What She's Looking For (30 page)

Chapter Twenty Three

T
he sun was so bright, it seemed to make
the window over the kitchen sink almost glow. She finished the last dish, doing
an entire dishwasher load of them, thinking about much easier the most mundane
of tasks became now that she had two good arms. She'd practically begged Parker
to let her help — to let her do
something
while she convalesced. He'd
relented with a whispered “We'll talk about your behavior later” against her
ear that sent a frisson of dread mixed with anticipation shuddering through
her.

Had her strident insistence that
she be allowed to help just gotten her into hot water?

I hope so — it's been a long
time since I've had a good spanking.

“Jesus, you whore. Did you really
just think that?” She laughed to herself, shaking her head. Through the window
she could see Drake bent over under the hood of his truck. He'd told her he
wanted to take her shooting next time he decided to go out. Parker normally
went, but had suggested he take her instead since she'd never shot a weapon
before. The smile on Drake's face told her she was in for something, but she
had no clue what.

But it didn't matter. She trusted
him — maybe just as much as she trusted Parker.

The vision of his rugged face above
her as she lay on that roadway, the cold snow melting into the legs of her
pants, was a sight she'd never forget.

He'd saved her. He'd been there to
protect her, keep her from harm. She remembered how much she wanted to kiss him
when she'd finally come to in the ER. That look of helpless concern in his dark
eyes. All he'd cared about was that she was okay. It touched her, and when she
was alone later that night, she'd wept for him. Because she could see the doubt
there — that longing, that fear that she couldn't touch.

And all she'd wanted was to be held
in those huge arms again, just as she'd been that day on the road. In those
warm, safe, loving arms.

There'd been a time she'd have felt
shame at harboring such thoughts for Drake. But now, she knew, really knew,
that whatever journey they'd started, whatever hell might lay ahead, she'd have
more than Parker to lean on. More than Parker to help her find herself.

And she knew that it wasn't only
Parker who needed something else too, who needed the love of a woman. If he'd
have her, if Drake was ready for it — and if it was something Parker would
agree to — one day soon she hoped it might be her.

She watched the two men outside,
Parker's tall lines leaning against the truck, punching something into his
phone, wind whipping at the open leather coat he wore. He smiled, looking back
at Drake, who was shaking his hand in pain. There was the clatter of metal, and
the tones of a curse from Drake audible even through the closed window, as
Parker leaned his head back in laughter. Her men.

God, she still couldn't believe it.

She leaned down put the last plate
into the dishwasher, pressed the door home and pushed the start button. When
she looked back out at the men, she frowned. They were gone.

Craning over the sink, she looked
around to see where they were — then almost screamed.

She found Parker and Drake — and
they weren’t alone.

* * *

“Drake, you ever see that truck
before?”

“What?” Goddammit, I can't access
this bolt. Who builds these fucking things now? I need an arm with about five
joints to do this.”

Parker slapped his friend on the
shoulder with the grease-soaked rag. “Get your head outta that piece of shit
and look.”

Drake, groaning, extricated
himself, and peered around the raised hood, squinting against the sun. “Nope.
You know 'em?”

Parker turned to his friend. “You
still got that .308 in the truck?”

Drake wiped grease from the back of
his hand onto the thigh of his jeans. “Yeah, why?”

“Get it.” Parker's hand clasped him
on the shoulder. “Bad feeling about this.”

Drake looked over at the vehicle
again. “Them?”

“Yeah. Paint job is wrong. But that
truck looks like a cop.”

“Parker, what do you—”

“Just do it, Drake.”

Parker looked at the truck bouncing
slowly up the drive. Looked to be probably a Tahoe, dark color, with a push
guard over the front grille. Definitely a cop. Why they'd be up here was
puzzling to him. None of his contacts or handlers ever drove anything that
obvious — and they sure as hell never actually came to the house. Too easy to
leave a trail back to Parker.

Then he had it, the pit of his
stomach growing cold. Terry.

He heard the door open behind him,
and the sound of a bad being unzipped. Parker grimaced. Murphy's Law would
dictate that he wouldn't be carrying at the exact moment he might need it. Thank
Christ Drake seemed to go everywhere, including the bathroom, with a fucking
gun — or two.

