Deer grazed in a small clearing close to the water across from the coyote, as though taunting it with its inability to reach them in time for a meal. It reminded him of the woman he refused to think of, and the months he had spent attempting to chase her down.
The sounds of nature enclosed him. The traffic, squawking, blaring horns, and raised voices of the city were blocked by distance and by his own determination to put it behind him.
He’d found friends here in the past year. He’d found purpose. And he’d finally figured out the sister he’d never understood before.
Rolling his head, he let the breeze caress his neck as his eyes narrowed, his hands confident on the wheel of the large craft as he maneuvered it along the lake.
He wasn’t John Calvin Walker Sr.’s son here. Here, he was that damned Walker boy, and that suited him fine. He had family here that understood the mountains, brewed their own liquor, and laughed when he choked on it.
Mountain parties, barbeques, and pig roasts. And he was loving every minute of it.
Hell, he was more than loving it, he was reveling in it.
He worked when he wanted to, took the legal cases that interested him, and the rest of the time he worked with a nonprofit group that built homes for the poor and looked after the elderly. And he let the mountains embrace him.
The only thing he couldn’t run away from, though, was the damned cell phone he couldn’t seem to throw away, no matter how many times he tried.
The bastard insisted on getting excellent reception, even here, deep within the forested land rising around him. Proof of it was the insistent beeping at his hip.
Glaring at the water stretching out before him, he pulled the phone from his pocket, scowled at the number on the display, and against his better judgment, accepted the call.
“No, I’m not bored yet,” he told his father as he brought the phone to his ear.
A second of silence greeted him.
“Of course you’re not,” his father’s cultured voice drawled sarcastically. “There’s rarely time to be bored when you’re pretending to be the luckless playboy of Lake Cumberland. The novelty hasn’t quite had a chance to wear off, has it?”
“Not yet,” John agreed happily. “Do you know what I’m doing right now?”
“Do I want to know?” his father asked warily.
“I’m maneuvering my houseboat down the lake. I’m sweating like a pig and grinning from ear to ear. When was the last time you did that, Pop?”
“You don’t want to know,” John Sr. growled warningly. “When are you returning home?”
“I told you, I am home,” he retorted. “If you called to argue with me again, then you’re wasting your time and I have better things to do.”
He could almost see his father, an older version of himself, his lips thinning, his eyes narrowing in irritation at his son’s refusal to return home.
This was home to John, and he couldn’t see that changing anytime soon.
“You sound like your sister.” Anger throbbed in his father’s voice. “You’d think after what she went through in that damned county, she would have left before that sheriff managed to tie her to him. What are you doing, John? Why are you doing it? How many times do I have to tell you what’s coming? Those people will turn on you as fast as they accepted you.”
John shook his head. The hell his parents had faced here had been the fault of the individuals who had kept a hold on the county, not the people itself. The few had ruined much for the many, for too many years.
They were gone now, but John understood his father’s hatred for them, and his distrust of the county. He understood it, but he refused to return to what his life had been before.
Here, he had a sense of purpose. There, he’d had nothing but his family. A damned good family, he admitted, but there had been nothing to anchor him, nothing to ease that restless hunger that tormented him.
“How’s Mom?” he asked, rather than arguing again. He always tried to stem the flood of anger that rose between them each time they talked.
His father sighed heavily. “She misses her children. This wasn’t what she wanted, John. She raised her children with love and now you’re all deserting her.”
In other words, his mother was doing what she always did, refusing to step into the middle of the arguments that waged between John Sr. and his children.
Not that the older Walker didn’t love his children. He did. Too much sometimes. He could never understand that he couldn’t shelter them from life, no matter how hard he tried. That he couldn’t force them to live the life he’d attempted to create for them.
It was the same fight they’d had when John had joined the Marines just out of high school. The argument they had when John had gone into criminal law rather than corporate law as his father had done.
The argument they had had when John had told his father he was asking Marlena Genoa to marry him.
“Tell her I love her,” John said.
“Sure you do,” his father grunted. “That’s why you’re cruising down a damned lake rather than having dinner with her today.”
It was Sunday. Every Sunday it was dinner at home, no matter what, that was, as long as the particular child was in town.
“I’m sure Candace and her children are keeping her busy.”
Candace Salyers was his sister, the oldest of the Walker siblings. Married, with three beautiful kids and a doting husband, Candace had a life she thrived on. She swore she couldn’t exist outside of Boston, and abhorred anything even remotely “country.”
Silence filled the line again, this time longer.
“Fine, if you insist on bumming in Kentucky a little longer, then you can do me a favor,” his father finally growled, his tone darker now, assuring John that whatever was coming was serious.
He waited, knowing it would take a moment for his father to perfect his pitch.
“It’s Sierra, John. She’s in trouble.”
John froze.
He didn’t want to hear her name, he didn’t want to talk about her, hell, he refused to think about her. She had made the decision to run from him, not the other way around.
