Under Lock And Key. Sylvie Kurtz

He’s already kicked. Tyler dropped to the chair like a stone. This wouldn’t work. It just wouldn’t work. “How am I supposed to get in there to talk to her? You think a recluse is going to open her home to a stranger? Let him peek at her books and play knight to her damsel?”

      “You’ll pretend to be writing an article on her stallion. Eclipse is a champion. She won’t turn down press for him.”

      That made sense. An article in the most respected news magazine in the state was publicity no one could afford to turn down. “That’ll work for an hour, maybe two. After that, what?”

      “You’ll think of something.”

      Tyler knew himself well enough after the ravages of the past year to understand that his decisiveness had become rusted, his vision blurred, his drive stalled. But most of all, he knew he didn’t want to be the Tyler Blackwell of a year ago. And that was what Freddy was asking him to do. He’d spent his life becoming Tyler Blackwell, ace reporter, the dog who wouldn’t let go of the bone until he could drop it, meat and all, into the reader’s lap on the morning paper’s front page. Truth had once been all-important. But his drive for truth—and his ego—had also cost him the woman he loved, and in less than a year, his career. If he was to start over, he wanted something different.

      “I’ll have my secretary call Deanna and let her know you’re coming,” Freddy said, jotting a note to himself.

      “Who’s Deanna?”

      “Deanna Ziegler is Melissa’s friend. To get to Melissa you have to go through Dee.”

      “Have this Deanna person warn her.”

      “It’s not that simple.”

      Nothing about this situation was simple. “You said you weren’t on speaking terms. Why would this Deanna allow a reporter you send to write about the stallion?”

      “An article in Texas Gold with horses show season in full bloom is good business, and Melissa is a good businesswoman. She doesn’t trust me, but she trusts what I’ve done with the magazine.”

      A headache was starting to drum at Tyler’s temples. “Why are you doing this?”

      Freddy put his pen down, wove the fingers of his hands together and closed his eyes. A moment later he lifted his gaze. In Freddy’s dark eyes Tyler saw a despair close to his own and knew he had no choice. Freddy needed to protect Melissa from this possible foe as much as Tyler needed to find some logic for Lindsey’s death.

      “After her mother died,” Freddy said, “Melissa needed me, and I let her down because I was too busy building my career. I thought she was safe with her family. She wasn’t. I owe her.”

      The jangle of the phone interrupted their conversation.

      “Rena?” Freddy said, a frown creasing his forehead. Rena was Freddy’s stunning wife, fifteen years younger than the old bear and the center of Freddy’s universe since he’d met her two years ago. Rena was also seven and a half months into a difficult pregnancy. “I’ll be right there, sweetheart.”

      “Rena all right?” Tyler asked. Freddy didn’t need the worry about his wife on top of the worry about his niece.

      “The doctors think they might not be able to stop the baby from coming this time. I’m off to the hospital.”

      Freddy hustled his bulk toward his office door. “I let Melissa down, Tyler. I need some redemption—especially now.” Freddy raised his hands in a helpless gesture, and Tyler realized Freddy was trying to make the world right for Rena and their soon-to-be-born child by rectifying past mistakes and maybe even appeasing the gods of fate. For whatever reason, he still didn’t feel worthy of Rena’s love. Couldn’t he tell just by looking into his wife’s eyes that she adored him, soft middle, thinning hair and all?

      “I can count on you?” Freddy asked, hesitating at the door.

      Tyler nodded. Trust Freddy to know exactly what to say to make him feel like a heel. Who else had given him a million and a half chances? Who else had never given up on him—even when he’d given up on himself? Guilt was as good a motivator as any, and Tyler felt guilty enough for letting Freddy down.

      He grabbed the file with Melissa Carnes’s name off Freddy’s desk and strode out of the office behind Freddy. Just get it over and done with.

      Fast.

      TYLER COULDN’T SEE a thing. The furious rhythm of the wipers couldn’t keep up with the torrents of rain plastering his windshield. His headlights were useless on the dark country road, and he cursed his stubbornness.

      He should have waited until morning. But no, Tyler Blackwell had to do everything his own way. Maybe Freddy was right and he did have a suicidal streak. Why else would he be driving on this godforsaken road in the middle of a deluge? After all, May and mobile home-eating storms were synonymous. Had he unconsciously wanted a spring twister to rip him away from this unpleasant assignment? On the other hand, maybe he wanted to prove that he wasn’t a washed-up has-been, that no storm could stop him. Whether he wanted to prove that to himself or to Freddy, he hadn’t decided yet. All he knew for sure was that he wanted his debt to Freddy canceled. Get in. Get the answers. Get out. Once he’d made up his mind, he’d seen no reason to put off the inevitable.

      Damn, where was all this rain coming from? Spring weather in Texas was temperamental, but this was ridiculous. Slowing to a crawl, he leaned forward over the steering wheel and peered into nothingness. There should be signs of civilization. A light. Anything. The town of Fallen Moon couldn’t be more than a few miles ahead. He’d get a room there and find Melissa Carnes in the morning.

      He’d just decided to stop and wait for the rain to thin when his Jeep dipped to the left and the road disappeared beneath the wheels. He grappled with the steering wheel, trying to find the road again. Too late. Gravity took over and plunged him into a deep ditch.

      The Jeep bounced, slid sideways and came to a grinding halt, sending Tyler crashing into the left side of the vehicle and his head deflecting off the window. Pinpricks of bright light romped before his eyes, then faded like spent firecrackers when he shook his head.

      The acrid stench of gasoline filled his nose. A warm trickle of blood ran down his temple. The sting of rain pouring in from the cracked window pelted his face. When he tried to move to get his bearings, dizziness overwhelmed him.

      He reached up to touch his forehead and connected with the roll bar, instead. If it hadn’t been for the bar, he’d be dead. And against all odds, he was surprised he was glad to be alive.

      The engine wheezed spasmodically, but the lights were out. Tyler saw nothing, not even the hand he waved in front of his face. Slowly, deliberately, to keep his head from swinging crazily like one of those bobbing-head dolls in a car window, he fumbled for the ignition switch and turned off the engine. He reached for the door handle. Pain shot through his wrist.

      “Okay. Take it easy.” Securing his hurt wrist against his bruised ribs, he twisted his body and pulled himself through the window with his good arm. Rain assaulted him with a vengeance.

      Another bolt of lightning rent the sky, giving him a chance to reexamine his position. Then he braced himself against the Jeep’s frame and jumped. Slipping on the muddy embankment, he lost his balance and landed in the water at the bottom of the ditch. As he sat, water filled his cowboy boots and seeped through his jeans and cotton shirt.

      The rain turned into pea-size hail. Numbed instincts prickled back to life. Survival proved stronger than the pessimism of the past year.

      Tyler forced himself to stand. Pain throbbed through his body and ended in his head with the pounding of a hundred hammers.

      “Tyler Blackwell is back,” he warned the rain. Thunder mocked him.

      He clawed his way out of the ditch, pulling up his body with sheer determination until he found the road. Lightning flashed at regular intervals, lighting his way. Wincing with every step, he trudged toward town.

      What