Trespass (10 page)

“Thanks.” She began gathering up the bedding.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Russ bit back a pathetic urge to ask her to change her mind, to sleep in his bed, choked it down. “Sweet dreams, Nicole.”

Another tight smile. “Night, Russ.”

Chapter Five

After two hours’ reading and another of tossing and turning, waiting for sleep to arrive, Russ finally nodded off. He slept poorly, had a strange dream about owls and a secret tunnel under his stable. When his eyes opened he didn’t even have to look at the clock to know it wasn’t anywhere close to morning—just past midnight, the digits confirmed. He sighed to himself, staring up into the dark.

His body felt itchy, an unreachable restlessness far below the skin. It was a stupid thing to think after just two days, but he felt amputated with Nicole lying so far away. He remembered his great uncle’s story about getting Phantom Limb Syndrome after he’d lost his leg in Korea. Russ felt that now—a vague, ghostly presence in his bed, near his chest, right where Nicole ought to be.

He wanted to see her. He’d be good, not intrude on her as he had the second night, but he just wanted to
look
at her. Easing his bedroom door open he stole into the den, thinking he’d get a glass of water so as not to appear creepy if she woke to find him sneaking around in the near dark. He padded across the floor, searching for her outline in the moonlight slanting through the windows. Blankets, pillows, no girl. He went back a few paces, peering into the empty bathroom. Russ frowned and flipped on the lights, and where Nicole ought to be sat a heap of empty bedding. His heart thumped. Rushing back to his bedroom, he yanked jeans up his legs, socks, a T-shirt. He’d look an idiot running out into the yard only to find her there, staring up at the moon or stars, maybe crying, maybe wanting some space from him…but no. That didn’t feel right. Russ hurried out the back door and pulled his boots on, waiting for the predictable ruckus.

“Kit? Tulah?”

Nothing.

He found them in their usual sleeping spots just inside the stable and fell to his knees beside Tulah. She was warm, ribs rising and falling slow and steady, but she didn’t rouse when Russ gave her a good shake. Kit was friskier—she raised her head to gaze at Russ, but looked dozy.

He stood, staring out across the moonlit fields and feeling his entire world flip-flop, anger and shock rushing in to drive out the fear. “Fuck me. Bitch drugged my dogs.”

Made finding her a hell of a lot harder.

His heart hammered, too many questions and actions tugging him in different directions. Those pills didn’t have aspirin in them…did they? “Fuck.”

Russ ran around to the front, eyed his truck but knew it was a bad idea. Even without headlights, she’d hear him coming a mile away and find a million places to hide. He toyed with calling the sheriff but the clock was ticking. And besides, she’d fucked with his dogs and that made this goddamn personal. He just had to hope he could outrun her and pray he picked the right direction to head. As he charged inside, he glanced at his rifle then thought better of it. Instead he grabbed the little pistol from his medical case and laced up his boots. He dashed back down the front steps and chose east, the opposite way she’d come from when she first arrived.

He set off at a jog. Adrenaline begged him to sprint but he needed to be the calm one, the quiet one. He was damn lucky the moon was as full as it was, the sky near cloudless.

What felt like five miles onward, he thanked God for another thing—her cream-colored shirt. It glowed in the distance, the flag of her hair flapping against it with her steps. Russ ran as fast as he could, noisiness be damned, close enough now to outrun her.

He saw her pale face as she turned, maybe fifty yards down the dirt road.

“Stop!” he bellowed, pulling the pistol from his pocket to show her.

She immediately broke into a run but kept to the road. She didn’t head into the fields until it was way too late and Russ was only a few breaths behind. He tackled her, hard, sending them both rolling across the ground, flattening the already harvested wheat stalks.

She gasped and coughed, the sound of wind being knocked out. Russ scrambled for the plastic bag near her hand. It rustled as he stood.

He yanked her to standing by her waist, wounds be damned. He gripped her arm tight. “What’d you do to my dogs?”

“I g-gave them those p-pills,” she gasped, still winded.

“How much?” When she didn’t answer he dropped the bag, grabbed her other arm and shook her. “How much?”

“As much as the directions said to give a ch-child. Not that much.”

