She swallowed hard. He was so close she could see the streaks of blue in his eyes, noted when his nostrils flared with a breath or when his pupils dilated as the day grew darker. Unspoken questions hung between them and that raw, restless energy that was part of him seemed to pulse. It was all she could do to step away and clear her throat. "I-I should go in. I promised Jon lunch. Would you like to-I mean, I have plenty. Oh, for the love of G.o.d, listen to me. What I'm trying to say is would you like to eat with us?"

A shadow crossed his face for a second as if he were wrestling with some inner torment, but he nodded curtly and shrugged. "Sure," he said, turning away from the d.a.m.ning obscenities. "Why not?"

A dozen reasons, you idiot, his mind scolded, but he ignored that harsh, irritating voice. His son had been through a lot; he just wanted to make sure Jon was okay. And besides, the more he knew about Kate and her deal with Tyrell Clark all those years ago, the better. Right? his mind scolded, but he ignored that harsh, irritating voice. His son had been through a lot; he just wanted to make sure Jon was okay. And besides, the more he knew about Kate and her deal with Tyrell Clark all those years ago, the better. Right?

Wrong. Right now Daegan felt as if he were treading water and getting nowhere fast. It was coming up on decision time and he'd have to figure out just what he was going to do. He could tell Kate the truth, warn her about the Sullivans, admit that he was Jon's father, but if he did, she'd never trust him again. Of course that shouldn't matter. But it did. It mattered a h.e.l.luva lot.

Carl Neider's place made old Eli's homestead look like a palace. The house was a shabby single-wide mobile home that was thirty years old if it was a day. With a rusted trailer hitch still attached, as if the owner were contemplating a quick escape, the aluminum home stood on concrete blocks drenched in rust and surrounded by weeds. Two skinny cats were huddled in the corner of a small lean-to porch of tarpaper and silvered wood. Scattered throughout the yard were pieces of old cars-rusted-out radiators, wheels, dashboards, and stacks of bald tires. Long gra.s.s going to seed was clumped around the two rickety steps leading to the front door.

Daegan slid his toothpick to the corner of his mouth as he observed the arid acres Todd Neider called home. Patches of scotch broom, tansy, and sage brush were interspersed with a few thin-barked oaks and jack pines whose naked branches danced in the wind.

The sky was an ominous shade of gray, and Daegan could almost smell the scent of disenchantment that had settled into the cold earth on these few rundown acres.

Daegan felt a pang of pity for the kid-this place was every bit as disheartening as Mary Ellen O'Rourke's old apartment over the Cat O'Nine Tails Tavern in South Boston had been.

Well, it was showdown time. He parked his truck behind a ma.s.sive black pickup with huge tires and a string of lights mounted above the cab. Two rifles rested on the gun rack mounted over the seat. One mean machine; probably owned by one mean hombre. hombre. Good. Daegan had been ready to take on Old Man Neider ever since he'd seen Todd trying to beat Jon to a pulp. Good. Daegan had been ready to take on Old Man Neider ever since he'd seen Todd trying to beat Jon to a pulp.

Now or never. Since Daegan didn't have much faith in the local law, he wasn't about to let matters lie.

He rapped hard on the door and waited until the giant of a man, six-four and pushing three hundred pounds, appeared in the frame. Dressed in a tight T-shirt and dusty jeans, he loomed above Daegan, the same roughneck who had shown up in the cafe that day, but this time Daegan got a better look at Todd Neider's old man. His face was messed up-a broken nose and scar under one eye, the result of one too many fist fights, Daegan guessed. A tattoo of a snake wrapped around a heart decorated one meaty forearm and a wad of tobacco filled one cheek.

"Yeah?" Neider growled, crossing both arms over his chest.

"You Todd's father?" Daegan asked without preamble. The guy didn't look much for small talk, which was just fine with Daegan.

"Who's askin'?"

"Daegan O'Rourke." Daegan thought about extending his hand, but didn't. This wasn't exactly a social call and they both knew it.

