ANGEL MEETS THE BADMAN Page 15

  "Mean-looking—Wes? Okay. Me and Wes."

  "One vehicle," Jake said.

  "Got it. No cops, no weapons."

  "What, are you crazy?" Jake asked. "You'd better come loaded for bear, Brand. I'm not gonna let you take Sara if you aren't prepared to protect her from this maniac. Bring weapons."

  "How do you know we won't use them on you, Nash?"

  "Let me worry about that. Now, listen. We've got to do this now. If she wakes up before it's done, she'll never go with you. And if she stays with me, she's at risk. Understand?"

  "No. I really don't, but I'll do it."

  "One more thing, Brand."

  "What's that?"

  "I want you to take her back to Texas. Directly from here back to Texas. Back to that ranch she keeps talking about. No stops, no nothing. If you take her back to Sugar Keep, even for just long enough to grab your brothers, she'll be a target. You have to promise me this. You can call the others from your cell phone once you get going. But you can't stop until she's safe."

  There was a long moment of silence. Then, finally, "You're not kidding about this, are you, Nash?"

  "Don't let her out of your sight until the killer is behind bars, Garrett. And I don't mean me. If they arrest me, fine. I'll rot in jail, but you need to know, you need to know, Brand, that there's someone else out there, and that he wants your niece dead. Keep her safe."

  "We will."

  "Good."

  "Nash—"

  "The town's ten miles north of Gator's Bayou. It's called Belle Ville. There's one main road. Right across from the town's barn-slash-dance-hall is an unpainted shed. She's sleeping in the loft. You ought to be able to make it here in twenty minutes."

  "Try ten," Garrett said.

  "Take it easy, Brand. No use drawing all kinds of attention by speeding out of there like the cavalry. Take your time. Don't worry. I won't let her out of my sight until you have her in yours."

  There was a pause. "You're right. Okay, see you in twenty." Garrett disconnected, ending the call.

  Jake shook his head at the dead phone in his hand. "No, you won't see me, friend. But I'll see you."

  Slowly he replaced the receiver. Then, bracing himself for the hardest task he'd ever had to carry out, he walked back outside into the brightening morning, crossed the dirt road to the shed and entered its fragrant dimness to climb the ladder.

  She was naked and beautiful, lying in the hay, sound asleep, utterly content and totally relaxed. Not a care in the world right now. She looked even more like an angel to him than she had that first day.

  She was going to hate him for this. But dammit, she would never go back home on her own. And his only chance was to find the killer himself.

  He wondered, briefly, when exactly he had made that decision. Until last night he had been convinced that his only chance was to run like hell for the border.

  He looked at Sara again, remembered the way she'd been with him earlier, before dawn this morning. The way she'd stared up at him with love gleaming from her eyes, and he knew why, if not when, he'd changed his mind about his options. She would think less of him if he ran. Hell, she had him dreaming about things he knew damn well were impossible. But he couldn't avoid it or deny it any longer. All the things she believed about him … dammit, he wanted to make them true. He wanted to be half as good as she—for some twisted reason—seemed to believe he was.

  She was going to be furious when she realized what he had done. And he didn't know what would come next. It might be a long time before he could talk to her again, before he knew just whether he was capable of living up to her image of him … his mother's image of him.

  But she was strong. A survivor. She would be okay. He only hoped he would.

  Sitting down in the hay beside her, he gently gathered her up into his arms and began slipping her clothes carefully back in place.

  "Mmm," she muttered. "Jake."

  "It's okay," he whispered. "Hush, angel. Just rest. Just rest. Everything's gonna be okay, I promise."

  She sighed contentedly. "Love you," she murmured before sinking back into blissful sleep.

  Tears burned in Jake's eyes, hot and thick. God, tears. He hadn't shed one since they'd come to his cell to tell him his mother had died. He felt as if he were losing someone just as dear, just as precious, right now. Dammit, those Brands had better watch over her. Keep her safe.

  And maybe … maybe when the dust settled…

  One thing at a time, he told himself. He was still afraid to dream too big or aim too high.

