Safe from Harm (9 page)

She sent him a cautious look, wondering what cheesy come-on he was teeing up. “Uh-huh. And what kind of flowers would you give me?”

He held her gaze for a moment. “Wildflowers.”

Her breath caught in her chest. Was it possible that he really
had
been the boy who'd left them in her locker? Had her silly teenage fantasy been accurate after all? No. It was just a coincidence that he'd selected wildflowers—most likely because that's what she'd brought him in the hospital. But still, she had to ask, “And why's that?”

He shoved off the doorframe and hobbled forward on his crutches, opening one of the cabinets Elle hadn't gotten to yet and revealing a stack of simple, white plates. “Because they're honest and unpredictable and thrive no matter where they're planted.”

She was a little breathless when she replied, “And what does that mean?”

“It means you're one of the most incredible women I've ever known, Elle,” he told her. “And you can see through my bullshit like nobody else. Clearly, I'm going to need to up my game to make any headway.”

Elle tried to cover her happiness at the compliment by giving him a saucy glance as she stood on her tiptoes to reach the plates and sashayed past him to set them on the table. “Yeah, well, don't get any ideas, hotshot. This is just dinner. Nothing else.”

When she turned around to grab the food, she was surprised to find him close behind her, his smile laced with mischief. “You're perfectly safe with me. I swear I won't try a thing.” He winked and added, “Unless you want me to.”

She gave him a wry look, hoping he couldn't tell how damnably hard her heart was pounding when he looked at her that way. “Fat chance, Dawson.”

He shrugged with an exaggerated sigh. “Suit yourself.”

She laughed a little as she swept her hair up and pulled it into a haphazard ponytail, trying to tame the thick waves with the rubber band she kept handy on her wrist. “Go sit down,” she said, shooing him away. “I'll handle this.”

She turned away and began dishing up the food, but she could feel the weight of Gabe's heated stare, the sensation warming her skin and making her restless in ways she didn't want to acknowledge. And when she finally turned and caught his gaze, she was surprised to see not the usual playfulness and mischief sparkling in his eyes but what she could've sworn was loneliness.

“Everything okay?” she asked. “You look pale. You really should sit down and rest your leg.”

“Why'd you really come here?” he asked, ignoring her concern. “If you'd just wanted to drop off dinner to help me out, you would've only brought enough for one.”

She maneuvered around him to set the plates on the table, giving her time to consider his question. For a moment, she thought about giving him some flippant, bullshit answer, but instead, she sighed and wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging herself to try to banish the cold fear that had penetrated to her bones.

“I didn't want to be alone tonight,” she admitted, keeping her back to him, too humiliated to face him as she said it. “All I can see when I close my eyes is Mark Monroe's face, so twisted and so full of hatred. I just…” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “You're the only one who can understand, Gabe. I didn't know who else to talk to.”

She started when she felt his hand on her shoulder but didn't resist when he gently turned her around to face him. “I'm here,” he assured her, smoothing his hand along her arm. “Anytime you need me.”

She studied his face for a long moment, his harshly chiseled features even more fierce when he was so close. “What do I do now?” she asked. “I send victims to get counseling, to help them work through the trauma. Hell, I even volunteer as a counselor myself! Yet I can't bring myself to go. I need to know what I can do to get that bastard out of my head, Gabe, what I can do to stop feeling so afraid.”

He gently grasped her chin. “You help me bring down that son of a bitch Jeb Monroe and put him away for good.”

She pressed her lips together in a determined line. “When do we start?”

Jeb Monroe sat in his pickup truck, watching the deputy's house through narrowed eyes, his blood boiling with hatred. Every ounce of him wanted to rush the porch, kick open the front door, and deliver a powerful message to Mac Dawson about grief and retribution. The son of a bitch had stolen Jeb's father's farm on behalf of the government, had taken from Jeb what was rightfully his. And then he'd sent his favorite deputy, his own son, to arrest Derrick in the very home where Mac had darkened the doorstep years before, adding insult to injury.

The Dawson boy carried himself with the same arrogant swagger, the same self-righteous, blind devotion to the government as his father. They were instruments of evil. And Jeb had been selected by God himself to rid the world of such evil. He'd heard the Voice telling him what he must do. And he would obey.

Jeb took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly, reining in his ire, forcing it down to a low simmer. He needed to bide his time, wait until the perfect moment to exact his vengeance. Then he'd strike. He'd rip out Mac Dawson's heart.

The sheriff needed to understand what it felt like to lose a favorite son, needed to feel the pain that tore at Jeb's chest with savage claws, shredding every ounce of him until he felt like nothing more than a hollow shell of a man.

Jeb's cell phone rang on the seat next to him. Without turning his gaze away from Gabe Dawson's house, he snatched the device from his seat and barked, “Go ahead.”

“I have the information you requested, sir.”

Jeb's jaw tightened at the sound of his son Jeremy's voice. “Well, I'm waiting.”

