Christmas at Twilight Page 25

  The house was utterly quiet. She could hear nothing but the hum of the refrigerator and the soft ticking of the kitchen clock. Her shoulders turned to rocks and she craned her neck trying to peer around the foyer wall and into the living room.

  Nothing.

  She jammed her hands into her armpits and took a tentative step forward. A floorboard creaked loudly. Meredith leaped.

  Jumping at shadows. This was ridiculous. No one was in the house.

  That’s what her mind told her, but her gut was saying something else entirely.

  Warning! Danger!

  Ninety-nine percent. Hondo had been ninety-nine percent sure Sloane was dead. There were only one percent odds that the monster from her nightmares had tracked her to Twilight. That he’d been in her house.

  You’re being ridiculous, she scolded herself. Get your cell phone and go back to work.

  She eased into the living room, looked right and then left, darting her gaze up the staircase. Nothing was out of place. Not a throw pillow. Not the remote control. Not even the rag doll Kimmie had left propped against the recliner. The room was just as they’d left it this morning.

  Still, she didn’t dare draw in a breath of relief. For five years, her internal alarm system had kept her alive. It was hard to switch it off.

  She went into the kitchen, got her phone from the charger, and checked both the sliding glass door and the door leading into the garage. Both securely locked.

  No reason not to go on back to work, a client was waiting, but she couldn’t ignore the creepy-crawling sensation tickling every hair on her skin. She searched the rest of the house, looking under beds and in closets—Kimmie’s room, Hutch’s room that was still quasi Ashley’s, and the guest bedroom upstairs that had turned into their midnight rendezvous love nest.

  In spite of her fears, she smiled in that room.

  It was in her bedroom that her heart stood still.

  When she opened the door the whisper of aroma drifted out—motorcycle oil, cigar tobacco, and the fetid odor of hing, a smelly spice indigenous to India that Sloane had loved.

  Instantly, cold chills broke out over her body, her palms went clammy, and her leg muscles cramped. She couldn’t breathe. Didn’t want to breathe in that horrific smell.

  Run! Get out, now!

  But before she could move, the past bulldogged up, smashing her hard in the face, and she was trapped in the talons of a full-blown flashback.

  He had her by the hair of her head, long brown hair back then, dragging her across the living room rug, the rough jute burning her elbows and knees as she tried to twist away from him. But she didn’t care about the abrasions. They were nothing. What terrified her to the bottom depths of her soul was the cage that he was dragging her toward.

  “No,” she howled, begged. “Pleased don’t put me in the cage!”

  “Stop fighting,” he said calmly. “You know what happens when you fight.”

  Yes, she knew, but the menace of that cage was stronger than his threat. She clawed at his hands, digging in with her nails, ripping off hunks of his flesh in a satisfying scrape.

  He punched her in the face so hard she literally saw stars—bright bursts of white and yellow lights burned her retina. The pain was so intense, she couldn’t think, couldn’t move, could barely even feel herself being stuffed into the large wire dog crate.

  “You behave like a bitch. You get treated like one.” He slammed the door closed, clicked the lock, pulled the black canvas cover down over the crate, dousing her in darkness.

  “Please,” she whimpered. “Please let me out. I’ll be good. I promise.”

  “You should have thought about that before you served me burnt toast.”

  “How long?” she blubbered pathetically. “How long this time?”

  “If you’re completely silent, for a week. But every time you speak, I’ll add another day.”

  She stuffed her fist into her mouth, bit down on her knuckles to keep from crying out. She had to pee, but she wasn’t going to ask him. She knew what he would tell her. Pee on yourself like a dog, bitch. And then he would beat her for stinking like pee.

  That was the day she realized that if she didn’t find a way to escape she was going to murder him.

  Meredith blinked, hauled in a deep breath, and she was back in her bedroom at Hutch’s house. The smell was gone from the room. Had it ever been there? She sank to the floor. Oh God, she thought she’d gotten past this. The scent had been nothing but an olfactory hallucination. She knew that, but she couldn’t help feeling that Sloane had been in this room.

