Luke's Daughters

That she’d been shooting pictures yesterday testified to her recovery. Not since…then…had her camera come to hand so easily, so smoothly. She could thank Luke Brennan for that. Luke Brennan and his precious little girls.

Sarah cleaned up the darkroom, glancing often at the pictures she’d developed tonight. He wouldn’t be easy to forget. His laugh was warm, his grin contagious, but the shadows in his eyes spoke of deep trouble. What could have brought such pain to his face?

She’d never know. And even if she found out, she was the last person who could help him. Daily life was as much of a challenge as she could manage these days. Until she could take charge of her own life again, she couldn’t possibly solve anyone else’s problems.

After sweeping up, she made sure Luke Brennan and his daughters had dried thoroughly, then closed them into a folder inside her portfolio. Tomorrow she’d get the release and send the shots to her agent. If they found a place to sell, good. If not, Sarah congratulated herself on at least taking pictures again. Six months was a long…vacation.

She tidied the kitchen area in the back of the shop, washed her cup and Chuck’s and set the coffee to brew in the morning, then picked up the portfolio and her purse and left by the rear door.

The June night folded around her, not yet humid enough to cling. Screams of tourists riding the roller coasters on the boardwalk a few blocks away speared the darkness. Floodlights crisscrossed the sky from all directions—the beach attractions to the east and the giant performance halls to the west. Myrtle Beach prided itself on giving great value for an entertainment buck.

Thinking about the sleepy little town she’d visited during high school summers, Sarah whistled lightly as she walked toward her Jeep. Thanks to the tourist boom, the town had mushroomed in the last fifteen years, bringing in big-city problems without always providing the means to deal with them. Still, those little girls on the beach had been safe and happy—

Footsteps sounded behind her, running. Keys in hand, Sarah started to turn, but was too late even to scream. A man slammed into her back, taking her to her knees. Arching her body, she tried to buck, but he was too heavy. His breathing was a ragged gasp in her ear as he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her forward. She braced her arms, palms sliding against the gravel; he reached over, jerked her hands up, and shoved her down hard. Her face hit the ground, tore, burned.

She tried to twist underneath him, but his knees held her shoulders down as he sat on her back. Every other pain faded as he closed his hands around her neck and squeezed. And squeezed. Sarah stabbed at him with a key—he jerked the ring out of her fingers. She kicked with her heels, but his grip only tightened on her throat.

Weakening, she gasped, pleaded with no sound, fought the weight on her ribs and spine until a black fog clouded her vision.

And then she stopped fighting.

CHAPTER TWO

LONG PAST TIRED of his own company and fed up with self-pity, Luke checked in at the precinct station late on Sunday night.

“You’re the only cop I know who has hair like that.” Sergeant Baylor clapped him on the shoulder as they passed in the squad room. “Brennan, you’re a disgrace to the uniform.”

“The hair is the uniform, Sarge.” He pulled up a grin, poured a cup of coffee he didn’t need and propped a hip on the corner of a nearby desk. “Anything going on tonight?”

Nick Rushe, Luke’s partner and frequent handball opponent, leaned back in his chair. “Just the usual—drunks and rowdies, a lost kid at the boardwalk. Oh, and a mugging.”

“Yeah?”

“Not four blocks from here. Woman about to get into her car, guy knocks her down, takes her purse and what she was carrying. Beat her up pretty bad. Jordan’s taking the report.”

Luke glanced over at Hank Jordan’s desk. A woman huddled in the chair on the aisle, eyes downcast, her face almost completely hidden by the cloth she held to her cheek.

But he recognized that curling, golden-brown hair. The part of her face he could see seemed familiar. And when she looked up to answer a question, he recognized the long-lashed, hazel gaze. This was the woman on the beach yesterday afternoon, the one taking pictures. Sarah…Sarah…something.

He was standing over her before he realized he’d moved. “Are you okay?”

She lifted her head to gaze at him, eyes dark with fright and pain. Her lips parted, but she didn’t make a sound. When he put a hand over the one she held to her face, she flinched.

Luke squatted to look up at her. “Sarah? Sarah, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you. Can I see your face?”

She stared at him for a long time, and he thought she would refuse. Then her shoulders relaxed a fraction. She nodded, wincing, and allowed him to lift the cloth gently out of her hand.

