Silver Falls (23 page)

S
he spent precisely fifteen seconds panicking. And then she spun around and began kicking at the pipe, her heavy boots making little difference. She pulled at her wrist, trying to twist it, but her bones were too big and she couldn't slip out of the cuff. She could feel the heat from the fire, the flames getting closer, and she kicked harder, hard enough to bend the pipe, not hard enough to break it, and she kicked again, screaming with rage and frustration, and again.

She heard his voice from a distance, and for a moment she thought she was imagining things. Stephen Henry, playing to the third balcony, his voice coming through the gathering smoke, calling for David.

She had no idea whether she could trust him or not, and she had even less time to think about it. “Stephen Henry!” she screamed. “Get me out of here!”

He emerged from the smoke, walking, no, running, straight toward her, and she half expected him to be bringing a merciful death. Instead he started yanking at the pipe that held her prisoner, and she felt it begin to give with their combined strength.

A moment later it pulled free from the framing, and she scrambled to her feet, pulling the ring of the cuffs off the end of it. “He's got Sophie,” she said in a strangled voice. “He's going to kill her. And you knew it.”

He shook his head, his face old and broken. “I didn't. I didn't want to. Where are they? Where's Caleb?”

“He's gone after them.”

“My poor wounded boy,” Stephen Henry began to intone, and Rachel shoved him aside, too panicked to slap him.

“Fuck your wounded boy. I'm going to save my daughter.”

They barely made it down the rickety front steps as the flames followed, eating the water-soaked wood as if it were dry kindling. It was late afternoon—what little sun there was had already begun to set, and the shadowy darkness was all around.

“He was heading up to the falls,” Rachel said. “I don't know how to get there.”

“I do,” Stephen Henry said, charging ahead of her, leaving her to follow in his wake.

She had no choice but to run after him. For all she knew he was simply leading her to her death—he'd already lied for and protected his murderous son past all reasonable limits, and there was no guarantee that he was finally ready to stop. He'd just saved her life, but she'd be a fool to trust anyone. It didn't matter. She'd only been on this trail once, following behind Caleb, and she couldn't afford to waste even a moment.

“You move fast for a cripple,” she said sharply, catching up with him.

He didn't even bother to glance at her. He was out of breath, moving fast, and she could barely keep up with him. All she could do was keep her head down and offer up a silent litany of prayer, of bargains, of mindless panic.
Don't let him hurt her. Don't let him touch her. Let Caleb get there in time.

The sound of the water grew louder, drowning out even her labored breathing. She almost thought she could hear voices, and she tried to push past Stephen Henry, but he shoved her out of the way, bursting through the clearing ahead of her.

And then he was falling back, against her, before she even heard the shot, and she collapsed under his weight, trapped for a moment as she saw
David dragging a now-struggling Sophie toward the falls. Rachel shoved the old man off her, hearing his grunt as he landed in the mud, and she struggled past him into the clearing, slipping in the mud as she scrambled toward them.

David had the gun in his hand, pressing it against Sophie once more, and Caleb was a few feet away, held at bay by the threat. “Don't come any closer, Rachel,” David said, his eyes glinting.

“Please, David,” she sobbed. “Let her go. It's gone too far—you can't get away with it. You can kill all of us, but no one will believe you.”

She half expected to hear him laugh maniacally, but he simply looked at her, his tie perfect, his blond hair slightly mussed. “They'll believe me.

They always do.”

“You can't,” she cried. “I won't let you.”

At that moment Sophie moved, reaching up, her fingernails raking across his face so hard the blood spurted, and for a second he let go of her, screaming in pain.

It was enough. Rachel charged at him, slamming her body into his, and he went over the edge, toward the churning waters.

At the last minute he reached out and caught her ankle, and she followed him, hurtling downward, knowing she was going to die, knowing that Sophie
would live, when an iron hand grabbed her wrist, catching her. She looked up to see Caleb, holding on to her with his last bit of strength. She looked below to see David swinging beneath her, still clinging to her ankle.

