A Dark Love (20 page)

Ken took her hand. “Ready to meet Wile E. Coyote?”

Nan chuckled. “He’ll be clear across the county line before you get off the steps. If there is one out there, that is.”

“That’s true,” Ken agreed. “Come on, I’ll show you how pretty this place is at night.”

Caroline nodded. But every instinct she had told her the dogs were right. Something was out there. Not coyotes or a marmot or even a bear. Something worse.

Ken reached for the door.

Caroline wondered if he had ever been scared on the football field, if he had ever pondered the sight of those opposing players gunning for him like a fleet of Mack
trucks. She knew something of the discipline that was required to train a mind, and it occurred to her now that Ken must know a lot about living with fear, or in spite of fear. She managed a smile. “Let’s go see.”

“Probably best to keep the dogs inside,” Gus called.

Showing, Caroline thought, he felt it, too.

Ken nodded but it was too late. He had opened the door, propping his foot up to bar the way, but Pippin shot through like a miniature rocket.

“Crap,” Ken muttered. “Sorry.”

Scout tore after him.

“Poppit! Scout!” Caroline was too late.

The animals had already disappeared into the cold, swirling darkness.

Caroline stepped out onto the porch and called again.

Nan flipped the floodlights on, illuminating the area immediately surrounding the house and garage. Fine flakes of snow whirled through the air in every direction as the wind shifted first one way and then another.

Caroline clung to Ken’s hand as though her life depended on it.

The dogs were gone.

Ken stepped down off the porch, not seeming to mind the wind and snow. He took a few steps onto the snow-covered grass and stood.

Caroline was trembling so hard her teeth clattered. She snapped her mouth shut and tried to focus on the man at her side. His size was reassuring.

Ken looked around lazily, beginning with the sky. “Up behind those clouds is a full moon, the harvest moon.
Too bad you can’t see it right now, because Colorado is about the only place I know where you can see your shadow in the middle of a snowstorm.” He smiled down at her, waiting to see if she shared his pleasure in this fact.

Caroline winced. His voice was loud enough to be heard by anyone standing just inside the nearby tree line. This was crazy thinking, she told herself. Porter had told her she was crazy enough times that she came to believe it, especially now. She nodded at Ken and tried to force a smile because she didn’t dare speak.

As though her silence might keep them safe.

Ken walked farther from the house, into the large meadow that was Nan’s front yard.

Caroline followed, afraid to stay alone, aware they were leaving the safety of the floodlit zone.

“I’m going to get my flashlight.”

Ken made for the Jeep and noticed Caroline wasn’t loosening her grip on his hand. “We can both go,” he said with a grin.

“Where do you think the dogs went?” Caroline asked in a voice that was not much more than a whisper.

He responded in a tone that was normal, conversational. “They’re just fine or we’d hear it. I imagine they found the spot where the marmot was and probably Poppit’s lifting his leg to mark it right now.” He gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me, it was just a marmot or a possum and it’s long gone. You and I are making enough noise out here to scare it clear off the mountain. If animals stood their ground, I’d need to find a safer way to earn a living.” He laughed.

She wanted to believe him. She loosened her grip.

What they heard next proved him wrong.

Pitiful wailing.

Ken sprinted into the woods in the direction of the cries.

Caroline raced after him.

In their haste, neither of them noticed the place where the snow was tamped down just a few feet outside the living room window.

M
oving shadows on the snow caught Porter’s attention. He sniffed, raised his head, and saw to his alarm that Ken Kincaid was making for the front door.

The big man’s chest was wide open like a perfect bull’s-eye.

It would be a clean shot.

But the commotion that would ensue would prevent Porter from having the conversation he so desperately wanted to have with Caroline. His wife.

She was donning a jacket. In another second or two, they would step outside.

The door opened and Porter heard shrill barking.

He made a dash for the woods.

The binoculars, hanging forgotten around his neck, thumped his chest as he gained the tree line. He fumbled for his night-vision goggles, slipping them on over his tear-streaked face, running as fast as he ever had.

The dogs were on his trail. But Porter had a decent lead, enough to get him well inside the forest that began at the side of the house.

Dropping to a crouch, he loped through the low brush and zigzagged around trees. His steps sounded like
thunder to his own ears, so when he heard the storm door slam he dropped to his knees behind a fallen tree and waited, struggling to catch his breath. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure it would burst through his ribs. He counted the beats, wondering if he was going to have a heart attack. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He fingered the trigger of the .38 and waited.

The dogs came for him. The white one, the old lady’s dog, arrived first. It skidded to a stop in front of him, just out of reach and stood, barking its head off. Porter toyed with the idea of shooting the animal. But the gunshot would give him away.

