Onslaught

Onslaught

by

Teri

Thackston

Onslaught - Copyright 2012 Teri Thackston

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or used in whole or part by any means without the written permission of the author ([email protected]).

All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, with or without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.00.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons—living or dead—or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Cover Design Copyright 2012 Sean Thackston

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following brand names and/or wordmarks that are mentioned within this work of fiction:

Alcoa: Alcoa Inc.

Bridezilla: Metro Channel LLC

Cheerios: General Mills, Inc.

Jell-o: Kraft Foods Holdings, Inc.

Wal-Mart and Wal-Mart Superstore: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.

Dedication

To Hal.

Prologue

Crockett County, West Texas, Saturday evening

Abandoned.

Ronnie Clarke stared at the open bathroom window. A dry West Texas wind fluttered the grimy curtain, powdering dust over stained linoleum floor tiles.

Again.

Stepping to the window, she peered outside. A dark car disappeared around the side of the shabby motel.

I’ll bet she’s headed for the highway.

Ronnie put a hand against her stomach, as if a mere touch would relieve the punched-gut sensation she suffered.

"Give me a few minutes in the bathroom, then I’ll explain everything."

Her mother’s words rolled through her head. Beneath that three-minute old memory, Ronnie’s hope curdled. She should have recognized that look in Belle Clarke Good’s eyes—that squint of thinking ahead, planning her next move, anticipating her next desertion of one of the twin daughters she’d left behind seventeen years earlier.

No wonder I have trust issues.

An unsettling sound punched Ronnie with another blow of panic. Returning to the main room, she looked at the rumpled motel bed…and the tiny stranger occupying it.

Jordan Smith—Danny—the infant nephew she hadn’t known existed—from a sister she’d never heard of until fifteen minutes ago—lay on his back between two pillows. His tiny fists clenched against his chest and his face flushed red as he cried. A car seat and a small hand-quilted bag stood on the floor beside the bed. A half-full baby bottle sat on the bedside table.

"Don’t take him to the police," her mother had said. You must protect him until I get the evidence I need.

Evidence that Danny was the victim of a baby-selling ring—what a farfetched idea. Danny himself was the only indication that her mother’s story was true and—in light of Belle’s past behavior—even that was iffy. Was Danny really Ronnie’s nephew? Did she and her twin Ginnie really have a seventeen-year old sister named Hannah whom they’d never met, raised in the compound of a religious nutcase? Were the police not to be trusted…or might Belle be the one who endangered Danny?

The baby loosed a jarring scream that nearly knocked Ronnie off the Luis Vuitton pumps she’d bought earlier in the week. Pressing her hand harder against her unsteady stomach, she kicked off the expensive shoes and crossed the room.

Reaching the bed, she gazed down at the unhappy little stranger. Unexpected and fierce, a sense of protectiveness swept through her.

All right then, she said to the squalling infant. If I have anything to say about it, at least you will never know what it feels like to be abandoned.

Chapter One

Sorrow’s Point, Texas Coast, early Sunday morning

Dad, wake up!

A crack of thunder punctuated the command and Joshua Dawson jerked awake. Light speared his eyes—a flashlight’s beam. Beyond it, he made out the shape of his young daughter standing beside his bed.

What’s wrong? He sat up. Despite the storm, his bedroom seemed too warm, too still, too quiet.

The power’s out, Taylor Ann whispered, lowering her flashlight. I looked outside and saw a light moving inside Ms. Georgina’s house. I think it’s a burglar.

Grogginess faded. His next-door neighbor, Georgina Vega, was in the hospital. Her small house should be empty.

He looked at his daughter. In the glow from her flashlight, he saw fear in her eyes. Without a mother around, she’d be alone while he did what he had to do.

Damn it.

Grabbing his cell phone off the nightstand, he pressed it into her free hand. Call Uncle Peter and tell him to meet me there.

As Taylor Ann obeyed, Joshua scooped up the T-shirt that lay across the foot of his bed and tugged it over his pajama pants. Then he stepped to the closet. A small safe sat on the high shelf inside.

Thunder shook the roof, tightening his nerves as he took his gun from the safe. As he checked the load, he heard his twelve-year old daughter telling his brother what was going on. Her voice shook a bit, but he was proud of the way she handled the situation. But then she’d learned early that she had to do what was expected of her.