“Last week, someone broke into the house and attacked her. She was hurt, John. Hurt bad enough that for a few days we wondered if she was going to come out of it.”
Shock resounded through him. John stood perfectly still, fighting to take in the information, to control the rage tearing through him, threatening to release itself with such a wave of violence that for the first time in his life, John frightened himself.
“What did they do to her?” Fury pulsed through him now.
His father breathed out roughly as John waited. And waited. It seemed to take forever for his father to speak.
“She was nearly raped. Bruised severely and strangled. She would have been killed, but her new roommate arrived and scared him off. The girl was terrified. After the guy escaped through the bedroom window, she was certain Sierra was dead.”
Every muscle in John’s body tightened. Rage began to burn in his gut as he imagined the petite, fragile young woman being strangled, attacked.
A wave of possessiveness tore through him, a distant thought that someone had dared to hurt what belonged to him tearing through him.
“You didn’t call me,” he snarled. “Why?”
For a moment, his father was silent before he answered heavily.
“Because I knew something bad had gone on between you two before you left. I didn’t know if you wanted to be involved, John. I wanted to wait. But I need to get her out of town until I figure out why she was attacked. It doesn’t make sense. Hell, Sierra’s temperamental, but she doesn’t poke her nose in dangerous stuff. And it’s rare for a damned decorator to make the kind of enemies that attempt to kill you in the middle of the night. I have a bad feeling about this, John. I want her safe while my investigators check it out.”
Someone had tried to harm Sierra. It was almost too much for John to attempt to take in. He couldn’t believe anyone would dare touch her. It was common knowledge that she was all but family to the Walker and Evanworth families. And John Walker Sr. had established that he took care of his own decades before.
John himself had always been incredibly protective of her as well. And Sierra simply didn’t get into that type of trouble. She was nosy as hell, but only where her friends were concerned. She didn’t tolerate bullshit well, and liars even less, but still, that didn’t necessarily place her in harms way. “Serial attack?” he asked, wondering if perhaps Boston had acquired yet another serial rapist.
“Not that my investigators have dug up,” his father shot that idea out of the water. “Don’t worry, I’ll find the bastard, John. But she needs to get out of Boston. Like I said, my gut is rolling on this one. I don’t think it’s over and I don’t think she’s safe.”
Which meant she wasn’t. His father’s gut was notoriously right when it came to warning the man that something was wrong. It was a warning his son knew to heed. If he said Sierra was in trouble, then there wasn’t a doubt in John’s mind that Sierra was in serious trouble. Sultry, innocent, determined. She had seen to the breakup of his engagement when she’d caught his fiancée cheating. She had looked out after him, and despite her refusal to speak to him after that night, he would make damned certain he protected her now.
“What does she think about this? She’s not exactly speaking to me at the moment.” Not that he cared what she thought. If he had to go to Boston and force her into his protection then that was exactly what he would do.
“You’re the only choice,” John Sr. barked. “Dammit it John, she cried for you in the hospital. She was beaten, bloody, bruised to hell and back, and out of her mind with fear. When I got there, she was begging for you. They called me because they couldn’t find you.”
His teeth clenched, his fingers wrapped so tight around the controls of the houseboat that he wondered he hadn’t broken the column. Pure, almost mindless fury surged through his brain at the knowledge that he hadn’t been there for her.
“I’m not asking what went on with you, Marlena, and Sierra,” his father sighed. “I never asked. I figured if you wanted to talk, you’d come to me or your mother. But whatever happened, whatever Sierra did, she did because she felt it was right.”
She had done it because she had believed herself to be in love with him. John knew the reasons why. He didn’t fault her for it now, but he had faulted her for it then.
“Does she know you’re asking me?” he repeated roughly.
“Not yet.” His father’s tone was filled with sudden weariness. “She’s terrified, John. She won’t leave the house, and your mother and I have to head to Europe next week. Sierra won’t let me hire a bodyguard, and she’s threatening to run. She’s my goddaughter. I can’t let anything happen to her.”
John stared around him, his jaw clenching at the thought that Sierra was threatening to run rather than coming to him. Damn her. She’d refused to see him after that night, wouldn’t talk to him. She’d went so far as to leave town for months. He’d taken the message and left her alone, hoping time would heal whatever he may have said to her.
That night was a little sketchy. He’d been pissed, he remembered that clearly. Just as he remembered kissing her. After that, things were a little hazy and mixed with fantasy more than reality.
“Do I need to drive in to pick her up?” he finally asked. And he would. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to allow her to face more danger without him at her side.
“As much as I want to see you, I advise against that,” his father stated. “I’ll have her brought to you. Candace and her husband and kids are taking the family jet to the West Coast tomorrow. An unscheduled stop will be made at the Hickley landing strip. It’s private and Raymond Hickley will make damned sure no one knows they landed there. I’ll call you back with the details.”