Her Only Salvation (9 page)

Doing her level best to ignore the warm feeling blooming in the center of her chest, Terri unzipped one of the bags and got to work finding a place for all of her things. When she finished with that chore, which took her no time at all, she fumbled with what to do with herself next. As if to answer her unspoken question, her stomach growled loudly.

Venturing into the kitchen, she pulled up short and willed herself into the shadows as she watched the scene play out before her.

Luke, in nothing but a pair of low slung exercise shorts, moved around the kitchen, pulled out an oversized pan, and set it on the stove. He poured a bit of oil inside, swirled it around and set the flame to high. Pivoting around, he opened the fridge, thought about his next move, then pulled out a container, a bottle filled with brown liquid, and a selection of vegetables.

Emptying one of the containers into the pan, Luke turned his attention to the vegetables and started chopping them. Terri leaned against the wall, watching raptly.  She had never seen a man so at home in a kitchen before. 

Then his deep, rumbling voice split through her daydream like the crack of a whip.

“If you’re going to watch, you might as well help,” he said without looking up.

Surprised and somewhat chagrined, Terri strode to his side with a false air of confidence. “What do you want me to do?” she asked, glancing at the sizzling pan, which held a mound of white rice.

“Can you cook?”

“Sometimes.”

Luke snorted. “What can you cook ‘sometimes’?”

Terri shrugged. “Toast, eggs…I’m a much better baker, though.”

“You bake?” he asked with a lift of one thick eyebrow.

“Yes, very well, too, thank you very much.” She was smiling, and the easy feeling she got while around him both warmed her and worried her. She’d never had many friends, and there were so many reasons she shouldn’t be friends with Luke. He was her boss, for starters, and she couldn’t forget that as long as Randy was gunning for her, Luke was also a target. And the tiny spark of attraction she might be having toward him? Well, she wasn’t even going to acknowledge that.

“Well, since I can’t trust you with the stove,”—he handed her the large knife he’d been using to chop the vegetables—“you can take over the helm here.”

Terri got to chopping, being very careful of her fingers, which made her slow, but she liked having all her digits so kept her pace. Behind her, Luke added the brown liquid, which had turned out to be teriyaki sauce, and a delicious aroma punched her in the gut, causing her stomach to rumble.

“Geez,” Luke said, coming up behind her. “What have you done?” Baffled, Terri looked down at the pile of carrots but couldn’t find a problem. Positioning himself behind her, Luke reached around, placing his hands over hers, and cuffed the hand holding the knife. “Like this,” he said, his breath fanning her ear.

Terri couldn’t think clearly with him standing so close. Luke guided her hand, making perfect, thin slices through the carrot. “Large chunks don’t cook up well in a stir-fry,” he explained. “The smaller the better.”

When they finished with the carrot, he pulled a large onion over and began slicing through that, too. Tears stung her eyes and her nose began to run, but Terri refused to break the connection, enjoying the sensation of being held far more than she should.

“Do you smell that?” Terri asked a while later, wrinkling her nose. “I think its smoke.”

With a curse, Luke broke away, dashed to the stove and yanked the pan off the burner. “Well,” he said, using a wooden spoon to move the slightly burned rice around, “I think it’s still edible.”

“Good to hear, because I’m starving.” She brought the expertly chopped vegetables to him and watched as he plopped them into the pan and returned it to the fire, this time keeping an extra close eye on it.

When dinner was ready, they took their plates to a small seating area overlooking the dark forest beyond, and Terri curled up, resting her plate in her lap. She moaned at the first bite, too wrapped up in the explosion of rich flavor on her tongue to be embarrassed. “This is really good,” she said around a mouthful of food.

Luke broke into a grin. “Thanks. Don’t forget you had a hand in it.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “You forget that I needed help to slice a simple carrot.”

“They’re good carrots,” he said appreciatively, then popped one in his mouth and winked at her. 

Her heart did a backflip.

Dropping her gaze, Terri focused on eating, or at least tried to. Being around Luke was messing with her equilibrium. In just a few short hours, she was already losing sight of why she was here. Her husband was hunting her down, and despite how safe she might feel under Luke’s watchful eyes, there was nowhere that she could run that Randy wouldn’t follow. It was only a matter of time before he caught up with her, and there was no doubt in her mind that he was going to make her pay.

