Admit One (2 page)

With that, her brother took off running through the dark, obviously intending to give chase.

Shooting a helpless look toward Rainey, Allie squatted down next to Tommy. “The paramedics will be here soon. Just hang on.”

Hoping to soothe him, Allie stroked a hesitant hand over his hair. “It’ll be okay.”

But then thunder shook the sky like the fist of that angry god, and when Allie looked up, it started to rain.

ALLIE
frowned, watching the ambulance pull away, carrying Tommy to the hospital. The poor thing almost certainly had a broken nose and a couple of cracked ribs. The attack had been quick, but brutal – and apparently utterly unprovoked.

At least Rainey had been able to ride with him.

Although on second thought, he might not consider that such a bonus. Allie knew, although she didn’t think Rainey did, that Tommy harbored a painful crush on her young employee. Painful being the operative word. And having Rainey witness him getting his butt kicked right after he’d asked if she needed him to walk her home was probably more traumatic – to his ego, anyway – than the actual assault had been.

Allie crossed her arms, shivering in her wet clothing. The chilled air seemed to blow straight through her, stealing her body’s warmth. March, it appeared, was determined to go out like a lion rather than a lamb.

Deciding that she wanted nothing more than a cup of hot tea and a warm bed, Allie returned to the store, grabbed her purse and a tin of tea, locking up before braving the rain and wind again to head toward the cottage. A former garden shed, it had once belonged to Allie’s aunt. Sarah converted it into living quarters when she and Allie opened the bookstore, and more recently the little building had been moved to function as a guesthouse for Tucker and Sarah. This had the side benefit of allowing for a Dust Jacket parking lot expansion, something they’d sorely needed. Because, Allie was pleased to note, business was booming.

Allie hurried across that lot now, trying not to fall on the stones that had gone wet and slippery from the rain. She hugged the tea tin to her chest with one hand, using the other to fumble with the keys on her ring as she sought out the one for the cottage.

The little building was slightly sinister looking, sitting as it did in the stygian darkness beneath a towering magnolia, especially with the wind moaning in and out of the blue bottles that decorated several of the tree’s lower limbs.

A remnant of local Gullah culture designed to keep the evil
haints
away, Allie had been surprised when Tucker – born in Sweetwater, but raised in New York – adopted that particular talisman. But since Allie led “ghost walks” – walking tours focusing on local history, paranormal lore and legend – as one of the services provided by the store, she figured he was probably just trying to show support.

The penlight aided her in getting the key into the lock on the first attempt, and Allie sighed with relief when the door opened to admit her. It might be dark inside, but it was dry, and familiar. And perhaps best of all, the little stove in the kitchen operated by gas, which meant that she would be able to heat some water. Always a tea drinker, she’d become positively addicted since they opened the store. There was absolutely nothing better to lift the spirits when it was cool and wet outside.

The mention of spirits made Allie frown when she heard what could only be described as a rather ghostly sigh. Standing still, dripping on the pine floorboards, the filled tea kettle in her hand, Allie listened intently. Outside the cacophony continued, but inside was quiet as the grave.

Probably not the best analogy to be making at the moment.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said aloud, dispelling whatever imaginary spirits might be lurking. Clearly Rainey’s paranoia was catching.

Using the penlight, she rooted through the drawers until she found a box of matches. And – what do you know – the remnants of the candles which had gone missing from the Dust Jacket. Apparently Sarah and Tucker had re-christened the cottage after they’d moved it.

Pushing that image aside – she had to sleep here, after all – Allie managed to light the gas burner on the tiny stove, and set the kettle to boil. The tea she’d selected was called Zen, and Allie practiced a little yoga breathing while she measured the leaves out into the infuser. She’d lived through any number of storms before, in far more sinister locations. The incipient panic that kept wanting to rise was just plain silly.

Because she was still dripping, she made her way to the miniature bathroom, stripping out of her wet garments and draping them in the shower. There was a thick terry cloth robe hanging on a hook on the back of the door and Allie wiggled into it. It all but dragged along the floor, but she was too happy to be dry and warm to even worry about it.

The tea kettle whistled, causing Allie to jerk. Apparently she wasn’t quite as zen as she liked to imagine.

But there was
something,
she admitted as she hurried back into the kitchen.  A sort of… presence on the air that was making her jumpy.

She peered out the window, but the wind was driving the rain so that it fell in sheets against the glass, limiting visibility.

Well, whatever the presence was, she hoped it had a sturdy umbrella.

Allie poured the tea, taking grateful sips while she contemplated what to do with the rest of her evening.

Not a lot of choices, she thought after running through her mental inventory of indoor activities that didn’t require electricity, or a companion. No wonder pre-twentieth century people had such large families. They must have spent a great deal of time in bed.

Speaking of bed, the sleeping loft held built-in shelves that Sarah kept stocked with paperbacks. Maybe she could use the penlight and read until she felt sleepy.

Except… where had she put her keys? Allie set the teacup down, feeling around the counter and then on the floor, but the stupid things continued to elude her. 

“Great,” she sighed, and then a prickle on the back of her neck made her whirl around.

Okay, she’d
definitely
heard something that time. Hadn’t she?

Back pressed against the counter, her gaze darted around, but the kitchen was dark and empty.

Of course it was empty, she thought after a moment.  Because hello, she was
alone
.

Annoyed by the fact that her heart was pounding, Allie decided that the best thing she could do was go to bed. Hopefully the electricity, along with her sanity, would be restored by morning.