Porter picked up a rock and took aim. The dog flinched and skittered away. Dogs were cowards.

Pippin posed a different sort of threat.

The Yorkie barreled straight at Porter, panting with excitement, his tail wagging so hard his entire body shook.

Porter grabbed for the only thing within reach, a small branch from the log. He drew his arm back.

Pippin yipped happily and edged closer, ready to play.

“Pippin,” Porter whispered. “Go home!”

Too late he realized his mistake. The Yorkie closed in, wagging his tail in circles. Ready to play.

Porter drew his arm back once more.

Pippin barked once, waiting for Porter to toss the stick.

Porter pursed his lips in fury. He should have killed the dog when the idea first came to him. He had been tempted to drop the leash many times on Georgetown’s busy streets. Caroline must have sensed it, because she insisted on walking the dog herself.

And now the dumb animal would be Porter’s undoing.

Porter scrabbled around in the snow until he came up with a heavy rock.

Pippin’s tongue hung out and he yapped again.

Porter lowered his face to the dog’s eye level and hissed in another attempt to scare him away.

Pippin cocked his head and barked.

There were sounds of branches cracking as Kincaid closed in, calling the dog by name. The sound cracked the air like a sonic boom.

“Pippin!” Caroline screeched from the yard.

Rising from his crouch, Porter took aim and threw the rock.

He knew it hit home when the dog howled in pain. Porter took off, racing deeper into the forest behind the house.

He heard a crashing sound as Kincaid burst into the woods behind him.

S
cout raced across the yard to Caroline and Ken, barking excitedly.

Which meant the dog crying in pain somewhere in the woods was Pippin.

Caroline screamed his name.

Ken was gone, at a run into the woods. “It’s okay,” he shouted from a short distance away. “I’ve got him.”

A sob tore at Caroline’s throat as she took off in the direction of his voice, her fear of the night momentarily forgotten.

Pippin stopped yelping.

“He seems okay,” Ken called. “We’re in here, near the garage.”

Caroline followed the sound of Ken’s voice, her fears momentarily pushed aside.

She got near enough to see Ken cradling the dog. He handed Pippin to her when she got close.

She scooped him up and held him tight.

The dog wriggled with happiness, poked his nose at her face, and gave a delicate sniff.

“He’s okay, definitely no other animals around,” Ken said. “Something spooked him, that’s all.”

Looking around at the woods that were alive with wind and snow, Caroline could understand how the dog became spooked. They stood near the remains of a fallen tree, a trunk that was maybe ten feet long and at its widest, more than a foot high.

Big enough to hide behind.

The wind died and the air turned still, and in that brief moment she smelled it. A prickling sensation rose on the back of her neck and spread quickly up into her scalp and down her spine like wildfire. Caroline would know that smell anywhere, the unmistakable combination of medicinal cream Porter applied to the hives on his face, mixed with the sweet Ralph Lauren cologne he used to cover it.

He was here.

Every single hair on her body stood up straight as her nerve endings jangled.

Telling her to run.

Caroline felt her breath freeze in her lungs.

The trees around her were moving now with another gust of wind. The forest spun around her like a crazy Tilt-A-Whirl.

She heard a low sound, a kind of keening, and didn’t realize until she saw the look on Ken’s face that it was coming from her.

He had been staring at a spot on the ground behind the log. Turning now, he frowned and reached out to her. “Steady, Alice, just take it easy.”

She was already backing away. He had no idea the danger they were in. But there was no time to explain. She broke into a run, praying they could make it to the house in time. She risked just two words of warning. “Hurry! Run!”

“Alice, it’s okay,” he called, loping after her. “Whatever it is, it’s gone. Nothing here will hurt you.”

But Caroline knew better. She clutched Pippin tight and bounced forward on feet that had turned to rubber. She tripped once, grabbing a branch before she went down. She righted herself, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and kept going.

Ken caught up easily. She got a brief glimpse of his face in the darkness at her side, registered his look of concern, and realized dimly that he had come to some sort of understanding in that moment, not of the danger they were in but that she was mentally unbalanced. It didn’t matter. She ran, bracing herself every step of the way for the flash of light, the sharp popping sound, the tearing of flesh. She thought of the handgun Porter had once shown her, acquired during his residency on Manhattan’s Lower East Side.

“It’s okay.” Ken grabbed her hand in the open grassy area in front of the house.

The motion detector switched on, flooding the area with light.

Turning them into easy targets.

“Hurry,” Caroline urged, racing for the porch. She took the steps two at a time.

