Raising the Stakes

“You’re the one lying, Kitteridge.”

“Get off my property.”

“Was it to impress me? Did you think I’d hand over Dawn’s inheritance to you if you gave me a sad story?”

“Dawn, is it?” Harman’s eyes narrowed. “And why would I give a crap about some old music box?”

“You used to beat her, didn’t you?” Gray could feel the heat rising within him. “Did it make you feel big, to lay your hands on her?”

“I guess you found my wife, Baron. I can tell by that look in your eyes. She’s good at dazzling a man, don’t you think? At makin’ promises she ain’t going to keep?” Harman took a step forward. “Where is she? Where is that whore hiding from me?”

“Tell me the truth, dammit. Did she take the boy? Or did you do something to him?”

Harman laughed. “You think I…? I’m sorry to disappoint you, Baron, but I never laid a finger on the kid.” His mouth twisted. “But I will, I promise you that. Once I find him, I’ll teach him to be a man, not a sissy. And when I’m done with my wife, she ain’t never gonna run away again.”

“You touch her,” Gray said, very softly, “and I’ll kill you.”

“Don’t you go makin’ threats, city man.” Flecks of spittle flew from Harman’s mouth. “I’ll get that whore bitch an’ my son back. Ain’t you or nobody else gonna stop me.”

Gray moved forward, grabbed Harman by the shirt and pulled him forward so their faces were only inches apart. “Remember what I’m saying, Kitteridge. You touch Dawn or her son and I swear, I’ll never rest until you’re dead.”

He let loose of Harman’s shirt, got into the car and slammed the door. The car shot forward. He could see Harman in the mirror, running after him, his fist raised to the sky.

Gray jammed his foot to the floor. The car shot forward and he drove fast, too fast, down the mountain. Dawn, he thought, Dawn.

Flagstaff was too far. He drove one-handed, pulled out a map, saw that Winslow was much closer. It was a small airport, meaning it was a good bet he could hire a small plane to take him to Vegas. A couple of calls on his cell phone confirmed it. He gave a guy at the charter service one hundred bucks to take his car to Flagstaff and return it to the rental o

ffice.

Half an hour later, he was airborne.

It was dark when he pulled to the curb in front of an old Victorian house with an indigo bush out front. He recognized it from the photo Jack Ballard had faxed him. Impatiently he rang the bell and when there was no answer, he went to the window that looked out on the indigo and shouted Dawn’s name.

The curtains fluttered. Her face appeared behind the glass.

“Dawn,” he said softly, even though she couldn’t hear him, and later on he figured it was the way he must have looked when he said it that made the difference because the next thing he knew, the door was open and Dawn, crying and laughing all at once, was in his arms.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“YOU came back,” Dawn said, “Gray, you came—”

He kissed her with the urgency that came of knowing how close he’d come to losing her. It wasn’t what he’d intended to do. Go slow, he’d told himself. Ask her to forgive you for being such a fool this morning, and that sounded fine until he pulled up outside her house and saw those dark windows. What if she wouldn’t let him in? What if she wouldn’t even talk to him? What if, what if, what if?

More than one prosecuting attorney—with a rueful touch of admiration—had referred to Gray as “arrogant.” A couple of women had accused him of it, too. Holding Dawn, feeling the race of her heart against his as he kissed her, he wondered what any of those people would think if they saw him, wondered, too, what was happening to him, and then he told the lawyer inside him to shut the hell up and let the man emerge. This soft, sweet, incredibly courageous woman was all that mattered.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered between kisses. “I thought you’d gone away.”

“I almost did.” Gray cupped her face in his hands and lifted it to his. Her eyes were enormous, shining with tears, but a tremulous smile curved across her mouth. He bent to her, brushed her lips with his, lingered to taste their sweetness. “I was such a fool, sweetheart. If I could take back the things I said this morning…”

“You were angry. You thought I’d stood you up—”

“No. Not angry. Not at you. Never at you. It was just a cover for the truth. I was angry at myself, for wanting you so badly—”

“Shh.” She put her fingers across his lips. “You mustn’t say that. You don’t—you don’t know—” She took an unsteady breath. “There are things about me…”

“There are things about me, too.” He closed his hand over her fingers, kissed the tips, then pressed his mouth to her palm. “None of it matters. Not anymore.”

“It does.” Her voice trembled. “Gray, you don’t understand. It’s complicated—”