After one last visit to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth with her finger – it was entirely too dark to look for a toothbrush – she made her way cautiously up the ladder. And if she thought the bathroom had been dark, the loft was like a pit of Hell.  Unable to see even the outline of the bed, she felt around until she touched the edge of the mattress.

Okay. So far, so good. Shrugging out of the robe, she crawled across the bed, managing to slip beneath the covers without cracking her head on anything.

Allie plumped the pillow, then burrowed in, noting that it smelled faintly of lavender.

And something that seemed an awful lot like… man.

She frowned, sniffing again. Surely Sarah had washed the sheets after she and Tucker –

That thought was abruptly cut off by the horrible realization that she really
could
smell a man, and not just from the scent on the pillow. 

She could also hear him breathing.

And when his arm, muscled and warm, yanked her against him, Allie opened her mouth and screamed.

CHAPTER TWO

WILL
Hawbaker sprinted through the pouring rain, fueled by a mix of adrenaline, rage and disgust. As if messing up his date wasn’t enough, the storm had thrown in a sudden cloud burst as a mixer. Garnish with an assault and battery right in front of his sister’s store, and his night was one crappy cocktail. Shaken, not stirred.

Which was a particularly appropriate analogy when he hurdled the trash can the punk in front of him knocked over, and landed with a bone-jarring thud on what appeared to be some used diapers.

He was getting too old for this. He really was.

And because
that
thought was enough to really piss him off, Will climbed to his feet and put on a burst of speed that would have made his high school track coach proud. He tackled the punk with a full body slam, taking him down onto the wet pavement.

The bastard immediately started making protestations of innocence. “What is
wrong
with you, man? You’re chasing the wrong guy. I didn’t do
nothing
.”

“You know.” He wrestled one burly arm behind the guy’s back, keeping his knee between his shoulder blades to discourage resistance. “In the grand scheme of life, that’s probably true.”

The punk’s other hand was pinned beneath his body, so Will leaned down, to speak directly in his ear, catching a heavy whiff of alcohol. “You got a weapon I need to know about there, son?”

“No.”

Probably because this fine, upstanding young man preferred to use his fists.

“You better not be lying to me. I want you to ease your other hand out, nice and slow.”

“Slow, huh?” the man wheezed. One hundred and eighty-odd pounds compressing one’s lungs tended to do that. “Why, so you can fantasize about grinding yourself into my ass a little longer? I didn’t realize that you were Culpepper’s
special friend.
”

Will reined in his temper along with his tongue. So that’s what this was about. But then, he’d had a lifetime’s worth of experience dealing with this particular brand of idiot, and it did no good to take their bait. “Now see, that’s a really,
really
dumb thing for you to say, given the fact that you claim I was chasing the wrong guy.”

When the protesting noises started up again, Will forwent finesse and jerked the younger man’s right arm from beneath his body. And sure enough, the knuckles on that hand were swollen and raw.

He reminded himself that as a peace officer, he couldn’t condone breaking the punk’s head.

“I think this is the time to remind you that you have the right to remain silent.” He locked the first cuff into place. “
Any
thing you say,” he fastened the other cuff “can, and will, be used against you in a court of law.  You got that, son?”

“I got that you’re a cocksucker, just like your brother.”

The urge to break the punk’s head anyway was strong, but Will strapped down his temper. He began to check the man’s pockets, ignoring the string of vulgar comments that brought about, concentrating on the contents of his wallet. A driver’s license confirmed his identity as Jimmy Owen. Jimmy was also carrying nearly a grand in cash.

“That’s quite a bankroll you have here.” Will cast his experienced eye over the younger man. Somehow, he doubted he’d come by the money honestly.

“What’s it to ya?”

“Well, Jimmy, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a cop, and I’m busting your ass.”

“I can take over for you, Chief.”

Will looked up to see Alan Barger, lean face flushed beneath his dripping hat. “You apprehend the other suspect?”

Barger grimaced. “He slipped by me.”

Will sighed. He was sorely tempted, but refrained from putting a little extra knee into pushing his weight off Jimmy’s back.  No point in sinking to the punk’s level. “Put a bag over his right hand to protect any DNA evidence and get this one down to the station.” He handed over Jimmy’s wallet. “And I want to be present during the interrogation. Tomorrow. Which means you get free room and board tonight, Mr. Owen, courtesy of the Town of Sweetwater.”

While the other cop finished mirandizing the suspect, Will pulled out his cell phone to check in with his sister. 

MASON
Armitage, lately of London, pressed a cool, damp towel against his eye with one hand, using the other to fend off the well-meaning if vaguely irritating ministrations of one Allison Hawbaker.

Not that he wasn’t thrilled to see Allie again. And never mind his delight at the prospect of her actually touching him. But not only had she elbowed him in the eye when he’d inadvertently grabbed her, she’d also managed to kick him square in the ballocks with one of her impossibly sharp little heels.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, blue eyes sympathetic in the flickering light of the candle stub she’d managed to forage from somewhere, bringing it into the loft along with the towel. “Do you want me to run over to the store, bring back a bag of ice? The appliances are on a generator, so there’ll be some. The trays in this refrigerator were empty.”

“No,” he managed, relieved beyond measure that he was able to speak normally instead of squeaking like a wounded mouse. “Thank you.”

After several moments in which he lay there, wondering what sort of sadistic creator decided it was a good idea to place vulnerable male reproductive organs on the
outside
of the body, and in which Allie sat there, clutching at her robe, watching him wonder about the design flaws in the male anatomy, the silence eventually grew so thick that it was a relief when Allison spoke.