He took a few breaths, staring at her frightened face in the bluish moonlight and hating how the relief dulled his anger. “You have any
fucking
clue how lucky you are? You could have killed my dogs.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

He wanted to yell at her but didn’t even know where to start. Instead he let her go. He grabbed the bag and began marching her back down the road with the barrel of the gun at the small of her back, brisk enough to have her panting within a minute. The return journey felt far shorter than the way out, less than two miles. They passed the half hour in a silence punctuated by heavy breaths and soft grunts, each tripping, each tired. He led her around the rear of the house to the stable. He flipped the light on and gave her a blazing look.

“Don’t you fucking think about running.”

She held his stare and her tongue.

Russ stuffed the pistol into his jeans. “Where’s the box those pills came from?”

After a pause she pointed to a high shelf. Russ snatched the package, and as he read through the ingredients, his heart slowed. Diphenhydramine. No aspirin. Nothing he hadn’t prescribed himself for sedation or allergy treatment. He gave the dogs a good checking over and decided they’d be fine in a few hours, if a bit dim-witted.

Without looking at Nicole’s face, he shut off the light and grabbed her wrist to lead her around to the front. He yanked her up the porch steps, jerking the door open and pushing her inside, nearly hard enough to send her to the floor. He didn’t want to hurt her, but goddamn if he didn’t want her to believe him capable of it. Believe herself deserving of it. She stumbled and recovered then turned to face him, unmistakably scared behind her steely façade.

He held her eyes as he walked to the dining area. He overturned the plastic bag on the table and out tumbled his great-grandfather’s watch along with some food and a small wad of bills, ones Russ knew damn well used to be in the mint box he kept on this counter. He held up the watch as though he meant to hypnotize her.

“You robbed me? Seriously?”

She didn’t reply, gaze on the watch as though he might hurl it at her, which he frankly couldn’t put past himself just now.

“You a drug addict?”

Her brows bunched, unmistakably insulted. “No.”

“Doesn’t strike me as your taste, so forgive me if I can only assume you planned to sell it. And in a goddamn hurry.”

She pursed her lips.

“Exactly how much were you hoping to get for it?” He set it down, not waiting for an answer. “Why not steal my horse tranquilizers, while you were at it? You could make a hell of a lot more off ketamine than antiques.”

She stood up a bit straighter, eyes narrowing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, and don’t you look holy for a woman who just drugged my dogs?”

“I don’t have the luxury of putting strangers ahead of myself right now.”

“Poor baby. What about me then? Where do I rank on your list of people to fuck over? Where does ‘sucker’ rank?” His heart was pounding harder than he could remember, so hard it scared him. So hard he didn’t know which might win, rational thought or blind anger.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, staring at the floor between them.

Russ took a deep breath and slapped his palm to the tabletop. “Why didn’t you steal my truck?”

She smiled tightly, nearly blushing. “I couldn’t find the keys.”

“They’re in the ignition.” He squinted at her, some of his boiling anger cooling as the adrenaline wore off. He took a few deep breaths then stepped close, closer, forcing her to back up until her calves bumped the couch. He gave her a push that landed her butt firmly on the cushions.

“Who are you?”

She stared up at his face, her eyes tired and glassy, not really connecting with his. “I thought you believed in places where people don’t have to answer to others.”

“That’s before you drugged my dogs and tried to rob me. Who are you? Lemme see your ID.”

She switched gears, pointing at the pistol in his pocket. “How close did you come to actually shooting me?”

“It’s a tranquilizer gun.” He pulled it out, aimed it to the side and clicked the trigger a couple of times. “And it’s not loaded, since some of us have some sense in our skulls. Gimme your ID.”

Her nostrils flared but she dug in her back pocket and pulled out a wallet. She handed him an Iowa driver’s license. Nicole Brevin, thirty-two as she’d claimed, but this wasn’t the woman on Russ’s couch. All they had in common was white skin and brown hair.

He flicked the card into her lap. “What’s your real name?”

She kept her eyes on his, the defiance undermined by her pursed and unsteady lips.

