Anything but Mine (28 page)

Her abdomen aching and with grief and exhaustion pulling at her, she rested a hand on top of the door. “It shuddered and died.”

He tilted his head, studying the car. “She’s spilling oil. Might be your oil pump. Tell you what. I’ll load her up, take her into the shop and give you a ride.”

Autry glanced at the wrecker. Nerves jumped low in her belly, a weird tickling sensation. Something about this was too easy. Something was simply off. She forced her smile to remain in place. “It would be great if you’d run it to the shop, but I don’t need a ride. I just called my sister and she’s on her way—”

“Is she?” Keith’s eyes narrowed, a knowing glint sparking in them. Autry tightened her grip on the door. Something was seriously off here. “Really?”

Autry nodded, not sure why she’d lied. The nervous feeling in her gut intensified by the second. A thick metallic taste filled her mouth and her pulse raced beneath her too-snug skin.

Trust your instincts.

Tick’s voice, from the self-defense class he’d bullied her into taking last spring.

Her instincts were awake and screaming.

“She is.” Autry flipped the phone open and slipped her thumb over the nine. She made a move to slide into the driver’s seat. “I’m just going to see what’s keeping her—”

“Don’t do that.” His voice turned hard, the threat clear.

Trust your instincts.

Autry scrambled into the car and slammed the door. With one hand, she pushed the automatic lock button. Her other hand, shaking wildly, pushed the emergency nine on her cell phone.

Keith slammed both palms against the windshield, fury twisting his features. “Get out!”

Fear curdled in her throat. The cell phone clicked at her ear. Finally, it rang. She clutched it as Keith moved out of sight. Please, let him be leaving.

“Coney 911, how can I help you?”

The window shattered. Glass showered around her. Autry screamed, dodging the hand reaching through the driver’s window.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, can you hear me?” Urgency filled the dispatcher’s voice.

“Yes!” Autry attempted to scramble over the console, the slim skirt she’d worn to the funeral hampering her. “I’m on Smokehouse Road.”

Halfway in the window, Keith grabbed for the phone. Autry clawed at his arms and he snarled a curse. The lock popped. The door opened and he wound a hand in her hair, pulling hard.

Pain shot through her scalp. The healing cut at her hairline gave way. “Help me!”

She was screaming now, trying to free herself from the cruel hand holding her hair, dragging her from the car. She clung to the phone. Adrenaline raced through her. He was enraged. Would he kill her here, before help arrived?

“Shut up,” he grated next to her ear.

“Ma’am, we’re dispatching units now. Can you hear me?”

She hit the ground, gravel scraping her bare legs. Certainty and determination fired through her, giving sudden clarity to her thoughts.

911 calls were recorded. If nothing else, she could make sure he faced what he was doing. “This is Autry Holton,” she yelled into the phone, clinging to it, while trying to claw him, kick him, anything to get away. “Keith Lawson is—”

He tore the phone from her hand, her nails breaking past the quick. He flung it into the woods and pulled her to her feet. Fire flamed along the healing incision on her abdomen. He yanked her toward the wrecker and Autry dug her feet into the gravel.

She wouldn’t make this easy for him. God, why was he doing this?

Amy.
He’d been infatuated with Amy Gillabeaux. And Schaefer had murdered her.

She pulled in a breath, her lungs heaving. “Keith, listen to me. Don’t—”

Her back slammed into the hood of the truck, the air rushing from her body. His arm at her throat cut off any further words.
His arm at her throat
. Dear God above, the way Amy had died. Did he mean to do to her what Schaefer had done to Amy?

Images of the stab wounds on Amy’s body flashed in her head. She struggled against him, digging into his arms, kicking at him. The pressure at her throat didn’t let up. The edges of her vision wavered.

Sirens.

Desperate, she scratched at his face, gouged an eye. He roared with pain and she twisted away, stumbled, fell. She scrabbled, trying to push to her feet, dry sobs wracking her body. Burning agony twisted through her abdomen, and she fought the weakness. She had to get away, had to run…

He grabbed her hair, tugged her up against him. Tears flooded her eyes.

“You’re helping him.” His breath, hot and smelling of cigarette smoke, rushed over her cheek. The muscled forearm pressed against her throat. “That son of a bitch killed Amy, killed my baby, and you’re
helping
him.”

Nausea pushed up, choking her.

The sirens, closer.

Lord, please. Her lungs ached for oxygen. She clawed at his arm, fingers weak.

Tires squealed. Through blurred eyes, she saw the Chandler County unit slide to a stop on the road, followed by a Coney City PD car.

They moved again, Keith sliding them towards the wrecker, yanking her along. His arm loosened, enough to let her draw air into starving lungs.