  With a trembling hand, she lifted the bed skirt and peered under her bed. The lockbox containing the Colt Defender was still there. She felt along the bottom of the bedside table, brushed her fingers against the key taped there, and exhaled in relief.

  She was okay. Sloane hadn’t been in the house. He was dead.

  But just how long was it going to take before it fully sank in that she was finally free of the monster who’d almost destroyed her?

  CHAPTER 19

  At 0800 hours on Saturday morning, Hutch peered from the window of his hotel room in downtown Seattle at the street below and pressed the palm of his left hand on the fogged windowpane, leaving the imprint of three fingers, not four.

  It was okay. He was learning to live with things missing. Life was never tied up in a neat, shiny Christmas bow. It ebbed and flowed. But Meredith and the kids kept him bolted together. They’d changed his life in so many ways, all of them good.

  On the streets below, angry war protesters carried picket signs. “Get Out of Afghanistan.” “War Is Sanctioned Murder.” “Special Ops = U.S. Death Squads.” “Good Riddance to Killer Keller.”

  That last one torqued him. He clenched his jaw. Michael Keller had been Hutch’s best friend.

  Misguided rabble-rousers. Protesting something they knew nothing about. Didn’t they understand that if it weren’t for soldiers, they wouldn’t enjoy the freedom of picketing? Mike would have laughed it off, but it sure as hell wasn’t fair that protesters were spoiling the memorial for Mike’s family.

  Somehow, word of the service had gotten out. Delta Force operations were highly secret and there had been no official acknowledgment of the loss of Hutch’s team or that he’d been the sole survivor. Nothing in the media.

  But no matter how hard the Pentagon tried to keep a lid on Delta Force, people were people, and eventually someone leaked information.

  The bitterness that had dogged him after the ambush resurfaced, but he pushed it down, pushed it away. If being with Meredith had taught him nothing else, it was that letting go of resentment was the only way he could find happiness again. She’d been through so much herself, and yet, in spite of it, she was a happy person.

  Just thinking of her brought a smile to his lips. Soon. Very soon he’d be home, and his journey would be behind him. He would have kept the promise he’d made to himself, even at the sacrifice of leaving Meredith and the children behind.

  It had been the most difficult thing he’d ever done. Going from house to house, grief to grief, sharing in each family’s personal anguish. He couldn’t begin to express his appreciation to Gideon, Hondo, and Nate for coming along to support him. They were truly the best friends any man could ask for.

  The door clicked as a key card was slid home, and Gideon came into the room. Hutch turned from the window.

  “Assholes,” Gideon said.

  Hutch shook his head. “Holding a grudge doesn’t solve anything.”

  “Yeah, maybe not, but not everyone is as enlightened as you. Hondo talked to law enforcement. The police said there had been death threats and have advised the family to halt the memorial, but the Kellers refused. Their son spent his life fighting against terrorism and they’re not about to allow a few rabble-rousers terrorize them.”

  Hutch lifted his eyebrows. “Death threats against whom?”

  Gideon’s face didn’t change, but he widened his stance, touched h
is hip where his holster usually sat as if he felt naked without his duty weapon. “You. Me. Us. Any soldier.”

  Hutch shrugged. “Washington is a blue state. They have different ideas about things. That’s what America is about. Being able to freely voice your opinion.”

  “Hypocritical if you ask me. Protesting war, but issuing death threats.”

  “Means someone is human. We’re all hypocrites at one time or another.”

  “You’re in a forgiving mood.”

  “People get hurt, lash out. They’re not always rational. Who among us can say we haven’t done something stupid we later regretted?”

  “Not me for damn sure.” Gideon ran a hand over his head. “Either way, you’ve got built-in bodyguards, because I know you’re still going to attend the memorial. Nate, Hondo, and I will be right there with you.”

  “I know. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you guys.”

