Dawson's Stand (Welcome to Covendale Book 4) (15 page)

The cottage looked exactly the same as it always did when she got home—dark, quiet, and empty. But she still felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding as she parked in the driveway and willed herself to go inside.

It was completely ridiculous to think that Mike might be here. Even if he’d tracked her to Covendale, and she really had seen him in front of the Stop ‘n Shop, he wouldn’t be able to find out where she lived. Hardly anyone in town knew. And if he went to the sheriff’s office looking for her, he would’ve been arrested.

All sane and logical thoughts. And none of them made her feel any better.

She felt awful about fighting with Gage, too. Maybe she should’ve just stayed at the Dawsons, or asked him to come over—just to check things out. She almost called him right then. But she decided to go inside first, so she wouldn’t sound terrified when she talked to him. And she could apologize for being a jerk.

“Just go in,” she said out loud. It was enough to get her moving.

The door was locked, just as she’d left it, giving her some margin of relief. She opened it and went inside, turned on the living room light. Nothing out of place. Breathing easier now, she deposited her purse on the table by the door and headed for the kitchen. She’d grab a drink of water, and then call Gage.

When she first flipped the kitchen light on, her mind refused to process the broken glass beneath the picture window. She didn’t associate it with the screaming mental warning—until she heard a voice behind her.

“Did you really think you could hide from me, Kyla?”

She bolted instantly, headed for the knife drawer. She actually managed to get a hand on the knob before a rock-hard arm wrapped around her throat and squeezed, lifting her off her feet. Black starbursts rapidly clouded her vision.

“Don’t be tiresome.” Mike patted her down with his free hand, found the cell phone in her pocket and yanked it out roughly. “You won’t need this,” he said. Distantly she heard a thud, followed by a cracking sound, and she guessed he’d thrown the phone against a wall.

She tried to kick, to loosen his arm, anything. But even with both hands, she couldn’t budge him. Her strength, and her consciousness, was fading fast.

“You’re in trouble, babe.” Mike’s voice feathered her ear, making her desperately nauseous. “You’ve caused me a lot of grief this past year, and now you’re going to pay for it.”

As she slid into blackness, she thought of Gage—and what she would give to be able to tell him he’d been right.

* * * *

Gage managed to wait a whole half an hour before he called Kyla’s phone. It rang, and rang, and rang. Each unanswered ring added to the growing weight in his gut, until he was physically sick with it.

She should’ve been home by now. She should have called.

An automated message cut in:
The person you’re calling is not available. Please try—

He cut the call with a frustrated growl, and dialed again. Still no answer.

The third time he got the automated message, he shoved the phone in his pocket and ran upstairs. Mark had gone to bed a few minutes after Kyla left. He knocked at the closed bedroom door, and then opened it without bothering to wait for an answer. “Mark, wake up,” he said. “I need to borrow your car.”

“What the—” Mark said thickly. “Gage, it’s almost midnight. Where do you need to go?”

He turned the light on. Mark snarled and threw a hand up. “Jesus! The fuck are you doing, man?”

“Where are your keys?”

“Gage. What the hell’s going on?”

“It’s Kyla. She said she’d call when she got home, and now she’s not answering her phone.”

“Seriously?” Mark leveled a stern glare at him. “Did you two have a fight when she left? You looked kind of put out when you came back in.”

“Yes, but that’s beside the point,” he said. “She could be in trouble. Come on, let me have your keys.”

“Trouble? This is really stupid, even for you. Don’t you know anything about women?” Mark said. “You just need to give her a little time to cool off. Calm down, and get some sleep.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Yes, I do. You’ve never had a real fight with a woman. Trust me, you’re better off just letting it go. You can apologize in the morning.”

“That’s not it!” Gage’s jaw clenched hard. “Can I borrow your car, or not?”

“No.”

“Fine. I’ll take my truck.”

As he left the room, Mark called out, “Gage, wait—” He slammed the door on whatever his brother was going to say, and took the stairs two at a time. Outside, the rain had started in earnest. As he headed for the garage through the downpour, he called Kyla again, desperately hoping.

No answer. Automated message.

Thunder boomed overhead as he hit the garage door button. He ducked beneath the door before it finished opening and vaulted into the truck. When he turned the key, The Beast roared to life.

