“Stay close.” Brody didn’t like the cold chill pricking the hair on his arms. He didn’t like how easily a stranger could watch Rebecca while she was in the house. And he sure as hell didn’t like the fact that the man who’d tormented her and changed her life forever was most likely back.
Brody crouched low as he cleared the back door.
The figure, tall and thick-built enough to be a man, darted into the trees.
“Go inside, lock the door and set the alarm.”
She didn’t respond, but he heard her backtrack as he broke into a full run. No way could she keep up, and he didn’t want to risk them being separated in the trees, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.
The unforgiving dirt and shrub stabbed his feet as he bolted across the yard. Brody regretted kicking his boots off and getting too comfortable. The male form disappeared to the left as Brody hopped the chain-link fence and breached the tree line.
Forging through the mesquites, maples and oaks, Brody winced as he stepped on scattered broken limbs. He pushed the pain out of his mind, maintaining full focus on his target. He could hear crunching ahead of him, although he couldn’t judge the distance or the gap between them. At this point, the noise could come from an animal he’d spooked. Based on the weight, it would have to be one big animal. Even so, it was still possible. There was no telling for sure until he got eyes on whatever it was.
A dark thought hit. Brody was being drawn deeper into the trees; the underbrush was thickening, and Rebecca was alone at the house. Brody couldn’t take the chance he’d been lured away.
Besides, the rustle of leaves was growing more distant, indicating the guy was too far ahead to catch.
Circling back, the pain of bare feet pounding against hard soil made running a challenge.
He didn’t know how long he’d been going, but it took a good fifteen minutes to jog back to the bungalow. His feet had been cut and he was leaving a trickle of blood across the lawn on Rebecca’s quarter-acre lot.
She must’ve been glued to the kitchen window, because as soon as he stepped onto the back porch, the door swung open and she rushed into his arms.
“Hey, hey.” He took a step back as the full force of her impact hit him.
“I’m sorry.” She buried her face in his chest.
Brody should put a little space between them. He should take a step back and not be her comfort. He should keep a safe distance.
Should.
But couldn’t.
Not with the way she felt in his arms. Not with the way her body molded to fit his. Not with her scent, citrus and flowery, filling his senses.
A tree branch crunched. Brody scanned the yard, didn’t see anything.
Outside, they were exposed.
He guided them inside the house, then closed and locked the door behind them.
“It’s okay,” he soothed.
“I know,” she said quickly, and he knew it was wishful thinking on her part.
He heard her muffled sniffles and suspected she wasn’t stepping away from him because she didn’t want him to see her cry.
Before he could debate the sanity of his actions, his arms encircled her waist, hauling her closer to him.
Flush against his chest, he could feel her rapid heartbeat. The whole scenario might be erotic if she wasn’t shaking so damn hard.
* * *
“SHOULD WE CALL the sheriff?” Maybe they’d believe her this time with Brody there to corroborate her story. Rebecca took a step away from him, and then stared out the window.
“And say what? I saw a guy in the tree line? He didn’t break any laws being out there,” Brody said, a frustrated edge to his tone.
“He knows where I live. God only knows how long he’s been out there spying on me.” A chill raced down her spine at the thought of him watching her through her windows. She wasn’t safe even in daylight now.
Brody took a step toward her and put his hand on her shoulder.
She turned to face him, ignoring the shivers his touch brought. Determination set his jaw, and the cloud forming behind his eyes said he wasn’t sure she would like what he had to say.
“I don’t know if I can protect you here. We most likely scared him off and he may not return, but it’s a risk I’m not willing to take with you.”
Those words sent an entirely different shiver down her body, a cold, icy blast that said everything she knew was about to be taken away from her again.
“Meaning what?”
“I need to take you someplace safe.”
This bungalow might not be much, but it was her home. The thought of allowing that twisted jerk to force her out of her house churned in her stomach. He’d taken away so much already—from her, from her family. Part of her wanted to dig in her heels and argue because anything else felt as if she was sacrificing her power all over again. Except the logical part of her brain overrode emotion.
Brody had military experience. She’d hired him to keep her safe. Not listening to his advice would be more than stupid—it could be deadly.
His gaze stayed trained on her as she mentally debated her options. Options? What a joke that was.
So, she wouldn’t be stupid. Of course, she’d go where she could be safe.
“I’ll do whatever you need me to.” The words tasted sour. Putting herself in Brody’s hands wasn’t the issue.
Relief relaxed the taut muscles in his face. “Good. Then, pack a bag and let’s get out of here.”
“Can we search for him? Go after him for a change? Maybe even put him on the run?”
“If that’s what you want.” His blue eyes darkened, the storm rising.
“I know what you’re thinking. Yes, looking for him could be dangerous. I understand that and I need you to know I’m scared. But I’m also determined. He doesn’t get to take away my power again. Sitting around, waiting for him to strike makes me feel helpless.”
“I’ll have your back. He has to get through me to touch you. And, darlin’, that isn’t happening on my watch.”
Rebecca had sensed as much when they’d dated in high school. She’d gotten so used to being alone, to the isolation that came with being “damaged” and different. She’d quickly figured out where the term kid gloves came from. The sentiment might’ve been wrapped in compassion, but that didn’t change the message to a child.
Well, she was no longer a child. And that psychopath didn’t get to make her afraid anymore. Sure, she’d had a moment before in the kitchen. There’d be more, too. And she refused to apologize for her moments of weakness.