Jeremy cleared his throat nervously. “Tom Dawson's wife, Carly, was DEA, but she was killed three years ago in an undercover operation. But your cousin at the courthouse told me she'd been filing for divorce when she was killed. Maybe he has someone else.”

Jeb grunted. “Scratch her off the list. What about the others?”

“Joe Dawson's fiancée, Sadie Keaton, is an English teacher at the high school,” Jeremy informed him.

“Asterisk her,” Jeb ordered. “She'd be easy enough to get to.”

There was a slight hesitation before Jeremy added, “But she's pregnant—about five months along.”

“I said asterisk her,” Jeb hissed.

Jeremy cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with Jeb's order, but the boy was young, inexperienced. He didn't understand that every war required sacrifices. “Yes, sir.”

“And the others?”

“It looks like Kyle Dawson is living with his girlfriend, Deputy Abby Morrow.”

Jeb considered this one for a moment. “Leave them off the list,” he decided. “I don't want to draw the FBI's attention any more than necessary. If Kyle Dawson's anything like his father, he's already stepped up their surveillance. I don't want to give them any reason to move in sooner.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Gabe Dawson?” Jeb prompted.

“Unattached at the moment,” Jeremy told him. “He has no shortage of women on the hook, but he's not with any of them.”

Jeb grunted in disgust. “Doesn't appear that way. That whore attorney is at his house as we speak.”

“But everyone says she can't stand him.”

“I don't give a shit what everyone
says
,” Jeb hissed. “She's probably spreading her legs for him right now. You want to argue with me some more, boy?”

“Of course not, sir,” Jeremy mumbled.

“I want her taken out,” Jeb spat. “She's the reason Derrick is in prison and why Mark is dead. The fact that she's no doubt fucking Gabe Dawson is just a bonus.”

“Who should we do first, sir?”

Jeb sighed, mulling it over. “No one yet. I want them living in fear, knowing we're coming. I want them to spend every moment worrying about when we're going to strike, wondering when death will be visited upon them. I want them to know that they're powerless to stop us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jeb grinned, pleased by his son's loyalty. “I want you to stay on Elle McCoy,” he decided. “She already saw you watching her. I want her to feel your presence. I want her looking over her shoulder everywhere she goes. Do this well, boy, and I'll give her to you.”

“
Give
her to me?”

“That's right,” Jeb said. “If she's going to act like a whore, we'll treat her like a whore. And when we're done with her, I'll let you be the one to put a bullet in her head.”

Jeb hung up on his son, tossed his phone onto the seat beside him, and snatched up the little present he'd prepared to welcome Deputy Dawson home.

* * *

“Will you be okay here tonight on your own?” Elle asked as she strolled toward his front door, clearly moving slowly so he could keep up with her on his crutches.

He slid a meaningful sidelong glance toward her. “You offering to stay?”

She rolled her eyes, but he could see a hint of pink rising in her cheeks. God, he loved making her blush like that. The fact that he could bring a flush to the cheeks of a woman like Elle made his chest swell with pride. The only thing better would be making her flush with desire as he made love to her.

A sudden, vague image of her arching off his bed in ecstasy made his cock go rock hard, making him seriously fucking glad he was wearing his shirt untucked for once so she couldn't see the effect she had on him. God, she had to be beautiful in the throes of passion. What he wouldn't give to watch as rapture played out over her features, to hear her scream his name, to feel her nails digging into his skin…

“Do you ever stop?” she teased, leaning against the doorframe.

He shook his head, and his voice was rough with desire when he answered, “Not where you're concerned.”

She turned toward him when they reached his front door and regarded him for a long moment. “Why?”

Her question took him off guard. “Huh?”

She tilted her head to one side, far more adorable than she realized. “Why are you so interested in me, Gabe? You can have any woman you want.”

He scoffed. “Not true. My reputation has been greatly exaggerated. Right now, there's only woman I want.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, for argument's sake, let's pretend that's true.”

Pretend? What the hell?

Did she really buy into all the rumors about him sleeping with anything with a pulse? His false reputation had been haunting him since high school. Okay, his fault for not refuting the rumors, but what teenage guy wouldn't want everyone to think he was a god in bed? And, now that he knew better, he was too old to give a shit what people thought.

“Why would you want to keep pursuing someone who has pushed you away over and over again?” she continued. “I mean, what's so special about me?”

He reached up and tugged at a curl that had come loose from her ponytail. “How long do you have?”

She grinned and patted him lightly on his chest, just above the bruises from the shots he'd taken, but he managed to keep from wincing. “Ah, so
that
must be the famous Dawson charm you keep mentioning…”

He leaned on his crutches, bending forward, close enough to kiss her. “Is it working?”

She shoved away from the doorframe and straightened to her full height, bringing her lips even closer to his. Her mouth curved into a sensual smile as she searched his face. Then she stepped closer, her arm slipping around his waist as she leaned into him, her breasts pressing into his chest as she put her lips close to his ear and whispered, “Not even a little, Romeo.”

With that, she stepped back and winked at him before opening the door and sending a wave at him over her shoulder as she strolled toward her car.