Stepping around her, he grabbed his badge off the nightstand and shoved it into the pocket of his pajama pants. He would need it if there really was an intruder.

Taylor Ann hung up the cell phone but didn’t put it down. Instead, she clutched it against her chest. Uncle Peter is on his way.

Good. You all right?

Taylor Ann bobbed her blonde head, her eyes wide enough that Joshua could see his own reflection in them when lightning flashed. Placing his free hand on her shoulder, he guided her into the closet. Thunder rumbled across the roof of the sturdy brick house. Stay in here until I come back, okay? You’ll be safe.

By the flashlight’s glow, he saw the terror in her eyes…and the question: What if you don’t come back…like Mama?

Damn. This situation was too similar to the night her mother had been murdered. Unidentified danger, hiding while the unthinkable happened…

But he had to leave Taylor Ann here—he couldn’t take her with him into a potentially dangerous situation.

Should I wait for Peter…and maybe lose the perp?

With so many burglaries lately, he needed to capture the perpetrator and put an end to the tension that gripped Sorrow’s Point.

While I’m gone, you call Grandpa’s cell number. He’ll come right over. Kneeling, he looked his daughter in the eyes and forced a smile that he hoped looked reassuring. I’ll be back. You believe me, right?

She nodded slowly then stepped over his shoes to burrow into the clothes hanging in the closet. Her eyes remained wide as she turned and stared back at him.

Fury tightened his throat. Damn it. Why has this happened again—and right in our neighborhood?

Thunder cracked and they both flinched.

I’ll call you from Georgina’s as soon as I have everything under control, so while you’re talking to Grandpa, listen for me to beep in, he said, putting as much promise into his voice as he could. Okay?

She nodded. Okay.

Joshua closed the closet door then ran through the house. In the kitchen, he smelled grease from the burgers he’d made for supper, overlaid with the sweetness of lavender—Taylor Ann’s choice—dish soap The clock hanging on the plumbing chase over the sink made a slight grinding noise as the minute hand passed over the twelve. It was two o’clock in the morning—perfect time for another burglary.

Flashes of lightning lit the plain cotton curtains that hung over the kitchen sink, and thunder cracked again. Heavy drops of rain struck the roof with increasing speed.

Stepping down onto the concrete floor of the enclosed back porch, Joshua looked through the nearest window. Thirty yards separated his house from Georgina Vega’s old place. The grass that grew between the houses looked slick.

Grabbing a ring of keys hanging on a hook near the back door, he stepped outside into what had become a downpour. Keeping low, he ran barefoot across the wet grass as fat, cold raindrops pounded down from the night sky.

An unfamiliar sedan sat in Georgina’s driveway, pulled up close to the single-car garage. A light moved inside the house, sweeping across Georgina’s bedroom window.

Joshua thanked God the elderly woman was in the hospital. He’d driven her there himself after her fall that afternoon. Georgina had no relatives in the area so no one had any business being inside her house while she was away. That meant that whoever was inside at two o’clock on a stormy Sunday morning was up to no good. Like five other incidents in Sorrow’s Point within the past month, this looked like a burglary.

Soaked from the slashing rain, Joshua reached the house and pressed his back against the brick wall. After a moment, he peered around the edge of Georgina’s bedroom window. He couldn’t see anything now. Even the suspicious light was gone.

Rainwater sluiced down his face as, crouching again, he ran to the back of the building. As in his home, the back door opened off the kitchen. But, except for a railing, Georgina’s back porch wasn’t enclosed. Mounting the steps, he crossed her narrow porch and used the spare key she’d given him years ago to slip inside.

Rain beat against the roof and thunder continued to pound the neighborhood—hell, this whole area of the coast was under siege. Too stirred up to feel a chill from his wet clothes, Joshua crept across the kitchen toward Georgina’s bedroom, one of only two in the small house. A dressmaker even at her advanced age, Georgina used the front bedroom for her business while she used the smaller back room for sleeping.

Georgina’s bedroom door stood open at the near end of a narrow hallway just off the kitchen. A trace of light caught his eye as he entered the room and he spied a flashlight lying on the floor, its beam aimed toward the darkness under the bed.

