“Just a minute,” Corrie called as she stumbled down the stairs in her bare feet and dragged on a robe, the nightmare receding with each step. The knocking started up again. The only one she could imagine that insistent this time of night was Jess, seeking revenge for siccing his family on him.
The door rattled with the next onslaught, and she yelled, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Damn it, Jess, can’t you wait until morning to kill me?”
She yanked open the door. A scruffy-looking kid of no more than ten stood on the step and handed her a folded piece of paper. She eyed it, then the kid.
“The gen’lman said I’s to give this to you.” The boy barely lifted his eyes to peer at her through dingy reddish bangs. “If’n you’s Miz Webb.”
“You have her,” Corrie said. The kid lingered for a second, sniffing the scents wafting from the kitchen. Much as she wanted to read the note, she couldn’t resist the tug of his hungry gaze and the way he licked his lips. The note could wait a few minutes.
She held the door open and motioned him in. “Let me fix you something to eat before you go home.”
Inviting a stranger—even if he is only a child—in for a midnight snack? The nineteenth century has completely fried my brain.
The kid scuttled in, obviously starved, and perched uncertainly on the stool she pointed out. As she sliced some bread and made a sandwich that would’ve fed a Dallas Cowboys tackle with some left over, she tried to draw him out.
He merely stared at her and nodded his head occasionally.
“You don’t talk much,” she observed before handing him the sandwich wrapped up in butcher paper.
“Best thing I kin do is keep my mouf shut.” But that didn’t prevent him from wolfing a huge bite and taking another before he headed out the door. As Corrie started to close it behind him, he paused and turned back to her. “You sure is a nice’n. Thankee.”
“You’re welcome.” She watched until he disappeared around the corner on seemingly reluctant feet. Only then did she take a seat on the stool and draw the lamp closer so she could see the writing on the note.
In a slapdash hand, it read: Must see you tonight. Meet me behind church at midnight. Jess.
She rubbed her thumb over his signature and considered his request—no, command. He told her what he wanted and expected her to comply. Well, she would just show him a thing . . .
Her mind slammed into park. Wait a minute, it screamed. Don’t you want to talk to Jess? Did you not a few hours ago wonder what could have been if only you had been honest with him from the beginning?
Corrie folded the paper and laid it on the prep table. She would go if only to set him straight about ordering her around.
And maybe to say good-bye.
The town clock struck a quarter past midnight as Corrie approached the church. She had wasted more time than she had counted on when she changed into a pretty dimity gown she and Abby had picked out. She might as well get some wear out of it. Heaven knew she didn’t wear it for Jess.
Yeah, right, she thought with a shiver. I wear the lightest damned dress I own on the chilliest night in weeks because I’m—what ?—certifiably insane?
Shivers coursed along her arms and down her spine that had nothing to do with the cool mountain breeze. The church loomed over her, its steeple piercing the starry sky, stirring memories she refused to remember.
“J-Jess?” she whispered. “You here?”
Wind rustled the leaves in the tall trees and sighed around the church building. A scrape behind her brought her up short. Breath snagged in her throat as she whipped around.
A branch dragged across the clapboard again as the breeze captured it and pulled it over the boards.
Okay, no more Scream movies for you, Webb, and forget renting any of the Halloween videos again. You can live without Freddy Kruger if he makes you jump at a piece of wood.
A deep breath calmed her a little, and she slowly walked toward the rear of the church, stopping to listen every few feet. Normally, Jess wouldn’t expect her to meet him somewhere like this, but the past few weeks hadn’t been exactly normal. He’d made it clear that he hadn’t wanted to be near her, so she hadn’t expected an invitation to his house. But sheesh, he could’ve met her at the police station. This place gave her the willies—for more reasons than the obvious spookiness of an empty building.
At night. Alone.
Stop it, Webb. You will not psych yourself out.
A twig snapped under her foot and she jumped a mile out of her shoes.
Yeah, right.
“Jess Garrett, you get out here fast. I’m not—” The rhododendron bush next to her swayed and she whirled to check behind her.
A hand shot out from the darkness and clamped over her mouth. Corrie tried to scream, tried to breathe. She knew this. She had done this.
This had been done to her. Before.
Jess! Help me, Jess.
“Ol’ Lieutenant Garrett ain’t gonna be here, bitch.” The cold barrel of a handgun nudged under her chin, forcing her to walk through the open back door of the church. “It’s jes’ you and me . . . and lots of privacy.”