  "Jake?" she whispered, struggling to open her eyes. It was an effort. She tried to remember the last time she'd been awake … the loft, and Jake gently dressing her as if she were a little girl. When he'd finished, he'd held her gently in his arms, rocked her slowly, kissed her forehead. Whispered … goodbye.

  Goodbye?

  Sara felt a fluttering of panic in her chest. "Jake…"

  A hand stroked her hair, and her head rested on a sturdy shoulder. It was okay. She calmed immediately. All of that must have simply been part of some strange dream. Because she was only just waking up now. So morning couldn't have come already, could it? She would hardly wake up to such a tender embrace, snuggled in Jake's arms, only to go back to sleep again. That made no sense at all. She'd dreamed it, dreamed his whispered goodbye.

  Dreamed the warmth of a tear on his cheek when he'd kissed her.

  Dread settled over her heart like a shroud. Some secret certainty she could not even acknowledge. Refused to acknowledge. That had been a dream. It must only now be morning.

  Again she struggled to make her eyelids obey her mind's commands. And this time they responded with sluggish weight, opening slowly. It seemed like an immense effort to get them to open at all. And when she did, nothing made much sense. Because, even without having any focus, it was fairly obvious she wasn't in the loft, with a donkey below her and Jake beside her.

  The shoulder underneath her head was… Blinking, she lifted her head, her gaze. "Wes?"

  "Yeah, hon. It's me." Smiling worriedly, Wes stroked her hair. "It's okay, we're almost home."

  She frowned. "Home?" Looking forward, she saw the windshield, and through it the broad, sloping nose of Garrett's pickup truck, and beyond that, vast lengths of gray pavement and yellow lines.

  "But…?" Turning her head, she saw Garrett behind the wheel. "Where is Jake? What happened? What…?"

  "Easy, now," Garrett said. "Don't get yourself all worked up, Sara. Everything's fine."

  He spoke to her as if she were a small child on the brink of a panic attack. It made her so mad she wanted to punch him right in his nose. "Dammit, Garrett, I know I'm fine! What I want to know is what I'm doing here, in this truck with you two, and what the hell you've done with Jake! Now one of you had better start talking or there is going to be hell to pay, and don't you think I don't mean it!"

  Garrett's frown was so deep it was comical, and he stared past her at Wes, who was sitting up straight with his brows arched high and his eyes registering surprise. "You sure we picked up the right girl, Garrett? Cause … this is not the Sara I remember."

  She faced Wes, gripped the front of his shirt in her fists. "What have you done to Jake?"

  "Nothing!" Wes removed her hands, folded them and pressed them into her lap. "We didn't even see the guy."

  "He called me this morning, Sara," Garrett said softly. "He told me where to find you, said he wanted Wes and me to come and get you."

  She felt as if Jake had just reached out and slapped her, from wherever the hell he was. "But…?" Then she looked at a passing road sign, recalled Garrett's assurance that they were almost home. "We're back in Texas," she whispered. Her throat was tight, tears threatening.

  "Yeah. Nash made us promise we'd take you straight back to the ranch and keep you under constant guard. He seems to think you're in danger, Sara. And frankly, he was pretty convincing."

  "He's right," she said. "The killer saw me that night. He thin
ks I saw him, and he wants me dead. Jake could have been long gone by now if he hadn't taken me along. But I'd be dead right now if he hadn't."

  Garrett again exchanged a long look with Wes.

  "Take me back to Sugar Keep," Sara said.

  Garrett shook his head. "No way. You just admitted someone wants you dead. Why the hell would you want to go back there?"

  She looked Garrett squarely in the eye. "Because I've spent my entire life running and hiding from someone who wanted me dead, Garrett, and I'm sick and tired of it. Now take me back there so I can find this scumbag and show him what happens when he messes with a Brand."

  Garrett's smile came so fast and so wide it damn near blinded her. "Damn. I don't know what all happened to you back there, Sara Brand, but you sure did come back spunky."

  "Brand through and through," Wes said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

  "Then why isn't this oversize pickup turning around?"

  The two men looked at each other.

  "I gave my word, Sara. I promised this Nash character—"

  "Jake. His name is Jake, and he's not a character. He's … he's… Oh, hell." Sara lowered her head into her hands and started to cry. The tears came harder, faster, until her shoulders shook with them.

