Wicked Need Read online

  I manage to juggle the takeout containers--which are still quite hot since I had them just package our food up to go rather than eat mine there--along with my purse and keys as I get out of my car and hit the lock button. The driveway is lit up by two sconce lights on either side of the double car garage, but the side of the house is fairly dark as I walk toward the stairway that will lead up to the apartment. I know there's a motion sensor that will turn on a security light there as soon as I reach the end of the driveway and veer off on the small path to the side, so I have no hesitation as I walk toward the house.

  Just as I step onto the cement pavers that lead to the wooden staircase, two things hit me at once.

  The light isn't working because it doesn't come on, and something is rushing at me in the dark.

  I don't have time to scream. Hell, I don't even have time to comprehend I should be fearful.

  Instead, something barrels into me, catching at my shoulder and driving me up underneath the staircase and into the side of the house where I slam hard into the wall. My purse and the food goes flying, as do the keys in my hand.

  Before I can even take in a breath, which is difficult since it was just knocked out of me, a large, sweaty hand clamps over my mouth, while a beefy arm wraps around my chest. I immediately smell stale beer, cigarettes, and what might possibly be hot dogs, along with the unmistakable scent of motor oil.

  I try to take in air but the hand over my mouth is partially obstructing my nose, making it difficult. I'm seized with panic that I might suffocate and can't control my body as it starts to flail.

  "You better calm the fuck down, bitch," the man snarls in my ear and his mouth is so close, I can feel the brush of a beard against my skin and the spittle that hits my cheek. To reiterate his point, the arm falls away from my chest, only to come back moments later with a switchblade held expertly in his hands. While I can't see much, he has me turned toward the street, so the glow from the garage sconces causes the blade to glimmer. I can't help the small moan of terror that slips free.

  Before I can even try to think of something to save myself, he's spinning me fast, shoving me backward into the wall. My head slams into it with a jarring thud that rattles me, but not enough I don't feel the press of the blade against the base of my throat. It's so dark that I can't make out a damn thing other than the outline of his form.

  "Orders were clear," he mumbles, and it almost sounds slurred. "But no reason I can't have a little fun."

  Orders? Fun?

  Before I can figure it all out, his free hand comes to my blouse, paws at the opening at the top of my chest and manages to get a few fingers lodged in so he can rip it open. Buttons go flying as the white camisole I wear underneath is revealed to the cool night air. It is then I realize what the hell he means by fun.

  My body starts to react again, and my hands go to his wrist that holds the knife to my throat as I scream, "No."

  Kicking a leg out, I catch him in the shin, and he curses at me before pressing the blade harder against me. I feel the skin open up, and it stings terribly.

  "I will cut your motherfucking throat wide open if you don't quiet the fuck up and hold still," he yells at me, completely oblivious that he's making as much noise as I am right now. The alcohol fumes coming off him and the way his words come out less than clear leads me to believe he's definitely drunk or close to it.

  Drunk or not, he's incredibly strong and he's cut into the bottom of my neck, so my body goes absolutely still.

  "That's better," he praises, then his hand starts pawing at the bottom of my camisole again, trying to inch his way up underneath of it. I take in a deep breath through my nose, trying to think of a way to fight back without getting my throat slit open.

  Maybe a knee to his nuts? Surely that will hurt him bad enough he won't be able to control the knife.

  Another scream to distract him?

  His rough fingers touch my stomach, and panic starts to seize me again. I can't help it. My hands try to push him away from me, thinking a sliced throat would be better than experiencing the "fun" he wants to have.

  My body locks tight and I try to figure out exactly where his crotch might be in the gloom, intent to launch my kick, when light suddenly floods the driveway and the side of the house, illuminating my attacker.

  Dark, greasy hair that comes down to his shoulders and parts in the middle. A long, wiry beard. Dirty face smudged with oil and sweat. The light surprises him and his eyes flare wide as they turn toward the source, which I know is a car that's just pulled into the driveway.

  Either Lorelei or Jake, but I can't tell because I can't turn my head without causing the blade to go in deeper.