Her mind spun in circles of fear. Of memory.
The man—a part of her recognized him as the one who had insulted Maisie at the café—directed her into the church sanctuary. “Ain’t nobody gonna disturb us here,” he said, dragging her toward the altar, forcing her to the floor, and straddling her.
As his hold loosened, she gasped for breath and yelled, “Help me! Help me, somebody! Jess, help!”
His hand crashed across her mouth, and the coppery taste of her own blood gagged her. His gun to her head, the man ripped her dress, tugging down her corset until he freed one breast. Then he squeezed it until her eyes watered from the pain.
“Got me the lieutenant’s whore and gonna have her.” He traced the outline of her face with the gun’s barrel. “You understand me, bitch? I’m gonna have you every way there is.”
She could scarcely hear him for the bass drum pulse in her ears. Oh, God, it can’t happen to me.
Not again.
He forced the barrel into her mouth and chortled. “Then I’m gonna kill you, right here. But don’t worry. Garrett’ll know everything I did to you. Just like all those Indian squaws we killed back in the army.”
“Oh, God, no,” she whispered as he withdrew the gun and buried his face in her neck, licking and biting it. She couldn’t handle this. She couldn’t.
Her mind rebelled and memory claimed her.
Heaving upward with her chest, she tried to dislodge him, but he was strong. So strong.
“Been flaunting yourself in those trashy little dresses. Making me hot. Making me want you instead of your mama.” His hands grabbed her flat chest and squeezed as he continued the assault, scraping her back on the floorboards.
“Stop it. You’re hurting me,” she cried and flailed her fists against his back and shoulders, the only places she could reach.
“Yeah, it hurts. You’re tight, bitch. Good and tight. “ He bit down on her neck and she screamed again.
Her head exploded into a thousand pieces as it slammed into the floor. Blackness beckoned, but she dragged herself out of it. “Mama! Why did you leave me?” she croaked, unable to scream anymore, barely able to breathe.
The pain crescendoed.
“Mama, why?”
Corrie fought her way from the remembered pain to the present. She would not let this happen again. As the man let the gun drop so he could claw at her skirts, she heaved up with one knee and caught him on the thigh.
He reared back and punched her in the stomach. “Don’t even try to stop me, bitch.”
Wheezing, she fought to keep the blackness at bay. No way was she going to pass out and let this bastard rape her. She struggled against his weight, succeeding in dislodging him for a second. “Help!”
His arm came down hard across her throat, cutting off her air. “I told you, I’m gonna have you. You can’t fight me.”
The dim light of the altar candles flickered across his features—wild and demented and evil. She knew that evil. She’d seen it close up, just like this. Before this.
“Don’t fight it,” he said, tearing off her underwear. “Them Indian squaws did, and your lieutenant killed them.” His hand closed over her mound. “Didja know he killed Indians? Braves, squaws, papooses. He killed all of them. Raped the squaws first, though.”
Barely able to breathe past the pressure on her throat, she could only think, Jess, a killer? A rapist?
But that was impossible. Her gentle Jess wouldn’t harm defenseless women and children. No, it was unthinkable. No matter what this bastard said, she would never believe it.
The man found her opening and jabbed a finger into it, laughing maniacally. Mind in rebellion and unable to stop him, Corrie collapsed into memory.
She clawed at the man’s weight—oh, God, her stepfather’s weight—on her, but he continued, her head slamming into the floor with each thrust. Something brushed her hand as she swung it back, and she grabbed at it. Cloth hanging from the table—no, from the altar. The altar of St Andrew’s down the street from her house.
God, where are you ? This is your house. Why are you letting him do this? she raged within her mind.
He hit her again, and she yanked at the cloth, only succeeding in pulling the fabric over them and the candlesticks onto the floor. She heard them thud as her head exploded again.
Flame licked at her hand as the crumpled altar cloth caught fire. Oblivious, her stepfather kept up his steady torture.
Corrie roused, memory returning. Anger returning. She shoved at the man and caught him with her knee. He punched her in the stomach again as he wheezed for air.
No! I won’t let this happen. Not again. Never again. She forced a deep breath past the ache in her gut and made herself look around for something to help herself. Beside her outflung hand, the altar cloth dragged the floor. With a burst of energy from deep within her memory, she pulled it down, the lit candles rolling on the floor, the flames spitting and greedily sparking on the cloth. One rolled onto the draped end of a curtain, which immediately caught fire.
