Revenge (60 page)

“Well, I'm not,” he muttered. “I don't like people taking potshots at me. Makes me angry.”

“What about scared?”

“That, too. One of the reasons I hated working as a cop. I just didn't like someone deciding to use me for a target.”

“Did that happen?”

Silence. Only the whine of the truck's engine made any noise. A few seconds later, she thought she heard him say, “It happened once,” but his voice was so low, she wasn't certain.

Their conversation died and she concentrated on keeping the old pickup on the slippery road. Sloan kept a lookout, never giving up his grip on the shotgun, his mouth flat over his teeth, his eyes, when he slid a glance over his shoulder to check on her, dark with a need for vengeance.

The miles sped behind them as the road, plowed and sanded, was finally passable. Except that they were going away from Rimrock, away from home. She didn't care. Now, she was scared. Really scared. She'd never really believed that Barry White would hurt her, but this man—this unknown assassin—seemed to want her dead. At that thought the marrow of her bones turned to ice. Who was he and why the need for such violence?

They passed trucks and cars and Sloan watched each with a wary eye, seemingly convinced that the entire population of eastern Oregon was hell-bent on killing her. Her heart began to slow a little as they put distance between the small town and the truck, but Sloan never let down his guard. She then drove west for miles, leaving the mountains to drive over flat high-desert terrain.

Sloan never relaxed, not even when they had to stop for gas in a small town near the Columbia River. He bought a six-pack of soda, a bag of potato chips and two prewrapped sandwiches at a deli in the grocery store. Once the tank was full and he was behind the wheel, he never let his eyes stay in one spot. He was forever glancing in the rearview mirror, at the oncoming lane, down a side road, or over the snow-covered countryside as they took roads leading in varied directions.

They ate in silence but Casey could barely swallow; her stomach tied in painful knots when Sloan decided they could double back. Sloan kept their direction south and west for two hours, then altered his course once they'd crossed enough roads to keep whoever it was that was shooting at them guessing.

By nightfall they were only a couple of hundred miles from Rimrock and the sky was clear. Sloan stopped in a town large enough to house several motels and a car dealership that advertised Rent-A-Wreck. He registered and paid for a room, left the truck outside, then had Casey climb into an old station wagon he'd rented for the night.

“Just in case,” he told her as they drove out of town and headed home. “I'll pick the truck up tomorrow, once I know that you're where you belong.”

“And then what?” she asked, her hands around a cup of cooling coffee.

“And then I tell our story to the law. So will you. After that shooting spree up north, I'm sure we'll have to go through one helluva grilling.”

“I'm not talking about just the next day or two,” she said, hardly believing that the words crossed her lips.

“Oh.” His hands tightened over the wheel. “I guess I'll hang around town until we nail the bastard.” His jaw had turned to granite and Casey realized that finding the culprit was more than a job for Sloan; it had become a personal quest.

“And once all the bad guys are locked up and they've thrown away the key, where will you go?” She tried to sound nonchalant, as if what happened to him wasn't of the slightest interest to her, when, in fact, her nerves were strung as tight as new barbed wire. “Back to L.A.?”

He shook his head and her heart fluttered with the silly little hope that he'd be close by.
Why? He means nothing to you. So he saved your life. It was his job. So he slept with you. It was a mistake and you both know it.
She took another swallow of bitter coffee.

“I'll probably settle down somewhere around Warm Springs. Maybe buy my grandfather's ranch if the owner's interested in getting rid of it. Raise horses, sell livestock.”

“The good life,” she said with more than a trace of sarcasm.

“What about you?”

“I guess I'll pick up where I left off.”

“Which was?”

I wish I knew. I wish to God I knew.
“Once things settle down, I might move to Portland or Seattle.”

“You want the big-city life?” He frowned as a few flakes of snow drifted from the dark sky to land on the windshield.

“I can't live with my mom in Rimrock forever.”

He slid a curious glance in her direction. “What is it you do when you're not being kidnapped?”

“Good question.” She managed a small smile. “Believe it or not, my degree is in education. Physical education.”

“You teach kids to play baseball?”

Her lips twitched. “There's a little more to it than that.”

“So why the move to L.A. to sign on with some production company?”