“Let go of her, David!” he shouted.

Everything suddenly seemed to move very slowly. She looked up, could see Caleb's free arm wrapped around a tree branch for support, support that wouldn't last long with both their weights pulling against him. Beneath her David thrashed, his hand burning around her ankle and he flailed.

“You love me, Rachel,” he shouted at her over the roar of the water. “You always have. Let go and come with me.”

She stared down at him for a long, raging moment. “Fuck…you,” she screamed, and slammed her heavy booted foot into his face. Once, twice.

With the third kick his fingers let go, and he fell, silently, spinning with the gracefulness of a diver until he disappeared into the roaring falls.

Caleb pulled her up, hoisting her onto the muddy ground, and she pushed away from him, scrambling across the dirt, breathless, until she was able to reach Sophie and pull her into her arms, sobbing. In the distance she could hear the sirens, and the flames from the burning building climbed
high into the rainy sky. She buried her face in Sophie's hair and closed her eyes, letting go for the first time in days.

They were safe.

David was dead.

It was going to be all right.

R
achel parked her battered Volvo on the road, not in the driveway, and slowly walked up the path to the front door of the house she'd once shared with David. The apple tree in the yard had started to die, the deep ruts from her car still scarred the grass.

She hadn't been back in the two weeks since David's death. She couldn't bear to. They'd kept them in the hospital for a couple of days—she had cuts and scrapes on her arms that she'd never noticed, from jumping through broken windows, and Sophie still had the effects of David's drugs in her system.

They also wanted to do a psych evaluation. Of course Sophie passed with flying colors. She'd never had any illusions about David. She wasn't the one who'd put her own child in danger because she was so blindly certain she was doing the right thing.

But in the end they were both released, and after
ten days at the local hotel they were finally free to leave Silver Falls. Which Rachel had every intention of doing.

Stephen Henry was still in the hospital. The bullet had lodged near his heart, and he was an old man. A healthy old man and a liar, and still enough of a force in town that he probably wouldn't even be charged with obstructing justice. Rachel didn't care one way or the other. He'd been as blind as she'd been, in his own way. And he'd done his best to make up for it.

The one strange thing was Sophie's sudden affection for the Old Goat. She visited him almost every day, and they'd developed a sort of bantering rudeness that they both enjoyed tremendously, particularly once it became clear that Stephen Henry's lechery was more particularly directed toward the young male nurses than her prepubescent daughter.

Of Caleb there'd been no sign at all. At least, not for her. She had no idea where he was staying. He wasn't at the one hotel, and his own place had burned to the ground. She suspected he might be holed up at Stephen Henry's while the old man was in the hospital, but she didn't care enough to ask, she told herself. Since he didn't care enough to show his face.

Maggie was waiting for her outside the house,
her broad, expressionless face the same as always. “You're really going to leave us?” she said when Rachel climbed out of the car.

“Could you even doubt it? You and Kristen can come visit with us whenever we're back in the country. Kristen could even fly overseas and join us during school vacations.”

“You're forgetting how much a small-town cop makes.”

“You're forgetting how much David's insurance settlement was,” she replied. “I don't really want the money, but I'm more than delighted to use it for things that will make Sophie happy. She's come through this amazingly well but she'll still need her friends.”

“Seems like she's come through it better than you,” Maggie observed.

Rachel made a face. “Thanks for noticing. Sophie doesn't have to kick herself in the butt every day for being a gullible fool. I don't just marry a psychopath, but I nearly get us murdered because I refused to listen to…good advice.”

Maggie had no qualms about naming names. “I don't blame you for not trusting Caleb. He's never done anything to make people trust him. I think he liked people thinking he was the crazy one. He certainly never did anything to convince people otherwise.”

Rachel's smile was forced. “Well, they know now, don't they? Not that it matters. He must be long gone by now.”

A slow smile lit Maggie's weathered face. “You asking me if he's still in town?”