  Wes swore. "Did that son of a— What did he do to you, Sara?"

  "Uh, Wes, maybe you'd best shut up and think on that some," Garrett said, eyeing Sara worriedly.

  "What the hell is that supposed to— Oh, shoot. Oh, come on, don't tell me. Sara? Hey, Sara, you haven't gone and fallen for this clown, have you?"

  "Uh, Wes…?"

  Too late. Sara's elbow jammed into Wes's rib cage so hard all the air shot out of his lungs. "Damn!"

  Then, sniffling, she lifted her gaze to Garrett's. "Did you get the note we pinned to Jessi?"

  "Yeah. Who the hell hit her, anyway? She came back with a lump on her head the size of a—"

  "I did."

  Garrett blinked. "You did?"

  "I came out to see someone standing in the dark, holding a gun on Jake. What the hell would you have done?" She rolled her eyes. "Did you look at Jake's record, like I asked in the note? Hmm? Did you?"

  With a sigh, Garrett nodded. "He had a tough break. Hell, he had a run of tough breaks. But, Sara, that's no excuse for—"

  "For what, Garrett? For killing his cousin? No, it isn't. But he didn't do it. For running from the law? Well, the cop on the scene that night was the grandson of the old man who died in that liquor store holdup. And when I told Kendall it was wrong for him to be on the case, he suggested I take it up with his cousin, the DA. If Jake hadn't run, Garrett, he'd be in jail right now. And I'd probably be dead."

  She made a fist and thumped it on the dash. "I have to go back, Garrett."

  Garrett shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sara. Look, I can … I can make some calls. Try to get Nash … Jake … a fair deal this time. But I can't take you back there knowing someone might be taking potshots at you, hon. I just can't." He eyed her, even as she sighed and slumped lower in the seat. "Even if I wanted to, your brother wouldn't let me. Marcus … and Casey, and … dammit, Sara, there's just no way."

  Sara closed her eyes. She knew this was it. She was going to be protected and safe out at the ranch whether she wanted to be or not. "Do this much for me, at least. Make them run the DNA from the samples taken from underneath Vivienne's nails and check them against a DNA sample from Jake."

  "They're already planning to do that," Garrett said.

  "Yeah? And who's in charge of seeing to it the actual samples get used? Officer Kendall?"

  Garrett met her eyes. Sighed. "Good point. Look, I'll see to it."

  She still held his gaze.

  "I'll see to it," he said again. "I'll have a friend from the FBI lab go to Gator's Bayou and oversee it personally. Okay?"

  "Good."

  "Now … about going back to work."

  She twisted to face him, lifting a forefinger. "No way, Garrett Brand. I just got this transfer to Quinn Elementary over a half dozen other applicants, and I'm not going to miss so much as a single day of school over this. No."

  "But it would be safer if—"

  "No, no, no." She grated her teeth. "Men like this one have taken enough from me, Garrett. Don't you understand? My parents. My childhood. My home, my name for twenty years. My family, my brother until I found him again. My freedom … and now the man I love." She bit her lip hard, but the tears came, anyway. "I'm not gonna let this guy take one more thing. Not one more. Not ever. When the school bell rings next Monday, Miss Brand is going to be at her desk. Bet on it."

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  « ^ »

  Jake had sat perched in the rafters, concealed by shadows, and watched as Garrett Brand and his brother Wes had come up into the hayloft. When they saw Sara sleeping, the two men had run to her, leaned over her, and the panic in their faces, in their eyes, had been unmistakable.

  Just as the relief had been when they had realized she was okay. Only sleeping. Garrett scooped Sara up in his arms and paused to look around the place. But he hadn't called out or made any fuss. He'd simply touched the brim of his hat, a silent salute, and then he and his brother had eased Sara down the ladder and outside, to where the big pickup had been waiting.

  Jake had rushed to the window to watch as they settled her on the seat between them. He'd seen Wes, the alleged bad-ass of the bunch, tenderly brush a stray wisp of hair from Sara's cheek when he climbed in beside her. Then Garrett was behind the wheel, and the truck was turning around and rolling slowly back toward the highway.

