Dead Man's Rules (16 page)

The stillness returned, pressing in like a compacting wall. She’d been in dangerous situations for stories. She wasn’t going to let this frighten her.

What about ghosts? Like Marco?

“I’m not afraid. I’m here to help you, Marco. You wanted me to come. Now get me out of here!” An eerie calm settled over her, as though she had nothing to fear from spirits. If this place was haunted by Marco, he was on her side.

Ghosts?
She shook her head; she didn’t believe in them, but another, more frightening thought touched her.
What about the scratchy voice on her voice mail?
It had warned her not to pursue this story. Could that person have followed her and locked her in? That was more likely, and it was probably Diaz.

Something sticky clutched at her face. “Yuck!”

Okay, spiders and other creepy things like that might bother her, but she could defeat them too. She peeled away the clingy net. Her heart had stopped pounding, and her leg no longer throbbed.

The stillness was broken momentarily.
What was that? A car engine? Was it coming closer?
The noise vanished. She didn’t think she could hear traffic from the main road. If she’d heard a car, it had to be nearby. If she could find the window she could call for help.

Putting her hands in front of her, Cere inched forward like a blind woman until her fingertips touched the wall again. Pressing her palms to the wall, she moved sideways until her body collided with something solid. A faint ray of light seemed to come from beyond the object. She yanked at it, but it refused to move. It appeared to be some sort of large wooden box.

She attempted to get a grip on the side and front, but the surface was too slippery and her fingers dropped through the air. They landed on something flat and smooth setting off a musical crescendo. She jumped, but fear turned to humor as her laughter rang out. The heavy wooden object was a piano.

“Untuned,” she said with a forced laugh. Cere put her back to the side and braced herself flat against it. With a cry worthy of karate class, she shoved as hard as she could. A loud screech of protest came from the rotting wood floor and the base of the heavy instrument, but it shifted. She took off her bag, set it on top and shoved her fingers behind the piano. Bracing herself again, she yanked it toward her.

Another screech and another halting move, but a gray band of light filtered into the room. Pushing her hand into the space between the piano and the wall, she tried to get a better grip. Maybe those workouts using weights could come in handy. Her wrist caught, and she struggled to pull free. She might be bruised by the time she got out, but she sensed progress.

Leaning over, Cere saw the edges of a boarded up window behind the piano. Sensing an escape route, she attacked the instrument with renewed vigor. Dust flew as the piano scraped against the floor, but it moved with each assault. After a few intense minutes, Cere managed to get the piano far enough from the wall to wedge behind it.

Her body felt battered by the time she reached the weathered boards blocking the window. Dim light was visible through slits between the boards. Night was falling outside. She jerked at a board, but it refused to budge. That didn’t deter her. Bracing her back against the piano, Cere kicked at the boards. The screeching sound of rusted nails giving way brought a sigh of relief. She was going to get out.

She drew her legs back and propelled them forward again
. C-r-a-c-k
. Those leg exercises were paying off too. Another thrust and wood began to splinter.

“Think of it as your evening workout.”

A few minutes of steady kicks freed enough boards so she could poke her head outside. A small glow of twilight remained on the western horizon. In a few minutes, darkness would swallow the valley. The only way out was to climb through the window and drop to the ground. It looked a long distance away, even in the gloom.

“I can do this.” Summoning courage, she hauled herself through the window. With a twist she gripped the window sill and stretched as far as she could down the stone side of the building. With a cry, she let herself drop.

One foot caught on a rock and twisted, tossing her down. She collapsed on her backside, but at least she was free.

Stars popped into the evening sky above her.

“Thank you, Marco,” she whispered.

Chapter Seventeen

Her ankle was tender as Cere struggled to her feet. Something grabbed at her ankles—tumbleweeds clawed at her. She jerked free, but their stickers remained, coming through her socks. Removing the prickly thorns didn’t work. It would be easier to remove her socks. She leaned against the building and removed her shoes to take off her socks. She sensed a lecture from her mother when she got home. Freeda would probably find it funny as hell.

