Stonebrook Cottage (25 page)

Kara paused on the rough road and tried to catch her breath. She was panting from exertion, sticky with sweat. She didn't relish the thought of tramping up the steep hill above the gravel pit and marveled at the energy and industry of her godchildren. They'd had to lug wood, nails, tools and snacks out here, get them up into their tree, do their sawing and hammering and building. Quite a project. She admired their tenacity and ingenuity, even if they'd broken a few rules. Their lives, she thought, were sometimes too filled with rules.

She heard the crunch of gravel behind her.

Ah, hell.

She swung around just as Sam's shadow crossed hers. He didn't say a word. He must have watched her from the cover of the taller Christmas trees on the other side of the access road.

"Well," Kara said. "I didn't think you went back to the cottage for hot dogs and coffee." She gave him half a beat to answer, and when he didn't, she pressed on. "Don't tell me you followed me out here, because you didn't. I'd have heard you. It's a quiet day, and you just aren't that subtle."

He slanted his gaze at her. "The house Governor Parisi rented for the summer is on five acres that border Jericho and Stockwell land. All three properties come together on the other side of the gravel pit." He took a step toward her. "Provocative to find you here."

"I didn't stay for lunch—"

"I can see that."

"Henry and Lillian needed to be with their mother, without me. Look, you know I have more information than you do. We both want all this to work out. I need you to trust my judgment."

Sam moved half a step, his boots grinding into the hard-packed road. "I'm surprised Hatch Corrigan didn't come with you."

"What? Where did that come from?" Then she realized what he was doing—throwing her off base, confusing her as if she were some damn criminal. "Sam, whatever Hatch had for me is over."

"No, it isn't. He just doesn't want to sully his perfect love by something as common and nasty as sex."

She could feel the anger rising in her. "You're being an ass—"

"Quaint little town, Bluefield is." He didn't seem to notice her anger, or wasn't worried about it if he did. His black eyes stayed on her, unflinching. "A gas can left too near a Fourth of July bonfire nearly kills the lieutenant governor. A few weeks later, the governor drowns. Then two little rich kids are scared enough to run off in an unfamiliar state."

"When you say it like that—"

"It
is
like that, Kara." The sun was hot out here in the open, but it didn't seem to affect him. "Zoe West doesn't like what's going on in her town. Neither do I. Neither do you."

Kara refused to let his sky-is-falling mood affect her, and she remembered she was in Bluefield because of Henry and Lillian. They were her priority, her sole concern. Everything else took a back seat. They'd told her about seeing Mike Parisi drown, about the man following them, thinking she was their attorney. She could maintain their confidence, but if she believed they really needed representation, she'd go straight to their mother and insist, or go to court, if need be, and get a judge to appoint a guardian ad litem, who would then see to it they had their own lawyer. Kara hoped it wouldn't come to that—she hoped everything would get sorted out when they got together with Allyson this afternoon.

"That's Pete Jericho's truck." Kara pointed toward the stacks of cordwood logs where Pete had parked his old pickup. "Let's go talk to him and see what he's up to. Maybe he knows something he hasn't said."

"Kara—"

"Sam, I'm here. I went behind your back. I did it deliberately, for good reasons that I can't explain to you." She sighed at him. She appreciated his situation, but it was time he appreciated hers. "Decide what you're going to do about it."

His eyes sparked dangerously. "I could cart you out of here right now and put you on a plane for San Antonio."

"Austin," she said, not backing down. "I don't live in San Antonio."

"Your brother could hold on to you while I finish up here." He said nothing for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. "Before this is over, he's going to have both our heads."

She smiled. "We can take him."

But he didn't return her smile, and his unrelenting seriousness added to her own sense of gravity. They headed across the road and into the pounded grass of the woodlot, where two gray squirrels chased each other across the top of a pile of logs. There was no sign of Pete. "He must be here somewhere," Kara said, looking around.

She didn't want to miss this opportunity to check out the tree house, but with Sam on her heels, she didn't know how to do it and still maintain Henry and Lillian's confidence. The children were moving closer to confiding in him, trusting him, but if she jumped the gun, she didn't know how they'd react. They'd been through too much as it was. She wasn't worried nearly as much about professional ethics as she was doing the right thing by them, keeping her promise to them.