  I have no clue if they can see us, but my attacker must not think so, even though I can see his eyes are pale blue from the shimmer of the light on him. He presses the blade in tighter and doesn't say a word, seemingly unsure of what to do. For the first time, I feel a small trickle of blood that rolls down past my collarbone to my chest.

  The engine is cut off, and I hear the ticking of the motor. The lights don't go out and the car door opens.

  All of this happens in just seconds, and without any thought as to whether it's the right thing to do or not, I open my mouth and let out the most piercing shriek I can muster. It startles the man so much that he actually jerks backward from me, my neck suddenly free from the knife. I turn and see Lorelei standing beside her car with the door still open, not even fifteen feet away. She's staring straight at us, the headlights showing her exactly what the situation is. I haven't met her yet, but I did see her getting in her car one morning from the upper window in the garage apartment. I wonder if she knows who I am.

  Because she's standing in the glow of the sconce lights, I see clearly the look of shock cross her face, then her eyes narrow in recognition of me and a scary, greasy man standing there with a knife.

  Oh, fuck... what was I thinking? Lorelei is pregnant. She might even have her daughter in the backseat. She's now in as much danger as I am.

  "Lorelei... run," I scream, my back still pinned against the wall, not by my attacker but merely by my terror.

  But she doesn't. Instead, she calmly reaches into her purse and pulls a gun out. My gaze goes to the man, watching his eyes widen in surprise. I'm sure mine look the same.

  "You get the hell away from her," Lorelei says as she holds the gun aimed at him in a sure, two-handed grip. She looks completely confident in her abilities, and I think that might be because everyone in Wyoming owns guns and knows how to shoot.

  The man doesn't move one way or the other. He stands frozen to the spot, his eyes riveted on Lorelei and the gun, his hand holding the knife loosely by his side. My gut instinct--no, my internal sense of self-preservation--tells me to run--but I stand frozen to the spot as well, afraid any movement from me might provoke him to attack.

  "Only going to say this one more time," Lorelei says, and I hear the unmistakable snick of the gun cocking. "Get the hell away from her."

  He only hesitates for one, maybe two seconds before he bolts off into the darkness, the sound of his feet thumping on the hard ground and eventually receding into the distance.

  "Get over here, Cat," Lorelei says, her gun now swung slightly toward the way in which my attacker just ran. Well, that answers the question... she knows who I am.

  I bend to grab my purse, but Lorelei barks at me, "Over here now. I can't see much past you and I don't know if he's still out there."

  There's no hesitation because the thought he might be back propels me as much as Lorelei's commanding voice. I run straight at her, confident she won't shoot me.

  She nods at her car and says, "Get in the back with Amber."

  I don't argue but do exactly as she says. When the door is closed, she slowly backs into the driver's seat and shuts the door. With amazing efficiency, she sets the gun on the dashboard, reaches into her purse to grab her phone, and manages to start the car. Handing the phone to me, she says, "Call 911. Tell them w
hat happened and the address. Tell them I'm leaving and going to drive the block until they get here."

  "Why?" I ask as I take the phone.

  "Because I have no clue if there are others, possibly in the house or apartment," she says as she shifts the car into reverse.

  Brilliant. Would have never thought of that.

  I turn to look at Amber sitting beside me in the car seat. Beautiful little girl with golden blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, clutching a teddy bear. I give her a tremulous smile. "Hi."

  She looks at me with solemn eyes, understanding that something scary is going on here.

  Then I turn back to Lorelei's phone to call the police.

  "Can you remember anything else?" Detective Blanton asks as he sits beside me on the couch in Lorelei and Jake's living room, typing notes on an iPad. He's a nice-looking man... tall with dark hair peppered lightly with gray, which tells me he's been a cop for a while.

  "I think that's it," I say, my brain trying to sift through all the details, but I feel they're all muddied from the fear and adrenaline. It took me no more than five minutes to recount to him what happened the first time, and that's only because the entire thing couldn't have lasted more than two minutes, although it felt like twenty.

