Texas! Chase #2 (27 page)

"Shut up!" Abruptly, his voice rose in pitch and volume, alarming her. His face had become congested with blood and his eyes had narrowed to pinpoints of sinister light. "Take off your blouse."

"No." Maybe if she called his bluff, he would get cold feet and run away.

He took three menacing steps toward her.

"Take off your blouse."

The empty closet was behind her. Could she step into it, shut the door, and lock herself in until somebody missed her and came looking? She felt behind her for the doorknob.

"That door doesn't have a lock, if that's what you're thinking," he said with a cackle she recognized.

Over the telephone it had never

failed to send chills down her spine. She experienced them now.

He was right. The closet door didn't have a lock. She glanced quickly at the window. The sill was painted shut. She could never get it open, and even if she could, she couldn't scramble out without his catching her first.

Her only means of escape was through the doorway leading into the hall. He was blocking her path to it.

She would have to draw him across the room, closer to her, and away from the door.

Swallowing her repugnance and her pride, her hand moved to the top button of her blouse. Why hadn't she worn a suit today instead of a skirt and blouse? A jacket would have been another delaying tactic.

"Hurry up," he ordered. "Take it off. I want to see your skin. I want to see your breasts."

Marcie slowly undid all the buttons. "My husband will tear you apart."

"Not before I've seen your nipples, touched them. Hurry up."

"He won't let you get away with this. He'll find you."

"You won't tell him. You'll be too ashamed to tell him."

"I wouldn't count on that if I were you."

"Take off your blouse!" he shouted nervously.

She pulled it from her waistband and peeled it down her shoulders. As she withdrew her arms from the sleeves, he released a sigh and actually shuddered orgasmically. Marcie thought she might be sick, but she couldn't surrender to the nausea. She had to get out of the room.

As she had both hoped and dreaded, Harrison took faltering steps toward her. "Now the brassiere.

Hurry." He was clutching at his crotch with one hand and reaching out to her with the other.

"You're so fair. I knew your skin would be fair. Beautiful. Soft." His fingertips glanced her chest just above her bra. She recoiled. He took another lurching step toward her. She could feel his rapid breath landing humid and hot on her skin.

"Fondle yourself," he panted.

"No."

"Do it."

"No."

"I said to do it!"

"If you want me fondled, you do it." Her blue eyes haughtily challenged him. "Or are you man enough?"

As she had hoped, he lunged toward her, his hands and fingers forming a cup to seize her breast. She flung her blouse into his face, parried quickly, and ducked under his arm.

She scooped the empty bucket from the floor and threw it up at the overhead light fixture, then clambered toward the door at a crouch to avoid the breaking glass that was raining down.

In the sudden darkness she groped for the doorknob. The darkness was to her advantage because she was more familiar with the house than he. She would know how to find her way back to the front door. But first she had to get past this barrier. Having located the doorknob, her fingers had turned to rubber. She couldn't get it unlocked!

From behind, Harrison grabbed a handful of her hair. Her head snapped back. She screamed. He covered her hand and wrested it off the slippery doorknob. They slapped at each other's hands in a battle over control of the lock.

Marcie heard whimpers of fear and draining energy and realized they were coming from her. She had minimized the real threat he could pose to her safety, but had obviously miscalculated. His breathing was the short, choppy panting of a madman. He was stronger than he appeared. Had insanity imbued him with inordinate strength?

She renewed her efforts to escape him, but he gripped her arm so hard that tears started in her eyes.

"Let me go," she screamed.

He flung her away from the door and back toward the center of the room. With so much momentum behind her, she reeled forward, stumbling in the darkness over drop cloths, broken glass, and the sack of plaster mix and falling against the sawhorse. It caught her at waist level, and she doubled over it. It toppled over with her, spilling the bucket of paint.

She blinked away the descending blackness of unconsciousness and struggled to her hands and knees. Harrison, bending over her, with his hand on the back of her neck, held her down.

"Bitch, bitch," he said raspily. "I'll show you how much of a man I am."

"Milton seven?"

Pat responded. "Yeah, come in."

