Light Up the Night Page 3

  “Listen, why don’t you grab some stuff and come with me. Otherwise you won’t get any rest.”

  She weighed her options—huddle with her golf club all night in her house or face the night to get to safety. All she had to do was walk from her front door to his truck. He would be by her side even. It would be good for her. The first step to healing the fissure in her mind.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Chief Preston.”

  “You didn’t come out of the womb as the chief of police. I mean, your real name.”

  He hesitated. “Thaddeus. Most people call me Thad.”

  “Whoa. Old school. I like it.” And she did. Somehow if he’d been a Kyle or a Justin or something equally as modern, she might question her decision. But Thaddeus was solid and honorable. Anyway, the man was sworn to uphold the law and to protect. It would be downright rude not to let him.

  She threw a change of clothes and toiletries into a backpack and was downstairs in less than five minutes. He pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold.

  “I think you can safely leave the golf club,” he said over his shoulder, his voice dry.

  She set the club by the door and braced herself on the doorjamb. He was at the bottom of the porch, looking up and down the street as if on alert. He would protect her. It was his job. The mantra rolled. Sweat popped on her brow, and her body trembled, but she took one step and then another into the darkness.

  Except it wasn’t really that dark. His truck was illuminated by the nearest streetlight. A feeling of triumph held the panic at bay. Tunnel vision kept her focused on the passenger door of his truck, and she kept to a steady shuffle. When her hand touched the handle, she wanted to hug his truck and cry. She’d made it.

  After a few heartbeats, she sensed him behind her. How well had she covered her crazy? Without losing contact with the solid metal, she turned. Not well at all if the expression on his face was any measure.

  “Professor Wren… are you okay?”

  Normally, she’d smile and answer that question with a chirpy, “of course.” But tonight had stripped away the social niceties and left her grappling with her terror. She rubbed the back of her hand over her forehead. She’d been on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.

  “For goodness’ sake, call me Sadie, and no, I’m not okay. But would you mind if we discussed it inside your truck?”

  His expression settled into thoughtfulness. He reached around her, and she inhaled, but it was only to open the door for her. He offered a hand up into the truck. Once the door closed, she collapsed into the soft leather of the seat, exhausted from the twenty-foot walk.

  He cranked the truck, and the strong rumble vibrated her insides, lending her a sense of comfort. “You want to tell me what that was all about?” he asked.

  The tone of his voice let her know she could say no. She pulled her backpack into her chest and hugged it. “Last spring, when I was in my final semester of grad school at LSU, I was attacked on campus at night.”

  The truck revved as if his foot had jerked on the accelerator. “Jesus,” he muttered.

  “I wasn’t… you know, raped or anything, but… he beat me up and took my purse. Two men—boys really—saved me.”

  “Was the man caught?”

  “No. It was dark, and I shouldn’t have been out walking by myself, but—”

  “Doesn’t matter if you were alone or what time it was. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Her therapist had told her the same every session and made Sadie repeat it back. Intellectually she accepted it as the truth, but deep down, where the dark feelings of blame and fear resided, she didn’t believe it. If-onlys ran rampant.

  She didn’t even bother with a platitude. “Tonight was the first time I’ve been able to step foot outside in the dark. I was hoping Cottonbloom would help me conquer my phobia, but after the break-in… You must think I’m deranged.”

  “No, I think you’re normal. Anyone would be scared, and your fear is amplified by your past. I get it.” The matter-of-fact way he said it brought the lump of tears back but for a different reason this time.

  He sounded like he really did get it. Unlike her parents or her friends who couldn’t understand why she didn’t want to go out with them at night anymore. Or why she’d had to drop her classes that semester and start over in the fall.

  “I guess in your line of work you see some pretty messed-up stuff.”

  “Sometimes, but Cottonbloom is a nice town. Safe. I know you don’t believe that right now, but I promise you, I’m going to catch this guy.” Determination hardened his voice. Thaddeus Preston was a man who kept his promises.

