The Alvarez & Pescoli Series. Lisa Jackson

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СКАЧАТЬ there is a boy you care about,” she said, deciding it was time to get to the bottom of some of her questions. “I found a couple of pictures of a little boy, over there, in the bookcase.” She pointed to the spot where the vase sat.

      MacGregor’s lips thinned and, beneath the shadow of his beard, white lines bracketed his mouth.

      “You know the boy I’m talking about.”

      He hesitated, then gave a slight nod. Raw emotion crossed his features and a muscle jumped at the edge of his jaw. “His name was David,” he said, his voice low. “He was my son.”

      She waited, wishing she hadn’t brought it up, hearing the “was” for what it meant.

      “He’s dead.”

      “I’m sorry,” she said.

      “You didn’t know him.”

      “I mean, I’m sorry for your pain. You said you weren’t married…that you didn’t have…”

      “I’m not and I don’t. My wife and son are dead. Killed in a head-on collision, one of those freak things. No one was drinking, no one really knows what happened, but for some reason, maybe she was distracted, Callie’s car crossed the center line and went right into the path of a semi.”

      “Oh God.”

      “I was supposed to drive them to the school open house that night, but I was too busy, caught up in work, so I called and told her I’d meet them there. I’m supposed to take solace in the fact that they died instantly. Like that’s some consolation. Anyway, it happened a long time ago and I don’t like talking about it or thinking about it.”

      “That’s why you don’t display any pictures.”

      “Yeah.” He was reaching for his jacket.

      “And you became a hermit.”

      “Not quite.” Checking his pockets, he walked to the door.

      “I’m sorry.”

      “So you said.”

      “I know, but—”

      “Let’s get back to what’s happening here and now. In your snooping, did you find your things?”

      “My things?”

      He walked past her to the large bookcase, opened a lower cupboard drawer and pulled out a familiar-looking overnight bag.

      How had she missed it earlier? She’d thought she’d gone through every cupboard, but then, she had been woozy. At the sight of her bag, she had the insane urge to break down completely, which was just plain stupid. She’d barely thought about the suitcase until now, which surely was a testament to her unclear mental state. It was nuts, but her nerves were strung tight, her body ached and she looked and felt like hell. Seeing the overnight case she’d packed days ago brought into sharp focus the fact that her real life was light years away, as well as the undeniable fact that she might never be a part of that life again.

      “I thought you might want to change clothes,” he said as he placed the bag near her.

      She cleared her throat. “That would be nice.”

      “I’m not sure you can get any pants over your ankle.”

      “I’ll see.”

      He hesitated. “Do you need some help? I could—”

      “No!” Her reaction was swift, her voice louder than she’d intended. “Sorry. No, I think I can handle it myself.”

      His eyes narrowed slightly. “You know, I think I should change my diagnosis. You’re getting around pretty well for having cracked ribs. There’s a chance, if you’re lucky, you might just have bruised them. Trust me, they would still hurt like hell.”

      “Believe me, they do.”

      “But if they were cracked, you wouldn’t be able to move like you do.”

      “Good.” It didn’t matter if they were cracked or broken, they still pained her. “If you don’t mind, would you just carry my bag into the bedroom?”

      He did as she asked, and she climbed to her feet and eased into the bedroom, where she closed the door and, with more trouble than she thought possible, changed her underwear and bra and slid cautiously into a heavy-necked sweater. Her ribs ached with each movement, but she was determined to get through the ordeal. Her jeans were a little more difficult, but she did have one pair of boot-cuts that were slightly too big and she managed to pull them over the bulge of tape around her ankle.

      Afterward, she even slapped on some lipstick and a bit of mascara and, using the small mirror over a beat-up bureau, surveyed her image. It was better, although her skin was still greenish and scraped, her eyes sunken.

      Half an hour later she emerged, returning to the living room, where the fire was crackling loudly and MacGregor was stacking more wood on the hearth. The pile was now nearly three feet high.

      She knew why.

      “You’re leaving,” she said, realizing he was trying to make it easy for her to keep the cabin warm while he was gone. A black pot simmered on the coals and packets of dried soup and oatmeal were stacked on a table near the fireplace.

      “If I don’t go now, I might not get another chance. I’m determined to find a way to get you out of here. If I can make a phone call, I’ll do that. If I have to saw through some of the trees to open up the roads, then I’ll be a little longer. In any event, I should be back in a few hours. At least before dusk.”

      The thought of being in the cabin alone, just sitting and waiting, was difficult. But she didn’t have any choice.

      “I’m leaving Harley with you, and there’s the gun in the closet.”

      She nodded.

      He walked back to the spot where she was still standing, balanced on her crutch. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, and then, to her surprise, he brushed the barest of kisses against her cheek. “Hang tough.”

      Chapter Seventeen

      Help me!

      Oh God, please, someone help me!

      Rona struggled, fighting the cold, battling the constricting rope that lashed her to the tree, but the more she squirmed, the tighter her binds cut into her flesh. She tried to scream, to yell, to let someone know what he was doing, but the gag, more like a damned muzzle, held back her voice and the only sounds she heard were muffled cries, the frantic beating of her heart, the rush of the wind and her mind screaming at her that she’d been a fool. A fool of the worst order.

      How could she have trusted him, this monster who was binding her to the rough bark of a tree? He’d slid her clothes off and she hadn’t resisted. Had he drugged her? Had she been paralyzed with fear? Or had she felt so desperate and alone that she longed for his attention?

      Oh СКАЧАТЬ