Don't Look Back (9 page)

She raised a hand. “Don’t. And he’s very, very good at what he does. He’s like a . . . a . . . ghost or something, a shadow that’s always lurking, watching. In spite of what everyone else thinks, part of me
knows
he’s back. The other part of me doubts my own mind. But,” she grimaced, “the past? It . . . doesn’t matter anymore. I survived. God allowed me to live for some reason. And I won’t apologize for my . . . issues. God and I are working on those.”

“I don’t want you to apologize. I’m asking you to consider a relationship with me.”

A knot formed in her throat. “I wish I could consider it. I really do. There are things about me that you don’t know, that if you did . . .” She couldn’t finish.

Feeling trapped, old, horrifying memories closing in, she walked into the sunroom and picked up a paintbrush. Squeezed paint onto the pallet beside her and dipped the brush. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Painting. Her therapy. She inhaled the scent that always calmed her.

Dakota’s hand covered hers and she stilled, her heart tripping, beating hard. Because of the topic of conversation? His nearness? The flashes of her imprisonment and torture playing through her mind? Emotions rolled, bumping into one another as they surged inside her.

“Go away, Dakota.” The sobs begged for release. She refused to give in. “Just leave me alone right now.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. I want to help you.”

His soft voice nearly caused a break in her control. She couldn’t figure out why he was so persistent. Any other man would have run without looking back by now. “You can’t help me. No one can help when the memories . . .” Her breath hitched. “Just go.”

More colors on the palate. Her fingers shook as she squeezed the tubes. Panting, her throat squeezed in. She ignored it, having learned she wouldn’t die from it.

She just needed to paint.

A fresh canvas.

Bristles dipped in whatever color she could reach first.

Another ragged, whistling breath.

And still, he didn’t leave.

Instead, he moved behind her, gripped the brush with her, and held her hand as she slashed the paint across the blank canvas. She registered his presence, vaguely wondered why he didn’t leave.

Over and over, he kept his hand on hers and followed her movements as she vented, color after color, with no rhyme or reason to the strokes.

Finally, she let go of the brush, heard it clatter to the table as she sank to the floor. He followed, his arm encircling her shoulders. She let him, leaned into his embrace, exhausted, spent.

She didn’t even feel like crying anymore as she let his woodsy cologne wash over her, his presence offer comfort and chase the nightmares away. She lost track of how long they sat there, silent, her panting breaths calming, her heart slowing to a normal rhythm.

Then he spoke. “How often does that happen?”

She sighed. “Every so often.”

A pause, then, “Jamie, darlin’, I know you have a rotten past, that there are things maybe you can’t tell me right now, horrifying things I probably can’t even imagine.” His voice had gone husky and she heard him swallow twice. “And that’s okay. I’m just asking that you let me in a little more. Let me past some of those barriers you’ve got up. That’s all. Let’s get to know each other better. Can you do that?”

She didn’t answer right away because she didn’t
have
an answer. Then she allowed a rueful smile to play across her lips. “I just did.”

He kissed the top of her head and her left hand fisted his shirt.

“I care about you, Jamie,” he whispered. “Just think about it, okay?”

She nodded against his shoulder, then mumbled, “You know, I don’t know that much about you either.”

He stilled. “What do you mean?”

“Every time we start to talk about you, you back off.”

“I do?”

Pulling back, she stared into his eyes, felt drawn into them to the depths of her soul. Resisting his pull, she said, “Yes. Maybe that’s why it’s hard for me to open up to you. Because I feel like it would be all one-sided.”

“Oh.” His brow crinkled as though deep in thought about that one. Then he changed the subject – just as she figured he would. “You’ve got someone watching your house. You should be fine. I’m going to take off, all right?”

She gave him a sad, knowing smile. “Sure.”

“And I’m going to think about what you just said.” He frowned as though his mind had already gone to work on it.

“Good.”

He pulled himself up from the floor and gave her a hand up. He headed for the door, stopped and turned back. “Would you recognize him if you saw him?”

Closing her eyes, she visualized the face she saw almost every night in her dreams. A face completely covered by a mask. Except for the eyes. “No, not his face. But his eyes. I’d recognize his eyes anywhere.”

“What color are they?”

“Green. A weird . . . green. I’ve never seen such strange eyes.”

“Did he alter them? You know, like with contacts?”

She shuddered. “I don’t know. Maybe. All I know is I want some more target practice tomorrow sometime.”

Dakota admired her spunk for sure. But he worried his heart was getting ready to go splat when she uncurled her fingers from around it and sent him on his way. He rubbed his chest, the area actually aching at the thought.

What was he going to do about her?

The only thing he could do, he supposed. Love her.

And he did. Just the thought of what she’d suffered made him want to get his hands around the throat of the man who’d inflicted those things on her. A rage like he’d never felt before simmered just below the surface.

But was she right? Did he clam up and change the subject if it got too close to piercing through the barriers of his emotional comfort zone?

Probably.

His past wasn’t so great either and talking about it wasn’t on his top ten list of fun things to do.

His phone rang as he walked back toward the office to get his car. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Connor. How is she?”

“Hanging in there. By a thread, I think, but she’s holding her own.”

“I think Samantha’s going to head back over there and stay the night again.”