The behemoth stared down at him and shot a stream of tobacco juice into a cl.u.s.ter of weeds. "So you're the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who threw my kid's keys into a field of cow s.h.i.t?"

"That's right." Daegan didn't even wince at the name. Neider couldn't guess how close he was to the truth and it really didn't matter. This was Jon's battle and Daegan was going to savor fighting it.

"Whaddaya want?"

"You to keep your boy from picking on other kids, including Jon Summers."

"That little piece of f.a.ggy s.h.i.t? He's a f.u.c.kin' r.e.t.a.r.d, not worth botherin' about." Neider waved, as if shooing aside a pesky horse fly.

"Just tell Todd to lay off."

"Or what?"

"He'll have to answer to me again." Daegan managed his cruelest smile, one that had been known to worry bolder men than this hulking beast.

"What's it to you, O'Rourke? None of your business."

"Jon's a friend of mine."

"Ha! Sure. You're just out for a piece of his ma's a.s.s, like half the men in the county. She's a cold b.i.t.c.h, that one. If I were you, I wouldn't waste my time."

Daegan's teeth clamped over his toothpick. Every muscle in his body tensed. His right hand fisted, and for one quick second, he thought about throwing the first punch. Instead he pinned Carl Neider with a look as cold as ice. "If I were you, I'd be worried sick that a mean son of a b.i.t.c.h might nail my boy the next time he tries to make trouble." He crunched the toothpick into two halves and spit them out on the steps. "As for Mrs. Summers, all she wants is her boy left alone."

"Then maybe she shouldn't raise such a pansy. Christ, that kid's weird. He hears voices or sees visions or some such c.r.a.p. Probably speaks in tongues and handles snakes, too. It's freaky, just out-and-out freaky. But that's not the worst part. That kid doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut-keeps botherin' Todd at school."

"That's not the way I hear it."

Neider grinned, showing off stained, tobacco-flecked teeth in sad need of a dentist. "Then he's a lying son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"Carl, honey?" a woman's voice slid through the open door.

"In a minute," he shot back.

"I haven't got all day," she pouted.

"I said 'in a minute.'" Turning his attention back to Daegan, he continued, "You got anything else you want to say?"

Daegan's smile was grim as death. "I'm just here to warn you, Neider. Tell your boy to ease off, 'cause if he doesn't, I won't wait for the law; I'll handle him myself, and next time it won't be just a quick kick in the b.u.t.t and a game of hide and seek with his keys."

Neider made a sound of disgust but his tiny eyes narrowed.

"I'll haul his a.s.s to the county jail myself and make sure Swanson deals with him. Then I'll call social services, see if they think Todd needs help or more supervision or maybe a father that doesn't try to beat the living tar out of him when he's tanked up."

"You scrawny f.u.c.k, get off my land!"

"Just tell Todd he better stay away from Jon, his mother, and his d.a.m.ned dog." Daegan glared up at the ugly ox. "Believe me, Neider, I'm not just screwin' around. If I hear of him botherin' anyone-anyone-I'll take it personally."

"Christ, you've got a bug up your b.u.t.t." Carl's thick brows drew together as if they'd been pulled by a purse-string, and his breath, smelling of stale beer, drifted over Daegan's face as they squared off. "Oh, I get it," the bigger man said with a leer. "You've got the hots for the kid's old lady, don't you? So you're out stirrin' up trouble about her boy. Trying to look like a d.a.m.ned hero to her. It won't do no good. She don't let anyone near her. Likes to keep to herself. Better men than you have tried, O'Rourke, and no one's ever landed in her bed. There's a running bet down at the Silver Horseshoe, the first son of a b.i.t.c.h who f.u.c.ks her wins two hundred bucks!"

Daegan nearly jumped out of his skin. He rolled onto the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, his fingers curled, his muscles itching to pummel the sick bag of wind.

"Don't get yourself all worked up about a piece of a.s.s you can't have and a kid that's a c.r.a.ppy little misfit," Neider advised. "What's going on between the boys, that's their business. You stay out of it, O'Rourke."

"No way," Daegan said as Carl lumbered down the two steps and poked a thick finger at Daegan's breastbone.