Maybe someone would notice. This time, maybe someone would notice.
Please, somebody see.
Up at the hotel, Jess sat in the corner of the smoking room, nursing a single shot of brandy. His meeting with his family couldn’t have gone worse. They had ended tonight, as they had seven years ago, in curses and recriminations.
The chasm between them gaped even wider than before.
He still wouldn’t draw his gun. They still resented the fact that he considered killing in the line of duty to be murder unless you were being shot at.
Standoff. Draw. No way out.
No way back into the fold.
Setting down his glass, he stared into the darkness outside the windows until a young rowdy from the wrong side of town appeared at the door. The boy’s expression sent a shaft of alarm through Jess. When the boy jerked free of the porter’s restraining hand on his arm and ran to him, that alarm escalated.
Jess knelt on one knee so he was face-to-face with the youngster. “What is it, boy? Who let you in here?”
“I did, sir,” Rupert said from where he hovered by the door. “He said it was urgent he speak to you. When I told him to wait until you were in your office tomorrow, he said you would want to hear what he had to say about Miss Webb.”
“What about her?” His heart crawled up his chest and lodged somewhere in his throat.
“Maybe he’ll tell you, sir. He wouldn’t tell me.”
Jess forced his tone and expression into mildness while his heart threatened to choke him. “Well, boy? What is it about Miss Webb that you need to tell me so urgently?”
The boy had been ogling the parlor’s opulence and returned his attention to Jess with some difficulty. “You gotta help her.”
“Help her how?”
“Get ’tween the bastard and her.”
“I don’t understand.” Which bastard? Where? “Tell me what you know.”
“Well, I took the note to the lady, like the sharper tol’ me. Said he’d pay me good,” the boy said warily, as if he had done something that could earn him a beating. “But he rooked me—didn’t pay me a penny.”
“Who rooked you? Can you describe him?”
“Said he was in the army. A sergeant, I reckon he said.”
With absolute certainty, Jess knew who the man was—Laughlin. Only by force of will did Jess remain still. He wanted to jump up and run to Corrie, but he needed to know where. Where, damn it?
“And the lady were nice—fed me, she did.” Rubbing his stomach, the young hooligan eyed the leavings of the buffet table at the end of the room.
“You can have all you wish of what’s left there if you’ll tell me where the nice lady is. What did the note say?”
“G’wan, I don’ read none.” The boy sidled a couple of steps toward the table. “But I see’d her headin’ for the church close on to midnight.”
Jess glanced at the clock. Twelve twenty. His gut clenched. The scenario was easy to perceive once Laughlin was factored in. The former sergeant had lured Corrie to the church. What he would do with her there needed no imagination.
Giving the boy a push toward the table, Jess rose, then wrestled with his conscience and pride for all of five seconds. I can’t do this on my own. I need help—more than Cyril can provide.
With utter disregard for the other patrons, he barreled out of the room, across the lobby, and up the stairs of the tower to the suite where he had met with the Garrett men earlier in the evening. Not bothering to knock, he slammed into the room and strode to where his father sat.
“Pa,” Jess said, “I know nothing has changed between us, but I must—must—beg a favor.”
All eyes turned toward him as Pa set down his wineglass. “What is it, son?”
“My army past has come to haunt me—to get revenge. I’m going to need some backup. Will you come?”
On one side of Pa, Sven sat forward in his chair. “Serious business?”
“Very serious. An army sergeant from my platoon named Laughlin has Corrie, probably in the church in Hope Springs.” Jess raked a hand down his face. “I don’t have to tell you what he’ll do to her.”
That brought all of them to their feet with outbursts of rage.
“This doesn’t change anything,” Jess said over the furor, and the volume increased with protests.
“I mean it.” Jess caught and held each man’s gaze for the space of seconds. “We do it my way—no bloodshed—or not at all. Is that clear?”
“But this is Corrie,” Pa remonstrated. “Surely—”
“My way or don’t come with me.” Jess headed for the door. As he raced down the stairs, he glanced back.
The Garrett men—every one of them—followed.
Heat shimmered behind her, around her, suffocating her. Corrie coughed, throat irritated by smoke. The weight holding her down eased as her assailant raised up to cough as well.
Fumbling blindly with one hand, she located one of the altar candlesticks. Grabbed it. Before he could stop her, she heaved it with all her strength at his head.
He saw it coming and blocked it, so only a glancing blow landed. However, it knocked him off her, and she rolled onto her hands and knees and scrambled away.
