The Rebel's Return (11 page)

Unable to endure his silence a moment longer, Maddie spoke his name. “Dylan?”

“Yeah, I'm okay, honey. Just putting off doing what I need to do.”

He glanced at her then and she thought her heart would break. Maybe no one else could have seen past that weak smile and the false bravado of the hard-as-
nails, unemotional male, but Maddie could. Dylan dreaded going through the judge's safety deposit box and having to look at the personal items Dennis Barber had mentioned. Pictures of Leda Bridges, the mother he'd lost at twelve. And the engagement ring and wedding band his father had placed on his beloved's finger.

“I'll be there with you,” she told him. “If you'd like, I can go through the box for you and—”

Instantly he reached over and caressed her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “You're a born caretaker, aren't you, sweet Maddie? And you seem to know me so well.”

“Like I've said before, I believe you and I are two of a kind. It's not that difficult to figure out what you're feeling when it's often exactly what I'd be feeling, if I were you.”

“I can handle going through the box,” he told her. “But I won't mind having company while I'm doing it.”

Fifteen minutes later, they stood side-by-side at the bank, the contents of the judge's safety deposit box emptied onto a table in a private nook within the large vault.

“Pretty much what Dennis said would be here.” Dylan sorted through the various items, mostly papers and documents, everything from over a hundred thousand dollars in CDs to copies of Carl and Leda's mar
riage certificate, Carl's, Leda's and Dylan's birth certificates, and a small box of photographs.

Dylan picked up a velvet pouch, opened it and dumped the contents into the palm of his hand. Maddie watched him as he gazed down at the plain gold band and the one-carat solitaire diamond.

“Mama told me once that she scolded Dad for spending so much money on her engagement ring,” Dylan said. “Having been raised poor, Mama thought a one-carat diamond was very extravagant.” He eased the engagement ring onto the tip of his index finger, then studied it closely. “She told me that when I grew up and found the girl I wanted to marry, she intended to give me this ring for my bride.”

“Oh, Dylan, what a dear, sweet sentiment.”

He dropped both rings into the velvet pouch and placed them back in the metal box, then dumped the photographs from the box and spread them out on top of the other papers. Maddie looked at the pictures, mainly black-and-white snapshots of his parents. But in the middle of the old photos, several studio-quality pictures of a baby caught Maddie's attention.

“May I take a closer look at these?” She pointed to the baby pictures.

“Sure, go ahead. I noticed them,” Dylan said, “but I don't recognize that child.”

Maddie studied the photos of a baby girl with big blue eyes and dark curly hair. “This child resembles Lena. She's the little girl who was abandoned on the
country club golf course a few months ago, the child that Josie and Flynt Carson are taking care of.”

“Are you sure?” Dylan grabbed the photos. “Why would my father have pictures of the abandoned baby?”

“Good question.”

“Hart said that my dad showed an interest in Baby Lena, right? And we know that three of the four men Dad defended in the Haley Mercado murder case were together playing golf when they found the child. Now we discover photos of that child in my father's safety deposit box. Could there really be a connection between this child and my father's murder?”

“Maybe. But it could be only a coincidence. And concentrating on the baby might lead us off in the wrong direction.”

Slumping his shoulders, Dylan sighed. “I'm going to leave everything here at the bank for now.” He gathered up the items and arranged them in the safety deposit box, but slipped the photos of the baby girl into his pocket.

A few minutes later when they left the bank, Dylan pulled out the photos and looked at them again. He frowned.

“What's wrong?” Maddie asked.

“Nothing. I just had a crazy thought. But looking at this child, I see no resemblance to my father.” He held up one of the photos. “Do you see any?”

“Oh, Dylan, you can't think that little Lena is your father's child.”

“No, not really. I told you it was a crazy thought.”

“You're grasping at straws.” Maddie slipped her arm through his. “Come on. Let's go to the club and have a late lunch in the café.”

“Yeah…okay.”

“What's wrong now?”

“Nothing really, just thinking about one other source of possible information.”

