On Deadly Ground. Lauren Nichols
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too warm, and the sunset was too vibrant to miss. In a while, they found themselves sipping Pepsi from plastic bottles near the site of last night’s vandalism. The twilight song of the peepers filled the air, Alan Jackson’s boyhood reminiscing long gone.
Rachel glanced at the partially chewed-up earth and lone piece of equipment and once again felt a twinge of guilt over the dozer’s damage when it was in her care.
Jake spoke. “Looks like Decker moved his other equipment before it could suffer a similar fate.”
Rachel nodded. “Chief Perris suggested it, but Tim had already decided to move them until they were ready to resume work. He’s sending a flatbed for the bulldozer tomorrow.”
“Nothing from the police yet?”
“No, but the way Perris feels about me—make that women in general—I’m not expecting a call.”
Rachel watched him take another swig of his Pepsi, then screw the cap back on. “I have a favor to ask.”
A favor? “Since I can’t imagine you asking anything I wouldn’t say yes to … sure. What do you need?”
“I’d like you to invite Maggie to a slumber party.”
She cocked her head. “You want me to keep your dog overnight?”
“Yeah, I do. I have a meeting in Harrisburg first thing tomorrow morning. I could drive down there at the crack of dawn, but I’d rather leave tonight.” He pinned his gaze on the dark pines and leafy maples lining the road ahead. “Naturally, I explained to her that she’d be fine in her pen, but after hearing about your prowler … Well, weird as it sounds, Maggie said she’s afraid to stay alone.”
Rachel smiled, a lovely warmth enveloping her. He wasn’t concerned about Maggie, he was concerned about her. “Maybe you should tell Maggie that she has nothing to be afraid of. Now that the nasty man has accomplished his nasty deed, there’s no reason for him to come back.”
As if to punctuate his point, Maggie crashed out of the darkening woods and undergrowth, her golden-red fur wet after a splash through the creek below. She circled her good-looking master, then nuzzled his hand until he reached down to scratch behind her ear. But his gaze never left Rachel’s.
“You’re probably right,” he said, straightening. “Chances are he won’t come back, but I still wish you’d keep her. She wouldn’t be any trouble. She could sleep on your deck.”
“Jake—”
Briefly touching a finger to her lips, he softened his voice. “Before you refuse again, maybe I should tell you something. I’ve mentioned my younger brother Greg to you before, haven’t I?”
Rachel searched his face. “Yes.”
His dark gaze clouded. “Once upon a time we had a sister.”
THREE
Had. They’d had a sister. Past tense.
“Tell me,” she said quietly.
He took a second to gather his thoughts, then began. “One summer night, Carrie and two of her friends were walking home from the library—something they’d done dozens of times before. It wasn’t quite dark, and we lived in a safe neighborhood. So as everyone said later, there was no need for our parents to worry.”
But there was a need, Rachel realized, and a feeling of dread settled over her.
“That night, Carrie and Erin dropped Liza off at her house, then half a block from ours, Carrie said goodnight to Erin and headed home.” He paused and his brow furrowed. “She’d just turned sixteen. She was pretty and smart, and she wanted to be a fashion designer. She drew all the time.” He blew out a breath. “They never caught the man who raped her. She died from a blow to the head during the assault.”
Rachel didn’t know what to say for a moment, then murmured a time-worn response that never really said enough. “Jake, I’m so sorry. How old were you when Carrie died?”
“I was her big brother by three minutes.”
Twins. That seemed to make losing her even worse. They’d begun life together, were born together—learned to walk and talk together. How many times had he wished he’d been with her that night? Rachel wondered. Big brothers were supposed to look after their baby sisters—keep them from harm. But he hadn’t been able to do that. And now she understood his need to protect. What was it her mom always said? If you want to understand someone, take a look at their past.
“Okay,” she said softly. “If Maggie would feel better hanging out with me tonight, then a slumber party it is. But she’s staying in my room.” She smiled a little. “We can’t possibly braid each other’s hair and talk about boys if she sleeps on my deck.”
The tenderness in his dark eyes brought back that billowing feeling in Rachel’s chest. “Good,” he murmured, returning her smile. “Good. Now I won’t worry about her while I’m gone.”
Rachel closed her Bible, then lay back and turned off the light, a contemplative mood settling over her. She’d read passages from Revelations, then moved on to the Book of Psalms, and one verse kept repeating itself in her mind, probably because of Carrie Campbell’s death. Psalm 34:18. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those who are crushed in spirit.”
For the second time today, Rachel wondered how Jake had dealt with his twin’s passing. She’d needed her faith, needed her trust in God when David died. The comfort she’d received from her family and friends had been invaluable as she’d found her way back to a life without him. But without her faith, and the solid belief that David was whole and happy again, she knew she would still be broken and adrift. She hoped that sixteen-year-old Jake had turned to God, as she did, and found peace. He’d never mentioned his beliefs, but she knew he didn’t go to church.
Rachel repositioned her feet, smiling when they bumped into a big, muscular lump. After a few sad, high-pitched whines when Jake left without her, Maggie had accepted Rachel’s hospitality and settled in for the night. Now, as she lay curled up at the foot of the bed, she snuffled from time to time, doggie-dreaming.
“I guess I should get some sleep, too, Lord,” Rachel whispered in the silence. She’d already told Him how much she regretted the vandalism done on her land. Now it was time to center on the good in her life. “Thank You for this day, and for my friends and family. Please watch over my dad as he continues to get stronger after the stroke, and keep my mom well in Your care.” She paused. “Also, a friend of mine is on the road tonight. He’s a good man, Lord. Keep him safe.”
Then she rolled onto her side and, minutes later, welcomed the dozy, groggy beginnings of sleep … fuzzy shapes and images coalescing behind her closed eyelids.
Two hours later, a sharp bark shattered Rachel’s dreams and she bolted upright to see Maggie vault from the bed and disappear into the hall. Rachel pulled on her robe and hurried to the kitchen where the Irish setter was barking and leaping against the patio’s glass doors. Nerves buzzing, she snapped on the kitchen and deck lights.
Did dogs go ballistic over minor sounds in the night? Or had her intruder returned to wreak more havoc on Tim Decker’s already-damaged bulldozer? Rachel snagged the dog’s leash from a hook in the broom closet, then clipped it to Maggie’s collar, grabbed a flashlight and pulled open the door. She couldn’t let Maggie out on her own. She couldn’t risk the dog being hurt when she was in her—
Maggie lunged onto the deck, yanking the leash out of her hand.
“Maggie!” Rachel rushed barefooted down the steps after her. “Maggie, get back here!”
She clicked on her flashlight, played it around until it landed on fifty pounds of reddish-gold fur. The dog stood rigidly, a low growl vibrating in her throat, her attention pinned to the construction site. Rachel looked around apprehensively, then quickly picked her way over the dirt and stones