"This is Milton five. I've just sighted a red vehicle, license number and make unknown at this time, traveling west on Sycamore at a high rate of speed."

"Close in and apprehend."

"Not a chance, Milton seven. He's driving like a bat out of hell."

"Then follow him. I'm three minutes away.

Keep him in sight and let me know any changes of direction."

"Ten four."

"Other units, please converge on that area."

To a chorus of acknowledgments, Pat dropped the transmitter and concentrated on navigating the dark, rain-slick streets.

Chase took the corner close to fifty. Sassafras

Street at last! What number? Leaning over the steering wheel, he peered through the darkness, cursing the driving rain and his inability to see beyond the hood ornament.

He sped right past Marcie's car before noticing it. He braked, skidded, and fishtailed, then shoved the automatic transmission into park and opened the car door. The for sale sign bearing her agency's logo was in the front yard. Chase hurdled it in his dash through the pelting rain toward the front door.

He paused in the entrance hall, his blood freezing in his veins when he heard her pitiful cries. But thank God, she was alive. His moves through the unfamiliar rooms and hallways resembled those of a running back going through a horde of defensive players. For every five yards he gained, he had to backtrack two, until he finally reached the closed and locked bedroom door.

He tested the doorknob only once before putting his boot heel to it and kicking it in.

From the hallway behind him, light spilled into the room and across the floor, casting a looming, hulking shadow that alarmed him until he realized it was his own.

He dashed inside. Harrison, still crouched over Marcie on the floor, whipped his head around and stared up at Chase with an animal fear so intense Chase could smell it.

"I'm gonna kill you, Harrison."

Reaching from his towering height, he yanked the man up by his collar and shook him like a dog with a dead rat. Harrison squealed. Chase, enraged and unthinking, slung him against the wall. Harrison would have slid down it but for Chase's fist, which slammed into Harrison's midsection, then pinned him to the wall like a nail through his gut. Nose to nose, his lips peeled back to bare his teeth, Chase glared at his wife's tormentor.

"Chase, let him go!" Pistol drawn, Pat Bush shouted the order from the splintered doorway.

"Chase!" He had to repeat his name three times before Chase heard him through a fog of murderous outrage.

Gradually Chase withdrew his fist. Harrison, emitting a wheezing sound like an old accordion, collapsed to the floor. One of Pat's deputies rushed forward to see to Harrison while Chase bent anxiously over Marcie. She was lying on her side, her knees drawn protectively up to her chest.

"Chase?" she said faintly.

He placed his arms around her and lifted her into a sitting position, hugging her close to his rain-soaked chest. "I'm here, Marcie.

He can't bother you now. Not anymore. Never."

"Is she all right?" Pat hunkered down beside him.

"I think so. Just scared."

"Is she cut? There's glass all over the place.

Apparently she broke out the light."

Chase smiled as he smoothed back strands of red-gold hair from her damp forehead.

"That's my girl. Always smart. Always resourceful."

"Chase?"

He bent his head down, bringing his face close to hers. Even pale and disheveled she looked beautiful.

"Hmm?"

"Get me to the hospital."

"The hospital?"

"I'm bleeding."

His eyes moved over her face, her chest, her exposed midriff, but he saw no trace of blood.

"She's probably cut her hands and knees on the glass," Pat said.

"No, it's not that. Get me to the hospital now," she said, her anxiety increasing. "Hurry, please."

"Marcie, I know you're scared. You've come through—"

"Chase, I'm bleeding vaginally." Her tearful eyes found his. She pulled her lower lip through her teeth.

"I'm pregnant."

It was still raining. Chase looked beyond his own reflection in the window out into the dark, forlorn night. He saw the reflections of his brother and Pat Bush as they approached him, but he didn't turn away from the window until Pat spoke his name.

"I just got back from the courthouse," the sheriff said. "I thought you'd want to know that Harrison is in jail. He'll be arraigned first thing in the morning."

"For assault?"

"Murder one."

Chase's gut knotted. Was this their way of informing him that Marcie had died? He slowly pivoted on his heels. "What?" he croaked.