When Cere bent over to put her shoes on, the first went on easily, but as she fought with the second, her ankle buckled. She hopped away from the wall, lost her balance and fell backwards. Needles pierced her backside from her thighs to her waist.

Was there no end to this? She twisted and discovered she had tumbled into a cactus patch. She struggled to her feet, but despite her troubles a smile came to her face as a familiar sound became audible.

A car engine! This time she was certain. It grew louder, until twin spikes of light sliced through the parking lot.

Cere stumbled forward, waving, hoping for a carload of curious kids. They might laugh at her predicament, but maybe a girl in the group could pull the stickers from her sore backside.

The vehicle stopped, headlights blinding her. A door opened. “What the hell?”

So much for the carload of kids, she thought, wrinkling her nose as she picked up Rafe Tafoya’s deep voice.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, walking toward her. He had changed from earlier. He wore jeans and a light colored shirt. A black cowboy hat rested on his dark hair.

“What are you doing?” she countered. “Playing sheriff and looking for kids to chase away?”

“Far from playing. I’m on duty, more or less. Your mother called when she found you gone. She figured you’d come out here.”

Cere didn’t know if she felt betrayed or relieved. “My mother knows me too well. I thought she had dinner plans. How did she know I was missing?”

“She didn’t say. She was concerned that you had disappeared and worried you might get lost.”

“I’m not lost. I got locked in that damn hall.”

“Locked in?” His gaze shot to the sagging building. “How did you manage that?”

“Look, could we hold off on the Q & A for now? I have a problem.” She winced from the cactus prickles.

“What?”

“I fell in a patch of cactus,” Cere explained. “And don’t you dare laugh and say I deserve it, Tafoya!”

He chuckled. “You probably do.”

“Fine. I’ll pull them out myself. Just keep your headlights pointed this way.”

The door closed, and Rafe walked over to her. “All right, Medina. Let the sheriff help you.”

“I should warn you,” she said with a grimace. “These stickers aren’t in the most appealing location.”

He stepped behind her, and emitted a soft whistle. “I see. Actually it’s kind of appealing.”

“Scumbag!”

His laugh was low and intimate as he took hold of one arm to steady her. “I hope you’re not squeamish about where I touch because I really can’t help it.”

Cere chewed on her lower lip as pain shot through her. “Just get them out.”

“No problem. What the hell happened to your shoes?”

Rafe listened to Cere’s rambling explanation with half an ear. He was amused by her predicament. Several times he fought back laughter. She did deserve it. And he didn’t mind at all as he took hold of the long needles which protruded from her nicely rounded rump and pulled them out.

She yelped and hopped slightly, and he tightened his grip on her, pulling her against his body to hold her still. She was light, and he caught a whiff of delightful perfume. Something expensive. Rafe inhaled as she dug her nails into his arm in her quest for support.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her breathless reply came quickly through bared teeth.

Rafe smiled as he caught a glimpse of her in the silvery glow of headlights. Her delicate face was set, and she bit on her lip as though to keep from crying. The sight of her vulnerability picked at him like the pluck of a guitar string.

He pulled another needle out, and she twisted again. “Cere, just hold on to me. Or I could sit down and put you across my knee. That might be more natural.”

She slapped his arm, but it was a teasing blow. She took hold of his shirt, catching the material in her hand.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, very aware of the warmth of her body against his. Her scent was growing intoxicating—a mixture of the perfume and the warm female smell of sweat.

“That hurts.”

His fingers skimmed over her jeans, seeking more stickers. He tried to be as gentle as possible as he plucked them out.

“Ow!” she cried.

“Sorry.” He found another and rubbed his hands along her backside, trying to convince himself he was looking for more needles. The nicely rounded curves felt good beneath his fingers and sent a ripple of awareness through him. He shouldn’t be enjoying it this much. Too much time had passed since he had touched a woman so intimately.

