Familiar Strangers (3 page)

Her pleasure was short lived when the velvet began to cut into her skin and blackness swirled around her. She couldn’t believe her life would end this way, in this manner. Everything she had worked and sacrificed for would be for nothing. She was going to be dead before she even had the chance to live. There were so many things she’d never taken the time for because she had assured herself when she finished college she would have all the time in the world. Now time had run out, and none of her dreams would have the chance to come true.

The blackness had almost completely engulfed her when the ringing in her ears was interrupted by a man’s shout.

“Police! Drop your weapon and let the girl go!” a man’s voice shouted in alarm.

Regin had never heard such a beautiful sound in her life. She had a chance when she felt the ribbon loosen once again.

“Let her go or I’ll shoot. I’ll give you to the count of three,” the officer warned her assailant, but he never got to one. Her attacker dropped the hand holding the velvet to her throat and plunged the knife he’d held in his other hand into her chest.

Regin felt a sharp burst of pain as her legs gave out from beneath her and she fell to the concrete. She gasped and looked down, horrified to see blood pouring from the bloody hole in her chest. Pain filled her world as black dots swam in her vision, heat and cold battled for control of her body. From a distance she heard strange popping sounds and then the sound of more voices and shouting. She had to crawl away. It wasn’t safe here.

He could still come after her. Had to hide. If he touched her again, he’d kill without waiting.

“All I could hear was a voice telling me to hold on, everything would be okay. I didn’t even know he’d been shot till three days later.”

Tatum’s window looked out over the New York skyline. The sheer pandemonium of the city gave her a sense of calm as she turned to look at her friend.

The other woman’s face was pale. But instead of seeing the expected pity reflected in her blue eyes, Regin saw sympathy mixed with anger. “What he did... What he threatened to do... Where is he now? I’d like to spend ten minutes alone with that sick son of a bitch.” She shook her head, her eyes focused somewhere over Regin’s left shoulder. “How badly were you hurt?”

Regin waved a hand to dismiss the injury that had almost cost her life. “I got off easy. My breastbone prevented the knife from reaching my heart. My left lung was punctured but, all in all, I was lucky to be alive.”

She’d woken to the sounds of machines beeping and soft-soled shoes whispering across tile. She panicked not knowing where she was or who was around her until she’d spied Damon. Her best friend slept in a corner, his dark hair contrasting sharply with the reptile green chair he’d packed himself into.

It had taken days to finally pry what happened out of him.

The campus police had saved her when her screams had brought the night officer running. The same officer had also been the one to shoot the man accused of attacking her.

He was now lying in the same hospital, two floors above her, under police guard. His condition was listed as critical. He’d been shot three times in the chest, stomach, and shoulder before he stopped.

HPD had identified the attacker as the Bow Tie Strangler, and she was his only victim left alive. There, in her hospital room, surrounded by machines and staff, she had made the decision to stop putting her life on hold.

Regin had learned the hard way just how precious life really was. There would never be a better time to sit back and enjoy. She had money left from her parent’s life insurance policy and the trust fund her grandparents set up when she was born.

Before the week was out, she’d refused the New York job, cashed in bonds and portfolios, determined to start living her life no matter what.

“So, Tatum, that’s why I’m here and why I need your help. That’s why I can’t seem to settle down in one place and why I might seem skittish of strangers. I’ll get over this one day. I’ll learn to live without this fear, but, unfortunately,” she tried a weak grin, “today’s not that day.”

Galen had been on his way out when Elliot Renoir called. He’d stared at the ringing phone, debating whether it would be smarter to let his voice mail pick up or answer it himself. Years of ingrained habit forced him to drop the keys and pick up the mobile phone.

“Matthews,” he barked into the receiver.

“Galen, man, glad I caught you. How are things? Where are you? When can you start?” Elliot fired off the questions without so much as taking a breath.

Galen shot his answers back. “You didn’t catch me. Fine. Leaving Killeen tomorrow. I’ll start after I finish my vacation.” He didn’t need this. He’d been waiting months to take this vacation to his childhood home in Louisiana and was looking forward to doing nothing but sitting on his dock fishing.

He’d been working non-stop for the past six months to trap a group of gun-toting computer geeks pirating programs from a Fortune 500 company. His team had just finished the paperwork two days ago. They were all long overdue for some R&R. He wasn’t getting involved. Not until after he had much deserved time off.

His friend sighed over the line. “Galen, you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” The sound of papers shuffling in the background came across the phone. It was a sure sign Elliot was in the middle of writing. For him to call in the middle of a book, it had to be big.

Shit, he didn’t need this.

“It’s personal, buddy. It’s a friend and she needs help.”

“What type of help are we talking about? I’ve got good men at the office. Call first thing tomorrow and I’ll make sure they give you everything you need,” he offered.

“No, you don’t understand. It’s really personal,” Elliot insisted. “I need the best. I need you on this.” He stopped and took a breath. “Please.”