“Parker. What's going on?”

He looked back at Drake, who had
the rifle resting over the top of his forearm, pointed to the slide. “Make sure
you're ready to fire that thing, my man. I think this is Terry.”

And if it is, God help him.

They stood just behind Drake's
truck, watching the vehicle draw closer. He knew the driver must've seen the
rifle by now, yet it didn't seem to faze him at all. The truck pulled up and slewed
into the entrance to Parker's driveway, stopping, dust rising around it.

“Sight him, Drake.”

“Parker, Jesus, we don't know—”

“It's him, goddammit.”

Parker was striding down the
driveway before he realized it. At about ten yards from the truck, the driver's
side door opened. Parker's heart picked up the pace, and he unconsciously
reached for the .45 semi auto that wasn't there.

Fuck.

He'd have to kill the asshole the
old fashioned way. He'd done it before.

Someone stepped out of the truck.
Caucasian, very short hair, almost shaved bald. Jesus he was tall, taller than
even Erik. But Parker knew then without a doubt.

It was Terry.

“Step away from that truck,” Parker
yelled, pointing. “Do it now, goddammit!”

The man hesitated for a split
second.

“Drake, if he moves for a piece,
fire him up.”

“Got him.”

Parker's muscles bunched, every
sense heightened, the readiness he always went into when death might be near.
He hadn't felt like this since … Jorge. The rage, just barely leashed. That
this big motherfucker had hurt Ashley kept running through his mind. Over and
over.

Never again. Nobody will ever
hurt the one I love. Never again.

The man stepped away from the
vehicle slowly, calmly. Whatever he was, whoever he was, he didn't seem spooked
in the least by Drake's bead on him.

“Get them up. All the way.” Parker
took a couple more steps toward the man, and he could hear Drake advance as
well. “Turn away and back toward me. Slowly. Fuck with us and my friend shoots.”

The man turned, his white t-shirt
pulling up to expose the waistband of his jeans as his long arms extended.
Luckily, it didn't appear he had a weapon tucked there, but he wasn't taking
any chances. Christ he was big. Tall and big — not quite as powerful as Drake,
but close.

“Is Ashley here?” The man's strong
voice was calm, almost eerily so.

“Shut your mouth.” The sound of her
name stoked his anger higher. “Put your hands on that hood and shuffle your
feet back.”

Parker glanced back at Drake. “I
mean it. He fucking does
anything
— you fire him up.”

“Search him, Park. I got him.”

“Is Ashley here? I just want to
talk to her.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Parker grabbed
his shoulders and threw him against the truck. As big as the man looked, it
felt like he was all bones. Gaunt. His skin was pale, washed out. Parker patted
him down, kicking the man’s legs farther apart as he searched the pockets of
his jeans. He had nothing on him, not even a wallet. Parker planted a hand
between the man’s shoulder blades, pushing him harder against the truck. “Stay
right there. Who are you?”

“My name is Terry Waller.”

Parker struck Terry just under the
left ribcage, crumpling him over with a groan, then he caught him across the
cheek with a fist, dropping the man to the gravel.

“You get off on brutality? Is that
it?”

“Parker.” Drake's voice sounded far
away.

Terry returned to his feet, his arm
wrapped around his midsection, hand rubbing his flank. “I'm not armed. I just
want to talk to Ashley. That's all.”

Parker stepped up to him, almost
nose to nose. “Do you know what you did to her? How much pain you caused her?”

Terry didn't flinch at all, nor
step back, Parker's face nearly touching his. It just inflamed Parker even
more, that stoicism. Cowards rarely stood their ground, but arrogant pricks who
got their jollies from brutalizing their girlfriends might.

Parker stomped Terry's foot,
driving the heel of his boot into the top of the man's foot, the pained groan
music to his ears. He followed that immediately with a hard punch to Terry's
lower abdomen. The big man didn't go down, but staggered several steps, bent
over double, wheezing.

“Parker! Stop!”

There was something wrong with
Drake's voice. Parker advanced on Terry again. He wanted to make this hurt. He
remembered the tears, the sobs that wracked her body as he'd held her in his arms.
How she'd cried. Rivers of tears. Tears that somehow she’d deserved such a
thing, that somehow she'd encouraged it. Oceans of tears that only the
broken-hearted understand, both the body and the heart brutalized.