He pulled in air through his teeth to avoid swearing. Between bruises and swelling and scrapes, the left side of her face was a mess. Luke let her put the cloth back against her skin. Her white T-shirt was torn and stained with dirt and blood, her knees nearly as battered as her cheek. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“She just walked in, if you can believe it.” Hank shook his head. “Looked like death then, so she’s gettin’ better.”

Jordan was a good cop, if a little too blunt. Luke bit back a reprimand. “Are you about finished here?”

“Yeah. I think she’s given me everything she can—which ain’t a hell of a lot. No motive, only one real contact in town, and no description. Big help.”

“We’ll work on it.” Luke stood up to his full height. “I’m going to take you to the hospital, Sarah, get a doctor to check you out.”

Again she shook her head, panic replacing pain in her eyes. “I don’t think—” she whispered.

“You’re safe with me.” He pulled his ID from his back pocket and opened it in front of her. “I should have explained—I’m a cop. My partner can go with us, if you’d feel better about it.” He nodded back toward Nick, who gave them a salute.

She seemed to wilt. “No. That’s okay.” When he put his hand under her elbow she stood and took a shaky step, then stopped. “Thank you,” she said to Hank, still in that hushed voice.

Flushing, Jordan waved her away. “No problem. You take care. We’ll get back to you if…when…we find something.”

Luke opened doors and warded off obstacles as they worked their way slowly through the station. He could tell the effort it cost Sarah to make the trip by the sigh she gave as she relaxed onto the seat of his truck. Without asking, he pulled the seat belt over her and clicked the latch shut.

She gave him a half smile as he got behind the wheel. “Thanks. I appreciate your help.”

The angle of her head and the light from the parking lot revealed what he hadn’t seen before—ugly maroon finger marks on her throat.

He couldn’t stifle a curse. “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” he said. Driving carefully, but fast, he flipped on the emergency flashers and accelerated into highway traffic.

A couple of hours later, the ER doctor came to find him. “No broken bones, no major damage. Abrasions, contusions, a couple of lacerations. She’ll be sore for a while.”

“He tried to strangle her.”

“Yes.” The doctor shook her head in disgust. “The swelling will keep her voice out of commission for a few days. Don’t let her talk too much.”

“Can you tell me anything else about the beating? Anything specific?”

“Besides the fact that the guy who hit her is a bastard?”

“Besides that.”

The doctor cocked an eyebrow. “She’s lucky he didn’t kill her.”

Luke found Sarah sitting on a cot in a cubicle toward the back of the emergency room, with her hands folded in her lap and bandages on the worst of her scrapes.

“Hi,” she whispered. Her wide eyes were less focused than before, but the pain and panic in them had receded.

“You’re not supposed to talk. Let’s get you out of here.” He helped her slide off the table, then braced her with his hands under her elbows as her knees buckled.

She gasped and caught at his arms. “They…they gave me a pill. I guess I’m not too steady.”

“No problem.” Luke put an arm around her waist. “I’ll take you home and make sure you’re settled.”

Sarah tried to pull away, though she didn’t make much progress. “I can get a cab. Really.”

“I don’t think so.” She looked prepared to argue, but Luke simply eased her toward the doors. “You don’t want to wait here another hour or two, do you? This isn’t New York—cabs don’t circulate in Myrtle Beach in the middle of the night.” Finally convinced, she leaned wearily against him. They stepped through the automatic doors into the cool summer dark.

“All we need now is—” He thought a second and stopped.

“My keys.” She closed her eyes. “But—”

“He took them.” Her sigh confirmed his guess. “Do you have any friends in town? Somebody to stay with?”

“No.” She seemed to lean more heavily against him at the word. Luke walked her to the truck.

“And no credit cards for a hotel room?” he asked, as he buckled her in again.

“Not anymore.”

He shut the passenger door and rounded the truck bed, thinking hard. By the time he sat down, the decision was made. “Okay. I’m going to take you to my place for the night. We’ll get the rest sorted out in the morning.”

She tried to sit up against the seat belt. “Mr….Officer Brennan…I don’t think—”

His own throat ached to hear her rasping whisper.

