Running Scared (25 page)

Neider made a sound of disgust but his tiny eyes narrowed.

“I’ll haul his ass to the county jail myself and make sure Swanson deals with him. Then I’ll call social services, see if they think Todd needs help or more supervision or maybe a father that doesn’t try to beat the living tar out of him when he’s tanked up.”

“You scrawny fuck, get off my land!”

“Just tell Todd he better stay away from Jon, his mother, and his damned dog.” Daegan glared up at the ugly ox. “Believe me, Neider, I’m not just screwin’ around. If I hear of him botherin’ anyone—
any
one—I’ll take it personally.”

“Christ, you’ve got a bug up your butt.” Carl’s thick brows drew together as if they’d been pulled by a purse-string, and his breath, smelling of stale beer, drifted over Daegan’s face as they squared off. “Oh, I get it,” the bigger man said with a leer. “You’ve got the hots for the kid’s old lady, don’t you? So you’re out stirrin’ up trouble about her boy. Trying to look like a damned hero to her. It won’t do no good. She don’t let anyone near her. Likes to keep to herself. Better men than you have tried, O’Rourke, and no one’s ever landed in her bed. There’s a running bet down at the Silver Horseshoe, the first son of a bitch who fucks her wins two hundred bucks!”

Daegan nearly jumped out of his skin. He rolled onto the balls of his feet, his fingers curled, his muscles itching to pummel the sick bag of wind.

“Don’t get yourself all worked up about a piece of ass you can’t have and a kid that’s a crappy little misfit,” Neider advised. “What’s going on between the boys, that’s their business. You stay out of it, O’Rourke.”

“No way,” Daegan said as Carl lumbered down the two steps and poked a thick finger at Daegan’s breastbone.

“My boy fights his own battles. If someone’s giving him shit, he gives it right back, only a little harder. That’s the way he was taught, that’s what makes him tough, and that’s why that whiny little Summers kid is such a wimp. Now take a hike. You’re trespassin’ here.”

“Just so as we understand each other, Neider.”

“Carl? You comin’?” A tall willowy woman leaned against the door frame. Wild blond hair framed a face that had once been pretty. Long legs were covered only by the hem of a T-shirt that was big enough to lop over one tanned shoulder. “You got a friend?” she wheedled holding a cigarette between long, slim fingers.

“He was just leavin’, and no, he ain’t no friend.”

“Too bad,” the woman said, looking longingly at Daegan, her soulless eyes sliding down his body and resting for a moment on his fly. With a sigh, she said, “See ya around, sugar.”

“Go back into the house, Flo,” Neider ordered, his face flushing to an ugly purple color. “And you, O’Rourke, get the hell off my property before I kill ya.”

Cold steel presses into the shoulder blade—the gun.

The weapon’s brutal potential freezes him in place. He’s going to kill me. He’s thinking about it. The man’s thoughts are clearly transmitted through the nose of the pistol.

Just kill the boy now and be done with this…

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Jon tells him in a voice that sounds as aloof as the snowflakes that drift past them. “Kill me now and you’ll never be done with this. You’ll be paying for the rest of your life.”

How do you…? Stop messing with my head!

“Just shut up,” the man says with a low growl, but keeps the gun stabbing into his back. Still prepared to pull the trigger, still tempted to end it all now. A hand clamps hard on Jon’s left shoulder as the man presses closer, cloaking Jon in his evil.

“You left without your jacket, son.” The man’s voice oozes with paternal concern, loud enough now for other people to hear. The two women decked in hooded jackets and boots cannot smell Jon’s panic as they walk right by and duck into the door of a boutique strung with white lights. “You can’t run around out here without a coat,” the man says, performing for passing shoppers. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

Jon twists his neck to turn toward the man, but unforgiving metal stabs deeper into his shoulder, keeping him in line. The man is a shadow behind him, but Jon is able to make out the bubble jacket around the man’s fist, loosely concealing the pistol pressed within inches of Jon’s life.

The pistol.

No running from a gun…no escape. A prisoner again.