“And that source would be?” she asked.

“My dad has a safe at home. One of those old wall safes behind a picture in his den.”

“Why haven't you already checked the contents?”

“Because I don't have the combination,” Dylan told her. “Besides, I think the only thing he kept in there was some cash and an old Smith & Wesson revolver that belonged to his uncle.”

“Maybe a locksmith could get the safe open for you.”

“Maybe. I'll look into it soon.” He guided her to his Porsche, then unlocked and opened the door for her. “Right now, I'd rather have lunch with the prettiest girl in Mission Creek.”

Smiling, Maddie slipped into the passenger seat. “Are we going to pick her up on the way to the club or is she meeting us there?”

Dylan leaned down and into the Porsche, bringing his face close to Maddie's. “Neither. She's already
right here, close enough for me to kiss.” He brushed his lips over hers.

Maddie's stomach flip-flopped. If Dylan's compliments weren't sincere, she didn't want to ever learn the truth. Don't doubt him, an inner voice advised. If she couldn't trust Dylan, she'd never be able to trust anyone.

With the humid August breeze doing little more than fanning the heat around them, Maddie and Dylan headed for the club. As they sped along Gulf Road, a late-model dark sedan with tinted windows came up right behind them.

“Why doesn't he just come on and go around me instead of riding my bumper that way?” Dylan glared into the rearview mirror.

“That car has been behind us since we left the bank,” Maddie said.

“I didn't notice it until a few minutes ago.” Dylan waved his arm, motioning for the closely following vehicle to pass. “There's nothing coming from the other direction. I don't know why he doesn't—”

The sedan sped out from behind the Porsche and came up alongside it in the opposite lane, but made no attempt to pass.

“What the hell is he doing?” Dylan grumbled.

Suddenly the sedan skidded straight over, ramming into the side of the Porsche. Dylan cursed loudly.

Maddie grabbed the edge of her seat. Had the driver
of the other car lost control? Oh, God, were they going to crash?

Dylan pressed his foot down on the accelerator, sped forward and momentarily left the sedan behind. But within moments the other vehicle caught up with them and repeated the first staggering blow with a second, followed by a quick, hard third. Dylan struggled to maintain control of his car, but when the maniacal driver lunged the sedan into the Porsche a fourth time, the Porsche skidded off the road and crashed into a steep ditch.

The car surged to a violent stop, and only their secure seat belts saved Maddie and Dylan from being tossed into the windshield. By the time Dylan undid his safety belt and turned to Maddie, the dark sedan had sailed off down the road and quickly disappeared.

“Are you all right, honey?” Dylan unsnapped Maddie's seat belt and ran his hands over her from neck to waist.

“I—I'm okay. I think. God, Dylan, what just happened?”

He cupped her face with his hands. “Tell me again that you're okay.”

His hands were shaking and his voice quivered with fear. He was so concerned about her welfare that he was trembling. “I'm all right,” she told him.

He nodded, then released her. “That idiot could have killed us.”

“It wasn't an accident, was it?”

“No. Whoever was driving that car had every intention of running us off the road.”

“But why would—”

Dylan's cell phone rang. He cursed under his breath, then removed the phone from his belt clip and flipped it open.

“Bridges here,” he said.

“I understand you just had an accident, Mr. Bridges.”

Because of her close proximity to Dylan, Maddie could hear the voice. She leaned closer and when Dylan tried to move the phone to his other ear, she grabbed his hand, then leaned closer until her ear was pressed against the other side of the phone.

“Who is this?” Dylan asked.

“Just a man with some good advice for you.”

“And what would that be?”

“If you keep digging for information in the wrong places, keep sticking your nose in the family's business, then you and your girlfriend are going to get hurt. Hurt bad. Today was just a sample of what could happen to you. Next time it'll be worse.”