  Even then, Jake kept watching. At the end of the dirt road, they could turn left or right. Left would take them back toward Sugar Keep—and the killer. Right would take them toward Texas.

  Garrett Brand had kept his word so far. He hadn't arrived with a full complement of armed police officers and maybe a SWAT team in tow. He'd come with only his brother. And neither of them had tried to hunt for Jake at all. They'd done as they'd promised.

  So far.

  They reached the stop sign at the end of the road. Jake tensed. If they turned left, he would have to go after them. If they tried to take Sara back into the line of fire…

  The vehicle turned right, picked up speed and vanished from sight.

  Jake's chest hurt. His understanding of the term heartache suddenly became complete. "I'm gonna miss you, Sara Brand," he whispered.

  The first thing Sara did when she got back to the ranch was find and swallow a handful of aspirin hoping to ease the pounding in her head. She didn't think there was anything that could help the queasiness in her stomach or the heaviness in her heart.

  Chelsea, Garrett's wife, followed her into the bathroom, stood behind her at the sink and held her shoulders.

  "I am so sorry," Chelsea said, meeting Sara's eyes in the mirror. "I feel horrible. I feel like I ought to close down my practice and go back to psychology school. My God, Sara, I couldn't have given you worse advice."

  Her eyes, Sara noted, were red rimmed. And Sara took just a minute to draw herself out of her own misery and address Chelsea's. "You have it all wrong, Chels."

  Chelsea lowered her head, shaking it slowly. "I convinced you to go on this vacation. I kept telling you there was nothing to be afraid of. That there was no one out to get you. And what happens? You witness a murder, get kidnapped by the suspect and become some kind of target all over again, according to what Garrett told me on the phone."

  Sara turned slowly around. "No. You want to know what happened? I found out that I still have good instincts. And that I'm smart enough to know the difference between irrational fears and real ones. I knew Jake wasn't what he seemed. I knew it right from the start, Chels. My gut told me I could trust him, even when everything—including the big jerk himself—tried to convince me I couldn't. And I learned something else, too. I'm not afraid anymore."

  "You … you're not?"

  "No. Everyone else is running around trying t
o protect me from this killer, but I'm not worried in the least. I wish he would come for me. One of us would walk away and one of us wouldn't, but at least it would be over and done with. I'm not afraid to face the bastard. Because nothing is as bad as living in constant fear. Nothing. I refuse to do that again."

  Tilting her head to one side, Chelsea studied her face. "There's something else, isn't there?"

  Sara nodded. "I'm in love … with Jake. I … I thought he felt the same, but … I don't know. Maybe not. Either way, though, I'm glad for the time I spent with him." Turning around, she hiked herself up onto the edge of the sink and sat there. "In a way, it was like looking into a mirror. He'd spent almost the same amount of time in prison that I spent in my own kind of prison. We were both crippled from that, in a way. Me being too afraid of life to experience it. Him, too burned by disappointments to ever trust in anything." Then she shrugged. "That time with him … made me see that I could get past it. Move on. Be more than I was."

  "And what about Jake?" Chelsea said.

  "I don't know. He's the most incredible man I have ever known, Chels. And … and you know that with the men I've had in my life to compare him to, that's saying something. He's … he's magnificent. But … he doesn't know it."

  "Maybe … there will be another chance, Sara. For you to show him."

  "Maybe," Sara said. "I hope so."

  There was a tap on the door. Chelsea opened it, and Garrett stood there, grim-faced. "I'm sorry Sara," he said. "The Louisiana State Police just called to let me know … they caught Jake before he got twenty miles from Belle Ville. He's, um … he's in jail."

  Sara recoiled slightly, but then she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin. "He'll be out just as soon as those DNA tests are done. You're still gonna take care of that, right, Garrett?"

  "You bet I am."

  The next week was the longest one Sara had ever spent. She knew, with the practical side of her mind, that she was strong now. That she could go on perfectly fine with or without Jake Nash in her life. She'd been through trial by fire, and she had emerged like forged steel. She wasn't afraid of the killer, though he was still on the loose somewhere. Everyone else spent all their time watching over her, and God help any stranger who happened to show his face in Quinn. He would find himself subjected on sight to the third degree by a pile of suspicious, impatient and mean-looking Brands.