“Perfect,” she answered, her voice soft as she gazed up at him. “Never better.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A routine of sorts developed in the next few days. The sexual tension that had once been a part of the house, eased. Sarah breathed in relief, unaware until then just how tense she had been herself. The plans Brock put in effect for their upcoming wedding blew her mind. She had thought he would try to rescind the offer, she hadn’t expected him to surge forward at such a quick pace.
“We could always lock him in his room until he slows down,” Marly told her as they sat at the kitchen table, tired from the frantic pace they had kept in getting a gown and arrangements together for the small church wedding Brock promised her. Unfortunately, he refused to wait longer than a month to marry her.
Sarah grinned and shook her head. “Probably wouldn’t work. He’d talk me into untying him.”
“You’re so weak, Sarah.” Marly shook her head, laughing.
“Yeah, like you’re any different,” Sarah grunted, glancing out the kitchen window as a spark of light reflected from the trees in the distance.
She frowned, squinting against the sunlight to see if one of the men was working the deserted pasture.
“Marly, is this window bullet proof—” A large crack appeared, as Sarah blinked at the bullet suddenly lodged in the glass.
She heard Marly scream. Sarah jumped away from the table, falling, scrambling away from the window as several more shots fired and suddenly glass was raining down on them as they scrambled across the room.
“Marly, are you okay?” Sarah screamed as she grabbed the other woman and jerked her back along the wall toward the pantry.
Shots were still echoing around the house, dishes shattering, wood and cement flying around them.
“Where are the men? Cade. Brock,” Sarah screamed out desperately as a bullet sent wood flying from the cabinet across from them.
“They’re away from the house,” Marly cried out, clutching her arm, shaking in shock and fear.
A trickle of blood oozed from the other woman’s arm.
“Sarah, he shot me,” Marly whispered, blinking down at the blood.
“It’s a flesh wound. That’s all, Marly.” They ducked as another bullet shattered the toaster on the cabinet. “We have to get out of here. Where the hell are Rick and his men? They should have that bastard by now.”
“Unless he got them.” Marly turned wide, terrified eyes up at Sarah. “What if he got Rick’s men, Sarah?”
“Then we’re sitting ducks,” Sarah said, breathing harshly. “We have to get out of here. We have to get upstairs, Marly. Brock’s gun is in his room. We have to get something to defend ourselves. If he gets into the house and we’re pinned down here, then we’re sitting ducks. We’re dead.”
Another bullet whizzed through the room.
“We’ll have to crawl out.” Marly was pale, but pulling together fast. “If we’re careful, we should be able to avoid the worst of the glass.”
Evidently, the bulletproof glass in the kitchen wasn’t so bullet proof. It had shattered into millions of sharp pieces after the second bullet.
“Belly crawl,” Sarah muttered. “Let’s get it the hell over with, before the bastard gets any closer.”
“Cade’s going to be really pissed over this one,” Marly sighed as they began to crawl across the room.
The bullets didn’t stop. The glass over the sink shattered as they crawled past it, sending a shower of glass spraying over them. Sarah couldn’t scream. She was terrified and evidently Marly was in the same shape. She felt the glass cutting into her arms, her bare legs, but moved quickly across the tile until they reached the door.
“Come on.” She jumped to her feet, helping Marly up behind her. “We have to get upstairs, Marly.”
“The men are hurt, Sarah,” Marly said, fear thickening her voice. “They would have been here by now if they weren’t.”
Sarah knew that. Brock would have been here by now if something weren’t holding him up. She couldn’t even consider he was hurt. If she did, she would lose it. Panic would destroy her, and she couldn’t panic right now.
She eased the kitchen door open, her heart pounding so hard and fast she could hear nothing but the blood rushing through her own veins. The gunfire had ceased, which meant he was likely trying to get to the house. There was no return gunfire. Brock , Cade, nor Sam were rushing into the house, which meant it appeared they were screwed for the moment.