His heart pounded in his chest and his pulse raced as his friend’s words passed over him. “God, Elliot, it’s not Tatum is it? Is she ok? What the hell have you two done now?” Galen, like the rest of Elliot’s friends, was aware of the history between Elliot and his beautiful wife. Theirs had been a romance for the history books. Elliot, a successful writer in popular suspense spy novels, had met his future bride while researching his next novel on the Internet in a chat room.

Neither one had known anything about the other and would never have met except for the Galen’s well-meaning intervention. A fateful night and one phone call had led to Elliot flying down to meet Tatum in person. They married within six months.

What had they gotten themselves into that would have led Elliot to make this desperate call? “No, no, it’s not us, or at least it’s not something Tatum’s dragged us into,” Elliot assured him.

Galen heard Tatum in the background. “Elliot is that him? What did he say? Do I need to talk to him?” she asked. There was the muffled sound of the receiver being covered, then Elliot said,

“Tatum’s a bit anxious as you can imagine,” he explained.

“No, I can’t imagine, since you haven’t told me what’s going on other than it’s personal.”

“All right, let me explain, and then you can tell me what you need from me,” he continued. “It’s Tatum’s friend. You’ve heard us mention her once or twice, Regin Neff. She’s one of my wife’s favorite authors and friend. She needs help.” He paused. “It really is a matter of life or death. Galen, someone’s going to try to kill her.”

As he hung up the phone, he knew this was by far the worst idea he’d ever had. He kept telling himself he would look the material over as nothing more than a favor to an old friend. He was still repeating the mantra to himself as he downloaded the files Elliot sent him.

The answer was still a firm but solid no when the files were completed and he began reading about the life of Regin Neff. The final choice was taken from him when he finished downloading her picture and recognized her as the woman from the bar. The same woman he’d spent days fantasizing about and nights waking up in a hot sweat reaching for, but never finding her there.

Damn it, he was going to say yes.

****

“Damon, it’s Tatum,” her voice quiet. “We have to talk.”

He was surprised to hear from her. It had been more than a year since Tatum broke off their engagement to marry Elliot Renoir. He probably would still be sulking over the breakup except Regin had asked him directly what he was so upset about. The fact she didn’t love him or that she had dumped him. He concluded Regin was right, and only stubborn pride that kept him from wishing Tatum well. Now here on the phone was the woman he’d thought he would spend the rest of his life with calling to tell him they had to talk.

“Tatum. How are you?” He was truly surprised to find it didn’t hurt to talk with her. In fact, he was finding out he’d missed the friendship they had shared once upon a time.

“I’m sorry if this is a bad time for you,” she began gently, “but it’s important. Wrong, I’m not sorry and I don’t care if you’re pissed off at me or not. Regin needs your help,” she paused. “The bastard’s out, Damon. Shawn Townsend is out. Someone helped the Bow Tie Strangler escape, and we both know who he’s coming after. If he finds Regin, he’s going to kill her.”

It took him the better part of twenty minutes to get the whole story from her. By the time she finished, his blood was running cold with fear. “When is she leaving? How did she react when you told her? Why hasn’t she called me? Is there a safe house where the government can stash her?” His mind reeled, sorting through and discarding ideas for her safety.

He’d missed Tatum’s reply. “What? Sorry, I’m trying to rearrange my schedule.”

“I said, I haven’t told her he’s out yet.”

“What the hell do you mean you haven’t told her?” he yelled. “Are you insane?”

“Damn it, Damon, stop yelling at me,” she yelled back. “Just calm down and listen.” She took several deep breaths, trying to control her own fierce temper. “What do you think would happen if we told Regin he’s loose? I’ll tell you what she’d do. She’d hide, that’s what. She would hide from him, us, the government, and everyone else. So Elliot came up with a plan to keep her safe and under surveillance without her knowing,” she hurried on. “He’s got a friend that owns his own security firm. He mostly handles corporate crimes, embezzlement, fraud that sort of thing. The man’s an ex-Navy SEAL, tough as nails, and he’ll guard her with his life. Not to mention the fact we’ve got the perfect place to hide her without her knowing what’s going on.”

He wasn’t about to be put off with so little information. He wanted to know who this man was and what he was going to do to keep his best friend safe. “Look, Tatum, I appreciate what you and Elliot are trying to do, but it won’t work. Duchess will take one look at this guy and guess everything, not to mention the fact Shawn Townsend’s escape will be all over the news.” How did she expect to keep this from Regin, he wondered? He quickly received his answer.

“Well, ah, the FBI has agreed to keep this out of the media for at least a week, but they can’t or won’t guarantee anything more.”

“The Anniversary.” he whispered as his eyes fell on his desk calendar. “That fucking bastard’s coming after her on their anniversary.” Fear clutched at his stomach, but he forced it away. He needed to be sharp for Regin’s sake. After Regin was safe, then he would let himself feel.