Something thumped inside the closet. He thought about Taylor Ann hiding inside his bedroom closet, and guilt flashed through him. After what she’d gone through the night her mother died, he’d hated to leave her there. But what choice did he have if he wanted to stop the crime spree in Sorrow’s Point?

Peter lived less than three blocks away, so it wouldn’t be long before Joshua heard the siren of his brother’s patrol truck. Should he wait for Peter to arrive or confront the intruder alone?

A very specific sound shattered the relative quiet between cracks of thunder, jolting Joshua. Gripping the closet doorknob, he yanked the door open to find a rain-drenched woman crouched inside…clutching a crying baby in her arms.

* * * * *

Ronnie blamed the slow infiltration of reality on the terrifying thunderstorm and the crying baby. Life hadn’t prepared her for either. Nor had it prepared her for the man with the gun who loomed before her.

Well what did you expect from the month of September? whispered a little voice in her mind. The hurricane happened in a September, your mother vanished in a September, Harry left you waiting at the altar…

It’s going to be all right. It’s going to be all right.

A moment passed before she realized that the chant came from her own throat. Hoarse from who-knew-how-long she’d been reassuring herself and her two-month old nephew, the words sounded just above a whisper. And then they came at her in an echo that was deeper in tone…a masculine voice from the man with the gun.

Yes, it’s all right. Lowering his gun, he extended his other hand—empty—toward her. You can come out. No one is going to hurt you.

What about the storm?

The words whispered through her mind but she didn’t utter them. She had never recovered from the trauma of the hurricane that struck her home when she was seven years old, yet here she huddled, enduring her worst nightmare. Well, maybe not her worst. For all its ferocity, this storm was nothing like Hurricane Gilbert. Still, even now thunderstorms usually drove her to shelter in a mattress-lined closet on the first floor of the Austin townhouse she shared with her twin sister. Tonight’s coastal storm was no hurricane but it might as well have been for the way it made her pulse—and thoughts—race.

Danny screamed and her arms tightened around him. He’d behaved so well on the endless trip to Sorrow’s Point, sleeping in his car seat in the back of her car. It wasn’t until she’d lifted him out into that torrent that he’d started to fret. She couldn’t blame him. In spite of the blanket she’d held over his head, he’d become as soaked as she as she crossed the muddy yard. Then she had slipped, losing her shoe and…

Ouch.

She hadn’t realized until just this moment that she had hurt her left elbow in an effort to keep the baby safe. Then she’d fumbled for the house key hidden under a front walk brick. Up to that point, she’d maintained control of her threatening panic. Then the wind had snatched at her hair, bringing forth her most terrifying memories.

From that moment, it had taken every ounce of self-control she possessed to get inside the house and close the door. She’d sought refuge from the tumult inside the back room closet, tripped over something on the floor and fallen sideways against the wall. That was when Danny started to cry. Hell, it wasn’t crying so much as a full-fledged wail that only paused when the thunder shook the walls around them.

My name is Joshua Dawson. I live next door. The man spoke again.

Oddly—blessedly—the baby fell silent. There was something in the timber of the man’s voice, a soothing quality that almost calmed her own frazzled nerves.

He went on. Why don’t you come on out of there and tell me who you are?

Don’t tell anyone who Danny is! Her mother’s voice whispered through her mind. That voice that she remembered from childhood, that voice she had longed to hear for years after her abandonment, that voice that returned to her life over a long-distance telephone line only yesterday. Or was it the day before?

What time is it anyway? Oh, why can’t I think straight?

A chill shuddered through her. She was soaked. Danny was soaked. Certainly that explained his crying. Her own wet clothes sure as hell made her feel like crying her frickin’ head off.

This must be your flashlight. The man picked up the lit flashlight she’d carried in from her car. She’d dropped it in her hurry to find safety inside the closet. And I’m guessing this is your purse because it doesn’t look like anything Georgina would carry.

The man was looking at her with what appeared to be a friendly smile—she couldn’t tell for sure in the near darkness. His gun had vanished and now he held her slim leather clutch—imported ostrich hide, a gift from an affluent client—in his right hand and her flashlight in his left.

I’m just going to look inside it, he said.

She opened her mouth to tell him he had no right, when the storm attacked the house with another sledgehammer of thunder. Startled, she ducked her head, her forehead bumping the baby’s. He stiffened in her arms and then let loose another of those eardrum-piercing screams.

God, how can anything so tiny make so much noise?