Staying close to the wall Sarah and Marly eased through the dining room until they came to the foyer. Taking a deep breath, Sarah peeked around the wall, seeing the front door open, giving anyone a clear view into the house. Why was the door open—
“Hello.” Sinister, evil, the sound of the mechanically distorted voice whispered from the shadows of the staircase.
Sarah froze. She felt Marly stiffen beside her. She watched as the black clad figure moved from the end of the staircase, his eyes glittering wildly from behind the holes of the pullover mask he wore.
“Sweet Sarah, innocent Marly. Where are your men, I wonder?” He sounded gleeful, smug and confident.
“They’ll be here.” Sarah raised her head, refusing to let the bastard see her fear. “And when they get here, they’ll kill you.”
Damn, there had to be a dozen security guards out there too. What the hell had happened? One man couldn’t have taken them out.
“I believe they are all safely napping, along with their guards,” the stalker sighed, the sound hollow and echoing in the silence of the room. “Tranquilizers are an amazing thing sometimes. If you move carefully, you can take out a whole team of men, and none of them know what happened.”
Marly sagged against the wall beside Sarah.
“So kill us.” He intended to anyway, she wasn’t about to beg him.
He moved closer.
“What’s wrong with sweet little Marly?” Despite the cruel voice, Sarah gained the impression he was suddenly hesitant, concerned.
“You shot her,” she bit out. “What do you think is wrong with her?”
There was surprise in the dark eyes, in the way his body jerked.
“No. I was aiming at you.”
“Then you fucked up, big boy,” Sarah informed him, her voice harsh.
What the hell was Marly up to? It was just a damned flesh wound. A deep one, she admitted, but it looked worse than what it was.
Then Marly whimpered. A pain-ridden, bleak sound as she started to fall. Sarah jumped in surprise as the assailant jumped for the other woman.
“Run,” Marly screamed, suddenly moving quickly.
Her leg shot out in a karate move that would have done Jackie Chan proud as she swept the man’s feet out from under him. His gun went flying as he screamed out in rage.
Grabbing Marly’s arm Sarah ran for the door, careening past it and turning the corner as hard arms grabbed her from behind.
“No!” She was being dragged around the house, a hand clamping over her mouth.
“Sarah, shut up.” Brock. Oh God. His voice, furious, enraged, but his voice hissed in her ear.
She saw Cade then, sweeping Marly back away from the doorway as the black clad figure went running out of the house, still clutching the rifle, searching for a target.
The men moved swiftly. The guns they held in their hands rose, leveled as bullets suddenly pelted the side of the house.
“Fuck!” Brock cursed violently, dragging Sarah on around the house as the sound of a motorcycle fired up.
Brock and Cade kept them moving until they were able to push them into the back door, back into the kitchen.
“Stay.” The order was direct, furious as they rushed from the house again.
Sarah looked at Marly with a frown.
“Do they do that often?” Sarah asked Marly with a frown.
“Often.” Marly slid down the wall, her pale face gleaming with perspiration as she collapsed on the floor.
“Are y
ou okay, Marly?” Sarah flung a drawer open, grabbed a dishrag and wrapped it around the wound on the other woman’s arm.
“Yeah. Just tired.” Tired and terrified. Sarah completely sympathized with her.
Sam stumbled into the house then, dazed, shaking his head.
“Asshole put us the hell to sleep.” He shook his head, took one look at Marly and paled. He turned and rushed back out of the house again.
“Uh oh.” Marly leaned her head against the wall. “All hell will break loose now.”
Cade’s demented scream echoed around them, causing both women to wince. He rushed into the house at a dead run, nearly falling on the glass as he slid to a stop. He stared down at the bloody rag wrapped around Marly’s arm, then paled alarmingly.
“Marly?” He went to his knees in front of her.
“You faint and I’ll clobber you,” she bit out. “Big, tough man can play cowboy and stalker but can’t handle a little blood.”
Sarah snorted. Cade could only shake his head.
“Marly, how bad is it?” Brock seemed to be the only sane one. He knelt beside Sarah, touching Marly’s cheek gently as he watched her.