“Call me Luke.” Backing out of the parking space, he gave her a grin. “I’m going back to work. You’ll have the house to yourself. It’s the easiest solution.”

He didn’t mention the other benefits—the fact that no one would look for her at his place. And that whoever had her keys could be inside her home by now.

Maybe he didn’t need to—she suddenly stopped fighting. “Okay.” The next time Luke glanced over, she was asleep.

Once parked in his own driveway, he left Sarah in the car while he went to unlock the kitchen door. Then he lifted her gently and carried her into the house. In the dining room he hesitated—where should he put her down?

The lumpy couch in the spare room, surrounded by piles of magazines? Erin and Jen’s room, which usually looked as though a hurricane had hit? Or…

Luke maneuvered carefully through the doorway to his bedroom. He’d changed the sheets this morning and neatened up. Sarah would have enough aches to deal with tomorrow. Why not give her the best rest possible?

He lowered her to the side of the bed he didn’t use and covered her with a blanket. Leaving an old football jersey nearby, with a note inviting her to help herself to anything in the house, he moved to the door, then stood for a second watching Sarah…Sarah who?…sleep.

She looked peaceful in the low light, almost happy. Her mouth had softened into a smile that even the bruises couldn’t dim. After a night of horror, she’d fallen into sleep as easily as a child could.

But reaction would set in—Luke had no doubt of that. He’d seen victims fall apart immediately, and he’d seen them hold back until they had privacy. He figured Sarah would want to be alone when she struggled with her personal tremors.

God knew, he always had.

That thought led him to Kristin, on her honeymoon with Matt. To Jen and Erin, at Disney World with their mother and their new dad. To a family that had once been his and now belonged to another man. His brother. Forever.

The house closed in on him, airless, lightless. Breathing hard, Luke fumbled his way toward the door, fighting the need to howl. He had to get out. Get back to work, back to a reality he could handle. Back to the outside world, filled though it might be with threats and violence and agony.

At least there he didn’t stand face-to-face with the total, wretched emptiness that constituted the rest of his life.

WHEN HE CAME HOME at 7:00 a.m., the only sign of Sarah’s presence was a glass standing on the counter by the kitchen sink. But he could hear water running in the back bathroom. Good for her—she must be a strong woman, to be getting back on track so soon.

As he walked by the desk in the corner of the dining room, he caught the blink of the answering machine light. “You have one new message,” the tinny recording announced.

“Hi, Luke.” The soft Southern accent needed no introduction. “It’s Kristin.”

A vise gripped his gut and twisted. He braced his arms on the desktop.

“The girls wanted to call and tell you what’s going on.”

“Hi, Daddy! It’s me!” Erin’s husky voice was as unique as the girl herself. “We went to Sea World yesterday and it was so cool. They have this tunnel under the water you can walk through and the fish swim on top of you, even the sharks. And the whale splashed us with about a zillion gallons of water until we were soaked. Mommy and Daddy Matt just laughed. Jen cried ’cause it made her drop her drink. What?” Her voice died away as someone in the background spoke. “But I’m not finished! Oh, okay. Here’s Jen.” The phone passed, and he heard Erin’s scathing whisper to her sister. “Baby!”

Luke tried to smile.

“Daddy?” His four-year-old was as quiet as her sister was talkative. “I’m Jenny. I spilled my drink. Mommy got me a new one and a dolphin hat. We’re going to the Magic Kingdom now. I’ll say hello to Peter Pan like you said.” More background conversation, as his heart slammed against his ribs hard enough to crack cartilage. “Bye, Daddy.”

“Bye, Daddy!” Erin chimed in. “I love you!”

His tears didn’t wait for the end of the call.

“We thought we’d let you know that everything’s just fine down here, Luke.” Kristin sounded her usual sunny, in-control self. “The girls miss you, but they’re having a good time. We’ll be back next Saturday, and we’ll call again before then. Take care.” The machine clicked off.

Helpless against his own emotions, Luke hunched over the desk. He missed them so much—his daughters and his wife. How was he supposed to live with his heart ripped out?

“Luke?” Sarah’s bandaged hand closed lightly on his upper arm. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Luke, what’s wrong?”