Doors flew open and she glimpsed a deputy, gun drawn, using the car as cover. Troy Lee. Inappropriate humor spiked in her. Only she would get Chandler County’s screwup as a would-be rescuer.

“Let her go.” Authority laced Troy Lee’s voice. He trained the gun on Keith.

Keith’s chest heaved against her back. “You shoot me and you hit her!”

Face set in intense lines, Troy Lee gripped and regripped his gun. “Let her go, Lawson. Walk away.”

She felt Keith’s hesitation. His arm closed tighter on her chest for a moment.

“Step away.”

She was free. With Keith’s arm gone, her legs refused to hold her. Her knees gave and she hit the gravel, palms stinging. She dragged in gulps of air, Troy Lee’s voice flowing over her with terse commands for Keith.

“Kneel down. Cross your feet. Hands behind your head.”

Shaking, she lifted her head, sitting on her haunches, wrapping her arms around her midriff. A familiar white truck screeched to a halt beyond the patrol cars. Behind her came the metallic rasp of handcuffs, followed by Troy Lee’s recitation of the Miranda rights. Everything had the weird unreality of a dream or watching a late night television show, half-asleep. This wasn’t happening to her.

Her stomach revolted, bile burning her throat, and she moaned. Eyes closed, she focused on breathing through her mouth, keeping the sickness at bay. Her abdomen was on fire.

“Autry?” Concern coated Tick’s soft voice.

She opened her eyes, the fuzzy realization he’d been in truck settling in. She looked around—Troy Lee pushed Keith into the back of his patrol car while two city officers watched. With Caitlin behind him, Tick crouched a few feet from Autry, watching her with intense eyes.

The one man she wanted was nowhere to be seen. Fighting off the trembling, she swallowed, her mouth tasting foul and dead. “Where’s Stanton?”

“He’s on his way, I swear. He’d gone out the back way to the cemetery to meet you and there’s a train blocking Broad and Scott streets, so he couldn’t come this route, but he’s on his way.” Tick’s gaze roved over her. “Are you hurt?”

“I…I don’t think so.” She touched a hand to the aching cut at her hairline. Blood stained her fingers. The pain in her abdomen throbbed in time with her pulse.

Tick jerked his head toward the ambulance pulling to a stop behind the patrol cars. Red and blue lights whirled in the dim light of falling dusk. “Let’s get you checked out, okay?”

She nodded, tears spilling over her lashes. “I wish…” She sucked in a breath, brushing the tears away. “I wish Stan were here.”

“I know. He’ll be here.” Tick rose and held out a hand, still watching her. “Come on, Buckshot.”

Autry placed her hand in his and let him ease her to a standing position. She stumbled, knees still unsteady, and he wrapped a supportive arm about her waist. She turned her face into the familiar solidity of his lean frame, the tears running free again.

He tightened his arm around her. “It’s all right, Autry. It’s okay now.”

She shook her head, sobs tearing at her chest. No. It wouldn’t be okay until Stanton was here.

At the ambulance, he handed her over to the paramedics. He disappeared, his deep voice rising and falling as he talked into a radio and consulted with Troy Lee. Caitlin remained with Autry while the paramedics looked her over.

Doors slammed and an engine purred away.

The trembling of reaction set in, her teeth chattering, wild, disconnected thoughts flying through her head. Caitlin wrapped cool fingers around hers. “Autry, it’s okay.”

“Y’all have to stop saying that.” Autry pushed the high, half-hysterical words through clicking teeth. The paramedic inserted an IV in her hand and she hissed at the prick. “It’s not okay. Nothing about this is okay.”

Caitlin laughed softly. “You’re right. It really is a stupid thing to say in situations like this.”

Rubber squealed on blacktop and Caitlin shot a look beyond the wrecker. Her clasp on Autry’s hand tightened and she smiled. “Reed’s here.”

Relief crashed through Autry and she closed her eyes, not even flinching as the paramedic daubed antiseptic over the abrasion at her hairline. Stanton. Thank God.

“Autry?” Footsteps clattered on the metal step at the rear of the ambulance and when she lifted her lids, he crouched before her, broad shoulders hampering the EMT’s efforts. He framed her face with shaking hands, his hazel eyes glittering with emotion. “
Autry
. Oh baby, I was so damn scared.”

His palms ran over her, down her neck, across her shoulders, along her arms.

The paramedic attempted to nudge him aside. “Sheriff—”

“Back off.” Stanton snarled the words, his gaze roaming over her. “Autry, honey, are you all—” His gaze dropped to her abdomen, his eyes darkening with sudden fear. “Shit.” He turned on the EMT. “She’s bleeding.”