Sam started down to the gravel pit, the same direction she needed to go to get to the tree house up on the hill. Maybe she'd be able to see it from the gravel pit and could gauge from there the veracity of the kids' story. The equipment was idle, the landscape silent and barren, without shade. There were huge piles of pea stone, uncut rock, gravel and sand, all waiting to be crushed, sifted or hauled out.

Kara stood next to Sam on the pounded subsoil. "It's like standing in a desert, isn't it? Allyson and I used to come out here hunting for lady's slippers. It's hard to believe it's the same place. I understand the pit's almost played out—" She stopped abruptly, noticing that Sam had withdrawn the Colt. "Sam? What is it?"

He touched her arm. "Stay here."

Kara followed his gaze, gasping when she saw a body three-quarters of the way down the steepest part of the embankment. It was a man, sprawled faceup in the dirt.

She recognized the tawny hair, the dusty clothes.

"Oh my God, it's Pete."

She bolted for him, but Sam grabbed her and shoved her down next to a pile of pea stone. He pointed at her. "Don't move."

She nodded. "All right. Go."

He made it to Pete in seconds and knelt down, checking for a pulse as he did a 360-degree scan of the gravel pit. Kara didn't see anyone and shot across the open ground, the sun hot on the back of her neck. She crouched next to Sam, alongside Pete's motionless body.

"He's alive," Sam said. "We need to get paramedics out here."

She saw Pete's bloody arm and shoulder, his torn shirt, the swollen, bloody bruise on the side of his head—the bone sticking out of his wrist. "Pete…we're calling an ambulance." She pushed back her panic, leaned over him. She had no idea if he could hear her. "It'll be okay."

He moaned. "Kara?" His voice cracked, and he winced in agony, his eyes shut.
"Christ."

"Do you remember what happened?" Sam asked.

Pete tried to open his eyes, but moaned and shut them again without answering.

Sam had out his cell phone and dialed 911, crisply giving the dispatcher their location and describing the situation. "The injured man is Pete Jericho. Someone will want to notify his family."

"Pop—he was out here." Pete seemed confused, trying to figure out what had happened to him. He coughed, moaning in pain, then swore viciously.

"I know it must hurt like hell," Kara said. "Don't try to talk. Help'll be here soon."

"Kara…shit, you always see me at my worst."

She stood up and squinted at the line of trees at the top of the ridge. The tree house was up there somewhere. Had Pete seen it? Was that why he fell? If Sam found it on his own, she wouldn't have to violate Henry and Lillian's trust. He'd figure out on his own what they were hiding.

"It looks like he fell from up there," she said. "Sam, maybe you should go up and look around, just in case."

He glanced at her, already suspicious. "I will after the paramedics get here."

Charlie Jericho arrived first, jumping off his tractor with more agility than Kara would have expected of him. He ran to his son, dropping down next to him. "Bea heard on the scanner," he explained to no one in particular. "What the hell happened? Pete, you okay?" He looked his son over, shaking his head. "You've got a busted-up head, broken wrist, bruises and cuts— how're your insides? You break a few ribs?"

But Pete didn't answer. "Sam and I found him a few minutes ago," Kara said.

Charlie looked up at Sam. "You're the Texas Ranger? You think this was an accident?"

"I don't know, Mr. Jericho, and it's not for me to make that determination. Your son doesn't remember what happened. He might after he gets medical attention."

Charlie got to his feet and pulled off his cap, his gray hair matted with sweat. He ran his forearm over the top of his head. "I'll bet he was dismantling that goddamn tree house, hunter's platform, whatever the hell it is. I knew someone'd get hurt up there. It's too close to the edge of the gravel pit."

"Which tree?" Sam asked, and Kara knew he'd instantly put together the pieces of what Charlie Jericho had said and understood why she was out here.

"Big oak up at the top. You can't miss it."

The ambulance siren sounded out on the access road. Sam looked at Kara, his intensity palpable. And his fury. She already knew about the tree house and he knew it. "You'll be okay here?" he asked tightly.