A quick turn of his head shook his eyes clear. She stared up at him, her brows drawn together in concern, her face a collage of bruises and scraped skin. His football jersey swamped her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked again.

He couldn’t say, “nothing.” And he didn’t know how to explain. “My little girls—”

The grip of her fingers tightened. “Has something happened? Are they okay?”

Luke drew a deep breath. “Sure. They’re great.” Sarah started to relax, and he knew he should let the subject rest. Why tell her? Why go over any of it again? “They’re with their mom at Disney World,” he heard himself say.

Sarah smiled, then winced. “That sounds like fun.”

“With my brother.” Her look turned puzzled. “He married Kristin on Saturday. They’re on their honeymoon.”

Confusion, then horror, crossed Sarah’s expressive face. She drew her hand away and stepped back.

Furious that he’d made such an obvious play for her sympathy, Luke pushed off the desk and headed for the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee?”

The grounds were measured and the brew dripping into the pot before Sarah followed him. He glanced up as she limped stiffly into the kitchen. “Milk? Sugar?”

She lowered herself into a chair at the table, shaking her head. “Black, please. Luke—”

He held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. Let’s just forget it, okay? I brought some doughnuts for breakfast. Have one.”

But she didn’t make a move toward the box on the table, just stared at him with that serious, green-gold gaze. “You’re divorced?”

Luke turned back to the coffeemaker. “Yeah.”

“Because of…him?”

Carefully, he took two mugs out of the cabinet. “Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry.”

At that, he chuckled. “Hell, Sarah. Nobody’s as sorry as I am.” He brought the filled mugs to the table. “But for the record, it’s not as tabloid as it sounds. She was engaged to Matt first. He went missing on a classified Army assignment and they told us he was dead. We got married and Erin and Jen were born. Then, after five years, Matt came back.”

“Five years!”

“He’d been a POW the whole time, which the Army in its wisdom either didn’t know or wouldn’t tell us. Kristin hadn’t ever stopped loving him, and…and it was tearing her apart, being with me when he was around. So there you go.” Grabbing a raspberry-filled pastry, he took a sticky bite.

Sarah still hadn’t touched her coffee or the doughnuts. “You’re very honorable, to set her free.”

“A white knight, in the flesh.”

“Do the girls live here with you?”

He ran out of brittle comments. “Not full-time. Kristin and I have been sharing custody since I moved out about eighteen months ago. But now…” Luke couldn’t bear to think about the change in his life. And he surely couldn’t translate pure anguish into words.

The woman across the table accepted his silence and picked up her cup with the fingers and thumbs of both hands, taking a small sip of coffee. She chose a raspberry doughnut and finished it, along with the brew, in silence. Then she looked over. “I don’t suppose anyone’s turned in my purse.”

Luke released a relieved breath at the change in subject. “I checked before I left the station. No.”

She rested her unbruised temple on the back of her bandaged wrist. “I don’t even know where to start. I can’t get into my car without keys, and I can’t get extra keys because they’re in the condo.” Her sigh wavered. “I can’t get in there without keys and the manager doesn’t know me without ID, but all my ID—”

“Hold on, Sarah. Calm down.” Her rough whisper had taken on an edge of hysteria that worried him. “Don’t try to solve all the problems at once. You have an extra key to the car?”

She nodded, brushing a fingertip across her marred cheek to catch a tear.

“That’s good. We’ll go to the condo, and I can convince the manager to let you in.”

“How?”

“I’m a cop. Why shouldn’t he believe me?”

“She.” Her lips quivered in a near smile.

Luke grinned back. Solid ground for both of them. “She. Once we get into your place, we’ll call the credit card companies. Then—”

“Credit cards?”

“You have to cancel them, right? The guy could be running up your bill.”

She stared at him, then shook her head. “That’s—that’s right. I totally forgot about the cards.”

“Well, now you remember. So we’ll cancel them and then we’ll get your car.”

“Wait…I’m confused.” She held up a hand. “Why should you—I mean, don’t you…have other things to do?”

“Sure,” Luke lied, unable to pull up a laugh of any kind. “But you need some help and I’ve got the time to spare. We’re the perfect couple.”

