Forever Hidden (Forever Bluegrass #2) (9 page)

The man on top of her had rolled off and slipped out through the open window. It had been his first instinct to chase after him, but he’d seen Sydney lying on the floor. Part of her bra had been torn off, exposing red marks down her chest. She was smeared all over with blood, and the sight of her looking ready to throw up had brought him to his knees beside her.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” Sydney said as he held her tight against his chest while waiting for the police to arrive.

Sydney had spent five minutes throwing up and was shaking so uncontrollably he hadn’t known what to do but wrap her up and hold her tightly to him.

“It looked like you didn’t need me. You weren’t kidding about knowing self-defense. I’m just sorry I couldn’t have gotten to you sooner.”

“He must have locked the door. I didn’t lock it,” Sydney told him as another shiver went through her body. They were still coming, but not as frequently. The adrenaline was wearing off and the shock was turning to realization.

Deacon saw the lights flashing in the distant night and his urge to protect Sydney grew. “Do you want me to help you get dressed?” he asked quietly.

Sydney choked back a cry and slowly nodded. “He . . . he tried. I didn’t let him. But he did it to Bailey. Oh God!” Sydney buried her head into his bare chest and sobbed.

Having all the police and other emergency responders find her wearing only half a bra and her panties would just further affect her. So, as she clung to him, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his room. He dug out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. The pants covered her feet and had to be rolled at her waist, but as Sydney sat there quietly crying, he dressed her as if she were a child, knowing the thick, big clothes would make her feel safe.

“Do you want to stay here or come with me?” Deacon asked as he ran his hand over her hair.

“I need to stay with you, please,” Sydney begged as she reached for him.

“I won’t leave you. I promise,” Deacon swore, and he knew without a doubt he never wanted to leave this woman again for the rest of his life.

He put his arm around her waist and pulled her up. Slowly, they headed downstairs. By the time they opened the front door, police were pouring out of their cars and racing forward. An ambulance was right behind them, as was the detective he’d worked with on the Salem case.

“McKnight! What the hell happened here? Is everyone all right?” he asked more gently this time as Sydney came into view.

“We will be. She has a cut on her arm the EMTs need to look at, and a knife the intruder had was kicked under the bed. There’re also some photographs that need to be taken, but it might be better if there was a woman to do that.”

Sydney shook her head. “No, the detective can do it. You trust him. That’s what matters. Can Deacon stay with me?”

Deacon felt a lump in his throat. He just wanted to protect her, but her shivers had stopped. While she held onto him, she was no longer leaning on him. She was strong, and she wanted to see this through on her own terms.

“Of course. I’m Detective Gentry, ma’am. Let’s go into a private room and I’ll take the pictures, then Deacon can make us both a nice pot of hot tea or coffee, and we’ll talk if you’re up for it.”

Deacon sent the detective a thankful smile over Sydney’s head. The old, tough lawman turned into a doting father around Sydney, and that alone was worth all of Deacon’s thanks.

The next two hours seemed to go on forever. Pictures were taken. Blood evidence was collected, and Deacon had escorted Sydney upstairs to his bathroom to take a hot shower while Gentry talked with the crew collecting evidence from Sydney’s bedroom. Sydney emerged from the shower looking much better than she had after the incident.

“Thank you, Deacon. You’ve been so kind to me. I’m sorry I fell apart there,” Sydney said quietly as they walked downstairs to meet with Gentry in the living room.

Deacon stopped her on the stairs and made her turn to look at him. “Sydney, you didn’t fall apart. You did what needed to be done. You’re a strong woman who didn’t give up. I . . .” Deacon caught himself. He was going to tell her he loved her, but this wasn’t the time. “I’m proud of you.”

Sydney gave him a tentative smile. “Thank you.” She rose up on her bare toes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled her away, but it wasn’t quickly as if embarrassed. Sydney looked up at him and smiled tenderly before entwining her fingers with his. “I’m ready, Detective.”

CHAPTER NINE

How, out of something so dark, could there be light? Sydney stood next to Deacon as they said goodbye to the kindly detective. After a hellish night, feeling anything romantic was far from her mind. But Deacon proved himself to her over and over again through the night. Proved that he cared for her; proved that he was a good, kind, and honorable man. And through the night, her heart wanted more with Deacon McKnight.

“Are you ready for bed, Syd?” Deacon asked as he closed and locked the door.

Sydney felt a shiver run down her back. “I don’t think I can go back into that room.”

“You can stay in one of the other guest rooms,” Deacon suggested.