  “I know you will,” she said softly.

  He got them moving down the street, all the while keeping his gaze sharp and moving. She kept her eyes on his profile, but his expression didn’t signal that he noticed anything. Once they hit the main road, he picked up speed, and her back rounded to fit the leather seat.

  “Look, you have two choices here. I can drop you at a hotel, or you can crash at my place.” He didn’t so much as glance in her direction.

  Was it weird that the chief of police had invited her to sleep at his place? It seemed weird, but Cottonbloom was a small, generally friendly town. Maybe he did this sort of thing all the time. What was even weirder was that she was totally good with the offer. Being alone in a hotel room was more appealing than her house right now, but knowing Thaddeus Preston was a holler away trumped both.

  “I’d love to go home with you.” She mentally cursed the eager beaverness of her voice.

  His gaze darted to her and back to the road. Was she imagining his mild alarm? “I have a spare bedroom. I didn’t mean—”

  “Spare room. Couch. Floor. I’ll be grateful for whatever.” She looked out the window to hide her own embarrassment.

  They were on a road she’d never ventured down in her explorations. The darkness was cut only by the truck’s headlights and the rising moon. Pine trees rose on either side of the road, no houses in sight.

  He slowed, but it wasn’t until they were almost upon it that she noticed the track between the trees. It was graveled and narrow but well maintained. The trees whipped past in a blur as he took the drive fast. Around a curve, the dark bulk of a house stood on a slight rise against the backdrop of trees.

  He pulled to a stop out front and hopped out. Gathering her courage, she opened the door but hesitated with her foot on the running board. Then he was there, and she allowed him to tug her off. He tried to let go, but she clutched his hand, big and solid and comforting.

  The moon had risen over the tree line, and the white noise of water filled the gaps between calling birds and the breeze rustling the trees. A piney scent mixed with a marshy smell, pungent but not unpleasant.

  “The river’s about thirty yards through the trees.” He pulled her into a walk toward the cabin. “I keep a boat down there. When things get crazy at work, I like to float downriver and find some peace.”

  It hadn’t taken Sadie long to understand the river was both the life’s blood and the bane of Cottonbloom. It bisected the town across the state line, leaving one side in Mississippi and one in Louisiana. The split was fascinating and kind of quaint, but the rivalries were fierce, and she occasionally heard derisive comments about the Louisiana “swamp rats” from native Mississippi Cottonbloomers. She had no doubt the Louisiana side carried their own prejudices.

  The small talk and distraction made the walk bearable. Her knees trembled, but no panic attack hovered. She took a deep breath of the loamy air before climbing the stairs to his house. He flipped on lights as they entered, but she only dropped his hand once the door was closed behind them.

  Technically, she supposed it was a cabin, but not the kind settlers lived in. The walls were chinked logs, but the room was spacious and two stories. Stairs led to what looked like a loft overlooking the great room.

  While the wood should have lent the space a warm feel, something felt off and a little cold. It took her a moment to put her finger on why. She wandered farther into the den area, following him toward the open kitchen. Nothing was out of place. It was more like a showroom than a home.

  “You want something to drink? I’ve got…” He opened the refrigerator. “Beer and milk.” He unscrewed the lid of the milk and grimaced. “Make that just beer. Unless you like your milk curdled.”

  “If you’re having one, I’ll take a beer.” She leaned closer. The fridge was sparely occupied by beer bottles, a pizza box, and condiments.

  He grabbed two, uncapped them, and gestured toward the leather couch that faced a massive stone fireplace. She scooched back into the corner, put her backpack at her hip, and took a bottle. He sat in a matching leather armchair, stretching his long legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankle. His shoulders rounded as he took a long draw on his beer.

  She sipped at hers, the richness surprising her. It was a microbrew she’d never heard of. For some reason, she’d have pegged him as a Coors Light kind of guy.

  “It’s been a rough day, huh?” she asked.