Veronica Clarke, the man said. Is that your name, ma’am?

Her head shot up. The man had removed her wallet from her purse and was shining her flashlight down on her driver’s license.

Ms. Clarke, why don’t you come out of Georgina’s closet and tell me what you’re doing here? It’s all right. Here—I’ll prove it.

He dropped her wallet back inside her purse and then produced what she feared most…a policeman’s badge.

* * * * *

Joshua put away his badge and stood back as the woman rose from the floor of Georgina’s closet. She still clutched the crying baby against her chest. It was a tiny little thing and the wet blanket that wrapped it looked like a small homemade quilt.

The woman’s gaze fixed on his. In the glow from her flashlight, he saw that her huge eyes were surrounded with smudged mascara. Dark hair hung in sodden locks around her face and her muddy clothing looked like it was destined for the rag bag. In spite of all that, she was an attractive woman who didn’t fit his idea of a house breaker.

I’ll take the baby if you need help, he said.

Her eyes widened with what looked like fear. I…I have him.

Her voice was hoarse, a husky sound. The fear in her eyes—and the baby in her arms—convinced him even more that this woman wasn’t a burglar.

Despite her assertion that she needed no help, he noticed that she seemed to be having trouble standing. But who wouldn’t in that cramped space with Georgina Vega’s embroidered Mexican dresses hanging around her and a screaming baby in her arms?

Holding the purse and flashlight in one hand—he’d shoved his gun into a pajama pocket—Joshua reached out with his free hand to catch the woman’s elbow and steady her. Instead, she sucked in a harsh breath.

My arm…I fell and…

Sorry. Shifting his grip, he looked down as she stepped out of the closet. One of her shoes was missing. The other was covered in mud, as were her pant legs.

You must have slipped in Georgina’s flower bed, Joshua said. She dug out her old begonias just yesterday and didn’t have time—

He cut himself off when Veronica Clarke blinked her big eyes at him. He realized that they were a dark, dazzling green—almost a jewel tone. Pleasant heat shot through him at the sight. He’d always been a sucker for green-eyed women.

I hope you’re not hurt badly, he said in a gentler tone.

She blinked again and gave a little shake of her head.

And the baby’s all right?

Her head moved just as slightly in the affirmative.

Still holding her arm—more gently—he led her to a scarred pine bench that sat at the foot of Georgina’s narrow bed. Sit here. I’ll get some towels for you and the baby.

Joshua dropped her purse on the bed and then hurried down the hall to the bathroom. By flashlight illumination, he found a stack of towels on a shelf next to the bathtub. He grabbed several and then returned to the bedroom.

Veronica Clarke had risen from the bench and stepped around to the side of the bed to lay the baby on the worn bed cover. It’s all right, she murmured, her hands hovering over the child’s loosely swaddled body. She did seem to be favoring her left arm. It’s all right.

Whether it was the strain in her voice or something else, her reassurances weren’t working. The baby continued to scream at the top of its tiny lungs.

Joshua frowned. She looked as if she didn’t know what to do with the baby.

We need to get that little one dry. Joshua dropped the towels and flashlight on the bed, nudged the woman aside and stripped off the baby’s sodden blanket, clothes and diaper. Even if Ms. Clarke wasn’t seriously hurt, she was clearly too traumatized to think clearly or to move at the pace he wanted her to move. But traumatized by what?

He tossed aside the soggy diaper. It’s a boy. Congratulations. What’s his name?

His attempt at humor fell flat as Veronica Clarke just stood there and stared at him as if she didn’t understand English.

Joshua dried the baby then wrapped him in one of Georgina’s threadbare towels. He made a mental note to make sure she got more substantial ones on his dad’s next trip from the shelter in Port Lavaca.

The baby’s cries faded into snuffling little mews as soon as Joshua had him swaddled in a second towel. Amazing what a little snug warmth could accomplish.

Diaper.

The hushed voice brought his attention back to the woman’s eyes. She blinked once more and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

His name is Diaper? Joshua smiled.

No. He…needs a…a diaper.

We’ll take care of that in a bit, he said, giving up on any further attempt at humor. It certainly hadn’t helped speed up this process and get him back to Taylor Ann. Right now I’m more concerned with getting him warm. This might be September but those raindrops felt mighty cold to me and I’m sure he didn’t like ‘em. Joshua didn’t much like them, either. He was shivering in his own wet clothes.