“Of course not.”

“Because he is. Man's got a boatload of guilt to deal with, and he doesn't know what the hell to do.

Unlike his father, who doesn't feel a speck of responsibility for any of it. But then, anyone knows that Stephen Henry's a major asshole.”

That surprised a laugh out of Rachel. “Blasphemy.”

“You betcha. I brought the keys to the place.

You want me to come in with you, keep you company while you pack?”

“There's no need. I don't think David's ghost is going to be bothering me.”

“I doubt it. I expect he's roasting in hell right now, and they don't give day passes.”

“You think he's in hell? He was a very sick man.”

“Oh, screw that. He was a very bad man, and I'm just sorry I didn't get the chance to see him hang.” She looked at Rachel. “At least you got to kick him in the face a couple of times.”

“Three times,” Rachel said. “And I feel bad about that.”

“Do you really?”

She thought about it. “No. I'd do it again if I had the chance.”

“Me, too. Someone threatens my daughter, they're toast.”

Rachel thought about it for a moment. She'd relived those moments over and over again, the feel of her booted foot smashing into his face, and then his body falling, twisting and turning. She looked at Maggie. “Damn straight,” she said.

Maggie laughed. “Good for you. Where's Sophie now?”

“Visiting the Old Goat. Which I don't understand in the slightest.” Rachel shook her head. “But I think we've already established that Sophie's a better judge of character than I ever was, so there must be something good about him.”

“He tried to save your life and got a bullet from his beloved son for his efforts.”

“Well, there is
that.
” She wasn't going to ask. She'd told herself it didn't matter—if Caleb didn't want to see her then she sure as hell didn't want to see him. She couldn't fight it anymore. “Where the fuck is he?”

“Still in the hospital, I assume.”

“I didn't mean Stephen Henry.”

Maggie grinned. “I know. Actually, I don't know where Caleb is. He's heading off to New
Zealand in a couple of days—he's taking some time off and then he's on assignment again.”

“Sophie and I are going to New Zealand,” Rachel said, alarmed.

“It's a big country. You aren't going to run into him unless you want to,” Maggie pointed out.

“I don't know what I want,” she said, miserable.

“How's that working for you? If you don't want me to come in with you then I've got things I gotta do. Write me when you get a chance.”

“I've got a cell phone, you've got a cell phone. I'll call.”

“From New Zealand?”

“I'll call.”

The house smelled musty, with a chemical scent to it that had to come from the armies of investigators who had gone through the place with a fine-tooth comb. David's precious BMW was long gone, evidence. There'd been a dead body in the trunk all that time. She shuddered at the thought.

She moved through the house slowly. She'd lived here for four months, and oddly enough there was no sign of her presence. Everything reflected David's sterile taste, black and white and beige, and she wondered how she'd managed to live here so long without suffocating.

She went straight for Sophie's bedroom. Her suitcase was gone, as well as the silver barrettes
from the dresser, presumably taken as evidence. A stray shudder danced across Rachel's backbone.

Holding her breath, she went into her own room. No sign of her suitcase, either, and the things she'd had left to pack were gone as well. Her closet door was open, the plain clothes were still in there, and she shook her head. She hadn't remembered finishing packing, but then, that day had been such a horrific nightmare it was a surprise she remembered anything.

Maybe Maggie knew what had happened to their things. She headed out into the hallway. And then let out a shriek, as the tall shadow of a man appeared.

“For God's sake,” Caleb said in a cranky tone. “It's just me.”

She stared at him for a long moment. In the ill-lit hallway she couldn't see him that clearly, but there were fading bruises on his face, presumably thanks to his brother. “I thought you'd left,” she mumbled.

“No, you didn't. Maggie said you asked about me.”

“Maggie has a big mouth. I was just curious.”

“I'm here.”

“So you are.”

They stared at each other, a long, tense moment. “I needed to say something to you,” he said finally.

“No, you don't.”