  “Between your break-in and a city council meeting and the usual chaos, it was busy.”

  She couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she took another drink and shivered. The air in the cabin felt as cool as the outside.

  “Let me start a fire.” He killed the rest of his beer and plunked the empty bottle down on the coffee table. She tried to protest, but he cut her off. “I’m here so little I cut the heat off. I’m used to it, but you must be freezing.”

  Wood was stacked next to the hearth, and it didn’t take long for a crackling warmth to reach her. It was going on midnight. The man had probably wanted to roll up to his house and crawl into bed after his long day. Instead, he was forced to play host to her. “I’m sorry I’m being such a bother.”

  He turned away from the fire to catch her eye. “It’s no trouble.”

  She appreciated his kind sentiment even if she didn’t buy it.

  “I need to make up the bed in the guest room.” He pointed to a door in the far corner. It stood ajar, and darkness leaked out.

  She glanced from the warm light of the fire to the dark opening of the spare room. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather sleep on the couch.”

  He seemed to want to say something but only nodded and disappeared up the stairs to the loft. He came back with a quilt and pillow tucked under his arm. He handed them over, and she ran her hands over the multihued patches stitched together to form pinwheels. “This is beautiful.”

  “It is that,” he said simply. “You okay then?”

  “Yep. Thanks again.”

  He nodded and disappeared back up the stairs. She sat there for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of him getting ready for bed. Water ran for a few minutes, a toilet flushed, and then a bed squeaked.

  She rose, tiptoed to the kitchen to pour out the rest of her beer, then brushed her teeth in the sink. Once she was settled on the couch, she closed her eyes, firelight dancing behind her eyelids. The quilt smelled of cedar and man. Had he taken it straight off his bed?

  She buried her nose in the folds and slipped into an exhausted sleep, the old foe in her dreams kept at bay by the knowledge Thaddeus Preston was only a few feet away.

  Chapter Three

  A scream jerked Thad from sleep to full, adrenaline-fueled wakefulness faster than a direct injection of caffeine. Morning light suffused the cabin. He took the steps so fast his heels slipped down the last few inciting curses.

  Clayton, his older brother, was standing over a still screaming Sadie, a gray, long duffle at his feet and his hands up. Thad glanced at her. She’d pushed herself into the corner of the couch as if she could disappear into it. Clayton turned to face Thad. He was more worn than the last time Thad had seen him in prison and too skinny for his six-foot frame. Tattoos lined both his forearms and disappeared into the rolled-up sleeves of a denim button-down.

  The mash of emotions tightening Thad’s chest cast him back to their childhood. He’d tried hard to leave the kid he’d been behind, but in that moment, he felt ten years old. He took three steps forward and grabbed Clayton up into a hug.

  Sadie quieted, but the echo of her screams ringed the room.

  Thad pulled back but kept his hands on Clayton’s shoulders. “When did you get sprung?” His voice was rough from sleep and emotion.

  “A couple of days ago.” Clayton’s voice was just as rough.

  “You should have called.”

  “Had some stuff to take care of.”

  Thad hoped to God his “stuff” was legal. Now was not the time for an interrogation though. “I would have picked you up.”

  “I didn’t want to bother you. Hitched up and hiked in. Didn’t mean to scare your girl.” Clayton cast a meaningful glance toward Sadie, then up to the loft, his eyes full of equal amounts of questions and jokes.

  At least prison hadn’t stripped his brother of his sense of humor. Clayton had always been the more charming and gregarious of the two of them, and after everything went down, Thad had closed himself off even more. Bringing Sadie back to his place had been a rare misstep, but she’d been so scared—no, straight-up terrified was more like. Her shuffle from her front door to his truck had been agonizing to watch. He couldn’t imagine what it had felt like.