Sydney looked up into Deacon’s face. She took the time to see his chestnut eyes turn dark with emotion. She looked to his lips, full and soft, and his jaw, hard and clenched as if he were having trouble controlling his emotions. She shook her head.

“I don’t want to be alone. May I sleep in your room?”

Deacon took a slow gulp and nodded. “Of course. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Sydney shook her head again. Deacon’s eye pulsed as if fighting for control, but he didn’t question her. Instead, he quietly led her upstairs. Sydney just hoped whatever internal battle he was fighting would end with him having some kind of feelings for her. So far, he had been a confusing read. All the signs would be there, but then he’d pull back. No, running away at full speed was more like it.

It was a first, though, that someone wanted to get to know her before doing anything physical. It was very chivalrous. The side effect of that was she had wanted desperately for something physical to happen. There was no bigger turn-on than a gentleman. However, tonight she just wanted to be held safely as she thought about the new feelings she had developed for Deacon.

Deacon pulled back the covers to the bed and waited for Sydney to crawl in. She was still wearing his sweats, and she gave him a sweet smile and climbed into his bed. How many fantasies had he had about the unknown, unseen great-granddaughter doing just this? Then he couldn’t keep up the fantasies he’d had when he found out the girl he’d fallen in love with through letters was as beautiful, kind, and strong as Sydney.

He ground his jaw tightly together as he turned off the lamp and went to lie stiffly on the other side of the bed. She’d just suffered a trauma, and he wasn’t about to do anything tonight except think of ways to comfort her. He was a nobody compared to the men she’d dated. He wanted to settle down with someone he loved and start a family, have a home, and she . . . well, she was jet-setting around the globe, running one of the fastest-growing companies in the world.

“Deacon,” Sydney whispered quietly into the dark.

“Yes?”

“Will you hold me?”

Deacon swallowed hard, but if she had asked for the moon he would have gotten it for her. And if she needed a warm body next to her to feel safe, then he would do that, too.

He rolled over onto his side, and she snuggled against him. Her head lay on his arm and her back was to his chest. Her bottom was pressed against him and no matter what he thought about, he couldn’t stop from going hard. He was afraid it would scare her, but she just wiggled her bottom against him and sighed. Deacon held his breath and didn’t move a muscle. With his other arm wrapped around her stomach, Sydney’s breathing slowed and soon she was asleep. How—after having this for one night—would he ever be able to sleep alone again?

*     *     *

“I found it!” Sydney screamed as she jumped up from the kitchen table. Deacon was making breakfast and, still dressed in his sweats, she had picked up some more of her great-grandmother’s letters.

Deacon slid some scrambled eggs onto her plate and smiled. She had woken first to find his hand cupping her breast and his erection against her bottom. This was heaven. The warmth and comfort of being next to him left her heart doing funny things.

“What does it say?” Deacon asked as she went to the oven for the biscuits.

“It’s talking about an old oak tree in the backyard. Great-grandma writes that they named the tree Michael, as in the archangel. The tree had stood for hundreds of years protecting those who lived here. It’s the tree in the middle of the yard, set slightly back from all the others.”

“And you think that’s the tree your ancestors buried the treasure under?” Deacon asked.

Sydney nodded her head. “It has to be. After breakfast, I’m going on a treasure hunt.”

Sydney marked off five strides and stood still as Deacon marked the spot. She stepped back and, with excitement strumming through her body, watched as Deacon started digging.

“What will you do if it’s not here?” Deacon asked.

“I guess go home,” Sydney said, the excitement suddenly dying. “I have to be back after Valentine’s Day to meet with the board of directors.”

“Oh,” Deacon said simply as he dug farther into the ground.

Oh
was right. No more nights waking up with Deacon’s arms around her. No more teasing. No more dinners where they talked about their lives and their dreams. Suddenly, her life didn’t seem as interesting if Deacon wasn’t there to share it.

“I heard the phone ring while I was changing,” Sydney stated to change the subject. She didn’t want to think about leaving just yet.

Deacon grunted as he dug the shovel into the cold earth. “Yeah, it was Detective Gentry. They’ve put out an APB on Vic’s description. They’ve called Tristan Models, but no one is admitting they know him, and Durante is unavailable at this time.”

