“Can I bring you up some coffee to go with the cookies?”
“Oh, thanks. But don’t bother bringing it up. I’ll be right down.” Rachael watched Elena walk away and thought,Angel. Yeah, right, I’m anything but. That went away with my mother.Rachael patted the key again to reassure herself. She knew that if her plan worked, she’d be long gone from Ross before Tina needed more testing strips. Guilt washed over her. She hated lying to Elena, but she’d had no choice. Her life was nothing but secrets and lies, and the longer she kept them, the more people suffered.
But maybe if—no,when—everything went right, she could send a regular care package to Elena.
She made sure the receptionist was halfway down the stairs at the end of the hall before she went the opposite way toward accounting. Rachael had purposefully come in extra early to avoid everyone else. The guy downstairs was unknowingly doing her a favor by showing up early; it would help her cover. Sure enough, the department was empty—no pot-bellied Larry Myers smoking at his desk and playing online poker. And no Hank in his office next door, thank God.
Rachael slipped in without turning on the light and went straight to the back wall where a framed picture of the town hung. She took the picture off the wall to reveal a flat panel door with a keyhole. Rachael quickly slipped her copy of the key in, took a deep breath and turned the lock, hoping it would open.
It did, revealing a safe whose combination Rachael had just learned. As she punched in the numbers, a grin spread across Rachael’s face and she ignored the sudden pain from her healing split lip. Freedom was eminent as long as the police and Daddy never caught up to her. She reached into the secret safe.
And found it empty.
“No,” Rachael whispered. Then she felt a sheet of paper on the bottom. She slid it out and read it:
I hope your the one feeling stupid and helpless now bitch you’ll never find it!
Hank’s handwriting.
Before she could think better of it, Rachael crumpled up the paper.Shit, I should have just put it back in. Now he’d know for sure she’d tried to make a move. Had Hank told Daddy their plans or was he just fucking with her? She didn’t know which was worse.
Over the years, Rachael had developed a strong stomach that helped her survive the atrocities life threw at her. But this turn of events made her want to run to the bathroom and puke her guts out.
She was trapped. Truly trapped by both her father and now Hank. Her face throbbed as she remembered each punch last weekend. All because she’d trusted the wrong man, a man she thought cared for her, who now betrayed her a second time.
Rachael wiped her eyes, careful not to smudge her mascara. She had another man to meet downstairs, one who was probably as bad as all the rest. The best she could do was get him settled in to his new job and then stay out of his way for the foreseeable future. Because when Ross got its hooks into you, you couldn’t escape, even if you were the boss’s daughter.
Especially then.
Three
The second Jake looked up from the clipboard holding his paperwork, he knew he was in danger.
The grainy photos he’d seen of her did no justice to Ernie Deal’s daughter. Long midnight-black hair cascaded down over her shoulders in soft waves. He could tell there was a beautiful curvy body beneath the baggy clothes she wore by the way she moved. She walked gracefully down the stairs, yet there was an air of defeat in the way her shoulders sagged and how she watched her feet take each step. She didn’t look up until she’d gotten to him.
God, her face. Full pink lips, high cheekbones, and, oh mercy, the freckles scattered across her button nose made his heart skip. The photos hadn’t caught those. Or the color of her eyes, blue as the Colorado sky. Bright with intelligence, but so sad. He wasn’t prepared to see that sadness. He’d expected cold, calculating depths. Cruelness. He’d known the type well. The woman standing before him was none of this. There was a sense of vulnerability about her that brought out the protector in him, especially in the way she scrunched down in clothes that were almost too big for her.
Jake tucked those protective feelings away. Just because she looked sweet and innocent meant nothing. Her father was a cold-blooded killer who needed to be brought to justice; the same might turn out to be true for his daughter. It was Jake’s job to gather enough evidence to make it happen.
She extended her hand as he stood up. “Mr. Spiro? I’m Rachael Deal. Welcome to Deal’s Packing and Distribution.” She did not smile, didn’t even pretend to.
Her hand felt smooth and cool in his, with a touch of clamminess. Was she nervous? Jake looked closer and swore to himself. Someone had recently pummeled her lovely face. Those full lips were extra-swollen and there was a line of red running down her lower lip just a little darker than her lipstick. A split lip. She did a good job hiding her black eyes under a layer of make-up and the bad lighting did the rest.
He smiled quickly to cover his surprise, wrestled harder with his protective instincts until he could push them down even deeper, and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, but please call me Jake. ‘Mr. Spiro’ sounds like you’re talking to my dad.”
First lie. Actually, Mr. Spiro was a cool neighbor guy who lived down the way when Jake Collins was growing up in LA, so he’d taken the name for his undercover work. But according to Jake’s false driver’s license—courtesy of the FBI—he was Jake Spiro, born and raised in Sacramento, California. Plenty of ranch and meatpacking plant experience there, not at all reflective of Jake’s actual upbringing. Sacramento would come up soon in lies two and three when Rachael asked him about his background later.
Rachael’s lips twitched at Jake’s lame joke about calling him Mr. Spiro. “Then I definitely don’t want to hear you call me Ms. Deal, just Rachael.”
“Deal. I mean, no Deal. As in, I won’t call you Deal. Deal?” He grinned. “Sometimes I don’t English so good.”
Her laugh seemed to surprise her—such a lovely lilting voice when she wasn’t nervous, Jake thought—and she covered her mouth quickly. “Deal, no Deal,” she said as she dropped her hand. Such a pretty smile, until it was ruined by a single drop of blood that she quickly wiped away. “Sorry, my lips get so chapped,” she covered.
“I’m still getting used to the thinner air myself. We have more oxygen in California. Good for the plants and the cows. People too, I’ve heard.”
She covered her mouth again, but Jake could see the smile in her eyes.
The receptionist, Elena, handed Rachael a mug of hot coffee and Jake couldn’t miss the warmth the woman had for her boss. He added that to the mental profile he was building of Rachael. They went up the stairs to Rachael’s office—the HR department, according to the sign on the door. Jake studied the woman in front of him the whole way up the stairs. Such oversized clothing. Did she intentionally cover herself up? He’d learned that women who had been abused sometimes did that to deflect attention. More of his mistrust for Rachael slipped away, against his better judgment and training.