Oh, she was good…

He had seen the mischief in her eyes after she'd whispered in his ear. She knew exactly what she did to him with every word, every touch, and she was enjoying it. And, hell—truth be told, so was he.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he watched her pull away.

He was still grinning when her car turned off his street, but his grin faded when he caught a glimpse of something hanging from the plant hook at the corner of his porch. Frowning, he hobbled toward it, his stomach clenching when he saw what it was.

A noose made of twine hung from the hook. And hanging in the noose was a voodoo-style stick figure that looked like something his brother Kyle had probably encountered when he'd done a stint with the FBI office down in New Orleans. But encountering one in Northern Indiana was somehow even more chilling.

Gabe's head snapped up, his senses on high alert as he scanned his surroundings. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he snatched the hanging man from the hook and fished his phone out of his pocket, dialing Elle, waiting impatiently for her to answer.

“Hey there,” she finally answered after the eighth ring. “What's—”

“Are you okay?” he blurted, cutting her off.

“Yes, I'm fine,” she assured him, her tone wary. “I've literally gone only two minutes down the street. I don't think—”

“Check your rearview mirror,” he interrupted again, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the cars and houses around him once more. “Tell me if there's anyone behind you.”

“No,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “There's no one. What the hell is going on, Dawson? You're scaring the shit out of me!”

“While you were here, someone dropped off a little welcome-home present for me.” He tucked his phone between his jaw and shoulder and maneuvered back into his house, not eager to hang out on the porch, exposed to anyone who might be watching, and locked his front door.

“Present?” Elle repeated. “What kind of present?”

Gabe glanced down at the crude form in his hand. “A stick figure in a noose.”

“Jesus,” she breathed. “Do you think it was Monroe?”

Gabe grunted. “That'd be my guess.”

“He's just being an asshole,” she assured him, although her tone sounded a little unsure. “He's trying to get into your head.”

Gabe made his way to the living room and lowered himself onto the sofa before responding. “Maybe. But I'd feel better if you weren't at home alone tonight. Can Charlotte come over?”

“I'm a grown woman,” Elle reminded him—as if she needed to. He was all too aware of the fact that she was all grown up. And all woman. “I won't ask my aunt to babysit me. Besides, Monroe wouldn't care if Charlotte's there with me or not.”

He ran a hand over his hair, frustrated with his helplessness. Had he not been laid up with his leg, he would've hopped right into his car and driven to her house the minute he'd seen the damned stickman hanging there. “Well, could you go over to her house?”

“For how long, Gabe?” she asked. “I can't let Monroe uproot my entire life until we finally catch him doing something criminal and put him away. We can't prove he's the one who left the hanging man, right?”

“Quit thinking like an attorney for one damned minute,” he shot back. “To hell with
proving
anything. I'm worried about your
safety
, Elle.”

There was a slight pause then a very quiet, “Thank you. For worrying about me.”

Gabe's throat suddenly felt constricted with anxiety for her. He wished he could invite her back to his house so he could keep an eye on her, but that was out of the question. Considering what she thought of him and his reputation, odds were she'd see it as another come-on instead of his genuine concern for her well-being.

They were both silent for a long moment before Gabe finally cleared his throat and said, “I know you can't just put your life on hold, Elle. But I'd feel a lot better if I knew you had someone with you. Hell, what about the newest douche-suit? What's he doing? Could he come stay with you?”

He heard her exasperated sigh, but her voice sounded slightly amused when she said, “I really wish you wouldn't refer to the guys I date that way. Not all of them even wear
suits
. But I tell you what. I'll see if I can stay at Aunt Charlotte's house tonight.”

Gabe closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the sofa pillows. “Good. I'll sleep a hell of a lot better. But promise me you'll call 911 and then me if anything strange happens.”

“I promise.” Another long moment of silence stretched out between them. Finally, Elle asked tentatively, “Gabe? Are you still there?”

“Yep,” he replied. “I'm here. I'll stay on the line as long as you want.”

“This is ridiculous, right?” she said with a nervous laugh. “I mean, we can't let this bastard scare us into being paranoid at every turn. I'm already jumpy. I felt like someone was watching me all day everywhere I went, and now—”

Gabe's eyes snapped open at this. “You did? Why didn't you say anything?”

She sighed. “I just… I felt like I was overreacting, considering what we've been through. And you have enough to deal with right now without worrying about me.”

He shook his head. Damn, the woman could be exasperating. “You want to be partners in this, in bringing Monroe down? Then you don't keep anything back from me. I'm letting you in, Elle.”

Shit, that was an understatement.

The fact that he was so worried about her—not just as any cop would be about someone who was at risk, but as a man who cared about her more than he liked to admit—was testament to just how much he'd already let her in.

After a moment, he heard her finally clear her throat. “I'm at home,” she announced. “I'll give Aunt Charlotte a call and then head over there.”

He didn't like the fact that she was home alone even for as long as it took to put a bag together and call Charlotte, but she was right. She couldn't live in fear every moment. That would be giving Monroe exactly what he wanted.