Driving this thing at night was always a risk around here. It was loud in every way, and it made him a target for Deputy Dipshit—the noise ordinance in Covendale kicked in at ten p.m. But he didn’t care. She would have called him, even if she was mad.

Something had gone wrong.

He backed out of the garage and swung onto the street, wipers at full speed to beat back the sheets of rain. Lightning painted the sky in brilliant flashes, and thunder cracked louder than his engine. He pushed The Beast faster, barely slowing to take corners. He blew through the stop sign just before the railroad tracks.

He was maybe six blocks from Kyla’s house when flashing blue and red lights pulsed brightly in his rearview mirror.

“Fuck!” For a minute he considered not stopping. If he made it to Kyla’s before he pulled over, he could at least see if her truck was there. But if the worst had happened, he’d probably have to get the sheriff involved. He could do that right now—as long as the deputy behind him wasn’t Dean.

He pulled over.

It seemed like forever until he heard the telltale slam of a car door. He rolled the window down, just in time to hear, “Out of the vehicle, Dawson.”

Of course it was Dean.

Jaw clenched, he popped the door and slid out, into the pouring rain. Dean stood a few feet back, directing the too-bright beam of a flashlight at the ground. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I was going a little too fast, but—”

“Shut up,” Dean said. “Speeding, reckless driving, running a stop sign. Hell, you’re probably drunk too. I’m taking you down to the station.”

“Jesus Christ.” He could not afford a pissing contest with Deputy Dean right now. “I said I’m sorry,” he said, moving slowly toward the deputy. “If you want to write me a ticket or five, just go ahead. But I have to get to Kyla. She’s in trouble.”

“Oh, your girlfriend with the pepper spray?” Dean sneered, making his features ghoulish in the uneven light. “Don’t try to feed me a line of bullshit, Dawson. You’re just cruising for a quick lay, and you’re pissed that I caught you. You’re coming to the station.”

The effort to hold back had him shaking. “Goddamn it, Dean. I don’t want to fight with you. I’m serious—Kyla’s in trouble. You can follow me there if you don’t believe me.”

“And have you go off-road so I can’t chase you?” he said. “No fucking way. Get your ass in the squad car, right now.”

“I’m sorry, man. I really am. But I can’t do that.”

He turned away and headed for the open door. And something hard and heavy smashed between his shoulder blades.

The crack echoed in his head. He went down hard, striking his forehead on the pavement. As he gasped and breathed in water, Dean grabbed his arm and wrenched it behind his back. Cold metal bit into his wrist.

He was cuffed firmly before his head stopped spinning.

“I said, you’re going to the fucking station.” Dean hauled him to his feet and prodded him forward. He fell to his knees.

“Dean,
please
.” He tried to get up, and the deputy clubbed him again. This time he toppled onto his side. “I’m serious. Her life could be in danger. Do you understand? She could be killed—”

“Shut the
fuck
up.” Dean punctuated the statement with a kick to his gut that left him breathless. He grabbed his arm and half-marched, half-dragged him to the police car, then shoved him in the back seat.

Gage concentrated on catching his breath. When the deputy got into the driver’s seat, he rasped, “For God’s sake, Dean. Could you just go to her place and check on her, before you bring me in? We’re six blocks away.”

“Dawson, the day I do a favor for you is the day it snows in hell. Now shut your goddamned mouth.” He slammed the car into gear, screeched through a U-turn and sped away in the opposite direction.

Shuddering, Gage tried to pull himself into a less painful position. The only choice he had now was to hope the sheriff would listen to him. There was a better chance of that than snow in hell—but not by much.

* * * *

“I need to talk to the sheriff.”

Gage was in the first cell on the left, gripping the bars to keep from collapsing. He was drenched, covered in mud, and badly bruised, still slightly dizzy from the blow to his head. At least it’d stopped bleeding. Dean had stuck him in here and left the room. What seemed like hours later, but probably wasn’t, the deputy came strolling back in and plopped down at the desk.

He looked up when Gage spoke. “Too bad for you,” he said. “Sheriff’s not here.”

“Well, call him,” Gage said. “I need to talk to him.”

“He’s out of town.”

“Bullshit!” The effort of shouting sent a fresh surge of dizziness through him, and he almost fell. “Dean, I swear to God,” he said. “I’m telling the truth. Just send somebody over there, and I’ll shut up.”

“You’d better shut up anyway.”

