Rachael made a blown-up copy of Jake’s license. She studied his photo. Butterflies filled her. How was it possible that even in a crappy driver’s license picture he looked so good? His dark hair was shorter, freshly cut. His eyes twinkled with good humor. She imagined that he’d just shared a joke with the photographer and was trying not to laugh, like a kid attempting to behave in church and on the verge of failing. What would it have been like if he’d come to town sooner, if she’d fallen for him before Hank got to her and made her believe he was her way out?
Probably the same result. Working for Daddy Deal had a tendency to turn a man mean and a woman powerless. Rachael touched her tender cheek. Best to steer clear of Jake Spiro. If she didn’t, it would hurt too much the first time he harassed her. And in this place, it was only a matter of time. All the more reason to look for what Hank had taken from the safe before he—
“Well, there you are, darlin’. Whatcha looking at so intently?”
Rachael froze. Hank’s tone was just as friendly as it had been right before he took his first swing last Saturday night. Had he already checked the safe? Of course he had—that’s why he was so cheery. He had her cornered in every way possible.
Rachael dropped her arm holding the paper to her side and retrieved Jake’s license from the copy machine. “Nothing. Paperwork.” She turned to look at Hank.
Dishwater blond hair that needed a wash, blue jeans and a denim shirt with rolled-up sleeves, tattooed arms crossed loosely, brown work boots propped against one corner of the doorframe as his shoulder casually leaned against the other side, blocking her way out. A big shit-eating grin revealed the newly-chipped tooth Daddy had given him a few hours before Rachael had confronted Hank and took her own beating. The rest of his bruised face matched hers, minus the make-up of course. She’d managed to avoid him all week, and now he had her trapped. Her heart sank to her feet as fear crept in.
“Paperwork, huh?” he drawled. “Thought it might be a note from somewhere.”
Rachael heard voices elsewhere, other employees coming in for the day. Not that any of them would help her directly, but their presence might mitigate the worst of Hank’s impending attack. “The new guy’s waiting in my office. I need to get back.” Rachael overcame her near-paralysis and took a step forward.
Hank didn’t move out of her way. He crossed his arms tighter. “You and I need to talk first. Get a couple things straight.”
Rachael’s heart jackhammered against her chest. Those were Daddy’s words coming straight out of Hank’s mouth. With him, ‘a talk’ always turned into something worse. She felt herself slipping away, back to a night when she was just eight-years-old, a girl without a mother. The dark night, the smell of freshly-turned soil, cicadas singing their high silver notes. No one understood why she hated that summer night sound…
Focus. You can’t drift away right now. You’re on dangerous ground and it’ll get worse if you lose yourself. You’re a grown woman, not a little girl. There are people nearby, he can’t hit you here.
Well, he could. It wouldn’t be anywhere near the first time the blood on the floor in this plant belonged to a person and not a side of beef. Rachael almost laughed at the fleeting thought of calling the sheriff. Daddy Deal’s best buddy would just hold her down while Hank swung.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her pounding heart. “I don’t think we need to talk about anything ever again, Hank, unless you want to tell me where you put it. Now please get out of my way.” Her raised voice sounded even and calm to her ears, if a bit sluggish. She kept her gaze away from his, watching his body for any sudden moves.
“You sure about that, darlin’?” Hank raised his voice to match hers. He shifted, stood up straight, and his arms dropped to his sides. He took a step into the room and she stepped back. “Because I want it to be crystal between us. You ain’t going nowhere. Your Daddy and I made a deal last Saturday.”
“Yeah. Daddy set you straight, all right,” she shouted.Oh, God, what am I doing? Just shut up already, Rachael. She looked around for something she could use as a weapon—a pair of scissors, an envelope opener, anything—and saw nothing within reach.
“What. The fuck. Did you just say to me?” Hank’s taunting demeanor disappeared completely, replaced by cold fury.
Rachael cried out. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.” Her voice went two octaves higher than normal. She’d lost the battle inside. Any thought of fighting a man twice her size without a weapon abandoned her. She’d tried—one of the bruises on Hank’s face matched her fist—and been beaten harder for her efforts.
Hank’s hands curled to fists. Rachael’s mouth went dry and her legs turned to jelly as she froze. She closed her eyes and waited for Hank to shut the door, the better to muffle her cries. The hum of the copier filled the room, filled her head like cicadas singing. The sound flooded her with despair like it had that night long ago. Rachael wanted to lay down on the grimy carpet and sleep through the beating, maybe never wake up. At least she’d never hurt again. Or be the source of anyone else’s hurt.
Hank’s voice cut through the hum. “I’ll make sure you never get your hands on that book. One way or another.”
Rachael braced herself for the first punch.
It never came. Jake Spiro showed up instead.
“Hey, I was just looking for the john. Everything…okay…in here, Rachael?”
Rachael opened her eyes to see Hank look at Jake.
The men appraised each other, two tomcats circling in an alley. Jake looked faintly surprised at Hank’s beaten face, right before his lips curled. What she saw next gave Rachael hope. Hank’s expression told her he didn’t think he could take on Jake. She imagined that was the same look Hank had given Daddy when her father confronted him about the rumors. Hank was an oversized bully, but one who turned yellow the minute he realized he’d faced off with someone who could kick his ass.
As for Jake, the guy just smiled while his eyes filled with cold hard steel.
Pissing contest over, and Jake didn’t have to say a word to win it.
“Why the fuck wouldn’t everything be okay, New Guy?” Hank asked.
Jake’s smile grew fierce as he looked through Hank like he was a speck of dust. “Rachael?” The second his gaze left Hank and landed on her, his eyes turned warm.
Her terror evaporated under the heat of his gaze, at least for the moment. Did she actually have a defender in her corner? Her heart sped up, this time with excitement.
Rachael stood taller. “I’m fine, thank you. Jake Spiro, this is Hank Winters, the new head foreman. Your boss.” She fought to keep from spitting the last two words out like poisoned grapes.