Being afraid was a good thing. It would make her cautious. It would keep her from making a stupid mistake that he could capitalize on. It would drive her to find him and possibly her brother, if Shane was still alive. Besides, being fearless had put her in this situation. She’d had no business sneaking out that night. Mason Ridge might’ve been the Texas equivalent of Mayberry, but complacency meant being vulnerable.
“I just need a minute.” She moved to the bedroom and opened a suitcase, thinking about the few items she couldn’t live without. A sad note played in her heart. She had a few articles of clothing that had a special meaning, but that was about it. Shane’s Spider-Man watch, his favorite possession on the earth, was inside her drawer. She retrieved it and pressed it to her chest.
She missed him.
Still missed him.
Everything good about childhood disappeared that hot night in late June. It was as though her mother and father had died along with the memory of Shane. Rebecca had no recollections of spring-break trips or campouts. Her parents had become obsessed with keeping her alive and in sight. Sleepovers stopped. There were no more séances or s’mores over a campfire, like there had been when Shane was alive.
It was as though all the color had been stripped out of life. No more blue skies or green grass. No more laughter. She’d been so distraught with grief at the time she didn’t notice that while other kids gathered outside at the park for ball, she’d engaged in therapy with one of her many doctors.
She’d existed, had been treated like fine china, put on a display shelf and only handled with the utmost care. She’d spent most of her time in her room because being downstairs with her parents while they fought that first year had been even more depressing. Books had given her an escape and kept her somewhat sane, somewhat connected to the world playing out in front of her, all around her and, yet, so far out of reach.
When her parents had divorced, the rest of her fragile world shattered.
The truth was that Rebecca couldn’t connect with anyone after losing Shane. Deep down, she didn’t blame her father for wanting to start a new life. He’d tried to include her, make her feel part of his new world. But that would’ve been a slap in the face to her mother. And Rebecca already felt as though her mother had suffered enough.
She placed the watch gently inside her bag, then opened the next drawer and pulled out a few pairs of jeans, undergarments, and a variety of shirts, shoving them inside.
Rebecca stomped to her closet and jerked a few sundresses off their hangers. After rolling them up, she stuffed them inside the bag, fighting the emotions threatening to overwhelm her.
Toiletries from the bathroom were next on her mental checklist. She moved into the en suite and grabbed her makeup bag.
A wave of nausea rolled through her. His voice. The apple-tobacco smell. Her brain had blocked everything else out. She couldn’t remember what he looked like other than a nebulous description.
Not even her psychiatrist had been able to hypnotize that out of her. She wished like hell she would’ve been able to give the sheriff and the FBI more to go on. She was the only one who’d had a glimpse of him, the one who’d lived, and she couldn’t pick him out of a lineup if her life depended on it.
And, now, it would seem that it did.
Rebecca didn’t realize she was shaking, until Brody’s steady arms wrapped around her, stabilizing her. “I was just thinking that I could’ve stopped all this if I’d just remembered.”
“It’s not your fault.” His warm breath rippled down the back of her neck.
“I know, but—”
“It’s not your fault.”
Hadn’t she heard those four words strung together a thousand times via counselors, teachers, her parents? “It just feels like if I’d been able to describe him—”
“Honey, there were grown men trained to track predators like him who couldn’t get the job done. Him getting away wasn’t the fault of a twelve-year-old girl.”
On some level, she knew Brody was right. And, yet, guilt fisted her heart, anyway. He was being kind, so she’d spare him her true feelings. She tucked them away and forced a smile, ducking out of his hold.
“Good point.” She moved to the bed, closed the suitcase and zipped it. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the old group. Think Ryan got ahold of them? All of us were out there that night. Maybe someone saw something they didn’t realize could be important.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing. Ryan’s working on getting everyone together. Dawson’s not far. Dylan moved a town over, so he won’t be hard to track down. We’ll have to ask around for James. I don’t know what happened to him after I left for the military. What about the girls? You talk to any of them?”
“Other than exchanging Christmas cards with Lisa and Samantha? No. Janet still lives here but I can’t remember the last time we spoke and I don’t think she was out that night. Melanie moved to Houston and never comes back.”
“At least you have a few addresses. That’s more than I have to go on. Maybe the others will know once we get the ball rolling.” He paused. “I don’t remember seeing Melanie that night, either, or James for that matter but we should try to reach them, anyway.”
Brody walked over and gripped the handle to her suitcase. “I can take you home with me, or we can go to a hotel. The choice is yours.”
“We should be good at a hotel.” A neutral place might keep her thoughts away from how much Brody had grown into a man she could respect. She led the way through the house, stopping in the living room to grab her laptop. “Not sure when I’ll be back, so I better take this.”
“I’m going to want to dig deeper into a few of the responses you received to your social-media messages.”
“I almost forgot about the letters.”
“You still have those?” Anger flashed in his blue eyes.
“Turned most over to the sheriff, but some new ones have turned up recently.” She moved to the laundry room, where she’d been keeping the stack of mail.
More anger flashed in Brody’s expression as she handed them over.
“There must be fifty letters here.”
“This time of year always brings out the crazy in people.” Arming the alarm, Rebecca had the feeling that once she walked outside she’d never be the same.
She locked the door behind them, hoping she could remember something else about that day...anything that might make the nightmare stop.