“So,” he continued, “we have six days to catch a serial rapist and killer before he catches Regin.” He was making plans and rearranging his schedule. Nothing was more important than his friend.

“God, Damon, I didn’t realize it was so close. I’ll make sure to tell Galen. He is setting everything up as we speak. I’ve got Regin set up on an island off the coast of Louisiana called St. Ann. From everything he’s told us, it’s perfect for her needs and it would be close to impossible for anyone to sneak on without him knowing. I know you’re going to drop everything and run to her, but you have to get yourself together before you do. If she senses something is wrong, she won’t let up till she knows the truth. If she finds out the truth, she’ll make a run for it.”

He hated to admit it, but he agreed. The minute Regin found out Townsend was out, she’d run like hell to keep anyone else from getting involved or possibly killed.

He ran an irritated hand through his black hair, trying to summon the patience to stay calm and controlled. Taking a deep breath and calling for tolerance he never had, he asked questions. “Who is this Galen? What’s the name of his company? I want to check him out for myself.”

He picked up the discarded pen and made a list of everything she was telling him. He had made plans before the phone hit the receiver.

He was going to Louisiana to check out Galen Matthews himself.

***

Regin Neff was in love.

She had been on St. Ann Island for ten minutes and knew she’d found home. The island itself wasn’t large, but big enough to hold the main house and guest cottage. It was the cottage she gave her heart to.

Everything about the place seemed familiar and comforting. It was about two thousand square feet with two large bedrooms, two baths, and an open living room with a rock fireplace flowing into a small but fully furnished kitchen.

The outside was painted white with cheerful blue trim. A wide porch circled the house leading to the backyard where steps led down to the rough water of the Gulf.

She couldn’t imagine a place she’d be happier or more at ease. The house was perfect, the water was wonderful, and the music of the bayou enticed her to unwind.

This was going to be the best six months of her life. She would have no worries except sleeping late, learning to fish, and forgetting anything that came before this moment.

Taking a deep breath of fresh salty air, she turned her back to the house and started toward her Land Rover to carry her boxes in.

She’d unpacked her suitcases and few personal items when she heard her name called out. Squinting from the sun, she turned to the sound of a masculine voice.

He stood half in the cool shade and half in bright sunlight. His worn jeans looked soft to the touch and molded his legs and sex to perfection. His only other concession to clothing was an equally old and worn white T-shirt stretched tautly over rippled arms and washboard stomach.

For a spilt second, she saw him in another light, his hand held out to her, his eyes filled with a yearning and pain she didn’t understand. A smile breaking across his face warmed his silver gray eyes. His hand outstretched, fingers reaching across the distance begging her to come. He was reaching for her.

The sound of a birdcall broke her vision, and Regin had to remind herself to breathe as she shook off the vision and called out from her secure position by the truck. “Hello, you must be the neighbor my friend was telling me about.”

She stuck her hand out once he got closer. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He grasped her hand tightly into his and pulled her hard against his warm body then wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her head to his chest. “That was a very stupid thing to do,” he growled at her. “You have no idea who or what I am, and you just welcomed me right on in.”

While his movements surprised her, his words certainly didn’t. It was the same thing she heard over and over again from Damon. She rarely listened to her best friend’s warning, and there was no way in hell she was going to listen to some over-muscled stranger’s. “Look, Bayou Bubba, thanks for the warning, but I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be warning me of anything, Cher’.”

****


It was the effect Galen wanted. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he walked out to his porch and saw her calmly unpacking. The dog she was supposed to always travel with was nowhere to be seen, nor did she seem to have any weapon close at hand for defense. The woman had no common sense. She just stuck out her hand as if he were a long lost relative.

It was time to teach her the harder lessons of life. The smile she gave was meant to disarm and distract. It did neither. His grasp continued to get tighter and he left her no room to maneuver. He knew all the moves she could make, most he’d taught. He wasn’t giving her an inch to move or adjust her position. Let her see she was completely at his disposal, maybe then fear would kick her sense of self preservation into gear.

Her mind, he knew from experience teaching self-defense, was probably busy trying to sort through the different defense positions she’d been taught throughout the years. Her arms were banded tightly to her sides, her legs captive between his own, and her head was held tautly to his chest by his heated palm. Physically she was stuck, but not for long. He might have imprisoned her body, but he’d forgotten her mouth.

Before he could blink, she pursed her lips and let out an ear shattering, glass-breaking whistle. No sooner had the first note left her mouth when a ferocious growl came, followed by a flurry of gold streaking toward them.

Galen lost precious seconds trying to assimilate the fact that the delicate woman in his arms had let a whistle rip that would make a sailor proud. Then it was too late to do more than act.

He felt a huge hit along his back and he tumbled down still holding Regin with one arm. The other was already reaching beneath his T- shirt pulling out his gun. It was the damnedest position he’d ever managed to get himself into. He was trying to protect a woman who was determined not to be protected. Now he was forced to deal with a new threat he hadn’t seen coming.