She leaned against the seat and thought back. “It was probably to rebel against my father. He wanted me to be a corporate lawyer, kind of like Max. Then he expected me to move back to Rimrock and work at McKee Enterprises. I wasn't interested. So, I went to school, and since I was pretty athletic, it only seemed natural to go for a physical education degree. I also took a lot of drama and fun courses. But when I got out, teaching jobs were scarce and I really wanted to get away from my father.” She took a drink of coffee, and after she swallowed the tepid brew, she looked quizzically at him and asked, “Did you ever happen to meet him?”

Sloan nodded. “Only briefly, a couple of times, but I've talked to a lot of men—including Jenner—who knew him well. He didn't make many friends.”

“He was a stubborn, self-centered bastard,” she admitted, staring out the window and remembering Jonah McKee. “He doted on me, though. Told me I could be anything I wanted, that I had the world by the tail. But, that if I used the brains that God had given me, I would take up law, come back to Rimrock, marry a local boy—one with money, preferably—and work for Daddy. He already had a couple of potential husbands picked out for me.”

Sloan snorted. “I can't see you on the family payroll.”

“Neither could I.”

“What about the hometown boy?”

“As I said, Dad had a couple in mind. Judge Rayburn has a son, Billy, but I thought he was a jerk, so Doc Fletcher's boy, Sam, was next in line. Trouble was, Sam was fifteen years older than I was. Besides, I wasn't into letting my dad pick out my dates or my husband.”

Sloan set his empty cup on the dash. “Who were your choices?”

“No one who lived around Rimrock. All the boys in town were interested, but I wasn't fooled. It was because of Dad and his money—no one seemed to look beyond that. I dated a few guys in college, but no one seriously. We all hung out as a group mainly, and then Clarisse started seeing Raymond James—getting serious about him—and that didn't look so good. Besides, I was always attracted to the wrong type.”

“What type is that?”

She bit her lower lip. “Not the kind who wants to settle down in a house with a white picket fence and drive a station wagon with cruise control.”

“Is that the kind you want?”

She glanced at him. “I thought so.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “So you avoided getting too close to anyone.”

“I guess. My parents' marriage was a sham. Max's first marriage to Colleen Wheeler was on the rocks from the beginning. Clarisse was my best friend and it wasn't long after the wedding that I suspected she was miserable, so I didn't see any reason to tie myself down. When I went to L.A., a lot of the men I saw were only interested in one-night stands and that isn't my style...” Her voice drifted off as she thought about the night before and a huge lump filled her throat. “Well, it wasn't.” She slid a glance his way and found him glaring through the glass of the windshield, his jaw tight, his fingers clamping the steering wheel in a death grip.

“I think we should talk about last night.”

“No—”

“And this morning.”

“Why?”

“It happened, Case. Whether you want to think about it or not.” Her stomach nose-dived. “I didn't mean to—”

“I know.”

“As I said, it was a mistake. You were having a nightmare and I wanted to calm you down. I shouldn't have touched you or kissed you or let things get so out of hand.”

“What about this morning in the shower?” she demanded.

To her amazement, he blushed. “I couldn't help myself.” He muttered something under his breath. “Believe it or not, I usually have a lot of self-control, but this morning, just hearing the water running and knowing you were there... Damn it all, anyway. Look, I'm trying my best to apologize here.”

“It wasn't your fault, okay?” she snapped. “I was there, too. I wasn't some whimpering female who couldn't say no.”

“I took advantage of you.”

“You didn't.”

“I should never have—”

“Right, maybe so, but you did and I did and it's not that big of a deal, okay? We had sex. It was good and I'm not sorry, are you?”

“Yes,” he said without a second's hesitation, and her heart seemed to close around itself.

She turned her head and stared out the window, determined not to let him see the tears of frustration in her eyes. She blinked hard, forced herself not to sob and wished she had more self-control, but she'd always been a person who wore her heart on her sleeve, whose emotions were always just under the surface of her skin, ready to rise up at any moment. Whether it be anger, love, worry or fear, her feelings were evident in her eyes.

“Casey.” He touched her arm then and she jerked it away.