No, he was going to make him feel
those. Every fucking one.

“Parker! Please!”

He stopped this time, his head
turning to look back. Ashley?

A strong hand caught his arm as he
reared back to hit Terry again. “Park, it's enough. We got him. We can call the
cops in a minute.”

“No cops. No fucking cops, Drake.”

Ashley ran up, resting a hand on
Parker's chest. “Don't hurt him anymore. Please, Parker.” She leaned in close
and what she saw in her beautiful eyes touched him — and calmed him. “You’ve
done what you needed to, you protected me. It's okay. Now let me do what I need
to do. Please.”

Her tear-filled eyes tore at him,
and the thought of Maria popped into his head, staggering him. He pulled back
from both of them, shaking away Drake's grip and grabbing Ashley's hand. “No! I
can’t let it happen again, Ashley.”

“Parker, what? What happen again?
Jorge?” Ashley stood close to him, up on her toes, her eyes pleading, a tear
glistening in the brilliant sunshine as it coursed down her cheek. “It won’t.
You won’t let it.”

“He’s not touching you again, Ashley.
I don't care. Even if … it's not gonna happen.”

“I know,” she whispered, her soft,
warm hand touching his cheek. “Because you're here.” She turned to Drake, and
touched his arm. “You both are.”

Drake looked away, raising his
rifle once more, training it on Terry again. “If you know what's good for you
asshole, you'll get back in that truck. Maybe you'll be able to outrun the
cops. But if you stay here, you won't outrun Parker.” Drake's jaw clenched, his
eyes flashing. “Or me.”

“No.” Ashley’s voice replied.

Both men looked at Ashley, eyes
wide.

“I want to talk to him. I need to
talk to him.” She pushed through between the two of them, and strode up to
Terry. The big man's eyes looked down upon her with such sadness, for a split
second Parker was almost able to dredge up a scintilla of sympathy.

Then it was gone, and he knew, as he
remembered that terrible day so long ago, remembered Maria’s tears. her
agonized screaming. The caskets. The blood — and the guilt. He knew then that if
Terry hurt her the man would never leave that driveway alive.

* * *

Ashley turned back to Parker and
Drake, her eyes moving from one to the other. “I need to do this. I want to
talk to him — alone. Please.”

“There is no fucking way I'm
leaving him alone with you.”

“I only want to talk,” Terry said. “You
searched me. I'm unarmed.”

Parker stepped closer, his face
inches from Terry's. “I don't trust you. You're a coward. I should just have
him shoot you right now.”

Terry met his gaze, the
preternatural calm of the man sending up warning flags in Parker's mind. “I
don't blame you. But I need to talk to her. You do what you've gotta do.”

“You touch her Terry, and they'll
never find you. It'll be like you never existed. You hear me? I don't give a
fuck if you're a cop or not.”

Terry simply nodded, wiping the back
of his hand across his bleeding lip.

Parker turned his back on Terry,
and looked down at Ashley, cupping her chin. There was bright color high in her
cheeks, her eyes flashing, her jaw trembling under his hand. “We'll be close. I
don't like this — not one bit — but I'll let you talk to him.”

“Thank you, Parker. Now please, I
have to do this.”

“Ashley, why this … ?”

Drake's huge hand clamped his upper
arm. “Come on, Park. Let's get this over with.” His eyes snapped to Terry. “Don't
try anything. I don't care how big you are, you ain't stopping a bullet.”

Parker flashed a baleful glare at
his friend then stalked off. There was no way this was okay, no fucking way at
all. But he had to let her do this. Maybe she thought it would help her, but he
couldn't see how it was worth it. The man was dangerous, and he was a coward.
What she had to say to him he'd never understand.

Drake joined him back near the
truck, his friend closing the hood with a bang. “This'll go quick, Park.”

“You have any idea what she's
saying? Why the fuck doesn't she want us to hear them?”

Drake raised the rifle, but left
the muzzle pointing at the ground, ready to take aim at a moment's notice. “I
don't know, but I trust her. She needs this. Let her have it.”