"I dispatched some men to his house. They found his wife. She'd been dead for several hours. He strangled her with his bare hands.

Allegedly," Pat added, remembering his role as a fair and impartial officer of the law.

Chase dragged his hand down his face, stretching the tired, strained features. "Dear Lord."

"Marcie had good reason to be scared of him," Pat said. "Even over the telephone she sensed he was more than just a casual phone freak. I feel like hell for doubting her."

Chase was still too stunned to speak. Lucky squeezed the older man's shoulder. "Don't worry about that now, Pat. You couldn't guess that he was going to carry out his threats.

You were there tonight when Marcie needed you." He glanced over his shoulder toward the waiting room at the opposite end of the corridor. "I think Mother and Sage could use you for moral support right now. And vice versa."

"Sure. Chase, if you need me… for anything

… just holler." Chase nodded. Pat ambled off, leaving the two brothers alone.

For a moment they said nothing. Chase couldn't think of anything appropriate to say.

He felt hollow. There were no words inside him.

Lucky broke the silence. "Sage made the trip safely."

"So I see. I'm glad she's here."

"She arrived in a mood to celebrate. We had to break the news about Marcie. She started crying. When you feel up to it, she'd like to say hello. Right now, she thinks you'd rather be left alone. Is she right?"

"I don't feel much like talking."

"Sure."

Lucky turned away, but had only taken a few steps when Chase reached out and touched his arm. "I'm sorry this has put a pall on your daughter's birthday."

"It sure as hell wasn't your fault things turned out the way they did. The culprit is in jail. Blame it on him."

Chase's fists flexed at his sides. "He could have killed her, Lucky."

"But he didn't."

"If I hadn't gotten there—"

"But you did. Everybody's safe now."

They didn't mention the baby that Marcie was carrying. There might yet be another casualty of Ralph Harrison's violent madness.

Lucky's first child had been born; Chase's second child might die on the same day. He couldn't bear thinking about it.

"Anyway," he said emotionally, "I hate like hell that this had to happen today of all days."

"Forget that part of it. You've got enough on your mind without worrying about that."

The things on his mind were about to drive him crazy. To stave it off he asked, "How's Devon feeling?"

"How do you think? Like she just had a

baby. I told her I knew how she felt. I thought she was going to come out of that bed and slug me." He chuckled in spite of the somber mood.

Chase forced a half smile. "The, uh, baby." he said huskily, "how is she?"

"Fine, even though she was several weeks early. The pediatrician checked her out. He wants to monitor her closely for the next few days, but he says her reflexes are normal, lungs and everything seemed well developed."

He broke into a wide grin. "She's squalling loud enough."

"That's good, Lucky. That's real good."

Chase's throat closed tightly around the lump stuck in it. He cleared it self-consciously and blinked gathering tears out of his eyes.

Lucky placed a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"Look, Chase, Marcie's going to be okay.

And so's the baby. I know it. I feel it. Have I

ever steered you wrong?"

"Plenty of times."

Lucky frowned with chagrin. "Well, not this time. You wait and see."

Chase nodded, but he wasn't convinced.

Lucky stared at him hard, trying by sheer willpower to inspire optimism and faith. The last couple of years Chase's confidence in good fortune had been shaken. Today's events had merely confirmed his skepticism in the benevolence of fate.

Lucky left him to join the rest of the family huddled in the waiting room. The nursing staff had become well acquainted with the

Tylers since dusk that day. They now had two

Mrs. Tylers in the obstetric ward. One of the nurses was passing around fresh coffee.

Chase turned his back on the well-lighted corridor, feeling more in harmony with the dismal gloom beyond the window.

I'm pregnant.

At first he had just stared into Marcie's anxious blue eyes. Unable to move, unable to speak, unable to think beyond that word, he had mutely gaped at her. Then Pat's elbow had nudged him into awareness.

"Chase, did you hear her?"

Adrenaline assumed control. He scooped

Marcie into his arms and carried her past the shattered bedroom door. Pat put two deputies in charge of Harrison and the house on