“Just tell me,” he said. “You’re already busted. And believe me, you’re not escaping a second time. You already used up your best tricks and look where they got you.”

She held his stare, face cold again.

“Come on, now. Just your first name. Don’t act like you don’t owe me that.”

She licked her lips, gaze moving past Russ’s leg to the floor. For once he decided avoiding eye contact was a sign of truthfulness. And hell, she’d lied plenty already, right to his face.

“Sarah,” she muttered.

“Right. And how old are you actually, Sarah?”

“Twenty-seven.”

He nodded. That old intuition his wife had always said men were useless with…his was waggling a big I-told-you-so finger at him. “So who’s this Nicole you’re claiming to be?”

She shrugged, still avoiding his eyes. “Some woman whose purse I stole at a bar.”

He shook his head and tried to clear the disbelief. “Jesus… What’d you do, Sarah? Who’re you running from?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“Did you steal something? Did you hurt somebody? Is somebody trying to hurt
you
?”

Her expression changed. She was surprised by that last question—surprised by its concern. He bet she wasn’t used to being worried about, but he also bet she wasn’t on the run as a victim… She’d have gone to the police, presumably, instead of trying to change her identity. A totally different breed of desperate woman, this one was.

“I hurt somebody,” she finally said. “But he had it coming. And I didn’t mean to hurt him as bad as I did.” Her voice trickled to a whisper.

“Right.” The anger and suspicion and distrust in Russ’s chest deflated, leaving him plain old exhausted. He stood and strode to his junk cabinet, pulling out a loop of clothesline. Sarah’s eyes widened as he walked over. She stood.

Russ shook his head. “I’m so frigging tired right now, you really have no idea. Just cut me a goddamn break and cooperate.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Fine.”

“Turn around.”

She shuffled in place and let Russ tie her wrists together, not so tight she couldn’t reach the knot and maybe undo it, loose enough that she could shift her arms a little. He planned on keeping her troublemaking hands where he’d feel them, so no matter if the knots weren’t ideal. He tucked the excess line into the back pocket of her pants.

“C’mon,” he said, waving a hand toward his bedroom.

She made a face, incredulity mixed with a touch of disgust.

“Save your indignation, sweetheart. I haven’t got anything planned you didn’t already trick me into.”

He caught her cheeks color as she turned to obey, walking to his room and awaiting further instructions.

“Go on,” he said. “Shoes off and lie down. On your side.”

“Can’t we do this some other way? My hands are going to fall asleep.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

“Couldn’t you take my clothes or something? What am I going to do, run off in my underwear?”

“You might try and smother me with a pillow,” he said.

“I can’t overpower you, Russ.”

He hated how his brain skipped when she said his name. The last time she’d said it in this room it had meant something, something wondrous. Ruined beyond all recognition now.

“Come on, please. I’ll be shifting all night if you keep me tied up.”

He shook his head, too tired to argue. He twirled his finger and she obeyed, turning her back to him.

“You try
any
thing,” he said, tugging at the knot, “and I swear I’m locking you in a dog crate.”

“I won’t.”

The rope fell away and she flexed her hands.

“Clothes off, like you said.”

She shrugged. “It’s not like you haven’t seen it all already.”

Russ squinted at his covers, hating the way she’d said that. A low blow aimed right as his balls, muttered as though what they’d done had been no big deal, inconsequential, when for him it had felt like lightning striking—like finding a pot of gold buried in his backyard. Too good to be true.

She pushed her sneakers off and stripped to her underwear, didn’t stir a thing in Russ except more irritation. He shoved her clothes between the mattress and the bedframe where she’d never get them unless she managed to put him out of commission. And if she did… Well fuck it then. Maybe she deserved to get away. Might make everything way easier. He was too tired to care now, too tempted by the idea of never having to look at her again.

She got into bed facing the wall. Russ sat on the edge of the mattress and unlaced his boots, feeling about a thousand years old. Still fully dressed, he got under the covers. He spooned himself behind her, low, with his face at her neck and his crotch behind her thighs. He wrapped his arms around her waist and felt her body stiffen.

“It’s a big bed,” she muttered.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Trust me, there’s nobody I’d rather be a million miles away from right now than you.”