The wind tears over them, shrill and sharp, freezing the tears of frustration gathering in Jon’s eyes. He came so close. He nearly slipped away from this man…so close. And yet, he is back in the man’s grip, gun to his back. Trapped again.

Kill him now…

The man’s thoughts seep through the broad palm of his hand on Jon’s shoulder.

Kill him now and collect the money…

“No! No, don’t!” Ducking the gun, Jon dove for the ground and found his face and hands sinking into soft sheet. His bed. Damn!

He rolled over and sat for a minute, waiting out the thrumming in his ears, the roar of his racing pulse, the shrill terror of the dream. It was his first glimpse of the man’s motives, the first time the dream of his pursuer had spun on so long, though Jon wasn’t sure that was a good thing. After all, the ending sucked. A gun to his back with the man behind him licking his chops about killing him.

For money. What was that about? Ransom money? And why would anyone hold him for ransom when his mother could barely pay her Visa bill, let alone scrape together the kind of payoff that would make kidnapping worth the risk.

He slung the blanket over his shoulders, went to the window, and stared out at the moon, barely visible through the tangled tree branches. The inky sky above him was as vast and dark as the morass of his nightmare. Who was the man, his pursuer…his killer? And the strange city, lit with Christmas lights? It was a far cry from Hopewell, Oregon, or even Bend with its downtown streets crowded with tables and pedestrians in the summer. No, the dream took place in a location as foreign to Jon as the icy fear instilled by his pursuer.

A gust of wind shook the bare branches outside Jon’s window, bending the tops of tall fir trees down the lane. That was when he spotted it—a parked vehicle. Adrenaline shot through Jon as he scrutinized the dark hunk of metal near the road—a truck.

Todd and his guys? Were they back to cause more damage?

Squinting into the night, Jon recognized the truck as Daegan’s. Yeah, definitely Daegan’s, parked in a weird spot, as if he were keeping watch. Guard duty.

That was all right by Jon. If Daegan wanted to help fend off Todd Neider and his gang, well, he could use the help. But even a big guy like Daegan O’Rourke had his limitations.

Too bad. No one, no one could save Jon from his dreams.

Wind rattled through the old pickup. The sky was dark and gloomy, night settling like a shroud over the land. Parked at the end of his drive with a clear view of the Summers place, he settled in for the night. Daegan had slept in worse places and he didn’t plan on getting much shut-eye anyway. Whoever was terrorizing Jon and Kate was gonna get caught red-handed. He was going to see to it personally.

Through the trees he noticed the lights of Kate’s house, imagined her walking through the rooms in little more than a robe, her hair pinned up from a recent bath, her skin flushed and warm, her voice soft.

What was her routine? What did she wear to bed? What did she look like without any clothes when the suspicion left her eyes? He swallowed hard, tried to think of anything but her naked body, but try as he might, he saw her in his mind’s eye, slowly disrobing, showing off proud, full breasts with big, rosy nipples, long legs with a thatch of brown curls at the apex.

Muttering under his breath, he scowled into the darkness and shifted on the seat, his jeans suddenly too tight. Hell, this was getting him nowhere. He couldn’t afford to think of her as anything but an obstacle.

So why’re you freezing your tail off here trying to protect her and her son? Not because she’s an obstacle. Face it, O’Rourke, the woman’s getting to you. Whether you admit it or not, you want her.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled a small flask of whiskey from the glove box, took a sip for warmth, and settled in. It promised to be a long night.

“What’s with you, O’Rourke?” Kate demanded, stepping over puddles to stand near his truck. The night was still for once, only a breath of wind and a million stars jeweled the sky. His pickup was tucked in the night-dark shadows of a thicket of pine and oak near the end of his drive, right next to her own mailbox and lane.

He rolled down the window and offered her that same damning, lazy smile she found so disturbing. “No law against sitting here, is there?”

