the door a blast of wind cut through him like a razor. He eyed the sky as snow continued to fall and hoped that they weren’t in for a blizzard.
Inside the truck, he flicked on the engine, lights, and wipers, then switched the radio to a local news station. Above the static came a brief report that started with a local shooting. As he threw his rig into reverse, the beams from its headlights flashed against the house and he saw Maggie at the window, arms folded under her breasts, eyebrows drawn together pensively, mouth compressed. A beautiful woman. More beautiful than her more high-profile sister, though she didn’t know it. Probably the reason she held so much more appeal.
Fool, his mind taunted, and he saw the reflection of his eyes in the rearview mirror. Blue-gray, hard, and glinting with a twinge of lust. He’d always been an idiot where the Reilly girls were concerned, probably always would be. Calling himself a dozen kinds of moron, he cranked the wheel and drove down the lane until he found a wide spot in the road, where he pulled off and cut the engine.
Reaching behind him to the compartment that held his essentials, he dragged out a down sleeping bag, draped it around himself, then opened the glove box and retrieved a pocket flask. Unscrewing the cap, he smiled grimly to himself. “Here’s to you, Walker, you miserable son of a bitch.” He took a long tug, felt the rye whiskey splash against the back of his throat, then burn a welcome path to his gut. Not satisfied, he lifted the flask again to his lips, swallowed long and hard, then screwed on the cap and settled in for what promised to be a long, cold, and probably fruitless vigil. But he had to wait; he couldn’t take a chance that he’d been played for a fool again.
Maggie, help me, please! Remember how Thane used you, how he used me. Whatever you do, don’t trust Thane Walker!
Maggie’s eyes flew open. Her heart pounded and sweat poured off her. Mary Theresa’s voice was as clear as if she’d been in the room. But she wasn’t. Maggie was alone in her bed, in the cabin near Settler’s Ridge. She swallowed back the fear that dried her mouth and pounded through her brain as the digital clock blinked a bright red three-seventeen. The dream had been so real, she wasn’t convinced it hadn’t happened. The three of them, Mary Theresa, Thane, and Maggie, had been standing at the edge of a ravine, the precipice high over a black abyss that seemed to have no bottom. Mary Theresa, laughing and flirting, had stepped backward.
“Don’t!” Maggie had cried.
“Here, grab my hand!” Thane had ordered, as Mary Theresa’s bright expression had fallen away and sheer terror had contorted her face. The earth beneath her feet had crumbled. She’d scrambled, her skin blanching, her eyes wide with panic.
“Thane!” she’d cried, and he lunged forward as if to catch her.
Maggie had screamed as his expression had turned to hatred and the hand he’d offered her sister had been used to push her farther over the edge.
“No!” Maggie had yelled, but it had been far too late.
Marquise began falling, her arms and legs frantically flailing as she became ever fainter, and the yawning black hole swallowed her completely. Thane, his features once again calm, had turned and faced her as if she was his next victim. That’s when she’d heard Mary Theresa’s voice again.
Now, the nightmare still palpable, Maggie sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her insides were shaking, her pulse thudding deep in her brain.
“Mom?”
She gasped, only to see Becca, a pale figure in the doorway. “Good Lord, you scared me,” she admitted, clicking on the bedside lamp.
“You scared me.” Becca, still wearing the jeans and sweatshirt she’d had on when she’d been thrown by Jasper, was leaning on the doorframe, her injured foot cocked, her other leg bearing all her weight. She blinked against the sudden wash of light, and her hair was a tangled
Inside the truck, he flicked on the engine, lights, and wipers, then switched the radio to a local news station. Above the static came a brief report that started with a local shooting. As he threw his rig into reverse, the beams from its headlights flashed against the house and he saw Maggie at the window, arms folded under her breasts, eyebrows drawn together pensively, mouth compressed. A beautiful woman. More beautiful than her more high-profile sister, though she didn’t know it. Probably the reason she held so much more appeal.
Fool, his mind taunted, and he saw the reflection of his eyes in the rearview mirror. Blue-gray, hard, and glinting with a twinge of lust. He’d always been an idiot where the Reilly girls were concerned, probably always would be. Calling himself a dozen kinds of moron, he cranked the wheel and drove down the lane until he found a wide spot in the road, where he pulled off and cut the engine.
Reaching behind him to the compartment that held his essentials, he dragged out a down sleeping bag, draped it around himself, then opened the glove box and retrieved a pocket flask. Unscrewing the cap, he smiled grimly to himself. “Here’s to you, Walker, you miserable son of a bitch.” He took a long tug, felt the rye whiskey splash against the back of his throat, then burn a welcome path to his gut. Not satisfied, he lifted the flask again to his lips, swallowed long and hard, then screwed on the cap and settled in for what promised to be a long, cold, and probably fruitless vigil. But he had to wait; he couldn’t take a chance that he’d been played for a fool again.
Maggie, help me, please! Remember how Thane used you, how he used me. Whatever you do, don’t trust Thane Walker!
Maggie’s eyes flew open. Her heart pounded and sweat poured off her. Mary Theresa’s voice was as clear as if she’d been in the room. But she wasn’t. Maggie was alone in her bed, in the cabin near Settler’s Ridge. She swallowed back the fear that dried her mouth and pounded through her brain as the digital clock blinked a bright red three-seventeen. The dream had been so real, she wasn’t convinced it hadn’t happened. The three of them, Mary Theresa, Thane, and Maggie, had been standing at the edge of a ravine, the precipice high over a black abyss that seemed to have no bottom. Mary Theresa, laughing and flirting, had stepped backward.
“Don’t!” Maggie had cried.
“Here, grab my hand!” Thane had ordered, as Mary Theresa’s bright expression had fallen away and sheer terror had contorted her face. The earth beneath her feet had crumbled. She’d scrambled, her skin blanching, her eyes wide with panic.
“Thane!” she’d cried, and he lunged forward as if to catch her.
Maggie had screamed as his expression had turned to hatred and the hand he’d offered her sister had been used to push her farther over the edge.
“No!” Maggie had yelled, but it had been far too late.
Marquise began falling, her arms and legs frantically flailing as she became ever fainter, and the yawning black hole swallowed her completely. Thane, his features once again calm, had turned and faced her as if she was his next victim. That’s when she’d heard Mary Theresa’s voice again.
Now, the nightmare still palpable, Maggie sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her insides were shaking, her pulse thudding deep in her brain.
“Mom?”
She gasped, only to see Becca, a pale figure in the doorway. “Good Lord, you scared me,” she admitted, clicking on the bedside lamp.
“You scared me.” Becca, still wearing the jeans and sweatshirt she’d had on when she’d been thrown by Jasper, was leaning on the doorframe, her injured foot cocked, her other leg bearing all her weight. She blinked against the sudden wash of light, and her hair was a tangled
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