“How can you be so laid-back about
this Drake?” Parker fought the urge to go grab Ashley and drag her back to the
house. To safety. He didn't like any of this. Too much could still go wrong.
He'd seen it before.

“You think I don't want to plant
this motherfucker?” Drake glanced at him, his jaw hardening. “You don't know me
very well if you think that.”

“If he touches her then we’ll get
our chance,” Parker said quietly. It would be easy, really. The sonofabitch was
already missing. It wouldn't be the first time Parker had made sure an evil man
wouldn't ever be free to hurt someone again.

Drake's voice rumbled low, the tone
unnerving. “I'm not a murderer, Parker. It’s not going to come to that anyway.
Something’s up with him. She sees it, too.”

Parker laughed, the grating sound
devoid of an ounce of humor. He watched Ashley then, uneasy at how close she
was standing to the tall man. It would be easy for him to grab her and snap her
neck. He knew Drake was a quick, expert shot, but he wasn't sure if he was
quite that quick.

“She trusts you, Parker.”

Parker snorted. “You keep
forgetting something, Drake.”

“What's that?”

“You.” Parker scrubbed a hand
across his mouth. “I don't know why you keep excluding yourself from all of
this.”

“She trusts us, Parker.” Drake
sighed. “So you need to trust her when she says she needs this. She deserves
it.”

Ashley's free hand started waving,
and the volume of her voice rose. He could see Terry's lips moving, but the man
still stood there with that almost Zen calm. He certainly wasn't what he'd
pictured. From what Ashley had said the guy sounded like the typical meathead,
but the look of him now just didn't add up. Gaunt, pale, hair shorn almost like
that of … an ascetic.

“Shit,” Drake whispered as Ashley
got up into Terry's face, screaming at him now. Terry shook his head, holding
his hands up.

“I'm not letting this go any
longer,” Parker snarled, stepping forward.

Drake's hand closed over his
shoulder, squeezing painfully. “Stay here, goddammit. Let this play out. We've
got him, Park. Give her this.”

Parker shook off his hand and
stalked back toward Drake's truck, running his hands through his hair. “Fuck,
this is ridiculous.”

Then a slap rang out, and Parker
whirled around. Terry still stood, his head drooping. She yelled something else
at him, then slapped him again. And again.

The big man never moved.

“What … the fuck,” Parker
whispered.

“Let it go, Park. Just wait.”

Ashley dropped her head, her body
hitching, her hand clenched to a fist. Then Terry said something else to her,
and she looked up at him. Terry's eyes welled, the tears bright in the
sunlight.

Then she reached up, and touched
Terry's cheek, now flaming red. He wiped at his eyes as she said something else
to him, then he nodded.

Ashley turned away then, walked
slowly back toward the house, her eyes bright with tears. The sight of them
stabbed daggers into Parker's heart and he ran to her. “Ashley, what is it?
What did he say?”

“Just … no.” She shook away his
arms, and pushed past him, exchanging a quick look with a baffled looking Drake
as she passed by. The front door closed with a bang, and Parker's gaze locked
with Drake's.

“What … ?”

“Parker, look.” Drake raised the
rifle, ready to shoot. Parker turned back to see Terry climbing back into the
truck.

“What do you want to do?” Drake
stepped forward, the rifle still sighted on the truck. “Take him in? Get the
cops out here?”

“Let him go,” Parker intoned, still
stunned. What he'd seen … he had no idea what to think. There was more to this
than he'd originally thought. More questions than he even knew how to ask.
Someday he hoped she'd trust him enough to give him the answers.

Parker laid a hand on Drake's arm. “Thanks,
buddy. You … you were the cool customer she needed today. Again.”

Drake's eyes met his, and he
shouldered the rifle. “Always here, my friend. Whenever you need, whatever you
need. You know that.”

“I do.” Parker allowed himself a
smile. It was time. He'd been away too long, and this time it was closer than
he'd been in a while. Maybe it was just postponing the inevitable, but he
needed her now. And as he watched his best friend look back at the house,
longing in his dark eyes, Parker knew he wasn't the only one.

“Come on, Drake. Let's go get our
girl.”