“Not that I know of, but it’s a little crazy.” She felt a twinge of foolishness. After all, the man was on his own property. “But I know you’ve been out here every night for the past week. Why?” she asked, prickly and anxious. She’d spied his truck at the end of the drive the night after Halloween and hadn’t thought much about it until she’d gone to bed and wondered why he’d park the rattletrap near the road, as if he were guarding his place—or hers.

When it happened night after night, she’d become concerned and a little nettled. Jon had started visiting him after school and she hadn’t been able to stop her son from making a daily trek across the fence and through the trees to the old McIntyre place. By the time she returned from work, her son was usually home again, listening to music, playing with Houndog, or even doing his homework. As she fixed dinner, he’d talk to her as he once had, regaling her with stories about Daegan O’Rourke, who taught Jon how to box and wrestle, change a tire, ride a horse, even change the oil in his pickup. All Jon’s worries about some dark and foreboding man seemed to have been forgotten.

Kate tried to convince herself that everything was as it should be, that the biggest concern for her son’s safety wasn’t some criminal of a father hell-bent to find his boy—no, the danger was more immediate and in the form of Todd Neider’s fists. So she’d let him develop a friendship with the man who swore up and down he wasn’t a killer, the neighbor who had been kind enough to fix her flat tire and bail her son out of the whipping of his life.

Daegan glanced up and down the road. “I’m just being cautious. Thought I’d make sure Todd got the message.”

“So you’ve appointed yourself our own personal sentry?”

“I have trouble sleeping anyway.”

“Look,” she said, shivering. “I appreciate your concern, but we can take care of ourselves.”

The stare he sent her silently called her a fool, and she rubbed her arms, remembering the graffiti that she’d painted over, the dog’s cruel haircut and paint job that had been cleaned by the vet, and Jon’s bruised and battered body. “Okay, so maybe we’ve had a little trouble.”

“I think it should end.”

“So do I—”

“You want to join me?” he asked.

“No, I—”

The driver’s door creaked open and he slid across the bench seat just as headlights flashed down the highway. Daegan fastened his gaze on the approaching car, and Kate, wondering if she had any brains left, climbed in. The car passed, spraying the interior with a wash of light before roaring past.

Inside the truck, Daegan offered her an old army blanket that she draped over her shoulders.

“Warmer?”

“Yeah.” What was she doing, for crying out loud? One part of her mind screamed she was dancing with the devil, taking a horrendous risk by being alone with him, the other part—that traitorous feminine side of her soul—was seduced by being alone with him in the dark, watching a ribbon of road in the moonlight.

She felt his eyes studying her—as if looking for flaws. Her cheekbones, chin, neck. Her pulse throbbed at the base of her throat. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“Sure you do,” he drawled, leaning against the passenger door. “You wanted to get to know me better.”

“Pardon me?”

“Jon’s been coming over and you want me to tell you how it’s going.”

“Maybe.”

“And you want to find out what makes me tick. It makes you nervous that your son’s spending so much time with a man you hardly know.” He paused for a second and added, “And it makes you nervous to be in here with me. Nervous as hell.” To prove his point, he touched that jumping pulse with the tip of a finger.

The air in the cab seemed suddenly close and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything but the skin touching hers.

“I—um, just don’t know how to take all this interest in my family,” she admitted, deciding to go for broke and find out his reaction. “In one of his premonitions, just about the time you showed up in Hopewell, Jon saw a man, one he couldn’t identify, who was looking for him.”

“And you think I’m the guy?” he asked, withdrawing his hand, his eyes flattening in the darkness. She sensed his change of mood, his silent anger.

“I don’t know.”

“But you do believe someone is coming?”

“Oh, God, I wish I knew.”

Another vehicle appeared moving slowly, one headlight dimmer than the other. An old truck. Her heart froze and Daegan shifted, every muscle rigid as the pickup didn’t slow down, just rolled past.

“Oh, Lord,” she whispered, “now you’ve got me jumping at shadows. How long will you keep up this vigil, or whatever you’d call it.”

“As long as it takes to convince me that Neider won’t bother Jon again.”

“That may be a while.”

“I’ve got time,” he said, his voice hard-edged. “Tell me about the man who Jon thinks is coming.”