  He had me go through my story three more times, each time managing to pull out some other detail I had forgotten. It makes me wonder what else I've failed to tell him.

  He doesn't say anything, just continues to type in some notes.

  The front door opens, but I don't flinch as police officers have been coming in and out as they search for evidence, making sure that no one was inside the house. I turn my head, surprised to see Rand standing there, his face pale and his jaw locked. He sidesteps a cop, rounds the loveseat, and heads straight toward me. I stand up, shuffle to the side of the coffee table, and meet him at mid-room where his arms are around me and he's pushing my face into his chest.

  "Jesus," he growls as he squeezes me breathlessly. "Thank fuck for Lorelei."

  I nod, because yes... thank fuck. As soon as we returned to the house, only after Lorelei saw the first cruiser pull into the driveway, she called Rand and Jake to let them know what happened. I had no idea what she said because I was immediately pulled into an interview to try to get my statement while details were fresh and untainted. Three other cars pulled up within moments, with two officers heading off into the darkness to see if they'd luck out and find the guy who attacked me. An ambulance arrived moments later.

  But here Rand is now with his arms banded around me tightly and for the first time since the man grabbed me, I feel a measure of safety.

  Rand pulls back slightly and looks down at me. "Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

  Hospital?

  Hospital!

  "How's Tarryn?" I blurt out, my hand coming to his chest. "Is she alright?"

  Rand rolls his eyes and glares at me, pulling me back to the couch where he pushes me down and then squats in front of me.

  "Forget about her," he says as his fingers come to flutter over the white bandage on my throat that the paramedic put on me. He said it wasn't deep at all and should heal up fine, so I refused a trip to the hospital. "He cut you?"

  "I'm fine," I say, rather than confirm the obvious. It turns out he didn't cut me all that bad. A thin slice... more a scratch really, that produced a single large bead of blood that trickled down my chest.

  Lorelei walks out of the back hallway and smiles at Rand and me. "I just put Amber down. Can I get anyone coffee?"

  The detective looks up from his iPad and says, "I'd actually like to get your statement, Mrs. Gearhart."

  Lorelei nods and sits down on the loveseat while Rand pushes up off the floor to pace while she tells her story. He mutters and curses to himself as he listens, and I'm thankful he wasn't here when I told the cop what happened, as it was far more unpleasant than Lorelei valiantly chasing him off with a gun.

  "Give me as detailed a description as you can," the detective prods her.

  "He was about fifteen feet from me and my headlights illuminated him pretty well. Five-nine, maybe hundred and sixty pounds. Dark brown hair to shoulder, full beard and mustache. Jeans, black boots, and a long-sleeved dark t-shirt. Leather cut with an MC patch on the front that I couldn't see all that well, but I saw a larger one on the back when he turned to run. Had a skull on the back. Oh, and he had a teardrop tattoo under his right eye, at least I'm pretty sure that's what it was, but it all happened so fast. I'm not sure how much that helps."

  I stare at Lorelei, my mouth agape. How did she get all that in the few seconds she saw him? How in the hell did she see that tattoo when I was almost face to face with him and didn't notice it. Or maybe I did notice it but it just didn't register. Or perhaps it registered but I've forgotten it because I was more worried about not getting my throat slit.

  Let's face it... I'm practically useless at this eyewitness stuff. All I had was greasy hair and a preference for beer and hot dogs, which granted... if they had tracking dogs, they might be able to sniff him out based on that.

  Detective Blanton nods as he types the information in, his mouth moving silently as he talks to himself at the same time. When he finishes, he looks up at me. "Did he say anything at all? Have a distinct accent? Anything else you can remember?"

  Shit! He did talk to me and I didn't even remember it until he asked. Absolutely fucking useless, and I'm thinking there's even more I've forgotten and he's going to need to interview me several more times to get the entire store.

  I nod effusively. "He said he had orders, but that he was going to have fun first."

  "Orders?' the detective asks with raised eyebrows, and Rand comes to a standstill. I can feel the shock and anger vibrating off him, but I don't dare look. I know what he's thinking.