Chapter Nine

Detective Howard Young stood at the foot of the hospital bed watching the steady rise and fall of the young college student’s chest as the machines attached to him worked to keep him alive. Brent Lefebvre, barely twenty-one, had been mowed down in a parking lot crawling with patrons by what was probably a drunken driver, and no one had witnessed a thing. He didn’t buy it for a second.

He’d already questioned friends around campus, focusing on those who had been at the club that night. They all said the same thing: Everyone was drinking and having a good time. On a dare, Brent attempted to pick up one of the waitresses and was shot down. After that, he pretty much packed up and left. Every one of them had stayed inside, so they were a dead end and a half as far as he was concerned. Covering every angle, he had questioned family members too.  They described Brent as a bright kid with a scholarship and no enemies, and they couldn’t give him any more answers than his friends. None of it added up. So Howard decided another stop-in at the hospital to see if there had been any changes couldn’t hurt.

A recent pile up on the I-280 bridge had swamped the ER, and wouldn’t luck have it, the doctor he needed to speak with, the one who usually worked ICU, was tending to the vics. Pulling up a chair, the detective readied himself for a long wait.

He didn’t have to wait long.

A brunet, somewhere in her late forties, with pale skin and tired, swollen eyes strode into the room. Her steps faltered when she caught sight of him, but she quickly recovered. Striding to the chair opposite the bed, she placed a large purse on the floor then turned her attention to the boy.

This was Brent’s mother, Teresa Lefebvre. They’d met once before, the night of the accident. She had been vibrant then, but the trauma had taken its toll, putting bags under eyes and creases in her skin. In that short of time, she had aged ten years.

“The doctor says he’s in a coma,” she said solemnly, combing manicured nails through Brent’s matted, unwashed hair. Misty eyes lifted to meet his. “Do you have any leads, Detective?”

He shook his head, wishing he had better news. The truth was, the department had its suspicions, but even if they could share them, they were unfounded. Innocent until proven guilty and all that.

“What has the doctor said?” he asked, turning the topic away from the investigation. “Is Brent going to come out of this?”

Teresa looked down at her son and made a production of straightening his hospital gown and smoothing his blankets around him. “Doctor Pinsky says all the tests show that brain activity is fine despite the head injury. There’s some brain swelling, but they’re monitoring it. Other than that, broken bones that should heal over time.”

Howard could sense that there was something she wasn’t saying, and he felt compelled to call her on it. “What else did he say?”

Teresa straightened and looked heavenward, releasing a long-suffering breath. “That no matter how good it looks on paper, there is no guarantee that Brent will ever make a full recovery. If the brain swelling increases, his chances go down. It’s up to him now.”

He didn’t like that, not at all. The investigation had hit a wall. What they needed was a break in the case, and like it or not, Brent was that break. He might have been the only one to see what the driver looked like or, at the very least, be able to give them an idea of where to look.

“And you said he didn’t have any enemies? No one that might want to see him get hurt?” he asked Teresa again, because sometimes even the slightest variation in a story could move mountains.

“I already told you, Brent made friends, not enemies. Everyone loved him.” Reaching out, she tenderly smoothed Brent’s hair back from his face.

Howard stood and crossed to the door. “I’m sure that’s true, Ms. Lefebvre, but where are all those friends now?” As he stepped into the hall, he could feel her icy glare searing into his back. Turning to the nurses’ station, he was preparing to ask them how much longer the wait would be when a smooth, calm voice that only a doctor could have, approached him from behind.

“Detective Young?” Howard turned and found himself face-to-face with a younger version of George Clooney. He’d just bet that the nurses fell all over themselves when he entered a room, and, yep, there went one now.

“Dr. Pinsky,” the petite blonde asked with a flirty smile. “Sorry to interrupt, but they need you in SICU, and you have a call on line six.”

“Thank you, Geena.” Dr. Pinsky turned back to Howard with a friendly smile. “Where was I? Oh yes,” he said with a snap of his fingers. “You’re here for an update on the hit and run?”

“I am,” Howard confirmed. “I am updating the files so I need anything you can give me.”

