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“Notice I actually came to Jolly Mill. I didn’t leave,” Megan snapped. Unlike your father, she wanted to say, but Lynley knew what she meant. Barry Marshal was a self-centered egotist who had split soon after Kirstie’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis. For everyone’s sake, he should have split long before that. Megan knew too many of that man’s secrets. Too many Jolly Mill secrets.
“Sorry,” Lynley said. “You’re right. I know.”
“Just bring Kirstie to the office when you find her,” Megan said.
“I will. Thanks.”
“I can come help you search.”
“No. You just be there for us when I find her.” That slender edge of tension lingered after Lynley disconnected. Megan knew her friend’s resentment wasn’t directed totally at her. She was just the punching bag for all Lynley was going through, for all Barry’s failures as a father. Megan wasn’t taking punches very well right now. Lynley didn’t know about Joni’s murder. No one here did.
Kirstie would be found again—or she would return herself home when she regained her senses, as she had done every time she’d gone missing. Everyone in the Jolly Mill community knew her and watched out for her.
Megan pushed her cell phone back into her deep purse and was turning back toward bed when a flash of light struck one of the panes. Brief. Barely there.
She frowned, staring out into the darkness. Had she actually seen that, or was it a side effect of her sleeping pill? The drug could do strange things to some people. She’d considered more than once the possibility that the drugs were causing the dreams, but she’d so craved sleep after the weeks of sleeplessness following Joni’s murder that she took them anyway.
A whisper of a different kind reached her from outside—not wind or frogs or the sound of the electric water pump. There was another flash. A newly familiar strum of panic restricted Megan’s feet to the woven mat by the front door.
She clenched her fists. Don’t allow the panic to control you. This wasn’t the mean streets of the city. This was tiny Jolly Mill, safe, quiet, secluded. She didn’t need a weapon here to protect herself.
Another sound reached her—tires crunching on rock?
Her fear quickened. When she entered her drive, her tires always met the gravel on the quarter-mile track that led to this cottage. What she’d just heard might be that gravel pop-snap in the distance. Maybe someone had turned around at the mailbox and was driving away. That had to be it.
The only sounds she typically heard here at night were the occasional bark of a farm dog, the lowing of a cow separated from her calf or the spine-tingling call of an owl that sounded more like mocking laughter at her plight. None of the wildlife in this area sounded like a car.
As she wavered, the soft rumble grew louder, followed by a flicker of shadows through the trees. A vehicle. An aura of stealth seemed to fill and then illuminate the darkness like a hunter stalking its prey.
The drive to this cottage was private. No one else around here had reason to be on it at this time of morning—except maybe a patient in trouble? She’d decided not to have a landline, despite the spotty cell coverage in Jolly Mill. If there was an urgent medical need, it was feasible someone could be coming for help, though there was a hospital in Monett less than twenty minutes away and in Cassville only a little farther in the other direction.
She checked the dead bolt lock on the front door. Of course she’d locked it. The past few years had taught her that. No one had ever locked the doors when she was growing up in Jolly Mill. Something else people seldom did was close the curtains, but right now lowering the Roman shades over all the windows seemed like a good idea.
The tight cords bit into her hands as she jerked them down, one by one. Her movements double-timed as lights crested the hill and shot through the tiny cracks in the woven material. The sharp, quick sound of her breath was harsh as it hit the matted shades. This was no dream. One set of cords tangled together, the shades tilting drunkenly as she worked a knot free and straightened the bottom edge. She rushed to the next window and then the next until she had a pseudo-barrier from the onslaught of light.
Megan’s suddenly overactive imagination transformed her little patch of wooded paradise into a battleground. Even as she castigated herself for her fear, she could do nothing to ease it.
Calm. Stay calm. Joni’s killer is dead. There’s no one after you. She wouldn’t call for help just because of a car approaching the house. She didn’t need anyone in town to think the doctor at the new clinic was unhinged. But who was coming here? Mom and Dad would have called if they were planning a trip across the state, and they wouldn’t have driven all night to get here.
Megan retreated into the shadows of the far corner of the sitting area. She curled into the love seat, clutching the throw pillow to her chest as she waited.
The holy scent reached her from the homemade sachet her former Sunday school teacher had sewn into the pillow. Martha Irene called it one of her “prayer pillows,” but Megan couldn’t pray. Who would hear her? She just squeezed the cushion hard against her chest and tried to slow her panicked imagination while the rhythm of her heart encroached on the chambers of her lungs.
She should definitely have sought treatment for PTSD.