"My boy fights his own battles. If someone's giving him s.h.i.t, he gives it right back, only a little harder. That's the way he was taught, that's what makes him tough, and that's why that whiny little Summers kid is such a wimp. Now take a hike. You're trespa.s.sin' here."

"Just so as we understand each other, Neider."

"Carl? You comin'?" A tall willowy woman leaned against the door frame. Wild blond hair framed a face that had once been pretty. Long legs were covered only by the hem of a T-shirt that was big enough to lop over one tanned shoulder. "You got a friend?" she wheedled holding a cigarette between long, slim fingers.

"He was just leavin', and no, he ain't no friend."

"Too bad," the woman said, looking longingly at Daegan, her soulless eyes sliding down his body and resting for a moment on his fly. With a sigh, she said, "See ya around, sugar."

"Go back into the house, Flo," Neider ordered, his face flushing to an ugly purple color. "And you, O'Rourke, get the h.e.l.l off my property before I kill ya."

Cold steel presses into the shoulder blade-the gun.

The weapon's brutal potential freezes him in place. He's going to kill me. He's thinking about it. The man's thoughts are clearly transmitted through the nose of the pistol.

Just kill the boy now and be done with this...

"That's where you're wrong," Jon tells him in a voice that sounds as aloof as the snowflakes that drift past them. "Kill me now and you'll never be done with this. You'll be paying for the rest of your life."

How do you...? Stop messing with my head!

"Just shut up," the man says with a low growl, but keeps the gun stabbing into his back. Still prepared to pull the trigger, still tempted to end it all now. A hand clamps hard on Jon's left shoulder as the man presses closer, cloaking Jon in his evil.

"You left without your jacket, son." The man's voice oozes with paternal concern, loud enough now for other people to hear. The two women decked in hooded jackets and boots cannot smell Jon's panic as they walk right by and duck into the door of a boutique strung with white lights. "You can't run around out here without a coat," the man says, performing for pa.s.sing shoppers. "You'll catch your death of cold."

Jon twists his neck to turn toward the man, but unforgiving metal stabs deeper into his shoulder, keeping him in line. The man is a shadow behind him, but Jon is able to make out the bubble jacket around the man's fist, loosely concealing the pistol pressed within inches of Jon's life.

The pistol.

No running from a gun...no escape. A prisoner again.

The wind tears over them, shrill and sharp, freezing the tears of frustration gathering in Jon's eyes. He came so close. He nearly slipped away from this man...so close. And yet, he is back in the man's grip, gun to his back. Trapped again.

Kill him now...

The man's thoughts seep through the broad palm of his hand on Jon's shoulder.

Kill him now and collect the money...

"No! No, don't!" Ducking the gun, Jon dove for the ground and found his face and hands sinking into soft sheet. His bed. d.a.m.n!

He rolled over and sat for a minute, waiting out the thrumming in his ears, the roar of his racing pulse, the shrill terror of the dream. It was his first glimpse of the man's motives, the first time the dream of his pursuer had spun on so long, though Jon wasn't sure that was a good thing. After all, the ending sucked. A gun to his back with the man behind him licking his chops about killing him.

For money. What was that about? Ransom money? And why would anyone hold him for ransom when his mother could barely pay her Visa bill, let alone sc.r.a.pe together the kind of payoff that would make kidnapping worth the risk.

He slung the blanket over his shoulders, went to the window, and stared out at the moon, barely visible through the tangled tree branches. The inky sky above him was as vast and dark as the mora.s.s of his nightmare. Who was the man, his pursuer...his killer? And the strange city, lit with Christmas lights? It was a far cry from Hopewell, Oregon, or even Bend with its downtown streets crowded with tables and pedestrians in the summer. No, the dream took place in a location as foreign to Jon as the icy fear instilled by his pursuer.

A gust of wind shook the bare branches outside Jon's window, bending the tops of tall fir trees down the lane. That was when he spotted it-a parked vehicle. Adrenaline shot through Jon as he scrutinized the dark hunk of metal near the road-a truck.

