Chapter 4
Four
“If you remember anything else, please let us know.”
Jonah watched as Sheriff Xander Kincaid, one of his oldest friends, rose from the chair beside the sofa where Rachel was tucked into a nest of pillows, her cheeks pale, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Xander split a look between the two of them. “We’re gonna find this guy.”
“I’ll see you out.” Jonah followed his friend to the door.
Xander glanced back toward the living room. “This was a crime of opportunity, not a deliberate assault. My best read of the scene is that she surprised him, and he shoved her down to give himself a chance to get away. I don’t think he set out to deliberately hurt her.”
Frustration simmered, shortening the already fraying hold Jonah had on his temper. “Are you seriously trying to downplay this?”
“No. I’m just trying to give you some kind of context for what probably happened. Look, I know you’re pissed. I know you’re worried. But I need you to hear me when I say this, okay? Don’t take matters into your own hands with this. Let us do our jobs.”
Jonah merely grunted. He wasn’t about to make that promise. As much respect as he had for Xander and his capabilities, the Sheriff’s Department hadn’t gotten to the bottom of this in the six months since the trouble had started. Jonah wasn’t leaving Rachel’s safety or that of anyone else to chance. He’d do anything and everything necessary to stop this guy before anyone else got hurt.
Xander sighed. “Man, please don’t do something I have to arrest you for.”
“Then find this son of a bitch before I do.”
A knock on the door interrupted whatever reply Xander might’ve made. Jonah pulled it open to find Holt and Cayla on the front porch.
Cayla lifted a casserole dish. “I come bearing food. I figured y’all would have your hands full and wouldn’t want to cook.”
“You figured right. Come on in. Xander was just leaving.”
Was he being a bit of a dick to his friend? Maybe. But right at this moment, he didn’t care about anything but protecting Rachel.
Xander leveled him with another long look. “I’ll be in touch.”
Jonah offered a short nod. “Thanks.”
When he was gone, Jonah joined the others in the living room. Rachel was pushing herself into a seated position, her already pale face going white with the effort.
He leapt forward, not sure whether he was going to help her up or push her back down. “Shit. What are you doing?”
Rachel winced. “Cayla’s going to help me get a shower so I can wash the blood out of my hair.”
Jonah moved around the sofa, prepared to scoop her up. “I’ll carry you.”
She just batted his hand away, scowling. “I can walk.”
Curling his hands in on themselves, he stepped back to let her, aware he was hovering like some kind of mother hen, but unable to stop himself.
She didn’t slap at Cayla when she slid an arm around her waist to steady her. They made their slow, deliberate way to the bathroom down the hall, with Rachel weaving only a little. Jonah kept an eagle eye on her the whole way. He understood the frustration, understood the stubborn. He’d been so much worse when he’d been in that boat himself. But it didn’t change a damned thing. He wanted to take care of her. Needed to make sure she didn’t hurt anymore.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Holt nudged his shoulder. “Okay, man, how are you really?”
Jonah dropped the mask of calm civility he’d been wearing since Rachel woke up. “I’m ready to break some heads.”
“I get it.”
And Jonah knew he did. Cayla had been threatened by her ex-husband only a few months ago. It was what had led to their precipitous marriage in the first place.
“I’d say she was fairly lucky. It could’ve been a whole lot worse.”
Jonah scrubbed both hands over his face, feeling every second of the hours he’d been awake. “This is my fault.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I’m the one who asked her to come here.”
“Brother, you didn’t know this would happen. It’s been quiet for months. We thought it was over.”
“Except I didn’t.” And the guilt of that was gnawing at him. “You said months ago, when we had the last vandalism, that you didn’t think this had anything to do with Mia, like we originally thought. I think you were right. I don’t think the last round was anything to do with Cayla’s ex, either. I think all of it has something to do with Lonnie.”
“Your dad? How’s that?”
“I always wondered whether he was involved in something shady. The Right Attitude was hardly a cash cow. But after he died, I didn’t think anything about it. Even when all the shit started happening, we attributed it to other things. But the location—the bar—is the common denominator. I think Lonnie was into some shit, and his death left somebody mighty uncomfortable, worried about us finding whatever information is on that flash drive Abruzzi mentioned before Brax shot him.”
Holt crossed his arms, considering. “Have you told the police?”
“Not yet. I will.” He wanted to get a clearer handle on things before he brought it up to Xander, and to make sure his people were taken care of.
“Whatever you need. So let’s talk about protection. You had both our backs when it was our women. It’s our turn to have yours. Brax will help when he gets back.”
Rachel wasn’t his woman. Not in the way Holt was implying. But Jonah would protect her as if she was.
“I’m sending her home as soon as she’s able to travel.”
“Really? Why?”
“She needs to be where she’s safe. And that’s not here.”
Holt’s carefully blank expression told Jonah he didn’t agree at all, but his friend didn’t call him on it. Jonah would take the win.