“Just forget it,” she forced out as she looked ahead and saw the winking lights of Rimrock glowing in the valley in the distance. “I already have.”

T
he Rocking M had never looked better. With snow crystallizing on the roof of the barns, and golden lamplight reflecting on the icicles hanging from the eaves of the house, the ranch was a welcome sight. Snow had drifted against the fence line, and horses, tails to the wind, dotted the hillside. A handful of stars threw down enough light to sparkle on the ground, and as the rental car slid to a stop, Casey, anxious to see her family, was already reaching for the door handle.

Sloan didn't try to stop her and she slogged through the drifts just as the outside lights flashed on. The door opened, and her mother, silhouetted against the bright backdrop, paused for a second before running onto the porch.

“Casey!” Virginia McKee cried as Casey ran into her mother's outstretched arms. Tears shimmered on the older woman's cheeks. “Thank God you're all right! I was so worried. Why didn't you call? We heard there was a shooting up north and...oh, dear Lord, I was so upset.”

“I'm fine, Mom. Really.”

“I've prayed every night—” Her voice cracked.

“Me, too.” Casey's throat clogged with emotion and her eyes gleamed in relief as Reuben, the family's crossbred Lab, barked excitedly.

“Well, let's not stand out here and freeze like a couple of ninnies. Come on in.” Still holding each other, they walked inside. Casey drank in the scent of Virginia's perfume, the same fragrance she remembered from her childhood, while memories filled with love and warmth flooded through her. For the past few weeks, before her abduction, she'd been so hell-bent on leaving that she'd pushed aside the good times that now whispered through her mind. “I didn't know you'd miss me so badly,” she teased, then heard Sloan's boots against the hardwood floor as he entered and softly closed the door behind him.

She glanced in his direction, but he didn't come forward, just leaned against the door as if he was unwilling to break into the family reunion.

“We've been worried sick.” Mavis, Casey's grandmother, walked stiffly from the den, and she seemed to rely on her cane more than Casey remembered. “I tell you, the whole world seems to have gone to hell in a hand basket. Even little old Rimrock's not the same as it used to be.” She shook her gray head and frowned at the unpleasant turn of her thoughts. “But at least you're safe now. That's all that matters.”

Casey dashed the tears from her face and forced a smile. “Well, you're right about that,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. She kissed her mother on the temple and peered into the living room. “So where's the Christmas tree?” she demanded. “The one you usually put up the first of December. And the house lights. This is the first year they haven't been lit the day after Thanksgiving. Hillary will be so disappointed. Jeez, Mom, I'm gone for a little over a week and it looks like the whole place has gone to seed.”

Mavis chuckled, then pointed with her cane to Sloan. “Seems like we owe you a big thank-you,” she said, her eyes bright. “For bringing our girl back.”

Sloan lifted a shoulder. “All in a day's work.”

“Like holy hell, pardon my French. I heard how you tackled and hog-tied that Barry White. I only wished you'd done more. Needed to be castrated, he did.”

“Mavis!” Virginia said.

“Well, he did!” Mavis insisted, thrusting out her chin. “Think about what he did to Casey. Prison time isn't enough. Even if he is convicted, he'll probably be off on parole in a few years.” Using her cane, she hitched back to the den. “I've half a mind to find out where he is and take care of him myself!”

“Grandma!” But Casey smothered a smile.

“Done it before, to calves and lambs, you know. Even a horse a couple of times.”

Virginia's back stiffened. “Mavis, please, we have a guest.”

“Oh, all right. I guess I'll have to call the boys instead. Maybe they'll do the job for me.”

“Please, don't pay her any mind,” Virginia said to Sloan, whose lips were twitching upward in amusement. “She's getting on in years and sometimes—”

“I heard that,” Mavis called from the den. “Nothin' wrong with my hearing!”

“For the love of Mike.” Virginia, dabbing at her eyes, started toward the back of the house. “Come on into the kitchen. Kiki's still here and I'm sure we can rustle up some coffee and food. You must be hungry.”