The vehicle lights went off and the engine died, plunging her into dark silence for another few seconds before she heard a door opening and then footsteps brushing through unmown grass and last year’s leaves. There was a soft sound of someone stepping onto her wooden front porch and then a pause while she tried to still her panicked breathing, fingernails digging into her hands. This was crazy. If someone wanted to hurt her, they wouldn’t approach this way. And yet she hadn’t been totally rational since arriving here. Everything was still too fresh, and the dreams each night reminded her that the world was a dangerous place.
No one knocked. There was no doorbell. The pain in her hands distracted her.
A familiar voice reached her. One word, softly spoken. “Megan.”
She silently gulped in a great lungful of air. It couldn’t be.
“Megan? It’s me. Gerard.”
She stared through the darkness toward the door, and at once her fear metamorphosed into something even less manageable. How dare Gerard Vance follow her here?
TWO
Gerard didn’t want to knock. “Megan, please.” He could hear the cracking fatigue in his own voice. Could she hear it too?
According to his late-sleeping sister, Tess, who’d taken a couple of road trips with Megan last year, Megan had never slept this late when she lived in Corpus Christi. In fact, Tess complained that Megan never even allowed the sun to rise before her on a day off.
He knew she was here because as he’d driven up his headlights had flashed across her bright yellow Neo parked beneath the limbs of a huge oak tree around back—no missing that color. Megan was nothing if not safety-conscious. When he’d helped her pick out a replacement car last year after her old one breathed its last, her only requirement was a bright color. The front window of the car was illuminated by a few streaks of moonlight that filtered through the leaves.
“Megan, I’m not going away. I may camp out here until daylight, but I’m not leaving.”
He waited. Nothing. No movement inside at all.
Hadn’t he seen light coming through the windows a moment ago? It may have been a reflection, or imagination…though Gerard didn’t give in easily to imagination.
He pressed his forehead against the door frame of the tiny cottage. No one answered as he continued to wait. No light came on.
That didn’t mean Megan was asleep. It could just mean she was turning a deaf ear to his voice outside her front door, as she’d ignored the messages he’d left on her cell and at the clinic this past week…and with Kirstie Marshal, his source.
The energy that had kept him going for the past twenty-four hours—a full day at the mission followed by a long night of driving—began to wane. He was here. He couldn’t force Megan to open the door or to answer him, but he still had to find some way to breach the divide for her sake and, selfishly, for his. His clinic needed her, and though several local docs in the Corpus Christi area had volunteered to fill in during her absence, she’d developed a bond with her patients. She’d developed a bond with him, and he wasn’t about to let that be destroyed.
“Look,” he said, more softly still. “I’m not here to nag you about your work ethic, okay?” She still owed three months out of two years of work at the rescue mission clinic for her med school loans. She needed to complete those months. He was pretty sure she would be given some leeway by the loan officer, considering her trauma, he just didn’t know how much.
Unfortunately, he’d tried to point out that she could be jeopardizing her career if she left when she did. He’d learned the hard way that she didn’t respond to authority very well. Why had he made that stupid mistake after he’d known her for twenty-one months—appearing to pull rank on her as she’d walked away from the clinic? Demanding she fulfill her obligation? Sometimes he behaved like an inexperienced young buck. Desperation did that to him on occasion, especially when it came to a certain irresistible doctor with a mind of her own.
“Megan, are you studying?”
She’d often teased him about taking a detour past her apartment every morning on his way to the mission just to check up on her. How could he help it? He liked being near her, even if just in the neighborhood. The sight of her cheerful smile, the warmth in those golden-brown eyes, evident for all patients to see, had grabbed Gerard by the scruff of the heart as they had the rest of the staff.
It had taken his sister, Tess, to point out that Megan, with the long curtain of wavy hair the color of ginger, the delicate yet audaciously feminine lines of face and body—Tess’s description, not his—could win an international beauty contest. What he knew of Dr. Megan Bradley’s heart affected him more than any physical beauty.
And now, after nearly two years spent helping the neediest of patients, she was the one in need of help. Gerard held himself responsible for the tragedy at the clinic three weeks ago, and he couldn’t allow Megan to isolate herself out here in the woods because of it.
Of course, he was probably being egocentric to think that she belonged at the mission clinic permanently, that her life should revolve around his calling. He’d not been mistaken, however, about the look in her eyes these past few months as they met together about her patients. She loved them.
Had he been mistaken to think she was looking forward to his company with as much enthusiasm as he was to hers? Was he imagining that she cared for him? The shock of Joni Park’s murder had destroyed more than Joni’s life. It had shaken the foundations of everyone her life had touched, and though Joni’s sister was devastated, Megan had been the one to bear firsthand witness to the destruction of the young woman’s body.