“And you’re all right with that?” He already knew the answer to that question but wanted to hear Connor say it.

“Whatever it takes to keep Jamie safe – and comfortable.”

Dakota let the relief flow. “Good. I agree.”

“Has Jamie found anything more on the bones?”

“I think she’s got an idea about them but hasn’t really said much.” He swerved off topic. “I took her shooting today.”

Connor gave a humorless laugh. “Cool. How’d that go?”

“She did a good job. Good enough to cause some damage if she ever needs to.”

“Let’s do our best to make sure it never comes to that.”

“You bet.”

“Catch you in the morning first thing?”

“See you then.”

By the time Dakota pressed the off button, he’d reached his car. He opened the door and slid in, deciding to drive past Jamie’s house. Just to check. Even though he knew she was fine.

After all, she had someone watching her house this very minute. He spun out of the parking lot and onto the street that would lead him right back down the path he’d just walked.

A moment later, he could see the entrance to her subdivision and wheeled in. A couple of turns later brought him to her street. Night approached, creeping in slowly as the sun dipped and the stars started to make their presence known. Shadows shifted, trees danced in the slight breeze that only partially cut the muggy heat.

Jessica Hardesty, the cop watching Jamie’s house, sat up to watch as he drove past at a snail’s pace. He waved to her and she sat back with a visible sigh and a nod of acknowledgment. Good, she’d been alert, watchful. Jamie was in good hands. Plus Samantha would be here soon.

Movement caught his eye.

What?

Right around the side by the window. The light from the den briefly outlined a shadow.

That of a head and shoulders. He braked and spun his vehicle to the side of the street. Hopping out, he waved to Jessica to join him. She climbed from her car and rushed over. “What is it?”

“I saw someone over there by the den window.” He pulled his weapon and headed in the direction of where he’d seen the shadow.

“You want me to call for back up?” she called after him.

“Yeah.” Dakota bolted around the side of the house. Whoever had been out there had heard them and realized he’d been spotted. Behind him, he could hear Jessica on the radio giving their location. Ahead of him, he heard pounding feet.

Then silence. The guy was running across the grass now.

Careful not to expose himself in case the suspect had a weapon, Dakota rounded the next corner, gun ready. “Freeze! FBI!”

More scrambling ahead. Dakota gave chase. The darkness pressed in on him. The streetlights didn’t reach into the backyards and the lights on the houses couldn’t probe the wooded area farther out.

Which was where the guy was headed.

He just hoped Jamie didn’t hear the activity going on outside her house and decide to come investigate. He heard the sirens in the distance, caught a flash of movement up ahead. Taking cover behind a tree, he yelled, “Freeze, I said!”

The guy ignored him and darted farther into the woods. Dakota grunted and continued the chase, nearly tripping over the dense undergrowth. He stopped and listened.

Nothing.

Silence except for the sound of the sirens that grew closer. He grimaced as he got on the phone with the dispatcher and in a low voice, identified himself and said, “Tell them to shut off the sirens, I can’t hear.”

Within seconds, the noise ceased.

He crept forward, eyes straining in the darkness. He didn’t dare use a light.

Dakota sucked in a deep breath and willed himself to hear every sound, to notice and dismiss the ones that belonged but focus on the ones that didn’t.

He heard nothing. A shiver chased itself up his spine. His eyes probed the area in front of him, then he turned to look over his right shoulder, feeling a spot between his shoulder blades tingle.

Come on,
he silently shouted to the trespasser,
move, give me a
hint as to where you are.

A rustle behind him alerted him and he whirled only to catch a brief glimpse of a black mask before pain cracked through his head and blackness descended.

Jamie gripped the paintbrush and stared at the half-finished project. Painting had been her outlet, one of her coping mechanisms when the panic attacks threatened. When she picked up a brush, the outside world faded.

After Dakota had left, she’d returned to her work and immersed herself in creativity.

So when she heard the sirens on her street, it took a moment to register. When they went silent, curiosity prompted her to investigate. Lifting the lid from the can of turpentine, she cleaned the brush, then looked out her window. Flashing blue and red lights pulled up near her house.

“What in the world?” she whispered. Her eyes searched and found the car that belonged to Jessica, the policewoman who’d been assigned to watch her house.

But she couldn’t tell if anyone occupied it. Jamie went to the door and her hand hovered above the knob. Anxiety clawed at her and she snatched her hand back. The panic ebbed only to return when she once again touched the doorknob.

Anger at herself swelled. “You beat this, remember?”

Swallowing, pulling in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and swung the door open. Jessica stood on her porch, fist raised as though to knock.

Relief nearly buckled her knees. “Jessica, what’s going on?” “Dakota rode back by here after he dropped you off and spotted someone around your window. He went after him. I’m here to stay with you.”

Dread crawled through her. “Oh no.”

“Let’s get inside.”

Jamie backed up and let the woman in. “What about Dakota?” “I’ve got backup on the way.”

Jamie could tell the woman was torn between going after Dakota to make sure he was all right and doing the duty she’d been assigned: keep Jamie safe.

A knock on the door had Jamie reaching to open it, but Jessica nudged her aside and took over. She looked through the peephole, then out the side window. Turning to Jamie, she said, “It’s your sister, Samantha.”