“Hey!” She slapped his arm again. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I was feeling for more thorns. Yes, there’s one!” He pulled it out, but after that, they were too short to pull out.

“You’re not taking anything out,” she said, pulling away. “You’re just feeling me up. Is that how you examine female prisoners?”

He ignored her sarcasm. He adopted his best official tone. “You’re going to have to take off your pants.”

She shook her head, all traces of humor dissipated. “Not on your life, buddy.”

“I can’t get all of them out, and you’ll never get them out yourself. Come on, let me help you take those off.”

“I’ll bet you’re good at that, aren’t you? Taking off a woman’s pants?”

“Fine. Try to sit. There are still some fine needles and I don’t have fingernails to pull them out.”

“I do.” She lifted her hand, but the glamorous nails she had displayed before were almost invisible. Three were broken and another was hanging. “Damn. I just had those put on.”

“Take off the pants. I’ll help you find your shoe and follow you back to town so you don’t get in anymore trouble.”

Irritation flickered in her eyes. “You expect me to drive in a T-shirt and panties?”

He chuckled. The vision that popped into his head was appealing—too appealing. “I’ll give you my shirt, just to show I’m a gentleman.”

“How kind,” she said sarcastically. All the same, she unzipped her pants, and still holding onto him, tugged them off. He had seen the tanned length of legs earlier, and while he knew he shouldn’t be doing it, Rafe admired them again. He had to stop that.
Why was this woman so tempting?
It had been years since he’d had this sort of attraction to anyone.

Without the expensive sandals and with her toenails as scuffed as her fingernails, Rafe found her even more tempting. Her tanned legs glowed in the headlights, shapely and muscular. Her panties were pink silk, and she pulled her T-shirt over them. His blood grew warm as his breath came a little quicker. A tightness pulled at his groin.

“Some gentleman. I know you’re looking.”

He couldn’t deny it, and he chuckled again. “I may be a gentleman, but I’m also human.”

“Neanderthal is more like it. Now what about the shirt you promised, Mr. Gentleman?”

He slid out of the shirt, eyes on her face. Cere dropped her eyes as though she couldn’t take the thought of seeing his bare upper torso. For all her city-girl airs, was she actually modest? At least today he had put on a tank top undershirt. He held out the shirt, and she wrapped it around her. The long tail fell nearly to her knees. The picture drew him like a magnet.

“I like the look,” he offered with a smile.

Her lips tightened into a straight line. “I’m sure you do.”

Rafe kept hold of her hand as they walked toward the building to find her other shoe. He found it and helped her put it on, noticing her trim ankles as she used his thigh as a foot rest.

She wiped her hands and stood with her hands on her hips staring at the ghostly outline of the building. “Maybe we should go back in,” she said, bending over to pick up a black shoulder bag.

Rafe stopped admiring her body. “What? Hell, no!”

She flashed an impish grin that struck him harder than the slap of a fly swatter. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid? Have you been in there at night since you were a kid?”

“Of course,” he said.

She rubbed her hands on her legs, eyes on the building. “Do you have a flashlight?”

“Haven’t you had enough of this place for one night? Didn’t you say you were locked in a room? Weren’t you afraid?”

“Only when I thought someone had done it on purpose. You didn’t happen to see Diaz on the road when you were driving here, did you?”

He jerked upright, putting his hand on his gun as though the man might be around. “What makes you think someone was here?”

“I thought I heard footsteps or a car.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It’s like that night we were out here. We were all convinced we heard something and ran. The place does that to people.”

“You saved me.” Her voice was suddenly soft as she turned to him. “I fell down, and I was afraid those ghosts would catch me. Then you picked me up and carried me to the car.”

“Huh?” He didn’t remember much about that night, except that they ran. It wasn’t the only time that happened during his many sojourns, but he’d never helped anyone. He shook his head. “Picked you up? I don’t think so. I ran so fast, I was the first one back to the car.”

She blinked and he could see confusion. “Then who picked me up?”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe the ghost of Marco Gonzales. I remember we found you sitting on a rock by the car.