“When are you going to tell her?”
“Not yet. I won’t bring it up until she can handle the conversation.” Because she’d fight it, and she needed to put her energy toward recovery.
“All right. Well, I know the first forty-eight hours are the most important. And beyond that, she won’t be able to go anywhere for a week at least. I’ve got everything covered at the bakery. I spent all day baking and did a lot of pre-prep for stuff that will last and be fine tomorrow. I’ll do the same when I get there in the morning.”
Jonah felt another twinge of guilt. Bad Boy Bakers was a third his, and he was shirking his duty to the business. “Man, I hate leaving all this on you.”
Holt waved off the protest. “Your priority should be taking care of Rachel. I’ve got no beef with that.”
There was a significance to the statement Jonah chose not to address. He didn’t have the bandwidth to explain to his friend how whatever he had with Rachel wasn’t going to turn into the sort of connection Holt had with his wife. Their circumstances were entirely different. He’d just take the support and be grateful that his guys always had his back.
“What’s the update on Sam and the baby?”
“They all went home with Mom about an hour before we left the hospital. She and Griff are staying here for a while before traveling home to Chattanooga.” And Jonah’s mom had all but ripped him a new one over not telling her immediately about Rachel’s accident. But he hadn’t been able to handle anyone else’s concern at the beginning, and then he hadn’t wanted to say anything that might upset the new mother.
The bathroom door opened, and the women emerged. Dressed in some kind of yoga pants and a loose T-shirt, Rachel seemed steadier on her feet and had a little more color in her cheeks. Some of the knots in Jonah’s belly loosened a little. Her damp hair had been braided and hung over one shoulder.
“I really appreciate your help. I feel like a human-shaped thing again.”
“Of course! Now, Holt and I are going to get out of your hair. I’m sure you’ll want to eat and go on to bed.”
“I feel like I slept most of the day away.”
“And you’ll probably sleep a big chunk of the next two,” Jonah told her. “You’ll be better for it. I speak from the voice of experience.”
“Fair enough. Thank you for coming to check on me. And for the casserole.” She hugged Cayla before resuming her spot on the sofa.
Jonah walked his friends to the door, hugging them both. “I’ll be in touch soon to set up a time to talk about the rest of this.”
Holt nodded. “Just let us know. We’ll be there.”
Cayla’s brows drew together. “The rest of what?”
“Holt will fill you in. Thanks again for everything.”
Because he needed a few minutes to get himself locked down again, Jonah waited until they were backing out of the driveway to shut the door. By the time he made it back to the living room, Rachel had curled into a ball and fallen asleep again, her chest rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm. For long minutes, he watched that rise and fall, grateful she was resting easy and that her injuries hadn’t been worse.
Knowing she’d likely be out for a while, he carefully scooped her up to transfer her to the bed. She stirred a little, snuggling against his chest. Jonah’s heart stutter-stepped. Everything in him wanted to wrap her up, keep her safe. Swallowing hard, he carried her to the guest room and lowered her onto the bed. She made a little humming noise and curled onto her side. Jonah pulled up the covers, giving into the urge one last time to stroke his fingers over her cheek.
I’m going to keep you safe. I swear it.
With that silent vow, he left her to sleep.
From her nest of blankets on the sofa, Rachel listened to the smooth, deep cadence of Jonah’s voice as he read.
“‘Miss Dashwood,’ cried Willoughby, ‘you are now using me unkindly. You are endeavoring to disarm me by reason, and to convince me against my will. But it will not do, You shall find me as stubborn as you can be artful. I have three unanswerable reasons for disliking Colonel Brandon: he has threatened me with rain when I wanted it to be fine; he has found fault with the hanging of my curricle, and I cannot persuade him to buy my brown mare.’”
Jonah looked up from the copy of Sense and Sensibility his sister had sent over by way of his mom. “What the hell is a curricle?”
“It was a type of carriage, I think. In the movie version, Willoughby and Marianne are often seen tearing around the countryside in one.”
“This Willoughby guy is clearly a tool. I don’t know what she sees in him.”
Rachel grinned at the affront in his tone, pleased when the motion didn’t set her head to pounding again. “She’s young and impetuous, and he’s handsome and exciting. Passionate as she is. But don’t worry, I’m totally Team Brandon.”
Jonah scowled in disgust. “He’s twice her age! What the hell is he doing looking at a seventeen-year-old-girl? She’s a child. I mean, Jesus, that would be like me dating a junior in high school.”
“You can’t get hung up on the age difference. That was normal back then. Women were put on the marriage mart at seventeen or eighteen.”
“Marriage mart? What is this? Brides R Us?”
She giggled. “A little. Upper-class women’s value was entirely tied to their ability to marry well and produce heirs for the aristocracy.”
Jonah shut the book with a decisive snap. “And y’all like these books?”
“I love a good historical romance.”
“Why?”