The door to the holding area opened, and Nick Donovan walked in. Gage stuck a hand through the bars. “Nick,” he called. “Nick, can you get the sheriff for me?”

“What the…” Nick came further into the room, and stopped short when he caught sight of Gage. “Jesus,” he breathed. “Dean, what did you do to him?”

“Nothing he didn’t deserve.”

“Nick, listen to me. Please.” Gage winced and tried to stand straight. “I need to talk to Sheriff Tanner. My…friend is in serious trouble.”

“Don’t pay attention to the monkey,” Dean said.

“Can it, Wesley.”

Gage reeled a bit. He’d never heard Nick speak sharply to anyone—the man sounded dangerous. He’d never really noticed before, but Nick Donovan was almost as big as Jonah. And Dean actually backed down when he snapped.

Nick turned a frown on him, and said, “The sheriff’s out of town until tomorrow afternoon. What’s the problem?”

“I just need someone to go check on her,” he said. “Kyla Harding. Her last name used to be Finley. She lives on Rose Drive, in that cottage the Yarbroughs used to rent out to summer folks.”

Nick’s brow furrowed. “Why does she need checking on?”

“Because she’s in trouble,” he said. “She could be killed.”

“By what?”

“Would you just please go over there?”

Nick shook his head slowly. “We’d need probable cause,” he said. “We can’t just go to people’s residences without a reason.”

“I gave you a reason!”

“You think she’s in trouble.”

“Yes!” Damn it, he had to calm down and think. Nick was using a soothing tone on him, the kind people used when they thought you were nuts. He took a deep breath, and suddenly remembered something Kyla had said. “Her lawyer. He called in a report, or something. It has to be here somewhere.”

“I don’t know,” Nick said. “If there is one, it’d be in the sheriff’s office.”

“You’re actually buying this load of steaming crap?” Dean stood from the desk and glared at his partner. “Come on, Donovan. You can’t go in Tanner’s office.”

Nick sent him a cool stare. “I can, actually,” he said. “He left me the keys.”

Dean flushed and sat back down.

“All right, Mr. Dawson,” Nick said. “I’ll take a look. But if there’s nothing here, we just can’t do anything. I’m sorry.”

“Just look. It’ll be there.”

When Nick left the room, Gage closed his eyes and leaned gingerly against the bars. Something
had
to be there. She’d said her lawyer called.

And if Nick came back empty, he’d find a way to bust out of here. Somehow.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Mister Big Shot.”

The familiar female voice grated on Gage’s last nerve. He kept his eyes closed, refusing to rise to the bait.

“Hey, Jenny.” He heard Dean’s chair scrape back. “Thought you were turning in.”

“I decided to have another round or two. And I’m glad I did, because something really interesting happened.” The next time she spoke, she was closer. “You got seriously played, Gage.”

His eyes snapped open, and he fixed a glare on Jenny. “What are you talking about?”

“Wow. Is this your work, babe?” She sent a wicked smile at Dean. “You really fucked him up good.”

Dean grinned. “He was resisting arrest.”

“I’ll bet.” She faced Gage again, and said, “Your little girlfriend? She’s married.”

Everything inside him went cold. “No, she’s not.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jenny said. “Then how did I meet her husband at The Klinker?”

“Her…” His stomach performed a slow, sick roll. “Jesus Christ,” he rasped. “Jenny, what did you tell him?”

“Just where she lives,” she said. “In that cottage on Rose Drive.”

“No!” Gage rattled the bars hard. “Dean, let me the fuck out of here,” he snarled. “Right now. He’s not her husband. He’s her ex, and he’s going to kill her!”

Dean blanched and stared at Jenny. “Did you really tell some stranger where this girl lives?”

“Well, yeah,” she said. “I mean, he’s her husband.”

Gage rammed a fist against the bars, making her jump away. “No, he’s not!”

Just then, Nick returned carrying a folder. “What’s all the shouting?” he said. “Miss Steele, you can’t be back here.”

“Did you find it?” Gage said.

“Yes, I…” Nick glanced around at everyone. “What’s going on here?”

“Never mind. What is that?”

“It’s a report from a lawyer, Ralph Lorriman, about a…” He opened the folder and flipped a page. “Michael Finley. Restraining order in effect, history of violence, not to be allowed within town limits.” He looked up slowly. “Sheriff wrote something in the margin,” he said. “It says Kyla Harding, priority protection.”