  Gideon came over and gave him a quick, one-armed, masculine hug. “All I’ve got to say is protect yourself, buddy. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “I don’t want to lose me either.” Hutch smiled. “I’ve got a whole lot to live for.”

  “Meredith.” Gideon bobbed his head. “She’s a good woman. I’m glad you two found each other.”

  “So am I,” Hutch said, his voice choked with emotion. “I feel about her like you feel about Caitlyn.”

  “Then you better put a ring on her finger.” Gideon grinned like a kid. “Before someone else snaps her up.”

  “I don’t think she’s ready for that yet.”

  “Are you?”

  Without hesitating for a second, Hutch said, “Yes.”

  Gideon punched him lightly on the upper arm. “C’mon, let’s get rolling, so we can get back home to the women we love.”

  In spite of the protesters, the memorial service was a moving tribute to Mike Keller. A barrage of uniformed officers, armed with pepper spray and riot gear, kept the picketers at bay behind sawhorse barricades.

  When Hutch saw the pepper spray, he thought of Meredith and suppressed a smile. Mike would have laughed his ass off over the pepper-spray incident and told Hutch that he’d found a keeper.

  The Kellers invited Hutch and his friends back to their house for a catered lunch, but he couldn’t bear the thought of listening to stories and staring at pictures of Mike when he was young and happy. His parents accepted that, but they did insist that Hutch ride in the limo with them, and when they dropped him off at their hotel, they hugged him and told him that he was welcome in their home anytime and made him promise to keep in touch.

  But it was a promise he couldn’t keep. He said good-bye knowing he would never see them again. They’d buried the past. Mike was the only thing they had in common. Contact with them again would only bring up their terrible loss.

  At 1100 hours he, Gideon, Hondo, and Nate had just stepped into the lobby when Hutch’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, checked the caller ID.

  Meredith.

  Just when he’d been thinking of her, she was thinking of him. He grinned because he was always thinking of her.

  He answered the phone. “Hey, babe.”

  “Hutch.” Meredith sounded strained.

  His body immediately reacted to the alarm in her voice, muscles tensing, shoulders snapping to attention, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

  “I don’t want to alarm you unduly,” she said. “And I realize my past has made me a worrywart, but . . .”

  He waved to his buddies to go on up to their room without him and maneuvered over to a quiet alcove of the lobby. “Talk to me.”

  “Ashley picked Kimmie up from school today and Flynn said she’s lost ten pounds and looks like she’s been crying a lot. I don’t know anything about your sister’s mental illness. Maybe this is symptomatic of some kind of psychiatric episode. Or maybe that guy she took off with got her into drugs. I’m very concerned.” Meredith was talking fast, her anxiety almost palpable.

  Hutch’s gut flip-flopped. “Where is she now?”

  “That’s the thing. I don’t know. When Flynn called, I rescheduled the rest of my appointments for the day and went home to check on her, but she wasn’t there. I tried calling and texting her, but she won’t pick up. Who knows? Maybe she doesn’t have her phone anymore.” Finally, Meredith took a deep breath.

  “When did she pick Kimmie up?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “I’ll catch the next flight out.”

  “That’ll cost you a lot of money.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll be there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Really, you could probably wait until your flight tomorrow. I just had to let you know what’s going on. I’m a bit of a mess, I confess, but I’ll do some yoga and get myself together.”

  “This can’t wait and I don’t want to leave you there to deal with this alone. It sounds like Ashley is in crisis. It’s happened many times before. Most likely the jackass she ran off with dumped her or did something that caused her idolization of him to turn into pure hatred. It’s the black and white flip of borderline personality disorder. I’m afraid she’s using Kimmie as her emotional crutch.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Especially since she hasn’t come home. My mother used to do stuff like this all the time. After she broke up with a guy, she’d pull us out of school and tell us we were going on vacation. Ashley loved it, but I always resented it. I wanted to be in school.”

  “That must have been so hard for you.”