W
ith the big country club barbeque coming up this weekend, Maddie decided to work late tonight and tie up all the loose ends. And if she were completely honest with herself, she'd admit that she simply did not want to go home to her big, empty condo. These past couple of weeks had been the longest, most miserable of her life. And all because of Dylan Bridges. Stubborn mule! After their close brush with disaster and the warning phone call, Dylan had told her that her days playing amateur sleuth were over.

“I won't be responsible for your getting hurt,” he'd told her. “From now on, I'll be flying solo, honey. I do not want you involved.”

“But I am involved.”

“Not any longer.”

He'd been adamant about ending not only their Nick and Nora Charles act, but their personal relationship, too. No amount of arguing or pleading had swayed him one iota. For the first week she had tried showing up at his house every day, only to be sent away again and again. A couple of times, she had followed him, but he'd managed to get away from her.
Her phone messages were not returned, and the few times he'd actually answered his phone, he'd told her in no uncertain terms to leave him the hell alone.

Maddie reminded herself that Dylan thought he was protecting her by staying away from her. But she didn't feel protected. She felt lonely, abandoned and in desperate need of one of Dylan's marvelous smiles. She had become quickly addicted to his unassuming charm and was now having severe withdrawal symptoms.

Admit the truth, she told herself. Thelma was right. You were beginning to fall in love with Dylan. Okay, so she was halfway in love with the man. If he didn't return her feelings, she simply shouldn't allow herself to care so much. But how did she stop herself from caring? How could she give up the hope that Dylan loved her, too? But if he continued keeping her at arm's length, what chance would Dylan have to discover that he loved her?

If only the police would find Carl Bridges' murderer. But it seemed that they were no closer now to making an arrest than they'd been the night the judge had been killed. And Hart had told her that despite the warning from “the family,” Dylan hadn't stopped digging into matters best handled by the law. She should be helping him. What if he got into trouble? Dammit, why didn't the man realize how much he needed her?

Maddie yawned. She hadn't slept well lately and
had kept herself so busy that she was exhausted. Maybe it was time to call it a night and head home. She could think about Dylan at home just as easily as she could here at the club. It really didn't matter where she was or what she was doing, thoughts of Dylan crept into her mind.

Suddenly Maddie heard an odd noise, as if something had fallen in the outer office. But at ten-thirty there was no one here tonight, except her. Even the club and the restaurants were all closed by now.

Footsteps. Was that what she heard? Maddie listened. Silence. Was her imagination working overtime?

This late at night, there would be only two security guards at the club. One was stationed outside and the second one kept watch at a closed-circuit television behind the registration desk in the lobby. Just call downstairs and ask the guard to come up and check things out, she told herself. What does it matter if he doesn't find anything? Better safe than sorry.

Maddie lifted the telephone receiver to her ear as she poised her index finger over the buttons. She hit the one that would ring the front desk. Nothing. That was odd. She tried again. Still nothing. She punched the nine for an outside line. No dial tone. Don't panic, she cautioned herself. Just walk across the room and lock the door, then use your cell phone to call for help. Do it. Do it now!

Maddie shoved back her chair, stood and then ran
toward the door. Her heart raced, the beat thundering in her ears. She slammed the door closed, then grabbed the handle with the intention of locking the door. A powerful force shoved the door open and a large, dark hand reached out and grabbed her. Before she caught more than a quick glimpse of the side of his swarthy face covered by a sheer stocking, he twisted her around so that her back was up against his chest. As she opened her mouth to scream, he gagged her with his open palm.

His hot breath fanned her neck as his lips grazed her ear. “Tell Dylan Bridges to be on the next plane to Dallas. And if he isn't, then I'll pay you another visit and I won't be so nice next time. I'll slit your throat. Tell him that, too.”

 

Dylan drove ninety to nothing in his haste to get to the country club. The deep, menacing voice over the phone had told him that he should go see his girlfriend, that she had a message for him. The call had come in five minutes ago while Dylan was driving home from the Mission Creek Café, where he'd eaten a late supper.

“What have you done to Maddie?” Dylan had demanded.

“Other than give her an important message for you?” The guy had laughed. “Why don't you run over to the country club and find out for yourself what's been done to her?”