“They take me out of the now and make me grateful to be a modern woman. And the really good ones are all about the heroines being subversive within the confines of a very restrictive social culture, finding and making their own happiness.”
He laid the paperback on the coffee table and studied her. “If you can come up with a word like ‘subversive’, your brain is definitely on the mend. How are you feeling?”
They’d just passed the forty-eight hour mark since he’d brought her home from the hospital. She’d slept a ton. Jonah had been the consummate caretaker, making sure she had everything she needed and keeping an eagle eye on her symptoms. He hadn’t been to work in three days. Rachel felt awful about that. She’d come down here to help, and now they were spread even more thinly, with Holt handling everything at the bakery so Jonah could play nursemaid. She didn’t even know if Brax and Mia were aware anything had happened. She hoped not. She didn’t want anything to dampen the celebration of their honeymoon.
“Better. Still tired. Still sore. But clearer.” She wished she could see him more clearly in the low light. “Thank you for reading to me.”
“It’s no problem. I remember how bored I got when I couldn’t watch anything or do anything.”
His own recovery had taken months. Rachel was grateful hers would be much shorter.
“Are you hungry? There’s more of that hash brown casserole Cayla brought. And Mom dropped by some poppyseed chicken this morning.”
“Maybe in a little while.” Bracing herself, Rachel eased herself upright. Her head swam with the motion, and she swayed.
Jonah was out of his seat in a flash, reaching toward her.
“No, it’s okay. I’m okay.” She regretted stopping him when his hand fell back to his side.
He hadn’t touched her since they got home. Not past the bare minimum needed to assist her with whatever she needed. After having him as an anchor through the whole ordeal, there was a new distance between them she hated, and she knew it was her fault. Knew too that he was blaming himself for what had happened to her. She hadn’t forgotten what he’d said at the hospital. Now that she felt more like a human, she wanted to clear the air and accept the blame that rightly belonged on her own shoulders.
After a couple of deep breaths, the dizziness passed, and she patted the seat next to her. “Come sit with me.”
He hesitated, but when she only continued to stare at him, he finally moved, lowering himself onto the other end of the sofa like he was afraid a bomb was set under the cushion. His posture stayed stiff, his hands flexing where they rested on his knees.
“Are you okay?” She searched his face, looking for some sign of what he was thinking.
“I’m fine.”
At the curt, dismissive tone, Rachel laid a hand on his arm, feeling the tension coiled there. “Jonah. I’m not the ‘I’m fine’ friend. I know you’re not fine.”
His throat worked, but he didn’t look at her. At last he bit out, “As soon as you’re able, I want you to go home.”
His words were a sucker punch, and she instinctively pulled back. For a long moment, she couldn’t speak and had to close her eyes against the sudden threat of tears. “Did I screw things up that badly? I was more than half drunk, and I just thought… Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m sorry. I won’t ever mention it again. But I can still do what I came here to do and help out. I’ll move to the inn?—”
“No, you fucking won’t. Look at me, Rachel.”
She opened her eyes.
His own were blazing, and the line of his jaw was hard as granite. “You aren’t going anywhere out of my sight so long as you’re in town.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want you to go because of the kiss. I want you to go because it’s not safe here. You got hurt because of me. You could have died because of me.”
And she understood that the anger wasn’t directed at her, it was at himself. “What are you talking about?”
He scrubbed a hand over his hair, making it stand up in spikes. “I haven’t been completely honest with you. We’ve had a series of problems since we started renovating the building.”
“What kind of problems?”
“It started with supply theft. There’d been a rash of them around the county, so we thought it had to do with that. Then there was vandalism. Then we found a bunch of surveillance equipment planted around the place.”
“Surveillance equipment? What, like bugs?”
He jerked a nod. “Bugs. Cameras. There was some stuff related to Mia’s past that made us think it was tied to her because she was the one doing the renovation. And that seemed confirmed when she was attacked on site one night.”
“She was attacked? ” How had he not mentioned that in all their conversations since he moved down here?
A muscle in his jaw ticked as he nodded again. “Yeah. The guy would’ve killed her, but Brax got to him first.”
Did that mean a man had been killed in the bakery? Jesus. Rachel was kind of glad she hadn’t known that part. “Who was he?”
“A hired thug.”
“Hired by who?”
“That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question. We don’t know. He was after information of some kind. The guy said something about a flash drive. We never found one, and after that, it went quiet for a while. Then we had some more vandalism right after we opened. We thought it had something to do with Cayla’s ex-husband, who’d gotten out of prison, but more likely it was someone else looking for whatever it was the first guy didn’t find.” He fixed his tortured gaze on her. “Our best guess is that you interrupted the latest attempt. And it could’ve cost you everything.”
She wanted desperately to soothe him, but couldn’t quite bring herself to touch him again. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“If I’d told you about all this, you wouldn’t have been there by yourself.”
Rachel swallowed and decided her pride wasn’t worth what he was putting himself through.
“Yeah, I probably would have.”