She tore open the storm door and raced in, slamming the front door shut behind them as soon as Ken made it in behind her. She was grateful to feel the lock click into place, more grateful still that the door was constructed of solid oak. Her legs gave out then and she collapsed against a wall, sliding down into a crouch on the floor. Exhausted and spent.

“Good heavens.” Nan rose from the table, her brows knit tight together with concern. “Are you hurt?”

Unable to speak, Caroline shook her head and kept a tight grip on the dog in her lap.

Porter was out there. He had come for her.

Gus cleared his throat. “Don’t tell me the little guy tangled with a coyote?”

“No,” Ken said in a tight voice. He reached down and smoothed Caroline’s hair.

She didn’t move.

“Didn’t think so,” Gus replied. “Wouldn’t have been anything left of him if he had.”

Nan shot Gus a look.

Caroline said nothing.

Scout, who was already inside, came over to sniff Pippin, who squirmed free of Caroline’s lap and shook himself.

Caroline drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them in an attempt to stop shaking. It was no use.

Pippin took a few steps onto the rug. He was limping.

Ken dropped to his knees and pulled the dog close. “It’s okay, little fella.” He ran his hands across Pippin’s body, starting at his ears and working his way down and back.

The dog yelped when Ken reached his midsection.

Ken made soothing noises, gently parting Pippin’s fur until he found the sore spot. “Looks irritated right here, a little red and swollen, like something bit him. But I don’t see any teeth marks. That’s good news.” He flashed Caroline a smile that was meant to cheer her.

But she knew better. There were no teeth marks because Pippin hadn’t been bitten. He’d been hit, she thought miserably.

Porter hated animals.

“He’ll be just fine,” Ken pronounced. “This area right here on the side of his stomach looks a little irritated, but nothing serious or he’d let us know.”

“See how he does by morning,” Gus said helpfully. “Vet opens at nine.”

“He looks right as rain,” Nan said soothingly.

Caroline was aware on some level that their perception of her had shifted.

They chatted and watched the dogs as though Pippin was their only concern, but Caroline was aware that each of the three snuck glances in her direction. Measuring her. In an instant she had ceased to be their equal. She had been a stranger who was timid and shy and perhaps odd. But tonight she had shifted into someone who was worse than odd, she imagined, someone unbalanced and curled in a fetal position on Nan’s living room floor.

“Dog probably got caught on a log or something,” Gus was saying.

Ken lowered himself onto the floor near Caroline. “Could be.”

But he had taken a good look at that log, a good look at the red mark on Pippin’s side. Caroline was grateful when, after a moment, he stood once more and bolted the extra lock on the oak door.

The drapes, she noticed, had been pulled shut for once as well. As though Nan, too, had misgivings about who or what had been out there.

The dogs went to sit on a cushion near the fire and eventually quieted down.

Caroline couldn’t stop shaking.

“Well,” Nan said, as though everything was settled. “This calls for hot tea all around.” She went to the kitchen.

Caroline could think of nothing but the long row of bare windows in that room. She wanted to warn Nan but didn’t dare. She realized, miserably, there was nothing she could say or do to convince any of them. These people had never known terror, never feared for their lives. They would not understand. They would think she was crazy. Besides, Porter wasn’t interested in Nan.

He had come for Caroline.

Now that he had found her, nothing would stop him.

Caroline became aware that Gus was watching her with a frown on his face.

She rose before he could say anything and took a seat on one end of the couch. She lowered herself gingerly, every nerve ending still on high alert, as though the cushions were booby-trapped and might explode.

Her old familiar way of life had returned.

The tea was lemony and minty with a generous dollop of organic honey. She took small sips and tried not to gag.

Ken didn’t drink his tea. He walked through the house, checking locks on doors and windows, closing blinds, and pulling curtains shut.

The dogs dozed. Nan put more logs on the fire and traded stories with Gus about days gone by. She passed around chocolates from the gold-foiled box Ken had brought.

Caroline did not contribute to the conversation. She sat on the end of the couch with her knees pulled up in front, measuring her odds.

She couldn’t leave tonight, much as she wanted to, not
without stealing Nan’s car. And she wouldn’t get far on foot. No, she would leave tomorrow at the first chance she got. Greyhound only stopped in Storm Pass once a week in winter, but she could pick up a connection in Durango and leave Nan’s car there with a note in it. The sooner she left this place, the safer everyone would be. She didn’t dare think of all the things that could go wrong with her plan.

The hot tea and the soothing rumble of voices, combined with exhaustion, set Caroline’s mind adrift and made her drowsy. She felt her eyes flutter closed and felt comforted at last, like a little girl whose parents allowed her to stay up past her bedtime. She felt her head nod, and before she realized it she had dozed off.