When Dylan couldn't reach Maddie at her office number, fear ate away at his insides like an insidious acid, destroying slowly but surely. If Maddie was hurt…God help the bastard who had harmed her.

As he parked his rental car under the canopied entrance to the club, Dylan begged God not to let any harm come to Maddie. Sweet, beautiful Maddie, who was so innocent in all this dirty, rotten mess. Once again, because of her association with him, she was in trouble. Big trouble this time. He'd tried to put some distance between them in order to keep her safe, but apparently the bad guys realized just how much Maddie Delarue meant to him.

Dylan rushed to the front door. Locked! He beat on the glass until the security guard appeared.

“Let me in,” he screamed. “Maddie—Ms. Delarue is in trouble. Someone's in her office to harm her. Right now. Dammit, man, let me in.”

Curt Dodd unlocked the door. Dylan rushed in right past the guard, who called out to him, “Hey, hold up there.”

“I phoned the police on my way here,” Dylan said. “Keep a lookout for them while I go up and check on Maddie.”

“But you don't have a weapon,” Curt called out, but Dylan was already on the waiting elevator.

Hurry. Go faster. Damn! Why hadn't he taken the stairs? The elevator doors swung open. Dylan ran down the corridor and straight to Maddie's office
suite. The door stood open, revealing a darkened interior. Only a dim light came from beyond the outer office, from somewhere inside Maddie's private domain. Dylan paused and listened. He heard mumbling that sounded like a man's voice speaking soft and low.

Adrenaline pumped through Dylan's system at supersonic speed. In that instant all pretense of the civilized male disappeared from his chemical makeup. He was primitive man, primed and ready to defend his mate—to the death if necessary. He walked quietly into Alicia's office and snaked softly around the wall until he reached the wide open door to Maddie's office. Inside a brass banker's lamp burned softly on the ornate mahogany desk, and gave off a dim glow that cast shadows on the walls.

A man whose stocking-masked face was partially blocked by Maddie's head held her in front of him, one arm draped across her throat while his other arm moved up and down across her body, his hands caressing her roughly. Bright red rage boiled inside Dylan. He'd kill the son of a bitch.

“Maybe I ought to find out for myself just what Dylan Bridges likes about you, other than the obvious.”

Dylan didn't see any sign of a weapon on the guy, but weapon or no weapon, it didn't matter to him. As long as Maddie was in no danger of being shot or stabbed, he'd take his chances. Like a raging bull, Dylan charged into the office. Before her assailant re
alized what was happening, he grabbed the man, which instantly freed Maddie from his hold. She reeled to one side, then being temporarily unbalanced, fell to the floor. The guy swung at Dylan, who sidestepped the first punch; then Dylan landed a hard blow to the man's belly. The attacker groaned loudly as he doubled over. When Dylan moved in for the kill, something hit him over the head and knocked him to his knees. For a split second everything went black, then his vision returned. Fuzzy. Unfocused. Looking back over his shoulder, he tried to stand and saw the blurred images of two men rushing through the door. Two? Had there been two, or was he seeing double?

 

Maddie shoved herself onto her knees then lifted herself up and onto her feet. “Dylan!”

He staggered as he tried to stand. “Maddie? Maddie, honey, are you all right?”

“Yes, thanks to you.” She rushed to him, put her left arm around his waist and lifted her right hand to the top of his head. “He hit you with the butt of his gun.”

“He had a gun?”

“Yes. The other man had a gun.”

“Then there were two of them?”

“Yes, the one you were fighting with and the one who hit you over the head.”

“They didn't hurt you, did they?” Dylan grabbed her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “When
I saw the way he was touching you…God, Maddie, I'm sorry. This was all my fault. They came after you as a warning to me.”

“How did you—? How could you have known about them?”

“I got a phone call.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Undoubtedly whoever hired those goons to come here called me a little prematurely. He probably didn't pay the guy to feel you up.” Dylan rubbed his cheek against hers. “He thought they'd be gone by the time I got here.”