“Starved,” Casey said as she and Sloan followed Virginia along the familiar hallway, where pictures of her family were hung on the wall. A portrait of her as a baby, a picture of Max looking stern as he posed with his football helmet, a glossy black and white of Jenner roping a calf in his first rodeo, a snapshot of Casey going to the prom with a freckle-faced boy she'd lost touch with long ago. Other pictures were there, as well—memories of the good times but none of the bad.

In the kitchen, Kiki was working feverishly. As she mopped the floor, she had the radio on full blast to some talk show discussing gun-control laws. She glanced up as the small party approached, caught sight of Casey and nearly dropped the mop. “Well, look who finally decided to come home,” she said with a look of mild reproof. But her old eyes glistened and she gave Casey a hug with her bony arms. “We've missed you around here.”

Again, Casey's throat swelled shut. “Glad to be home.”

“I thought maybe there was something we could heat up,” Virginia offered.

“Always is.” Kiki pointed to the table with her chin. “Set yourselves down.” She stuffed the mop in a pail on the back porch, then, ignoring the damp floor, went to work. Within minutes, there were cups of steaming coffee, reheated chicken and dumplings and thick slabs of carrot cake with whipped cream. She buzzed around the room, refilling the cups, offering slices of home-baked bread with boysenberry jam and insisting that Casey should eat more as she appeared to have lost weight.

By the time they'd finished, and Casey, over Kiki's strenuous arguments, had pushed her plate aside, headlights flashed through the windows. Two trucks, traveling much too fast, pulled into the drive almost in unison. Brakes squealed and doors slammed shut.

“Looks like those no-good brothers of yours are here,” Kiki said as she peered through the lace curtains. Light from a third vehicle splashed through the window as the front door opened. “And they're not alone. Hammond Polk and that idiot from the FBI seem to have caught wind of the news.”

“Casey!” Jenner roared, his voice reverberating through the house.

“We're in here,” Virginia responded.

Boots rang down the hall. Max appeared first, his dark blond hair mussed, his eyes shadowed with worry. One look at Casey and he grinned. He yanked her out of the chair and twirled her off her feet. “Thank God.”

Jenner's uneven gait followed and he was swearing a blue streak about having to depend upon a cane as he entered the kitchen and offered the group a crooked smile. His gaze landed on Casey, still embracing Max, then skated to Sloan who was seated at the table finishing the last of his coffee. “Well, Redhawk, I guess I lose my bet.”

“How's that?” Sloan asked.

“I figured that being cooped up with Casey for more than a day would drive any sane man crazy. You don't look ready for an institution.”

“And I love you, too,” Casey said as she released Max and one of Jenner's arms surrounded her waist.

“Hey, I'm complimenting the man. I expected that by this time he would be ready to wring your neck.”

“Not yet,” Sloan agreed and slid Casey a glance that fairly sizzled. She felt a stain of heat wash up her neck. “But I came close a couple of times.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“I'm just glad you're in one piece,” Max said, running his hands through his hair and declining a piece of cake that Kiki seemed determined to thrust into his hands. “Hell, Case, you gave us a scare. What were you thinking of, getting into a car with Barry White?”

Here it comes
—
the third degree.
“It was a truck, and considering the situation, I didn't have a whole lot of choices,” she said, bristling.

“I told you to get a cellular phone.”

Ever the responsible older brother.
“I know, I just hadn't gotten around to it yet.”

“No reason to belabor the point,” Sloan said. “She didn't mean to get herself abducted.”

“That's right,” Virginia agreed, quick to come to Casey's defense.

Casey gave Sloan a grateful smile, surprised that he would stand up to her brothers when she knew that he thought she'd been a fool to climb into Barry's truck, too.

A harsh pounding echoed through the house.

“The law—always the last to know,” Kiki mumbled as she untied her apron and headed down the hall to answer the front door.

“So where the hell did he take you?” Jenner demanded.

Sloan scooted his chair back. “Let's hold off on the questions,” he said, his face serious. “I think we'll have a lot to answer for the authorities and there's no reason to repeat everything.”

He was right. Hammond Polk, the thick-waisted sheriff, and Sam Revere, the wiry, sandy blond agent for the FBI asked hours' worth of questions. They spoke with Casey and Sloan in the den, allowing the rest of the family to listen in and add anything they knew. Everyone found a place to sit, even on the hearth. Sloan found a spot on the window ledge.