The boards squeaked beneath his feet as he turned to gaze out into the dark morning and rested his head against the support post. It was possible Megan had changed her routine since leaving Corpus Christi. She may still be sleeping. It was possible.
His eyes closed of their own will. Such a long trip…but he’d made it for so many good reasons. Tess and Sean could run the mission until he returned. Gerard had things to attend to here in Jolly Mill.
Tree frogs slowed their croaking and fell silent. A tractor started up in the distance and a rooster crowed at the stars…or perhaps at the vague lightening of the darkness past the tree line. There was a rustle of brush nearby and a cottontail rabbit hopped across the overgrown lawn, sniffing for an early breakfast. Gerard stepped down from the porch and felt the soft cushion of grass beneath his shoes as he returned to the car. Once inside he closed the door quietly so he wouldn’t awaken Megan—if she truly was asleep and not just waiting for him to leave. He moved the back of his seat to nearly horizontal and closed his eyes.
Morning was here, though the sky had not yet turned blue, and the sun had not yet penetrated the forest. He would allow the gray darkness to hold him in sleep for a few moments, but Megan would not be able to leave this place without speaking to him.
Megan sat frozen on the love seat as rips tore through the protective emotional screen of forgetfulness and Gerard’s deep voice echoed in her mind. A new kind of fear controlled her thoughts. Why had he come when he must know how hard she was trying to forget?
How could the founder and director of a rescue mission be so demanding? He expected too much. Anger, her constant companion, thrummed through her. How dare he traipse up here after her? This was her home, her safe place. She needed this respite.
She inhaled the scent in her pillow, as she had so many times these past two weeks to counter the scent of blood that had fixed itself in her memory. Why had she tried to convince herself that it was even possible to forget? Gerard Vance would have to realize that she couldn’t match his psychological strength. This was what she got for trying. Nightmares.
Would he ever be able to understand that? The man had a vocation that was the passion of his life, and he would ride roughshod over anyone who stood in his way. He’d made that obvious when she left.
Megan’s fingers dug into the prayer pillow as images tumbled past her carefully set barriers: that wicked blade, Joni’s wide, frightened eyes, terror giving way to pain, the echo of screams that continued to pursue Megan through the dark passages of her dreams—and now Gerard Vance following behind her, making his demands like some kind of Viking warrior.
How could she return to work in that place that bore the permanent imprint of brutality, and why was he camped outside her house?
With a sigh, she got up and tiptoed to the front door. She peered through the wooden slats at the car in her drive. The front driver’s seat was not in evidence, which meant the blond-haired giant was most likely trying to sleep in a very cramped and uncomfortable position. A rush of unwanted tenderness swept through her before she could disengage from it. Imposing in size and appearance, Gerard Vance was an intimidating man, and he was a missionary. Incongruous. She’d grown up believing that missionaries and ministers had to be warm and gentle and tender with everyone all the time.
Typical for Gerard, he flew in the face of convention. He’d thrown many a troublemaker out onto the sidewalk for one false move in the shelter, and he’d done it single-handedly. He’d been nearly as tough on her when she’d left the mission to come here. Gerard didn’t have to call for police backup very often. An ex-cop knew how to handle himself.
As she watched, he rose from the seat, as if he had some supernatural way of knowing she was watching him. He looked straight toward her as if he knew she’d be peering at him from this very place. She stepped back, impatient with herself, a grown woman running back home to escape life, hiding to avoid a conversation she didn’t want to have.
But she’d tried to face this in Corpus Christi and the continuing despair had nearly destroyed her. She couldn’t go back there and didn’t have what it took to argue with him this morning. Strange how the thought of not returning to her patients felt like losing a piece of herself. Especially strange since the thought of returning terrified her so badly she couldn’t function.
She changed from her nightgown into jeans and her favorite green flannel shirt. Hearing Gerard’s voice had reminded her how much she missed her friends in Corpus Christi, but each time she thought of them her memories bore down on her with the thud of a bass drum. Were Tess and Sean still planning a wedding, or had they chucked it all and decided to elope? And Gerard…what was he doing for a full-time doctor in the clinic? Was he interviewing for prospective replacements, or was he waiting for her to return? Did he miss her?
It was impossible not to think about him—his piercing blue eyes, the short blond hair that spiked in the moist breeze from the shore, the firm chin and the gravel of his voice. Those were only the outer characteristics of a man with more of an inner-thought life than any minister or professor of philosophy she’d ever known. He had such a capacity to care for the unlovable. A woman couldn’t spend nearly two years working with a man like that and not have an impression of him left on her soul.
Gerard Vance was the kind of man who left an impression on everyone who met him, particularly those who had no homes, no livelihood, and depended on him for the very food they ate and the beds in which they slept.