“But it’s what we fear it is, isn’t it?” Sydney asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

Deacon’s jaw tightened in a move she came to realize was a way he used to control his emotions. “Yes. From what we saw on the video, the text messages, and what Vic told you, it appears Bailey is lost in the underworld of sex trafficking. They target girls with emotional problems at home and Bailey had those. She felt abandoned by her father and took it out on her mother. From the texts, it looked like Vic had no problem making her fall in love with him. Then traffickers break their victims, just as Vic told you.”

“What do we do now?” Sydney asked.

“We?”

Sydney shot him a determined smile. “I’m not going anywhere until we find Bailey. I can’t just leave her out there.”

“I won’t let that happen. I’ll find her or what’s left of the Bailey her mother knew.”

“I’ll get her help. I’ll immediately get her into a recovery center and even pay for Ms. Vander to move nearby while Bailey’s in therapy. There’s too much bad in the world and if I can stop it, even just a little, then good wins. The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

“Edmund Burke,” Deacon said with surprise. “That quote is one of the main reasons I do what I do.”

Sydney and Deacon fell quiet instantly as the sound of the shovel connecting with something solid reverberated in the cold winter morning. Their eyes shot to each other as Sydney scrambled to her feet and hurried to look into the hole Deacon had dug.

“Is it really there?” Sydney asked with excitement.

Deacon shoveled out some more dirt and smiled. “It’s a trunk!”

Sydney dropped to her knees and started pushing the dirt from the top of the trunk. It was covered in some kind of leather with large, black leather straps around it. Deacon continued to dig out the dirt all around it, and soon the trunk was unearthed.

“I can’t believe it,” Sydney said with awe as she jumped to give Deacon a hug. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her breathing quickened, and she didn’t care. She wanted to run her hand down the ridges of his abdomen; she wanted their tongues to dance and to feel the euphoria of finally coming together.

His jaw tightened again, and he stepped back. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get this thing inside.”

He bent over and pulled, but the trunk wouldn’t budge. “Here, I’ll get this end.”

Sydney moved to grab one end and Deacon grabbed the other. Together they lifted with all their strength. The box dislodged from the dirt and they heaved it up onto the grass.

“That thing weighs a ton,” Deacon said as he breathed heavily.

“It’s probably the family silver,” Sydney panted.

“I have a dolly; let me get that, and we’ll wheel it inside,” Deacon told her as he took off, jogging for the garage. That was fine by her. She didn’t want that trunk dropping on her toes.

“Okay, I’ll lift this end and you wedge the dolly underneath it,” Deacon instructed as he walked back with it behind him.

Sydney stood and took control of the dolly. Deacon bent and hissed out his breath as he lifted the edge of the trunk. Sydney moved fast and slid the metal lip of the dolly underneath. They worked together to move it into the mudroom and set it on some old towels.

“Look,” Sydney gasped. There in faded gold lettering were the initials
E.M.W
. “This was Elizabeth Woodbury’s trunk.”

Deacon looked at the dirt-caked lock holding it closed. He reached down and gave it a tug. The lock held. He used his thumb to clear off some of the dirt, and Sydney leaned forward to give it a good look.

“That lock doesn’t look like it’s a couple hundred years old,” she said as she stared at it.

“Any idea if you have the key or should I just bust it open?” Deacon asked.

Sydney thought about it for a second. “Let me look in the family Bible. It’s so large that I could have missed something.”

She hurried through the living room and up the stairs. Deacon had moved all of her things into the room next to his while repairmen replaced the broken glass window in her great-grandmother’s old room. Sydney jumped onto the bed, pulled the heavy book from the nightstand, and placed it on the bed, careful not to damage the relic.

Sydney looked inside the front cover and then quickly thumbed through the pages making sure nothing was hidden inside. She carefully turned to the back cover and nearly jumped when she saw it. Two small keys were taped to the inside back cover.

“I found it!” Sydney screamed as she peeled away the tape and palmed the keys. She raced down the stairs, hurtled an ottoman in the living room, and slid to a stop next to Deacon.

“Here,” she said, shoving the keys into his hand.

“Two keys?” Deacon asked as he looked at them closely.

“I don’t know. They’re about the same size, but that one seems newer and the head is very narrow on it,” Sydney said, pointing to the shiny key.

“There’s no way it fits this trunk, but it does fit something.” He held up the black key. “This, however, has to be it.”

Deacon had cleaned off the lock while she was upstairs. It looked old, but not dating back to the 1700s. He slid the key in, and after a little jiggling, the thick lock clicked open. Sydney held her breath as Deacon worked to pry the heavy lid open. With a groan and a creak, it gave way and finally lifted. She had done it. Sydney had found the family treasure.