems to me that makes him more of a monster, but I guess wife beating is a lesser offense in the minds of the Texas judicial system.”

“Well, at least he was sentenced to life.”

“He was,” John said. “But there’s a chance he’ll get out in ten to twenty. His lawyers are already starting the appeals process. That’s why I didn’t want to tell Layla or Cole about this visit until we found out if Wayne was a dead end. I didn’t want them to worry that I was going to make any deals with the devil to get information.”

Percy shifted on her seat, frowning at John as he guided the truck toward the visitor parking area. “They wouldn’t worry. They know family comes first for you.”

“I hope they do,” John said, his voice strained. “And I hope I can get back to showing that more when all of this is over.”

Percy fell silent, keeping her own strained feelings to herself. The longer she stayed in Lonesome Point, the more certain she became that Lily had been murdered, and that she and John were on a trail that would eventually lead to the killer, but the more uncertain she became that it had been a good idea to get involved. She knew other psychics who worked with the police or private investigators, but she’d never been tempted to use her gift this way before. Working with the dead was lonely, but it was peaceful and mostly safe. Hunting killers was dangerous work that hit too close to home, ripping the scab off wounds she was sure had healed long ago.

But as she walked up the steps to the prison beside John, knowing the beautiful building in front of her was home to thousands of men, hundreds of whom might be killers, her skin went cold and her mouth filled with a bitter, metallic taste.

It was the taste of terror, a flavor she’d become intimately acquainted with on a warm spring night in Key West when she was not quite seven years old. She knew if she closed her eyes, she would find herself back on the houseboat, huddled in the cabinet, holding her breath while her mother screamed.

Her pulse kicked into overdrive, her skin broke out into a sweat beneath her linen pants and short-sleeved sweater, and the stone steps suddenly went unsteady beneath her feet.

“Wait, please,” she whispered, clutching the stair railing as the world spun. “I need a minute.”

John’s arm went around her waist, bracing her trembling body with his strong, steady one. “What’s wrong?”

Percy swallowed against the rancid taste rising in her throat and shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’ll be okay. I just need a minute.”

John’s breath rushed out. “It’s not nothing. Is this about your parents?”

Shocked, Percy looked up too quickly and would have toppled down the steps if John’s arms hadn’t tightened around her, holding her up. “How did you know?”

“Ever since you told me the story about the girl who didn’t speak for a year, I’ve been thinking,” he said, sympathy in his eyes. “I’m guessing whatever happened to them was pretty terrible. And that you were there or…saw something?”

Percy blinked and then nodded, just once.

“I’m so sorry.” John’s free hand cradled the back of her head as he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“What?” She stiffened as he tried to lead the way down the steps. “What about Wayne?”

“I’ll reschedule and come alone,” John said. “It’s not worth upsetting you.”

“I’m not upset, I just—”

“You’re as white as a sheet and shaking all over.” He brushed gentle knuckles across her cheek before reaching down to claim her hand. “Come on, let’s head back. I’ll drop you at the hotel and then go see Cutter alone later this afternoon.”

Percy dug her heels in. “No, we’re not leaving.”

“It’s okay, Spooky. Really,” John said. “Wayne’s not going anywhere.”

“He’s not, but I might be,” she said, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them. She hadn’t intended to say anything—especially not on the front steps of a prison—but now that she’d started she might as well finish. “If you keep pushing me away, I might have to go, but I want to help you as much as I can first.”

John’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t deny the accusation, which made Percy even sadder. Pulling away without realizing it was one thing, but consciously holding her at a distance hurt. A lot.

Be careful what you wish for.

She should have been more careful. She should never have let herself fall for a man who was in love with a ghost. But she hadn’t been able to help herself. She might just as well have told the sun not to shine as told her heart not to fall in love with John Lawson.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t want to pull away. I’ve just never… I never thought I was the kind of man…”

Percy waited, grateful that they were still the only people on the steps. If John was getting ready to say goodbye, she didn’t want to suffer through it in front of an audience.

He sighed as he ran a hand through his shaggy hair, which had dried straighter today without his cowboy hat perched on top. The prison had a strict dress code for visitors, including appropriate skirt length for women and a no hat policy for men. Getting dressed this morning, Percy had been reminded of her years in private school, kneeling on the floor to make sure her skirt was regulation length. She’d hated the restrictions back then, but today she’d been grateful for the prison dress code. It was nice not to have to worry about what to wear on top of everything else.