She hesitated a second, unsure how much she could trust him. Outside an owl hooted softly. “That’s just it, I don’t know,” she said.

“But you’re scared.”

“A little.”

“Don’t be,” he said in a voice that was rough. He slid closer to her and placed a strong arm over her shoulders. “I’m here.”

“I know but—”

“I’m on your side,” he said, his breath ruffling her hair. “I want you to know that, Kate.” Was there a hitch in his voice—a new edge? “I won’t let anything happen to Jon.”

Something inside her broke, a dam that held back her emotions, a sturdy wall that she’d built brick by brick, assuring her that she could keep her distance, stay clearheaded, keep all relationships on an even keel. Somehow Daegan had found a crack in the cement around her heart. She swallowed hard as he turned her head with one finger so that she was forced to look into his eyes.

“Trust me, Kate,” he whispered, his breath fanning her lips, and her heart, suddenly fragile, threatened to break.

“Oh, Lord—”

He kissed the side of her mouth and she quivered. He kissed her cheek and she let out a ragged, whispery breath. His arms surrounded her, gathering her close, and she didn’t protest, didn’t argue against his needs or her own.

His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that stole the breath from her soul. She opened her mouth to him willingly and he took what she offered, his tongue sliding past her teeth, touching, exploring, mating with her own.

A soft moan escaped her as he shifted, his weight pressing her downward, his powerful arms holding her close. Her heart pounded, echoing in her ears, and old, long-dead desires heated her blood.

“Kate,” he whispered and his voice sounded desperate. “Kate…no…”

An engine rumbled and Daegan lifted his head. “Hell,” he ground out, releasing her suddenly, his muscles coiled as the beams of headlights split the darkness and an old car without much of a muffler slowed near Kate’s drive.

Daegan reached under the seat but the car passed, moving on noisily, and Kate sagged against the driver’s door. “What’s that?” she asked, her heart hammering, expecting him to hold up a gun of some kind.

“A weapon.”

“What kind of weapon?”

“A deadly one.”

Metal glinted in the night and her heart nearly stopped until she realized that he was holding a wrench. She laughed nervously. “Just don’t tell me you’ve got a gun in the glove compartment.”

“Okay, I won’t,” he agreed but the edge to his words only made her more anxious.

“I think I’d better go. I guess if you want to lose sleep out here, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Guess not.”

She reached for the door handle, but strong fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Kate—”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Anytime you want to visit me again, the door’s open.”

“I’ll remember that,” she said, scrambling out of the cab and taking deep breaths of cold midnight air. Wrapping her jacket around her, she walked quickly away and vowed that she wouldn’t return to the truck. Being alone with Daegan was too dangerous.

“Are you out of your mind?” Frank lit a cigarette and flopped into a chair. Red-faced, a little gray sprinkling the hair at his temples, the youngest Sullivan brother was beginning to show signs of age.

Robert looked past his brother to the open door, where his secretary was standing helplessly, motioning that she’d tried to stop Frank from bulldozing his way into the office. “It’s all right, Louise. I was about to go home anyway. Please, close the door.”

She did as she was bade, and when they were finally alone, Robert folded his hands on the desk in an effort at patience. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re trying to find Bibi’s kid? After all these years? For the love of Jesus, Bob, why?”

“He’s blood. The only grandson I’ll ever see.”

“Big deal.” Frank shot a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Big fucking deal.”

“It is to me.”

“Why?” Scratching his eyebrow, Frank studied his brother through the smoke curling toward the ten-foot ceiling of the law office.

Robert felt the old rivalry grow between them again, as it had since they were children. Frank resented being born last, behind him, behind William. Since William had died young, only Robert stood in his way of inheriting everything—and now Robert was looking for a new heir? Frank was feeling cheated again.

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose a child.”

“So this is about Stuart.”

“There’s no hell on earth that measures up to the loss of a son. That he was murdered…” He could barely say the word and scowled down at the folder still open on his desk.

Slowly he closed the file and set it aside. “Your boy did that.”

