Secrets and Lies. Lisa Jackson

and hair, but she took Jackson’s advice and began running, as fast as her legs would carry her, toward the rocky beach surrounding the lake. She tripped twice on berry vines, but Jackson helped her struggle up and keep plunging forward. She didn’t know if they were being chased, didn’t want to take the time to look around and find out.

       Her throat was hot and thick and tears streamed from her eyes. Rain poured down her neck. She couldn’t forget the skin-crawling feel of Roy’s body against hers, the terror that he wouldn’t stop until he’d stripped her of her clothes, robbed her of her dignity and…oh, Lord, she couldn’t think of that! She wouldn’t.

       The trees gave way and she was on the beach, running north, against the wind and rain that swept over the hills. Jackson’s breathing was labored, and he ran with a limp. Now it was she who was pulling him, half dragging him up the beach. Help me, she prayed as the rain pelted them both and her legs began to ache. She held back sobs of fear and just kept running, clinging to Jackson’s hand as if he were, indeed, the knight who was destined to save her from the evils of Roy Fitzpatrick.

      CHAPTER THREE

      JACKSON WAS WEAK FROM the fight. By the time they turned from the beach and reentered the woods, he was limping badly and breathing hard. Even in the darkness, Rachelle could see the sweat standing on his face.

       “We’ve got to get to the main road and hitchhike back to town,” Rachelle said as he pulled up and braced his back against the rough trunk of a pine tree. He drew in a ragged breath, then placed his hands on his knees and lowered his head. “Come on,” she urged.

       “You want to take a chance on being picked up by Roy or one of his friends?” Jackson asked. He tilted his head to stare up at her in the darkness. His eyes were dark and unreadable—as black as the night that surrounded them. He swiped the back of his hand over his forehead. “Isn’t that what got you into this mess in the first place?”

       “You can’t go much farther.”

       His lips twisted ironically. “Don’t count me out yet. Come on, I’ve got an idea.” He took her hand and led her at a slower pace through the forest. Trees snapped underfoot, and rain dripped in a steady staccato on a carpet of needles.

       The night was so dark, she could barely pick a path; she continually stepped in mud and puddles. Her hair was drenched and she shivered as the wind whistled through the trees. Clutching her ripped clothes with her free hand, she didn’t stop to think where they were going; she wanted only to keep moving and put as much distance between Roy Fitzpatrick and herself as she could.

       She wondered about Jackson’s timing, how he’d found her with Roy in the gazebo. “Why were you at the party?” she asked.

       “Fitzpatrick and I had some unfinished business.”

       “Is it finished now?”

       He snorted. “I don’t think it ever will be.”

       “Why does he hate you so much?”

       Jackson threw her a dark glance. “Maybe he doesn’t like me interrupting him when he thought he was going to score.”

       Rachelle felt as if she’d been slapped. “What’re you talking about?”

       “I didn’t see what started it. But somehow you ended up alone with Roy. The way I figure it, you flirted with him, he responded and when things got a little too hot to handle, you panicked.”

       Rachelle’s mouth tightened in indignation. “I went out there to get my friend’s purse.”

       “And somehow ended up making out with him.”

       She stopped, breathing hard, her anger as bright as her tears. “You have no right to judge me. No right. I didn’t tease or lead Roy on, if that’s what you’re hinting at. And anyway it doesn’t matter. He attacked me. I said ‘no’ and he wouldn’t listen. Look, you don’t have to babysit me any longer. I can find my own way back to town.”

       He glanced at her, muttered something under his breath and sighed. “I guess I made a mistake.”

       “I guess you did.” They stood staring at each other, the rain drizzling around them, their gazes locked. The woods smelled steamy and wet, and far in the distance the sound of music hummed through the trees.

       Jackson grimaced. “I got to the party, decided that I needed to cool off before I made an ass of myself with Roy, so I walked down toward the lake. I heard noises in the gazebo. When I got there, Roy was kissing you. I couldn’t tell you were fighting back until you screamed.”

       He glanced away, his hands on his hips. “Look, I’m sorry. I just figured anyone who was with Roy and his crowd was asking for trouble.”

       She couldn’t argue with that. Hadn’t she, too, decided the very same thing? “I’m not a part of Roy’s crowd.”

       “Just who are you?”

       “A friend of Laura’s, Rachelle Tremont.”

       Eyeing her for a moment, he said, “We don’t have any time to lose. Come on, Rachelle.” He took her hand again and they began picking their way through the undergrowth.

       “Where’re we going?” she whispered. She’d lost her sense of direction, but she felt as if they were circling back, heading toward Roy’s party.

       “I know a shortcut,” he said. His grip tightened around hers and she felt as if the blood were all pooled in her hand. Jackson was wheezing a little, wincing each time he stepped on his right leg.

       “You can’t go on—”

       “Shh!” he warned so loudly that some unseen creature scurried through the undergrowth.

       Rachelle’s heart was pounding in her ears, but she knew she was right. Closer than before, she heard the sound of voices and the gentle vibration of music. Jackson was leading them right back to Roy!

       “You’ve got to be out of your mind!” she whispered.

       “Maybe,” he admitted with a sarcastic edge to his words. “But I don’t think so.”

       They skirted the Fitzpatrick estate, staying in the trees that surrounded the thick stone walls. When they came to the private lane, Jackson hesitated, his muscles taut, his gaze moving swiftly through the forest. “Okay. Now,” he whispered, half dragging her out of the cover of the woods to dash across the road and into the trees on the far side. They were heading east now, and the lake was visible through the trees. Dark and shimmering, the water rippled with the wind.

       Rachelle’s throat was dry and her body ached all over. Rain ran down her neck and seeped through her jacket. It seemed that they’d been wandering through the dripping trees for hours.

       Jackson stopped for a second and rubbed his leg. Even in the darkness, she noticed the corners of his mouth turn white. “You need a doctor.”

       “I just need to rest awhile,” he argued, taking her hand again and hobbling toward the lake. She followed him blindly, her fate in the hands of the bad boy from Gold Creek.

       “Here we go,” Jackson said as they used the beach to get past the fence that separated the estate and a huge house came into view.

       “What’s this?”

       “The Monroe place.”

       She’d heard of it; a grand house that had stood empty during the winters when the Monroe family returned to San Francisco. “I don’t think we should stop here,” she said aloud, worrying, but Jackson had already run to the manor and was standing in a breezeway between the house and garage.

       “No one will think we’d have the guts to stay so close to the party,” he reasoned aloud. “They saw us take off in the opposite direction.”

       “But—”

       “Stay here,” he ordered, then