“It’s a scratch. Might need a stitch or two though. I’d appreciate it if you would call Doc. I could sure use one of those pain shots he’s always pawning off on everyone,” she sighed.
Cade unwrapped the makeshift bandage and it was then that Sarah saw the tears that covered the man’s face. Marly ignored them, but her face was ravaged by the pain the sight of it caused.
“Cade, she’s fine,” Sarah assured him. “What about the bastard with the gun?”
“He got away. He drugged Rick’s men, knocked Rick out. We were lucky this time. He thought he got Brock and me but we were able to fool him. We tried to get here sooner.”
“Call Doc, Sam,” Cade bit out. “I’m taking Marly upstairs. Get the sheriff out here and see if Rick and his men are able to walk yet. I want everyone in the fucking house, now.”
He picked Marly up in his arms, cradling her close, his body trembling with tiny shudders barely discernable in the dimming light.
“That man needs a relaxer,” Sarah sighed, leaning wearily against Brock. “Hell, I think I need one.”
Brock was silent. He lifted her into his arms, much as Cade had Marly and moved swiftly through the house to his room.
“You’re bleeding.” His voice was rough as he sat her on the toilet and began to run water into the tub.
Sarah looked down at her legs, her arms.
“Scratches, I don’t even feel them.” Then she gasped.
Brock was kneeling in front of her, jerking her to him, his lips covering hers desperately.
* * * * *
His control shattered. Brock knew he was losing his grip on his sanity. Damn her, she was so cool, so controlled, but he could see the fear in her eyes, the shock and terror and it was too familiar, reminded him too well of the horror he sometimes saw in his own eyes when he dared to look in a mirror. He had to wipe it away. He had to take the pain away. Erase the fear.
He kissed her in desperation. His tongue licked at her lips, his hands tore at her dress until he had her naked, his hands stroking her until he heard her moans of pleasure. He looked in her eyes, saw them darkening with passion, felt the heat of her body, the pleasure replacing the fear.
“Bath,” he whispered.
He drew her to her feet, then helped her into the large garden tub, sinking in with her, drawing her over him until his cock slid easily into the tight heat of her vagina.
“Ride me,” he growled.
He watched her face as she moved over him, her eyes lowered drowsily, her face flushed, sweat and blood rinsing away as he drew her into the water, his body laying back against the tub, his head twisting in pleasure as he let her set the pace, let her find their pleasure.
Then he felt the small tremors in her cunt. Felt her flexing around him, milking him, burning him alive. He groaned, harsh and deep as he began to cum, spurting his semen deep inside the wet velvet recess of her cunt.
She collapsed against his chest, breathing heavily. Fighting for his own breath, he grabbed a cloth and soap and began to wash her. He checked each scratch, kissed as many as he could find, and when she was laying relaxed and drowsy against him, her head cushioned on his chest, he let his own tears fall. For the first time in twelve years, he felt the salty moisture easing over his cheeks. But rather than tears of pain, they were of thankfulness. She was alive. And that was all that mattered to him. All that would ever matter.
CHAPTER THIRTY- THREE
Sarah sat beside Brock in the kitchen the next day, the others gathered around the table, surrounded by Rick and his deal of guards. All eyes were centered on the paper lying in the middle of it.
Time to go. Yet I shall return. Precious children, the future is mine.
Lock your doors, cover your windows well. The past has returned, and now tis time to die.
You shed the blood. You took the life. But your sins were never hidden.
Cade and Marly. Ahh, the perfect pair. Brock and Sarah, safe within the lair.
Sam I ask, is precious Heather near?
Until you seek again, to mend a fractured soul. I shall rest in ease, for none shall be whole. As long as one aches, twists in nightmares and screams in pain. Then I shall have my pleasure, until the last, the final shall be slain.
“Heather stuck his own knife in his gut the night he attacked her,” Rick told them all. “We found blood with traces of DNA that doesn’t match hers. A good puddle of it, so I suspect she got him good.”