A flaming curtain collapsed in front of her and she recoiled, throwing up a hand to protect her eyes. Quickly, she scooted to one side and regained her feet.
Not again. I won’t let it happen again. The litany repeated itself in her mind and strengthened her resolve. No way was she going to submit to rape, and no way was she going to let him kill her afterward.
No way was she going to be left here for Jess to find—dead and used by this bastard.
Smoke hazed the interior of the church, and Corrie couldn’t get her bearings. Which way?
As she paused to peer through the smoke, the man latched onto her skirts and dragged her back against him, his gun pressed firmly under her right breast. If he shot her, the bullet would go straight through her chest and into her heart. Mouth dry with fear and smoke, she swallowed. And froze.
“That’s more like it, bitch.”
Through her petticoats and bustle, she could feel that he rubbed himself against her. In spite of the revulsion that crawled up her spine, she almost laughed.
Never thought I’d be thankful for that damned bustle.
She shot the man a look of loathing. Good; he hadn’t noticed she wasn’t able to feel him.
Unfortunately, her relief was short-lived. The hand not holding the gun grabbed her breast and squeezed it like an orange. Corrie gritted her teeth and scanned the area again for anything she could use as a weapon.
Just then, the front double doors of the church sprang open and Jess, thumbs resting lightly on his belt, strolled in, followed by the Garrett men. They all looked a bit itchy, and Corrie noted their pronounced lack of visible firepower.
Great, the cavalry arrives and they’re unarmed.
The man shoved the gun harder into her ribs.
Jess waved at the smoke that had dissipated a bit with the door being open and approached Corrie and her captor, stopping about halfway down the center aisle. His gaze skimmed her and the room. “Are you all right, Corrie? Has he hurt you?”
“She’s mine, Garrett.” The man scraped his fingernails across her breast, beads of blood pooling as he dug into the skin.
Breath hissed between her teeth at the pain, but she wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of anything more.
“You don’t want to hurt her, Laughlin. Your quarrel’s with me. Let her go.”
Laughlin shifted his gun to her jaw and placed his other arm across her chest, making her a human shield. “You got a soft heart, Lieutenant. I hurt your woman, I hurt you. Don’t take a lot of brains—or an officer’s commission—to figure that out.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw the other Garretts fan out, but the fire in the curtains had spread to other parts of the altar and blocked their progress.
The gun at her neck shifted again; this time Laughlin pointed it at Jess. She was surprised that the hammering of her heart didn’t bounce the man’s arm off her chest.
Damn it, Kevlar hasn’t been invented yet.
“Be careful,” she squeaked past her abused throat. Then she saw it—a star gleaming on Jess’s chest—and her breath stopped. He’d never worn a badge around her, and she had assumed his would look like the Dallas police badges: oval and shield-shaped.
But there it was—a five-pointed silver star like the one that had thrown her back here.
Jess’s badge was her ticket back to her own time.
“Your lover is always careful, you whore. Out west, he was always the last onto the battlefield. Kept close to the skirts of any damned colonel or general, so he wouldn’t have to dirty his hands like the rest of us.” The gun wobbled a bit, and Laughlin held it under Corrie’s jaw again. “Bet he didn’t tell you how he murdered innocent women and children, did he?”
The lines of tension around Jess’s mouth and eyes blanched white, and Corrie was glad she wasn’t the object of his wrath.
“He raped and killed, but when I did the same, he ordered me court-martialed.” Laughlin’s foul breath enveloped her as he panted in anger. “Me! All I did was kill Indians.”
Now Jess’s knuckles whitened. “You didn’t just kill them. You tortured them, and goaded others to do the same.”
“I did to them what they did to whites. No difference, Lieutenant.”
“Very different. That last battle was against a tribe who had signed a peace treaty with us. We never should have attacked their village.” Even half a room away, Corrie could see the pain flash in Jess’s eyes. Then his gaze met hers and the pain receded. His blue eyes bored into hers, then into Laughlin’s. “I tried to stop the massacre, but you had whipped the men into a frenzy. No one could stop that mob.”
Laughlin gave an evil rumble. “Damn right, you namby-pamby officers couldn’t stop us. The only good Indian is a dead one. Every enlisted man knew that. Don’t matter if they signed a treaty or not. Ain’t a single treaty they kept.”
Corrie flinched as he jabbed her with the gun again. Jess dropped his gaze to his waist, where a gun belt rode low on his hips. She took the hint to distract Laughlin and recoiled from the barrel, throwing him off balance a little, but allowing Jess to settle his holster closer to his hand.