“Not mine. That bastard’s not mine, I never claimed him, Bob, didn’t give him my name. Hell, how do I know Mary Ellen didn’t get herself pregnant by someone else and say Daegan was mine?”

“Enough!” Robert spat out, disgusted. “He was yours all right, looked more like you than his mother; had the cursed sight, too. Just like William!”

“You know a lot about him.” Frank’s eyes narrowed, as if he were calculating what his brother was up to, and he took a long drag on his smoke.

“I make it my business to know as much as I can about every member of the family. Legitimate and illegitimate.”

“Except Bibi’s boy.”

“Yes,” he admitted, standing and walking to the liquor cabinet, where he poured two snifters of brandy. “That was my mistake. I listened to Adele and thought it was best for the family if the child disappeared.”

“And you were right,” Frank said, accepting the drink. “It’s now when you’re making your mistake.” He took a long swallow and waited for the brandy to hit his belly. “You know how I handle bastards, don’t you?”

“By raping their mothers and nearly getting killed by a bullet?”

“The kid was a freak.”

“Whatever happened to him?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Frank scowled. “I thought you kept track of everyone remotely associated with the family.”

“He slipped through my fingers. Doesn’t his mother keep in touch?”

“She swears she doesn’t; but she’s probably lyin’.” Frank shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t see much of her these days. After the night that O’Rourke tried to shoot off my balls…Well, let’s just say I’ve moved on to younger, tighter ass.”

“Despite the fact that I advised you to be more discreet. That your philandering almost got you killed.”

Frank’s lips thinned. “No one tells me what to do. No one.”

Not even you.

He hadn’t said it, of course, but it was there, hanging in the air, unspoken and a challenge. Robert felt the old animosity between them raise its ugly head, baring greedy teeth.

A sick feeling unwound in Robert’s insides. His brother had been out of control, drinking and cavorting, for far too long. It was an embarrassment, a stain on the family reputation. All the more reason to search for someone else to carry on the family name—a responsible heir.

Frank leaned forward a little in his chair and swirled his drink. “You know Collin resents you trying to find Bibi’s kid. He sees it as a threat; as if you don’t trust him. Or me.”

“I don’t.”

“But you’d put your faith in some fifteen-year-old bastard?” Frank stubbed out his cigarette.

“That remains to be seen.” Robert felt empty inside as Frank finished his drink in a flourish. They’d never been close, not even as children. His own kids had experienced a special bond for a while, or so it had seemed, and then they, too, had drifted away from each other. Before they could reconnect, Stuart had been killed.

“Be careful, Bob,” Frank warned as he stood and adjusted the cuffs of his jacket. “You’re playing with fire, here. I’d hate to see you get burned.”

“I won’t,” Robert said calmly. Frank had never scared him. Worried him, yes, but never frightened him. If anything, he was more determined than ever to find his grandson.

Things were quiet. Too quiet, Kate thought as she tapped the eraser tip of her pencil on the corner of the desk in her little cubicle optimistically called an office in the English Department of the community college.

Ever since the incident with Todd Neider nearly two weeks ago, life had settled into its same, slow, normal pace. Except that Daegan O’Rourke had entrenched himself into their lives, and each day he was becoming more important to Jon.

And to you. Whether you admit it or not, Kate, you can’t ignore the undercurrents that charge the air whenever he’s around. Even though you’ve never been stupid enough to wander back to his pickup at night again, it’s there, simmering between you, a dark fascination that shouldn’t exist.

Headache brewing, she slid her reading glasses off her nose and rubbed her temples. She noticed him in ways she’d never noticed another man, the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders, the fact that his belt was worn on the third notch, the flare of his nostrils and furrowing of his brow as he concentrated, and the way his faded jeans hung low on his hips. He didn’t bother shining his boots or mending a torn patch in his Levi’s and seemed unaware that he always plowed both hands through his hair when he was frustrated. She’d caught a glimpse of his sense of humor—cynical though it was—and wished she knew more about him and the past that he never shared with her.