I have—I have— Breaking off as rain slashed the roof, she hunched her shoulders and raised her wide eyes toward the ceiling. A moment passed before she lowered her gaze to his. She went on a bit more evenly. I have a diaper bag. I dropped it. Near the front door.

She’s scared of the storm, Joshua realized as he picked up the baby. We’ll find it in a minute. Let’s get you into something dry first.

Grabbing the flashlight with his free hand, he cast its beam around the small room. A worn chenille bathrobe draped the foot of the bed. There. Georgina won’t mind.

When she hesitated, he went on, Ms. Clarke, my brother is the chief of police and he’s going to have some questions for you, most specifically why you broke into Georgina Vega’s house in the middle of the night. He smiled to take some of the sting out of his rushed words, hoping to put her at ease enough to tell him the truth. I think you’d be more comfortable answering those questions if you were warm and dry. Now why don’t you put on Georgina’s robe and then we’ll have ourselves a chat?

She gave a slow nod and reached for the robe. Her eyes met his again and one of her eyebrows went up in an unspoken question.

Something about that lifting eyebrow above those green eyes sent a shot of desire straight into Joshua’s gut. He turned his back on her before she saw the reflection of that unexpected need in his eyes.

What the hell is wrong with me—actin’ like a randy stallion lookin’ at a new mare?

Holding the baby to his chest, he headed for the bedroom door. I’ll wait in the kitchen, he said. And use Georgina’s phone to call Taylor Ann.

I didn’t break in. Her voice drifted after him. Aunt Georgina invited me.

* * * * *

Sitting at the kitchen table, Ronnie clutched her purse against her stomach and stared at the man across from her. Joshua Dawson seemed so at ease holding Danny that Ronnie was tempted to let him keep the child for as long as he was willing. But that would be another in a growing line of stupid mistakes. The first had been picking up the office phone early Saturday morning when the caller ID displayed only a number. The latest had been driving to Sorrow’s Point on Saturday night when the weather forecast had warned of a dangerous Gulf thunderstorm.

As if to point out her stupidity, thunder cracked once again. Sitting in a darkness broken only by flashes of lightning and a couple of camping lanterns, wearing the robe of a woman she hadn’t seen in almost twenty years, Ronnie bit her lower lip to keep from crying.

Idiot!

You all right?

At her companion’s voice, she realized that she had instinctively ducked her head as thunder struck the house again.

With reluctance, she looked up at Joshua Dawson. He held Danny easily and, in the light from an electric lantern, she saw that his eyes were a blue-gray that could have a calming effect on a nervous person. Even she—on the brink of diving under the table and curling into a fetal position—felt a wave of ease course through her panic. Maybe if she held his gaze—hell, maybe if she held his hand—she’d make it through this infernal tempest that threatened to shatter the small house around her.

Ms. Clarke?

Realizing she’d ducked her head again, Ronnie took a deep breath and straightened her spine. She released the death grip she had on her purse. I don’t like storms, she said, her voice more meek than she ever imagined to hear it. Damn it, when am I going to get over this fear?

I figured that was what had you so upset. This one is a frog-strangler for sure.

The police officer continued to watch her until she feared he knew all her secrets. He knew that Danny wasn’t her child. He knew that she’d kidnapped him. He knew that she didn’t know Georgina Vega any better than she knew her own mother. Or the sister to whom Danny really belonged.

But of course he couldn’t know anything. The Crockett County Sheriff’s Department might have gotten onto her mother already, but surely the newspapers and television reporters hadn’t passed on the information to the public yet. If he’d been sleeping—his sodden pajamas indicated that was exactly what he was doing—then Officer Joshua Dawson of Sorrow’s Point couldn’t know if some kind of bulletin was sent to other law enforcement agencies around Texas.

When…when do you think… Fear made her throat almost too dry and tight to allow her to speak. The storm…

When will it be over? He shifted Danny in his arms. While she’d changed into Georgina’s robe, he’d found the diaper bag she’d dropped near the front door, put a diaper and clean clothes on Danny and then prepared a bottle of formula from the supplies inside the bag. Now the baby sucked down the milky looking liquid with greedy smacking sounds. "Pretty soon, I’d guess. It’s just