  “Mom would take off without any kind of planning. Sometimes she wouldn’t have two quarters to rub together and when we ran out of gas, she’d go up to some guy at a gas pump, give him a sad sob story, and the sap would usually buy gas and give her money to feed us with. One year we got all the way to Florida that way. She said she was taking us to Disney World, but she didn’t have money to pay for tickets.”

  “So your sister is repeating your mother’s pattern.”

  “Yeah, it’s bad enough that she disappeared for a month, but now she’s back sucking her child into her emotional drama.” Hutch gritted his teeth. “I’m not going to allow her to put Kimmie through this crap.”

  “That little girl is lucky to have you as her champion.”

  “I just wish I wasn’t so far away.”

  “You’ll be here soon. Flynn volunteered to keep Ben until we get this sorted out and now that you’re coming home, I think I’ll take her up on it.”

  He could hear the relief in her voice. “I’ll grab my bags and head to the airport right now. I’ll call you when I get to DFW. If I can get a flight out within the next hour, I should be touching down somewhere between eighteen hundred and nineteen hundred hours.”

  “What time is that?”

  “Between six and seven.”

  “If you get a flight out.”

  “Let’s think positive.”

  “Good luck.”

  “If Ashley comes home, send me a text.”

  “I will.”

  “And Meredith?” Hutch realized she might not be ready to hear what he was about to say, but he had to tell her. He’d been feeling it for a long time now and she needed to know. Yes, it was probably too soon to say the words, he was taking a risk, but hopefully it wouldn’t freak her out.

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  The second his plane touched the runway at DFW airport, Hutch turned on his cell phone.

  He’d wrangled the last seat when he’d put his left hand, minus his index finger, on the ticket agent’s hand. He was also still wearing the Special Forces dress uniform he’d worn to Mike’s memorial service.

  Gideon, Hondo, and Nate decided to wait until their scheduled flight the following morning. This was a family matter, after all, and they didn’t want to intrude.

  On the one hand, Hutch missed his buddies. His pilgrimage had been so much easier as part of a team. But on
the other hand, Hutch was glad he was alone. He needed time to plan how best to approach Ashley. He had to handle her with kid gloves. It all depended on what kind of state she was in. Reading her moods—which could turn on a dime—was crucial to his success.

  He hoped she would answer the phone when he called. Hoped she was still in Twilight or at least somewhere in the surrounding area. She had an eight-hour head start. Depending on how fast she drove and how many stops she made, she could be in New Mexico, Oklahoma, Arkansas, or the Texas Gulf Coast by now.

  Just as he was about to text Meredith that he was on the ground, his cell phone rang.

  It was Ashley’s number.

  Relief was a tidal wave. If she was calling him, he was no longer on her shit list. Thank God for small miracles.

  He answered in a light voice as if he didn’t know she’d been in Mexico for the last month and had just jerked Kimmie out of school. “Hey, Ashes. What up?”

  “Unca Hutch,” wobbled a high-pitched little-girl voice.

  Kimmie.

  The sound of his niece’s voice, clearly near tears, was a fist to his gut, and the passengers on his flight ceased to exist. “Honey, are you all right?”

  “Unca Hutch.” Her voice quavered.

  He could almost see her little chin trembling the way it did when she skinned her knee or got some other kind of kid injury. “I’m here, sweetheart, I’m here. Where are you?”

  “I dunno,” she whispered.

  He could almost see her tiny shoulders lift in a halfhearted shrug. “Can you describe the place you’re at?”

  “It’s a room.”

  “What kind of room?”

  “There’s two beds in it.”

  A motel room? “What else is in the room?”

  “A desk and a chair and a dresser and a TV and a little table in ’tween the two beds.”

  “Is the room part of someone’s house?”

  “No.”

  So it was not one of the many B&Bs in Twilight. It had to be a motel room. In the background, Hutch thought he heard a man murmur something. Alarm burned up his nerve endings. “Kimmie, who’s there with you?”