  "Yeah... he said something like 'orders were clear' but that he wanted to have some fun first," I confirm.

  "Son of a bitch," Rand says as he comes to the same conclusion I just did.

  "Did someone have motive to hurt you?" the cop asks as he looks at me but cuts a quick glance at Rand.

  I nod, but Rand answers for me. "Her late husband's oldest son, Kevin Vaughn. Cat's owed some money from the estate and he's claiming there's another will cutting her out. We've asked for a signed copy and he was supposed to deliver it today, but he never showed."

  "What kind of money are we talking about?" the detective asks, now very interested in this turn of events.

  "Five million and a house here in Jackson," I provide.

  "And what is the estate worth?" he asks.

  I shrug. "I don't know. Samuel was a billionaire. But a lot."

  "And you think five million out of a billion plus is worth killing you over?"

  It's a fair question and it's something I've thought about to the extent I never understood why Kevin wouldn't just let me have that. It was nominal in the grand scheme of things. "No, I don't think that's something that should cause someone to want to kill me," I tell him with a measure of confusion. "But he kicked me out of my house, shut all my access to money off, claiming there was this new will that cut me out completely. He's not been able to produce that, and he made an offer to buy me off a few days ago."

  "Buy you off?" Detective Blanton asks.

  Squaring my shoulders, I tell him bluntly, "Five thousand dollars or I could move into the Jackson house and be his mistress."

  If this surprises the detective, he doesn't let it show, merely bows his head over the iPad and notes that. He asks for contact info for Kevin as well as Richard, confirming where he can get up with me for more questions if needed and so he can keep me updated. With Lorelei and I both assuring him that's all we can remember, he goes outside to oversee the other cops in searching around the house for evidence.

  Rand walks up to me and holds his hand out. I take it, and he pulls me from the couch. "Come on, let's get you upstairs, fed, and then ready for bed."

  I nod with a tired smile and turn
to Lorelei as she stands from the love seat. "I know we haven't been formally introduced, but thank you for saving my life tonight. And seriously... all that stuff you remembered about what he looked like... you, madam, are a fucking legend."

  She grins and leans in to give me a hug. "My pleasure. I'm just glad you're okay."

  Rand leads me out of the living room and to the front door, Lorelei following behind us. Food sounds good, but a hot shower sounds better as I can't get the smell of hot dogs and beer out of my head.

  Twisting the knob, Rand pulls the door open and I see both Jake and Bridger standing at the bottom of the porch talking to Detective Blanton. Both their heads turn our way, Jake's eyes going to Lorelei's, where he does a quick up and down to ensure she's fine and then gives her a transparent look that says, I'm so proud of you, glad you're safe, and I'm going to kill that asshole if I find him for even coming on to my property, but before that, I'm going to take you inside and fuck you because I love you so much.

  Bridger looks straight at me, his eyes also roaming over me quickly and coming to stop at the bandage on my neck. His lips flatten out in a grimace, his eyes coming back to mine where he gives me a sad look. He turns back to Jake, claps him on the shoulder, and then turns to Rand as he leads me down the porch steps.

  When my feet hit the bottom, Bridger reaches a hand out and grips my chin. "You okay?"

  "Yeah... I'm fine."

  He nods and then looks to Rand, nodding upward to his apartment. "We need to talk."

  Chapter 21

  Rand

  I didn't think I could be strung any tighter.

  Cat was attacked on the doorstep of our home and it was nothing more than a fortuitous moment that Lorelei happened to come home at that exact time. I shudder thinking about the alternative because that means I'd have to imagine Cat laying broken, raped, and dead for us to find when we got home later, and that's not something I can handle.

  But when Bridger says we need to talk, my body tightens even more and my teeth slam together so hard I think they may have cracked.

  "Come on up," I tell Bridger as I grip Cat's hand tighter and lead her to the stairwell. Bridger follows behind, and we easily navigate our way as the police have a large ground lamp set up on the driveway as they look at footprints and comb the area for anything that can assist them in the investigation. I'm assuming that whoever attacked Cat knocked out the security light because it's not on.