She nodded. He meant to find the tree house. When he did, he'd see Henry's binoculars, perhaps stumble on Lillian's missing binoculars, and he'd figure out what the kids were hiding. He tucked the .45 back in the holster and set out across the lower end of the embankment and into the woods.

Kara watched him making his way up the hill, along the edge of the steep embankment. Pete could have fallen—he could have been pushed. She thought of Henry and Lillian's man in the black sedan, then dialed the number for Stockwell Farm.

Hatch answered. "We heard what happened. You're there with Pete?"

"Yes. Hatch, I need to see Allyson and the kids—"

"You don't call the shots here, Kara," he said, and disconnected.

Charlie grunted. "Hatch is worse than ever. People worry about Allyson not handling the stress—I worry about that guy." He gestured up toward the woods where Sam had now disappeared from sight. "You go on with your Texas friend. I'll stay with Pete."

The ambulance bounced over ruts and pits by the logging platforms, a police cruiser behind it, and Charlie waved his arms, directing them to his son. Kara leaned over Pete, his face wracked with pain. "Take care. I'll check on you as soon as I can."

"Pop…he can't…"

"Don't worry," Charlie called down to him. "I'm not having a heart attack today."

Pete's eyes flickered open and shut and he seemed to drift into unconsciousness. Kara ran across the pounded dirt into the woods, pushing her way through knee-high ferns and skinny saplings, her energy re-newed—probably from the adrenaline rush of having found Pete injured, seeing Sam's reaction. The gun, the deadly look in his black eyes. She had no idea what he would do when he found the tree house.

She came to a tall oak with split cordwood nailed to its smooth trunk.

Sam dropped out of it, landing lightly in the dried leaves and scraggly field grass. "They saw Mike Parisi drown, didn't they? They're witnesses." He bit out each word, nothing slow or easy or sexy about his Texas drawl, so out of place here on the edge of a Connecticut gravel pit. "I figured this out on my own. You're off

the hook, Counselor."

"Sam, they're kids—"

"Damn right. Kids who need an adult with some sense. Your pal Pete Jericho could have been killed." His eyes scalded her. "What did they tell you?"

"Not everything. I'm sure of it." She spoke calmly, as if she were in a courtroom. "They're like you right now, suspicious of everything and everyone."

He swung around at her, grabbing the branch above her right shoulder. She fell back against the tree automatically, instinctively, having expected every kind of reaction from him but this intensity, this rawness of emotion. She thought his professionalism might rise to the surface, even if they weren't in Texas.

He leaned in toward her. "I could make love to you right now against this tree. I don't give a damn they're down there loading a man into an ambulance, and I don't give a damn who saw what." He touched her hair with his free hand. "Who are these people to you, Kara?"

"Sam, I can't…not now."

"Now's the best time, when you're off your game, scared, when you're not sure what I'm going to do next. You could learn something from those kids." He traced her mouth with his fingertips, then skimmed them along her jaw, down her throat and over her breasts, outlining first one nipple then the other. "You're too trusting."

"That shows you what you know." She felt defiant, breathless with exertion and fear and adrenaline, and with desire, hot and undeniable—and inappropriate, she thought. Not now, not here. "I'm not trusting at all."

He covered her breast with his palm, caressing it as he lowered his mouth to hers. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she saw him watching her as she took in a breath, anticipating his kiss.

But it didn't come right away. He touched his tongue to her bottom lip, rubbing it lightly, erotically, before he covered his mouth with hers. He was deliberate, in control. He dropped his hand from her breast and eased it down her stomach, past the waistband of her shorts. She felt his fingertips hot on her skin, then between her legs, his kiss capturing her small cry of surprise as he stroked her, touched her. He let go of the branch and took her hand, placing it on him, and she could feel that he was aroused.

She pulled back from their kiss, ragged and damn close to letting him take her there, against the tree. "Sam…" Her voice caught, and she pressed her palm hard against him, felt his control falter as he grabbed the branch again. She leaned back against the tree trunk, letting him withdraw his hand from her, and she cleared her throat, coughing a little. "Okay. You made your point. We should be home, sorting out our own problems."

He patted her on the hip and smiled. "You're a quick study, Counselor." His smile faded, but no hardness came into his expression. "You worry me, Miss Kara. I imagine you always will."