The man gave him a look. “Why do you think I’m trying to get you to move, sir?”

Stanton shifted to her side, big hands smoothing her hair, his nose pressed to her temple, while the EMT worked with gentle hands to assess her injuries.

“God, baby,” Stanton whispered, his mouth moving against her skin. “I love you so damn much.”

She turned her head, his hazel gaze so close she could see the flecks of brown and gold against the mottled green. Emotion curled through her. “I love you too.”

He cupped her face, mouth meeting hers, his cheek damp against her. “Marry me, Autry. I’ll be whatever you want, whatever you need—”

“You’re already everything I want.” She kissed him, hissing a little against his lips as the EMT prodded her sore stomach. “Everything I need.”

The paramedic leaned back with a frustrated growl. “You two are going to have to do this later. Tell the man you’ll marry him so I can finish making sure you’re okay.”

With obvious reluctance, Stanton moved back, his gaze never leaving her face. “I’m going to talk to Tick, let them finish checking you out. I won’t be far.”

She nodded as the EMT eased back into position. When Stanton jumped down from the doorway, she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “Stanton?”

The medic groaned.

Stanton turned to face her. “What, baby?”

She laced her still-trembling fingers together and smiled at him, a little tremulously. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

“I hope you’re kidding.” Stanton slanted the paintbrush to finish cutting in the corner.

“Gertrude.”

“No.”

“Ida.”

“Nope.”

“Elminor.”

He turned and laid his brush aside. “Where the hell did you find that one?”

“Made it up.” Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, Autry gave him a cheeky grin. Baby-name book in one hand, the other resting on the bulge of her belly, she eyed the chalk-pink wall. “That looks good.”

“You mean I’m not going to have to paint it a fourth time?”

“Not my fault the guy gave you the wrong color three times.”

“No, it’s not his fault you changed your mind three times.”

“Funny.” She waved him down to her and he dropped beside her, stretching out to lean on his elbow and look at the list of names. She smiled at him, her hair falling forward to frame her face, and ran her finger along one line. “What about this one?”

“Gabriella. Pretty name.” He rolled the name around, trying it on for size. “Gabriella Reed.”

“We could call her Gabby.” Autry rubbed a hand over the side of her abdomen in an absent circle. Stanton laid his palm over the spot, a flurry of activity vibrating under his touch.

Autry groaned. “There you go, getting her all worked up.”

“All I did was touch—”

“That’s all you have to do.” Autry stretched, arching her spine to relieve the stiffness he knew lingered there daily now. “She’s a daddy’s girl already.”

“So if daddy’s little girl is named Gabriella, she needs a middle name.”

“Caitlin.”

He choked on a laugh. “In your dreams.”

“Lynette.”

His mother’s name. A smile tugged at his mouth. “Your mother would have a fit.”

Autry leaned forward to kiss him. “Who cares? I like it.”

“So do I.” He swirled his hand over the hard roundedness. “What do you think, little girl? Gabriella Lynette Reed, Gabby for short.”

The baby kicked at him again and Autry laughed. “She likes it. You don’t see any way Tick can turn that into a weird nickname, do you?”

He chuckled. “No, I don’t think even he—”

His cell, tossed on the desk earlier, chirped and cut him off. Autry leaned up to grab it and studied the display before handing it over. “Speak of the devil.”

Straightening, he lifted it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey.” Pain and resignation lurked in Tick’s voice and Stanton really didn’t need him to say anything else. He closed his eyes, listening. Finally, when Tick was done, he cleared his throat. “Take whatever time you need.”

“Yeah.” Tick’s rough sigh traveled over the line. “Thanks.”

The phone beeped with the end of the call and Stanton folded it shut. Autry watched him, her eyes full of sad knowledge. “They lost this baby too, didn’t they?”

Stanton nodded. Months of hormones, two rounds of artificial insemination, six weeks of bed rest…and now, nothing.

“Lord, I hate this for them.” Autry folded protective arms over the swell of their child.

“I know. Me too.” Reaching for her, Stanton pulled her against him, into a warm embrace, his hands covering her lower belly, stroking, soothing.

Autry rested her face against his arm. “I can pull that extra lasagna out of the freezer and we should run it over there. They won’t—”

“Hush a minute, Autry.” He pressed his mouth to her cheek, still rubbing his hands over her in gentle circles.

“Why?”

Eyes closed, he let the love and warmth seep into him. This was everything he needed, everything he wanted right here.

“Stanton, why am I hushing?”

“Because.” He brushed another kiss over her jaw. “I’m holding my girls.”