Casey went through her ordeal day by day, from the time she received the call from Clarisse and the breakdown of her car, to the abduction by Barry White and the following days when she nearly went out of her mind with anxiety, trying to escape and praying that someone would save her. Taking turns, she and Sloan filled in the rest, including the shooting incident near the hotel where they'd spent the night.

Over and over the information they went.

“Just one more thing...”

“Can you tell me who White was working with? Any idea?”

“Why'd you trust him in the first place?”

“Did he mention any names?”

“Why would someone want to do this to you?”

“You got any personal enemies?”

“Did he say why he decided to kidnap you?”

“Did he admit to damaging your car?”

“How did he treat you?”

“Did he sexually molest you?”

Casey felt as if her entire life was on exhibition for everyone in the family to view. “No,” she said, answering the final question. “He didn't touch me.”

She saw her brothers' shoulders slump in relief, noticed that her mother seemed to whisper a prayer but Mavis didn't flinch, her expression staying the same throughout the ordeal.

Sloan, his eyes as restless as they had been for the past week, leaned against the window ledge, his long, jean-encased legs stretched out before him, his gaze moving from the den to the dark night. He answered questions concisely and never seemed ruffled, even when Hammond Polk told him Barry White was considering pressing charges against him for assault.

“Let him try,” Sloan said, a slow smile stretching across his face.

“He claims that you nearly killed him.”

“He survived.”

“I'm just passin' on what he said.”

“Then give him a message from me. Tell him if he doesn't start talking and soon, I'll find a way to get to him and this time I won't go so easy on him.”

“Now, Mr. Redhawk, you know I can't do that,” Hammond Polk protested, but Revere didn't say a word, though his eyes glinted a little, as if he liked the idea.

Sloan's black eyebrows drew together. “I'd be glad to deliver it in person.”

“We get the picture,” Revere said, his gaze meeting Sloan's in silent understanding. “I'm still in charge here and there will be no intimidating the witness. He'll talk—it'll just take time.”

“Time we don't have,” Sloan noted. “Whoever it is has already taken a couple of potshots, nearly hit Casey. We can't take any chances.” His gaze locked with hers for an instant and she realized suddenly how safe she felt with him—this big stranger she barely knew, the man to whom she had so willingly given herself.

“Don't worry about White,” Revere insisted. “We'll handle him. Now, let's go over a few points that aren't really clear to me, all right? You've known Barry White for how long?” The questions started all over again.

Casey tried her best to answer quickly and concisely, but she felt as if she'd done something wrong, something to provoke Barry White, that she was looked upon as the criminal. Whenever she snapped crossly at a question she felt she'd already answered, she glanced over at Sloan, whose frown increased as the minutes ticked by. The interrogation lasted hours, and when the questions finally slowed, midnight had come and gone and Casey was exhausted. Tired to her bones, she watched as the sheriff and Sam Revere took their leave.

“You go on to bed,” Mavis insisted. “Now that you're back, maybe things'll get back to normal around here.”

“Not until Jonah's killer is found,” Virginia said firmly, then sighed. She rubbed the back of her neck and stared out the window. She suddenly looked older than her years; the months of strain were beginning to show in the drawn set of her mouth and the tired lines near the corners of her eyes. “When will it ever end?”

“Soon,” Jenner said, obviously impatient. “It has to.”

Casey yawned, then caught Sloan's eye. His gaze was thoughtful and dark as if he might be thinking of their last night alone together. How good it would feel to sleep with him, to have his strong arms wrap around her, to feel the hard wall of his chest and powerful beat of his heart against her back. A blush stole up her neck and she managed a tiny smile at him before she trudged to her bedroom. It was a little girl's room, really. Pink curtains adorned the windows and the top shelf of her bookcase still held old high school memorabilia. The double bed was covered with a quilt Mavis had patched for her when she'd turned twelve. White furniture, soft pastel colors, pictures of horses and riding trophies, faded flowers from the senior prom. No wonder she'd bolted, and yet she was glad to be home, happy to feel as if she belonged somewhere. She barely had time to untie her shoes, nudge them off and drop back against the pillows before she fell instantly asleep.