Reluctantly summoning her courage, Megan stepped out onto the front porch and heard the sound of a car door closing. She looked up to see Gerard walking across the yard, wearing his typical jeans and T-shirt—today the shirt was tie-dyed blue and white. His hair appeared more blond, slightly longer, his skin more tanned than when she’d left him standing at the shelter two weeks ago.
She met his gaze and something inside her weakened as birdsong echoed from the treetops. At night, the whippoorwill called across the forest; in the morning, bluebirds and cardinals often fluttered from the front porch when she stepped out on her way to work. Now she knew how they felt.
Lines of weariness framed Gerard’s blue eyes. Something had changed. As she waited for him to reach her, she felt a new kind of tension.
Gerard allowed himself a few seconds to feast on the sight of Megan’s face. He realized in that short span how bleak the attitude at the mission had grown without her. His life too, come to think of it. The aftermath of the murder, of course, still lingered over the three-story, 25,000-square-foot building and among the employees and volunteers, but he knew the patients missed Megan’s unwavering and nonjudgmental compassion, her laughter, her ability to stop a child’s tears midstream with a gentle touch.
“Spending a lot of time outdoors lately?” Her voice, usually strong but gentle, with a musical lilt, strained with a transparent attempt to sound casual.
One of the first things that had attracted Gerard to Megan was her voice—since their first introduction was over the phone. The second attraction had been her straightforward honesty. She also had a sense of humor that arose at some of the most inconvenient times, but that helped her cope with the stress of her job. He even liked that about her.
He stepped onto the porch and heard that same creak of wood beneath his feet that had probably startled her earlier. “I’ve spent a lot of time walking and praying the past two weeks.”
“On the streets, no doubt.” She stepped backward as if to keep him from getting too close.
“It’s where we find our patients, Megan.”
“They aren’t mine. Not now.”
“You haven’t—”
“I know, I know. I haven’t fulfilled my obligation. You made that clear when I left. You think I don’t know how much I owe? But it isn’t going to happen in the near future, if at all, and I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything about—”
“I didn’t come here to argue with you.”
“No?” Her gaze met his briefly, then skimmed away.
“And I didn’t come here to coerce you back to Texas against your will. I have business in the area.”
Her golden-brown gaze met his with a hint of disbelief. “You think a town the size of Jolly Mill has a lot of homeless?”
“I didn’t say a mission. I said business.”
“Oh really? You make sales calls for your own company now? Times must be hard. No one needs a lot of go-green construction pieces in this part of the country.” She held her arms out. “Look around you, Gerard. No one’s building anything here. We even have a few businesses that have closed.”
He ignored the sarcasm in her voice. “Hans and I still need to expand.”
“But here?”
“We need a location for a second manufacturing plant, and we still plan to establish the rehab center.”
She blinked at him. He’d discussed his plans with her in detail, and he knew she shared his enthusiasm for those plans. He’d never told her he was considering her hometown, but hearing her talk about the community with such affection had drawn him to this place as much as her tender heart had drawn him to her.
“You don’t plan to do that in Texas?” she asked.
“We’re still looking, but Hans, Tess and I all feel attracted to this area for the rehab center.”
“Why?”
“You’ve often spoken of returning here, and you make this area of the country sound appealing. There’s also a depressed economy in many parts of southern Missouri, and more industry can only help. Besides, when people from the street come to rehab, we want to make sure they’ll be able to make a fresh start in a fresh place with no memories of failure to haunt them.”
“You can’t be doing this because of me, Gerard.”
“I didn’t say I was. I just thought it was time I came to take a look for myself. I’ve done some preliminary studies, and this region could be well suited to what we want in the expansion, including people in need of a job.”
“Your timing stinks. You know that, don’t you? I need a chance to heal, and your being here doesn’t help. Besides, we’re doing well in this area financially.”
He studied her features. “Your eyes are shadowed. Your skin’s pale. I knew you’d suffer in silence.”
She looked away.
He searched the surrounding woods for signs of another habitation, but the closest building he saw was several hundred feet away through the trees, and that appeared to be a barn.
“Probably no one’s heard you screaming during your nightmares.”
She shook her head.
“But you’re still having them.” It wasn’t a question. Those screams were part of her excuse—no, make that her reason—for leaving the mission. She’d explained that her neighbors were complaining, and that her lack of sleep could put patients at risk.
Gerard felt his gaze become a touchless caress and he knew she felt it too. He couldn’t help himself. After all she’d endured at the mission, until this last horrible experience, she’d been courageous and compassionate, helping all the patients she could simply because she cared. How could he not admire her?