Todd and his guys? Were they back to cause more damage?

Squinting into the night, Jon recognized the truck as Daegan's. Yeah, definitely Daegan's, parked in a weird spot, as if he were keeping watch. Guard duty.

That was all right by Jon. If Daegan wanted to help fend off Todd Neider and his gang, well, he could use the help. But even a big guy like Daegan O'Rourke had his limitations.

Too bad. No one, no one could save Jon from his dreams.

Wind rattled through the old pickup. The sky was dark and gloomy, night settling like a shroud over the land. Parked at the end of his drive with a clear view of the Summers place, he settled in for the night. Daegan had slept in worse places and he didn't plan on getting much shut-eye anyway. Whoever was terrorizing Jon and Kate was gonna get caught red-handed. He was going to see to it personally.

Through the trees he noticed the lights of Kate's house, imagined her walking through the rooms in little more than a robe, her hair pinned up from a recent bath, her skin flushed and warm, her voice soft.

What was her routine? What did she wear to bed? What did she look like without any clothes when the suspicion left her eyes? He swallowed hard, tried to think of anything but her naked body, but try as he might, he saw her in his mind's eye, slowly disrobing, showing off proud, full b.r.e.a.s.t.s with big, rosy nipples, long legs with a thatch of brown curls at the apex.

Muttering under his breath, he scowled into the darkness and shifted on the seat, his jeans suddenly too tight. h.e.l.l, this was getting him nowhere. He couldn't afford to think of her as anything but an obstacle.

So why're you freezing your tail off here trying to protect her and her son? Not because she's an obstacle. Face it, O'Rourke, the woman's getting to you. Whether you admit it or not, you want her.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled a small flask of whiskey from the glove box, took a sip for warmth, and settled in. It promised to be a long night.

Chapter 16.

"What's with you, O'Rourke?" Kate demanded, stepping over puddles to stand near his truck. The night was still for once, only a breath of wind and a million stars jeweled the sky. His pickup was tucked in the night-dark shadows of a thicket of pine and oak near the end of his drive, right next to her own mailbox and lane.

He rolled down the window and offered her that same d.a.m.ning, lazy smile she found so disturbing. "No law against sitting here, is there?"

"Not that I know of, but it's a little crazy." She felt a twinge of foolishness. After all, the man was on his own property. "But I know you've been out here every night for the past week. Why?" she asked, p.r.i.c.kly and anxious. She'd spied his truck at the end of the drive the night after Halloween and hadn't thought much about it until she'd gone to bed and wondered why he'd park the rattletrap near the road, as if he were guarding his place-or hers.

When it happened night after night, she'd become concerned and a little nettled. Jon had started visiting him after school and she hadn't been able to stop her son from making a daily trek across the fence and through the trees to the old McIntyre place. By the time she returned from work, her son was usually home again, listening to music, playing with Houndog, or even doing his homework. As she fixed dinner, he'd talk to her as he once had, regaling her with stories about Daegan O'Rourke, who taught Jon how to box and wrestle, change a tire, ride a horse, even change the oil in his pickup. All Jon's worries about some dark and foreboding man seemed to have been forgotten.

Kate tried to convince herself that everything was as it should be, that the biggest concern for her son's safety wasn't some criminal of a father h.e.l.l-bent to find his boy-no, the danger was more immediate and in the form of Todd Neider's fists. So she'd let him develop a friendship with the man who swore up and down he wasn't a killer, the neighbor who had been kind enough to fix her flat tire and bail her son out of the whipping of his life.

Daegan glanced up and down the road. "I'm just being cautious. Thought I'd make sure Todd got the message."

"So you've appointed yourself our own personal sentry?"

"I have trouble sleeping anyway."

"Look," she said, shivering. "I appreciate your concern, but we can take care of ourselves."

The stare he sent her silently called her a fool, and she rubbed her arms, remembering the graffiti that she'd painted over, the dog's cruel haircut and paint job that had been cleaned by the vet, and Jon's bruised and battered body. "Okay, so maybe we've had a little trouble."

"I think it should end."

"So do I-"