“But he’ll be back.” Sam stared at the paper, his eyes haunted, his voice hoarse. “If I seek again.”
His fist clenched on the table. They all looked at him, all knew he was blaming himself, not just for Heather’s attack, but Sarah’s and Marly’s as well.
“Sam, he’ll come back anyway,” Tara told him, her voice soft, but filled with anger. “We know this. This isn’t about you. It’s about all of you. We have to figure out who he is. None of you are safe until we do.”
Sam rose to his feet. He shook his head, turning and walking quickly from the room.
Tara looked at Cade. No one knew what to say now, how to go on. The danger wasn’t over, and they all wondered if it ever would be.
“He had to have a son. One no one knew about.” Rick stepped forward, talking about the bastard who had nearly killed the men years ago. “I’m sending out a team to Utah in the morning. We’ll get a complete background on him, see what we can find out.”
Cade rose to his feet, sighing deeply.
“Find him quickly. What about Heather?” His voice was hard, cold.
“She’s healing. She’ll be out of the hospital next week. Doc says a month for recovery,” he told him. “Why?”
“I want her back here, if she’s willing.” The look he gave Rick was filled with cold purpose. “She belongs to Sam and I want her here.”
“What about Heather and what she wants?” Tara asked him, her eyes narrowing.
“The bastard knows what he’s doing. If Heather hadn’t cared for Sam, it wouldn’t have happened. And if she cared for him before the attack, then she cares for him now. She didn’t look like a woman that scares off easy.”
Tara exchanged a glance with Rick, then sighed.
“She’s fighting to come back now,” she told them wearily.
“She can recuperate here. We’ll take care of her.” Marly came to her feet, her face drawn, her eyes hard. “Bring her here. Sam doesn’t need time to build a defense against her. Get her here, Tara. Then get every man you can find here. We’ll put them on as cowboys, no one will know the difference.”
Sarah leaned her head against Brock’s chest, feeling his arm tighten around her. They still weren’t safe. As long as that bastard was out there, they were all in danger.
“We’ll get through it,” Brock promised her, holding her close. “And we’ll get Sam through it.”
/> “Sam is the catalyst,” Rick told Brock softly. “Sam knows it. Find out why, Brock. Until we know, we’re helpless. We have to know why this guy has fixated on Sam.”
Brock sighed. He rose to his feet, pulling Sarah up with him.
“Sam won’t talk about it. But I’ll do what I can.”
“Brock,” Tara stopped him. “Heather won’t give Sam what he needs from a woman. Are you sure you want her here?”
Brock glanced down at Sarah. When his grin came, it was slow, easy.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m sure, Tara. Maybe she’s just what Sam needs.”
Sarah shook her head. Brock sometimes had a strange sense of humor, she had learned.
“When she’s released, we’ll bring her here.” Rick nodded. “I’ve pulled in more men, they’ll work the ranch, blend in better than the others. We have to get him soon, Brock. This is becoming more dangerous each time he attacks.”
“I agree, Rick. Get your men here. We’ll do whatever we have to, to catch the bastard.” Brock nodded.
He turned, drawing Sarah from the dining room, heading for their bedroom. Rick’s arrival had disturbed his play and he was eager to return.
“Do you think Sam suspects he’s in love with her?” she asked him as they entered their room.
“Sure he does. He’s no fool. But he’ll fight it.” Brock closed the door behind him, then began removing Sarah’s clothes quickly.
“But does he know he loves her?” She slapped his hands away as she continued to worry about the despondency Sam had sunk into since reading that letter.
“Not yet.” Brock grinned. “But he will, Sarah, when the time is right. Just like we did.”
* * * * *
Marly sat alone on the patio hours later. The words in the poetry-style letter haunted her. She knew them. Knew the style. Surely it wasn’t an uncommon style of composing such poetry, she thought. Random phrases, a blending of sounds. She knew herself from her college classes two years before that it was common. But she also knew that each writer had his or her own style. Each one did it differently.