The Hiding Place

“Surprised you looked me up,” Rick said, walking away to lean a slumped shoulder on the frame of the window overlooking the street. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he looked both ways as if he was expecting someone else. “What’s the occasion, man?”

“I just got back from overseas, working with the army in Afghanistan, and thought I’d drop by.”

“Yeah, you missed all the family action.”

“Action!” Nick spit out, then checked himself again. “You mean the tragedy. I regret I wasn’t here. I’m back in Conifer, staying with Claire and her guardian, Tara Kinsale, for a while.” Nick saw the Rick’s jaw tighten at Tara’s name, but that was all. “I can speak for Tara, too, when I say we have no hard feelings—toward you, that is—about what happened.”

“Claire’s my niece, too, much as she’s yours,” Rick blurted, frowning. “You’re just lucky I didn’t put in for her custody, ’cause I was around.”

Nick stopped himself from stating the obvious: it was highly unlikely a murderer’s brother was going to be given custody of a young girl. But if Rick was angry that Tara was caring for Claire, wouldn’t he have harassed her sooner than this? It seemed unlikely he’d been spying on her all this time without making some kind of move—unless Clay had put him up to it lately.

“Have you been to visit Clay recently?”

“Off and on. If you’re here to run him down, don’t start,” Rick said, his tone hardening. “Too many people mixing in, it just got out of hand.”

“Oh, yeah, I’d say it did,” Nick said, clenching his fists at his side. He fought to keep from launching into a harangue against Clay for snatching Claire in the first place, let alone killing Alex. Clay’s claims of self-defense and accidental death had been pure bull.

Rick kept bouncing his right leg like he had the shakes. For the first time, Nick realized he’d miscalculated in coming here. He had told himself he wanted to psyche Rick out and now all he wanted to do was punch him out. Rick repeatedly wiped his palms on the hip bones of his jeans as he frowned out the window again. Maybe he did have someone else coming. Nick had that prickly-back-of-the-neck feeling he used to get—just like the dogs he was training in the desert—when he scented the enemy nearby. Still, he had come to make a point, and he meant to say his piece.

“I’m glad you’ve got a lot going right now,” he told Rick. “Take care of yourself, because it wouldn’t look good if you harassed others who had suffered from Claire’s abduction and Alex’s death.”

Finally, Rick’s dark eyes narrowed and met Nick’s. “I’d never hurt the kid,” Rick muttered. “But maybe you didn’t mean Claire. After all, you moved in with Tara Kinsale fast enough.”

“So you’re implying what?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m implying if I need to spell it out, but you know what I mean. Didn’t catch enough bad guys playing G.I. Joe, so you’ve got to pick on me?” Rick goaded as he thrust himself away from the window and stalked across the room to yank the door open. Nick could see they’d passed the point of no return. “You’re back trying to make up for it,” Rick plunged on, “talking about me doing something wrong?”

Hell, at least he got that part of the message, Nick thought, wanting to pretend Rick was Clay and beat the bastard to a pulp. But then he would have sunk just as low, striking out at someone who—maybe—wasn’t to blame at all.

“Just keep clear of Claire and Tara,” Nick said, and started toward the door before he bounced this guy off every wall in the room. He’d always prided himself on maintaining control at all times, prided himself on doing his duty and being reasonable. He’d expected it of himself, as had the amazingly strong Delta Force units and the Rangers he’d worked with. Even when they’d lost two dog handlers in an ambush and he blamed himself, he’d stayed stoic because he had to. But now it really scared him how powerfully the passion to protect his girls pounded in his ears and roared through his veins.

The moment Tara got back to the house, despite the fact she was still deeply shaken and dust coated, she looked out the back window toward the hiding place Nick had pointed out to her. When she saw nothing unusual, she washed her hands and face at the kitchen sink. Before she leaned out the front door to knock more Red Rocks dust off her purse, she looked both ways out all the front and side windows.

Damn, this was no way to live! She’d never been one to take risks, except for marrying Laird, which she’d thought at the time was a sure thing. For the first time in her life, she felt that even stepping outside was hazardous. She felt almost under siege.

Stepping back into the house, Tara dug in her purse for her cell phone. It was coated with a layer of grit, but it still worked. Feeling in control enough to call Veronica now, she scrolled to her number. It rang five times, then a recorded voice came on asking if she’d like to leave a voice-mail message.

She ended that call and tried the house phone number at the Lohans. Unfortunately, her former father-in-law answered. The old saying “like father like son” was sadly true in the Lohan clan. Both Thane and Laird not only resembled their father physically but had inherited or imitated his worst traits.

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