“I have never been so scared in my life,” she admitted.

“Yeah, honey, me, too. If anything had happened to you…God, Maddie, what have I gotten you into?”

Someone cleared their throat. Someone standing in the doorway. Maddie tensed, then glanced over Dylan's shoulder and sighed with relief when she saw Hart O'Brien.

“That's what I'd like to know,” Hart said. “What have you gotten her into with your nosing around in stuff that's police business?”

Dylan didn't release his tenacious hold on Maddie; he simply eased her around as he turned to face Hart. “Did you catch them?”

“Nope. But a couple of black-and-whites are in pursuit right now.”

“When you catch them, I want to—”

Maddie placed two fingers over Dylan's mouth.
“You're not going to do anything until we take you to the hospital and let a doctor examine you.”

“What happened to you?” Hart asked.

“Nothing,” Dylan replied.

“One of the guys hit Dylan over the head with the butt of his gun.”

Hart lifted his eyebrows in a contemplating gesture. “If the guy had a gun, why didn't he just shoot you?”

“I think his orders were to scare Maddie,” Dylan said. “Not kill anyone.”

“One of you want to tell me exactly what happened?” Hart asked. “I was told that Dylan Bridges called in and said that someone was going to attack Maddie Delarue in her office at the country club.”

“Do you mind if we fill you in on the details after I take Dylan to the hospital?” Maddie shoved against Dylan's chest so that he loosened his death grip on her.

“I don't need to go to the hospital,” Dylan assured her.

She reached up, felt the bump on his head and tsk-tsked. “You've got a lump the size of a golf ball. I'm taking you to Mission Creek Memorial.” She glanced at Hart. “Follow us, will you?”

“Maddie, I'm all right.” Dylan balked when she tried to lead him toward the door.

“You might as well go peacefully,” Hart said. “If she's anything like Joan—and I figure she is—she's not going to take no for an answer.”

Dylan looked at Maddie. “Will it make you feel better if I—”

“Yes!”

 

Three and a half hours later, Maddie and Dylan opened the front door of the Bridges home at 1010 Royal Avenue. Hart had sent a black-and-white to follow them and stay posted outside all night. He'd offered a policeman to escort Maddie home, but she'd told him that she'd be staying the night at Dylan's because he'd been diagnosed with a mild concussion and couldn't be left alone.

“I'm all right, dammit,” Dylan said as he jerked away from Maddie. “Stop treating me as if I'm dying.”

“Sorry.” She eased away from him. Why hadn't she learned by now that Dylan didn't like to be smothered with attention? Every time she got too close to that little-boy vulnerability that existed in him, as it did in all men, he pulled away from her. A defense mechanism inherent in all macho guys? she wondered.

“No, honey, I'm the one who's sorry,” he reached out and ruffled her hair. His hand lingered; his fingers spread apart, burrowed through her hair and gripped the back of her head. He stared directly into her eyes. “You don't know how sorry I am that I ever got you involved in my problems.”

“I volunteered,” she told him. “You didn't force me. Heck, you didn't even ask.”

“Yeah, but look where that big heart of yours has gotten you. Right in the middle of a dangerous situation.” Keeping his hold on the back of her head, he pulled her toward him. “If anything had happened to you tonight—”

She pressed her fingertips over his lips. “I'm all right. The only thing that happened was that those men frightened me. You're the one who got hurt.”

“What hurt me the most was knowing that I put you in that situation. Can you ever forgive me?”

He looked at her with such hunger in his eyes that the intensity of his gaze sent shivers of pure awareness through her body. “There's nothing to forgive.”

“Maddie…God, I've missed you, honey.”

He kissed her. Hard, passionate and possessive.

Maddie's bones seemed to dissolve into warm liquid as the heat between her thighs grew hotter and hotter. Dylan was the only man who'd ever made her feel this way. Consumed by a primitive desire, she longed for him to take her. Here and now. Without any preamble. Just raw, savage mating.