“Don't tell me what I do or don't have to do,” he snapped. “I left you to die.”

That was enough to startle her. “Don't be ridiculous! Do you think I care? You were trying to save my daughter. Frankly you could have slit my throat and it wouldn't have mattered. All that mattered was Sophie. You should know that.”

“Sophie's not all that matters,” he said in a low voice. “You matter. To me.”

She didn't want to hear this. She was much too vulnerable, and the only way she'd been able to keep it together was pull a layer of ice around her heart. “Glad to hear it,” she said briskly. “I'll send you a Christmas card. Now if you'll excuse me.” She tried to push past him, but he put a hand on her arm.

“How will you know where to send it?”

He was too close, but somehow his presence wasn't threatening. She wanted to lean against him, put her face against his shoulder and let him hold her while she cried.

But Caleb Middleton wasn't the comforting type.

She took a deep breath. “I don't know where I'll send it. Maybe we'll all come back and spend Christmas with Stephen Henry, just one big happy family,” she said sarcastically. And then realized that bizarre as it was, she wanted that. She loved the Old Goat. She loved—

Shit, that was the last thing she needed. She looked up at him. “Why are you here?”

“Sophie's in the car,” he said, not answering.

“What car?”

“My car. Your suitcases are there as well.”

“Are you driving us to the airport?” she asked, trying to sound cool. “We haven't booked a flight yet—I don't know exactly where we're going.”

“I thought New Zealand would be nice this time of year. Hell, it's always nice. Sophie says you haven't been there yet.”

“And why am I going there now?”

“Because I am,” he said. “And you're coming with me.”

She looked at him. “Oh, yeah? Why?”

“Because it's what Sophie wants. Don't you spend your life doing everything for Sophie, including marrying the wrong man and almost getting killed? This is a no-brainer compared to that. Sophie wants the three of us together. I've made arrangements.”

She was tempted, damn she was tempted. “No,” she said flatly.

“No?”

“One stupid marriage is all Sophie gets. She and I will be fine on our own. I don't have to make any more stupid sacrifices.”

“Marrying me would be a stupid sacrifice?” He looked affronted.

“Why the hell are you even talking about marriage?” she countered. Her heart was hammering, and she tried to tell herself it was because she was talking to a crazy person.

He ran a hand through his long hair, uncomfortable and frustrated. “Look. I'm tired of arguing with you. The fact of the matter is, you love me—” he ignored her derisive “ha!” and went on, “—and I love you. So we're getting married and living happily ever after, whether you like it or not.”

“You don't love me,” she said, cursing the fact that her voice sounded a little rough.

A wry smile lit his face. “Don't I?” He took her chin in his hand, leaned over and kissed her, very lightly, on her mouth. He brushed her eyelids, her cheekbones with his lips, then kissed her again, slow, deep, tender, and she felt her body rise into it, unable to resist.

He stepped back. “Is that settled?”

“I've already killed one man because he tried to boss me around—don't think you can get away with it.”

He laughed. “I'll keep that in mind. So what do you think? New Zealand? It's lambing season.”

Before she could say anything the front door slammed open, and Sophie stood there, her newly cut hair just brushing her ears. “Hasn't he talked you into it yet?” she said. “He must be doing a
piss-poor job. Listen, Ma, the poor jerk is in love with you and wants to marry you, and he'll even put up with me. And I know you well enough to know you've been eating your heart over him for the last ten days. So let's get the hell out of here and you can argue on the plane.”

Rachel looked at Sophie, calm and unflappable as always, one very determined young lady. She looked at Caleb. She barely knew him. She just knew he was the one, and she'd known it since she'd first looked into his dark eyes outside of Stephen Henry's kitchen.

She shrugged. “Well, at least I don't have to worry about changing my name.”

Caleb grinned at her. “I like a practical woman,” he said. “Let's get the hell out of here.” He held out his hand, and she took it, moving forward, putting her arm around Sophie's narrow shoulders.