Sarah’s gaze demanded a deeper level of truth. He cleared his throat. “Look, I hate what that guy did to you. If I can’t find him, at least I can help you get things back together. Any friend would do that for another. And don’t ask me why, but I feel like we are. Friends.” There. That was as honest as he could be.

She did smile then, for the first time since last night. “Me, too. Which is really weird, because—”

“Because I can’t even remember your last name.”

“Randolph. Sarah Rose Randolph.”

“Well, Sarah Rose, you’re as dressed as a lot of people ever get in a beach town. Find your shoes and let’s start putting your life back together.”

SARAH KNEW she shouldn’t let herself depend on Luke. As a capable adult, she ought to be able to get herself out of any trouble she got into. Until six months ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed of imposing on anyone like this.

But, oh, the comfort of having him there. With Luke standing behind her, she found the strength to assert her identity to the condo manager, who actually believed her and let them into the house without an argument.

And with Luke around, instead of dwelling on her problems and giving up on the solutions, she felt focused enough to look through the file box she’d started for her bills, finding the credit card slips and the numbers she needed. The people on the other end of the line for each company seemed very kind. Or was that just the soothing effect of Luke’s presence?

She paused between phone calls. “There’s juice in the refrigerator, I think. Help yourself.”

“Thanks, I will. How about you?”

“Yes, please.” The first cabinet he opened contained the glasses. He chose tall ones—as she would have—and added ice, just as she liked it. She’d had the same experience last night in his kitchen—she’d known exactly where things would be, as if their minds worked in the same pattern. Sarah thought such instant closeness should be scary.

Instead, she felt grateful to have found a friend like Luke.

“That’s the last of them?” he asked as she clumsily hung up the phone.

“I think so.”

“Did they report any large charges since last night?”

“None for days.”

“Good—we stopped him before he got started.” Then he snapped his fingers. “Do you have a phone card?”

“A—” Sarah stopped herself from repeating his words, like a lost child. “I do, as a matter of fact. I’ll call the phone company.”

When she hung up this time, he had picked up the framed photograph she kept on the table by the couch. “Is this your brother? Boyfriend?”

“James Daley. I…worked with him.”

“James Daley, the journalist?”

“That’s the one.”

Luke gave her a searching look. “Daley’s pretty good. I like his stuff for Events.”

“James always told the story as he saw it.”

“Told?”

Sarah braced herself to say the words she’d practiced so often. “He was killed by a stray bullet in Afghanistan, about seven months ago.”

“You were there?”

“I was his photographer.”

He set the frame gently back on the table. “I should know your work, too, shouldn’t I?”

“Not necessarily—my name is usually in the small print at the end of the article.”

“So when you took pictures of Jen and Erin, you were doing us a favor—not just out to make a quick buck.” Luke’s cheeks reddened. “I apologize for misunderstanding.”

“Not at all.” Sarah carefully carried her drink between her fingers and sat on the couch beside him. “Saturday wasn’t the easiest day you’ve ever had.”

“Still…”

“I was just glad to get the shots. And the pictures were everything I hoped. But he took them when…” Her mind’s eye flashed back to last night, to a knee in her back, the sudden impact with graveled ground, rough hands dragging her portfolio out from under her body.

“Oh, damn.” She put her head back, willing the tears not to fall.

Luke took her glass away, then his arms surrounded her, nestled her against his firm chest as he stroked her hair, avoiding the bandages. “It’s okay, Sarah,” he whispered. “It’s okay to cry.”

Sarah resisted the urge to pull away. She let her cheek rest on him, breathed in the clean scent of his black T-shirt. How long had it been since anyone had put their arms around her? Longer than she could remember.

Longer, still, since being held had felt so right. For all his talent and intelligence—or maybe because of his exceptional gifts—James had never been a comforting person. He’d accepted the truth, dealt with it head-on and expected everyone around him to do the same. Sarah had prided herself on meeting that expectation, on functioning independently. Until James died.

Since then, her life seemed to consist of fragments—like the shards of a broken mirror—none of which she could fit together. And there was no one who cared enough to help her try.

So she stayed quiet for just a few minutes, soaking up the solace Luke offered. Long before she was ready, she sat up out of his arms and summoned a smile. “Thanks.” She pushed her hair back with fingers that shook. “You really are a good friend to have around.”