  The way she’d looked at him and taken his hand like he’d been her anchor had settled something warm but slightly uncomfortable in his chest. She’d needed him. Having her in his house had charged his dreams with a sexual energy he hadn’t battled in a long time. Seeing her in the light of day, with her red-shot tousled black hair and soft mouth, only intensified the inappropriate feelings.

  “Let me introduce myself since this derelict can’t seem to locate his manners. Clayton Preston, ma’am.” His brother stepped forward to offer a hand over the back of the couch. Sadie found a tremulous smile and shook his hand.

  “Sadie Wren. Sorry about all the screaming. It’s just that last night… I’m not his girl, by the way.” She cast her gaze over Clayton’s shoulder at Thad.

  “She had an intruder yesterday and…” Thad was as much at a loss as Sadie to explain the situation. He wasn’t in the habit of bringing citizens home for personal protection. At midnight, everything had made perfect sense. In the bright morning light, the situation seemed murky.

  “How about some coffee?” Clayton put him out of his misery.

  While Thad got the coffee brewing, Sadie gathered up her backpack and raised her eyebrows toward him. “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

  “Attached to the guest room.” He pointed with the coffee scoop.

  She gave him a tight smile and disappeared. It took Clayton less than ten minutes of catching up to launch into the one topic Thad didn’t want to discuss.

  “Leaving a gorgeous girl like that on the couch, little brother? Damn, I had no choice in prison but to be celibate, but I liked to imagine you were making it up for both of us.”

  “Well, I haven’t been, and keep your voice down. She was terrified last night, and I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Offer to keep her safe in your bed?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  Clayton shot a look toward the door she’d disappeared behind. “It could be like that if you wanted it to be.”

  The tease in Clayton’s voice was reminiscent of their lives before the implosion. Like nothing had changed. But one reckless moment had changed everything. A lesson that had been tattooed on Thad as permanently as the ink that ran up and down Clayton’s arms.

  Thad shook his head and got down three mugs. “You don’t get it.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Any humor was replaced by a badass prison persona. Clayton got in Thad’s face, and even though he was four inches shorter, Thad wasn’t sure which of them would win if they took it outside. Maybe Clayton’s badassary wasn’t a persona. “I went to jail so—”

  A feminine throat clearing cut them apart, and Clayton smiled, although the easy charm was gone. He held out one of the mugs Thad had poured. “Coffee’s ready.”

  She took a sip and tucked her damp hair behind her ear, leaving it to wave and curl down her back. She was in jeans and a mossy-green T-shirt that emphasized her eyes. In the sunny room, they appeared lighter and even clearer than the day before, although weariness marked her face.

  They stood in a semicircle. Thad avoided Clayton’s eyes, but Sadie looked back and forth at them, her analyzing gaze finally settling on Clayton. A shot of annoyance caught Thad by surprise.

  “This morning you said you hitched up here. Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked.

  “For who?” Clayton gave her a wolfish smile that might have held a hint of his younger self but was edged with true menace. With dark good looks that were more classic than Thad’s, Clayton would have no problem making up for lost time with the ladies.

  Sadie’s eyes flared, and while she didn’t take a step backward, her body pulled away.

  “Don’t pay any attention to my brother. He’s harmless.” Thad wasn’t sure that was technically true, but he herded Sadie toward the couch and knuckle-punched his brother in the arm on his way by.

  After stoking the fire to chase the morning chill away, Thad took the armchair and immediately regretted the decision when Clayton sat by Sadie on the couch. The two of them made small, inconsequential talk. Clayton had always been better at that sort of thing.

  “What part of New Orleans are you from?” Clayton asked. It hadn’t taken them long to establish common ground.

  “I grew up in a creaky old house in the Garden District.”

  Clayton whistled and shot a look toward Thad. “No wonder our paths never crossed. Little bro and I were from the Ninth Ward.”

  “It flooded during Katrina. Were you living there then?”

  Thad stared at the low licking flames, his fingers digging into the supple leather of the chair. Clayton’s voice held only a hint of those dark days when he answered. “We barely got out in time.”