A burst of cold air woke her. She sat up in time to see Ken close the oak door and bolt it.

The logs on the fire had burned lower, meaning she had slept for fifteen minutes, perhaps longer. The room was quiet.

She heard the rumble of a car driving off.

Nan stood at the foot of the stairs, one arm on the rail, speaking to Ken in a low voice. “Call your father in twenty minutes to check that he makes it home okay.”

Ken smiled at her. “Old Gus in my Porsche? I should check the casinos in Vegas.”

Nan nodded. “You have a point there.”

Caroline blinked and yawned. Someone had wrapped a caftan around her shoulders.

They both looked her way.

“Someone’s awake,” Nan said.

“I must have dozed off.” Caroline rubbed her eyes. The teacups had been cleared, and two fresh glasses of ice water were in their place.

She took a deep sip. The cold water felt good on the back of her throat.

“It’s been a long day. I’m heading up to bed,” Nan said, climbing the stairs. “Ken has volunteered to bunk on the couch, even though I told him we’re just fine on our own.”

There was a pile of sheets, blankets, and a pillow on the rocker. Caroline opened her mouth to protest, but Ken was already settling into the easy chair.

Nan called instructions over her shoulder. “If you open the front door to go out, you have twelve seconds to press the buttons on the keypad. Code’s taped to the wall.” With that, she wished them good night.

A light on the keypad shone a steady red, armed and ready.

Nan had told Caroline the first day she never bothered with it.

Caroline looked at Ken. “You don’t need to stay,” she began. But she knew he wouldn’t leave.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ken said with a shrug. He misinterpreted the shiver that passed through Caroline, making her gather the caftan more closely around her shoulders. “You’re safe with me, Alice, I mean it.” His tone was soothing.

“It would be better if you weren’t here,” Caroline said simply. Porter was insanely jealous, but Ken couldn’t know that. No, she decided, he was staying to keep an eye on her. They didn’t trust her alone with Nan.

Ken smiled casually. “And leave you to rely on these killer dogs for protection? Not a chance, even if you are here with Nan Birmingham, who I wouldn’t mess with. I think the Colonel rubbed off on her.” His gaze traveled to the mantel, where the Colonel’s shotgun hung.

So he, too, suspected someone had been out there tonight.

Caroline shivered.

Ken watched her with a steady gaze. “Gus and I took a walk outside while you slept. Everything seems okay. Whatever it was, it’s long gone.” He stretched back in his chair. “Nobody would be crazy enough to hang around here on a cold, snowy night anyways.”

Almost nobody. She wished she could warn Ken. But how could she? Who would believe her?

Ken leaned forward, and she saw sympathy in his expression. “Don’t freak out, Alice. You’re among friends. You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” He smiled like that settled everything.

He thought, she mused, that she had mundane problems with an ex, perhaps a boyfriend or a husband who turned moody after downing too many beers. How could she begin to explain to Ken that she was married to a man who believed he would curl up and die without her? Or that Porter’s psychic wound really was deep enough to open wide and swallow all three of them whole? “Thanks,” was all she said.

Ken pulled off his hiking boots, swinging his stockinged feet onto the oak coffee table as she imagined the Colonel had done countless times. He leaned back like he had all the time in the world, watching her. There was no pity in his eyes. Only questions.

It occurred to Caroline that Ken Kincaid was rooted firmly in reality. When he spoke his voice was soft, but he did not bother with pleasantries. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

His directness caught Caroline off guard. Her eyes widened in surprise. But she said nothing.

He waited.

“Sorry,” she said at last, trying to retreat into some kind of formality that sounded silly, and she knew it.

He didn’t blink. “Look, I’m divorced, too. Whatever it is, I’ve probably heard it before.”

She didn’t know what to say.

He reached his arms high over his head so his sleeves rode up, revealing powerful forearms.

He was strong. He could protect her. But she knew as soon as the thought flitted through her mind that it wasn’t true.

He twined his fingers behind his head. His gaze did not waver.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. She could not afford to have this conversation. “I doubt that,” she said at last.

A log sputtered in the fireplace. She weighed telling him the truth, allowing him to comfort her, allowing herself to believe him when he told her he could help. Except she knew better.

“C’mon, Alice, nothing’s that bad.”

She looked away from the fire and finally met his gaze. Still, she said nothing.

He let his hands drop to his lap. “I think I have a pretty good idea of what the problem is, and I’m pretty sure I can help. You’re not in this alone. Unless you want to be.”