Dr. Pinsky stepped up to the nurses’ station and leaned over the counter, earning a shy smile from a blushing receptionist, and withdrew a cream folder. “The patient has suffered a traumatic closed head injury and some other non-life-threatening injuries. The fact that he hasn’t woken up yet is a little troublesome, but coma is not unusual with an injury like this. We’ve performed some tests and haven’t been able to locate any fractures or signs of a bleed, but we are monitoring him closely.” Closing the file, Pinsky slapped it on the counter.

Howard blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s about all that can be done at the moment,” Pinsky said, burying his hands in his jacket pockets. “Well, Detective, everyone’s body handles trauma differently. Some are up and walking the next day, others slip into a coma. There’s no telling how one will react. As I told Ms. Lefebvre, it’s up to Brent now. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get going,” he said, already turning away. “If you have any more questions, leave them with one of the nurses and I’ll be sure to get in contact with you.”

Howard narrowed his eyes at the back of his head as he walked away. He didn’t know what he expected to hear when he came here, but he was hoping for more than a ‘we’ll have to wait and see what happens’ approach.

Frustrated, Howard marched to the elevators and punched the button. He needed answers. The person responsible for all of this was still out there, and it was only a matter of time before he hurt or killed someone else. It was time for him return to the scene of the crime, talk some more to the owner, Luke Reed, again, and see if he could jog his memory.

Everyone in the station knew who the guy was, and it was common knowledge that the kind of business he ran wasn’t the family-oriented type. The guy had his hands in some seriously shady dealings, but no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t get a solid break on him. At every turn, he covered his tracks well.

But Luke wasn’t at the top of his hit list right now, so he could care less what he did behind closed doors. What he needed was answers, and he had a feeling that Luke Reed knew more than he was telling, and with nothing else to go on, he had no choice but to explore every nook and cranny, because he sure as hell wasn’t getting anywhere waiting around here.

***

Randy finished the last of his black coffee and tossed the Styrofoam cup on the floorboard. He glared at his new home away from home, what was now an empty vessel. Where was Terri? He knew for a fact that she hadn’t been home in two days, because he had been waiting and watching.

He was sure she was working, though he hadn’t been able to confirm it yet. When he stopped by the Sunset last night, the sleek black Mercedes was parked in its usual space at the back of the building, but that hadn’t been all. A figure slipped through the long line, flashed his wallet and went in without issue. Worse, he recognized the face.

The man was a detective that worked the crime division and was someone Randy was well acquainted with. Seemed the detective had a real aversion to men who knew how to control their women properly, which made them enemies of sorts. No doubt, the punk he’d been forced to cut down recently had brought him here, which meant that Randy needed to make himself scarce for a while.

On his way out of the parking lot, Randy did a quick visual scan, but Terri’s car was nowhere to be found, which could only mean one of two things. Either she wasn’t showing up to work, or she was getting a ride from someone else. And he could just bet who that someone might be.

Stepping down from the cab, Randy crossed the darkened street and marched up the drive to the lonely ranch like he belonged there. And very soon, he would. He didn’t bother with the back door this time, instead preferring to go through the front. Closing himself around the door to block any potential nosey neighbors from seeing what he was up to, Randy jimmied the simple lock with the point of his new pocket knife, a smile creeping across his face when the door opened easily.

Every room in the house was plunged into darkness, confirming his suspicions that Terri hadn’t been home in a while. A small pang of disappointment washed over him. He didn’t know what he expected to find exactly. Part of him was hoping to find her, maybe do a little ‘honey, I’m home’ action, that way they could get started on reconciling their relationship, but it was obvious that would have to wait.

He did a quick sweep of the house, finding absolutely nothing, which did nothing to spark his temper compared to the feeling he got when he opened the door to the attached garage and found her car sitting there, cold and unused. This left him under no illusions as to where she was and who she was with.

Rage colored his vision red as he stormed into the garage and picked up a shovel standing in the corner against the wall. Lifting it over his head, he brought the business end down on the hood, creating a large dent right in the middle. He worked his way around the car, taking his anger out on the side panels, windows, and taillights, until the car looked like it had been in a demolition derby.

He wasn’t done.

Chest heaving, Randy selected a can of black spray paint from a nearby shelf and studied the wreck for the best place to start. When he found it, he shook the can vigorously, popped the cap off and got to work. Terri may think she had gotten one over on him, but she would soon find out that Randy Cunningham was not one to be fooled around with. This time, he was going to send a message that Terri couldn’t ignore.