Laughlin’s hold tightened, and Corrie fought to maintain her control. If she lost her cool, he’d probably shoot her, then Jess. She suspected he knew he would die, given all the other lawmen in the sanctuary.
But he seemed focused on her and Jess. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know he would have time to kill them before he died.
“Hold on, Corrie.” Jess’s voice drew her gaze back to him. He cut his eyes to her left, and she turned her own to that side.
Max and Uncle Charlie had made their way from the rear of the church and now crouched behind a pillar just off the altar. Max pointed to Jess, tipped up his hat with one hand, then made a beckoning motion toward her. They had a plan . . . if she read Max’s cryptic movements correctly.
Jess cocked one hip onto a pew. “I have to take exception to your accusation of rape, Sergeant.” Before Laughlin could protest, Jess continued, “I never raped anyone, woman or child.”
“You were there.” Laughlin jerked Corrie around to her right as several of the Garretts eased forward. “Stay where you are or I’ll kill the whore where she stands.”
Jess’s face turned to stone, but he only said, “I never raped anyone. Unlike you. How many women did you defile, Sergeant?”
“Hundreds by last count.”
The answer came too fast for Corrie’s comfort. What sort of deviant kept track of how many women he raped?
Behind her, the fire spread to more curtains which caught with a loud whoomph. At that moment, Jess tilted his hat back with his left hand, drawing Laughlin’s attention that way.
As Corrie twisted out of Laughlin’s loosened hold, with a shove to throw off his balance, and lunged to her left, Jess drew his gun and pointed it at the man. Time slowed as Max and Charlie caught her and pulled her to safety behind the pillar, while Jess shifted his gun up a fraction and fired. She screamed as Laughlin’s gun zeroed in on Jess, but her love was already rolling over the top of the pew to the protected floor behind as the chandelier over the altar crashed down onto the deranged sergeant.
The others swarmed the altar, leaping over flames to subdue the struggling Laughlin, then started tugging down the curtains before the ceiling could catch fire. Teddy ran to the door and yelled for the fire brigade to enter, and Bertie hurried to check on Jess.
Only when Max draped his coat over her did Corrie realize that her breast poked out over the top of her corset. She shot a glance at Max and Charlie, but they proved Jess came by his gentlemanly behavior honestly; neither one showed by so much as the twitch of an eyelid that they had noticed her boob hanging out.
Then Jess was beside her and she was in his arms, and any concerns about her modesty flew out of her head. All she knew was the warmth of his lips on hers, like a part of her that had been missing now returned to make her whole.
His five o’clock shadow rasped against her skin as he covered her face with kisses. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you? Oh, God, Corrie, did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” she said, and pulled back to look him over. Not a bullet hole anywhere. His badge still sported five points. She looped her arms around his neck and raised herself up to kiss his lips again in thanksgiving.
“Better move it outside, son.” Max passed them carrying a pail of water. “Give us more room to put out this blaze.”
Corrie’s breath whooshed out as Jess picked her up and carried her out the door, only setting her on her feet when they reached the opposite side of the park. Inside, on the floor, she had thought the church an inferno. Actually, the fire brigade seemed to be getting things under control quickly.
“Are you certain he didn’t hurt you?” Jess’s voice was soft and gentle, but the true question remained unasked.
Drawing the jacket closer around her shoulders, Corrie caressed his cheek with her free hand and gazed steadily into his eyes. “I’m a little bruised here and there, but he didn’t rape me. I’m okay.”
He pulled her to him, tucking her head under his chin, and held her with arms that tightened spasmodically. “Thank God.”
“Thank you and all your relations.” She rubbed her cheek on his chest. “And through it all, you remained true to your vow to never kill someone you were trying to apprehend. Pretty fancy shooting, Chief.”
His chuckle reassured her—the old Jess was back and held her like a rare antique.
“When he put that gun barrel to your neck . . .”
“Yet you didn’t kill him.” She rubbed her cheek against him again, savoring his heat and his scent. “Something to be proud of.”
In a warped, altruistic way.
“My family thinks I should retire.” He gave a rude snort. “They think I’m a danger to myself and others.”
“They’re just jealous, Chief.” She turned her head and hugged him closer. Her cheek scraped against a piece of metal. In a matter of hours it would be her ticket back to Dallas, and away from the place she now called home.
And far away from Jess.