Secrets and Lies: He's A Bad Boy / He's Just A Cowboy

Some of the pool players glanced over their shoulders and a few of the girls stared openly at the cheerleader from Tyler High as she blinked rapidly and fought a losing battle with tears.

“Look, let’s just get out of here,” Rachelle suggested.

Carlie looked at Rachelle as if she were crazy. “How?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll find a way.”

“You—you don’t want to stay here?” Laura was flabbergasted. She took a long drag of her cigarette. “Roy will want to—”

“I don’t care what Roy wants! I want to leave.” Rachelle really didn’t believe that Roy had any interest in her, but she wasn’t going to argue with Laura now, not in the state Laura was in. And Rachelle didn’t give two cents for Roy Fitzpatrick. “We can find someone to take us back—maybe Joe Knapp,” she said.

Laura’s chin wobbled and tears drained down her face, streaking her cheeks with mascara. “I love him,” she said simply, and Rachelle felt a deep sadness for her friend—because she believed that Laura really did think she was in love. “I just…” Laura blinked hard but couldn’t stop crying. “I’m so embarrassed.” She wiped at the waterworks in her eyes.

Carlie grabbed hold of her hand. “Come on. You can clean up in the bathroom.”

“I left my purse outside. My makeup and wallet and everything…” She dissolved into tears again, and Rachelle felt more than one set of eyes staring at them. Erik Patton, from his position near the keg, lit a cigarette. Through the smoke, his eyes found Rachelle’s and he shook his head, as if he found Laura’s emotional condition pathetic.

“I’ll get your purse,” Rachelle offered. “And I’ll find us a ride back.”

Laura stubbed out her cigarette. Her hands were still trembling. “Thanks. I think I left it in the gazebo by the lake.”

Rachelle didn’t waste any time. “I’ll meet you two by the front door in fifteen minutes.”

While Carlie hustled Laura to a bathroom, Rachelle worked her way through the thickening crowd to the door. Outside, the air was heavy and close and the first fat drops of rain began to plop to the ground.

“Great,” she murmured, hurrying along a lighted path that wound through the pines. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees and the breath of wind blowing across the lake was now cool with the rain. Her feet slapped against the bricks, and her hair streamed out behind her as she ran up the two steps to the gazebo.

Roy Fitzpatrick was waiting for her.

“I was thinkin’ I’d have to go in after you,” he drawled, his voice smooth as silk.

She stopped dead in her tracks. “I just came for Laura’s purse.”

“Here it is.” He picked up the purse by the strap and let it swing from his fingers. “Come and get it.”

Fear slid down Rachelle’s spine. “Why don’t you just toss it over here?”

“What’s’sa’matter? You scared of me?”

Scared to death, she thought, but shook her head. “Of course not.” She stepped forward and grabbed for the strap, but Roy was quick. He caught hold of her wrist and pulled her down hard against him. “Hey, let me go!” she cried in surprise.

“Didn’t Laura tell you I wanted to see you?” Roy asked. His breath reeked of beer and cigarettes, and his arms circled her back, holding her close.

“Laura’s really upset,” she replied, trying to wriggle free. This was crazy. What was Roy thinking? “Look, we’re all leaving.”

“You ain’t going nowhere, honey,” he whispered against her ear, and with a jolt Rachelle realized he wasn’t kidding around.

“Roy, please—”

“Please what?”

“Just let me go.”

“No way. I’ve been lookin’ at you for a long time. Too long.” Roy was strong, his muscles toned from years of athletics. As she pushed against him, he laughed and to her horror he placed a kiss against her hair. “Mmm, baby, you smell so good.”

“Stop it,” she warned, but his arms tightened and she was pressed hard against him.

Rachelle struggled, but her fight seemed to arouse him all the more. She tried to scream, but he covered her mouth with lips that were hot and eager. His tongue pressed anxiously against her teeth, trying to gain entrance. The heat of his body radiated into hers. “Come on, baby,” he whispered, and she jerked her head away. His kisses brought a hot taste of fear to the back of her throat, but he wouldn’t stop and the hands that held her were as strong as steel.

“Stop it,” she ordered when he finally drew his head away. His expression in the darkness was intense. His eyes bored into hers in a savage way that made her insides curl. He transferred both her wrists to one of his hands and he kissed her again. This time his free hand slipped beneath her jacket to palm a breast.

She screamed then and tried to kick him, but he moved and covered her mouth with his hand. “No one’s gonna come to your rescue here, girl. Don’t you know that? All the guys—they’re lookin’ for their own fun.”

She bit his hand and he yelped. “You bastard!” she shrieked as he flinched. She tried to scream again, but he flattened his lips to hers and kissed her hard.

“You know you want it,” he whispered roughly, his breath tinged with stale beer. His fingers felt clammy and cold.

She kicked again, throwing all her weight into the effort as she aimed for his crotch. He shifted and her foot connected with his shin. He howled in pain but didn’t let go.

“You little bitch!” He shoved her hard against the bench, and she screamed.

“Roy, don’t—”

“You, don’t. Ya hear?” he screamed in her face. “I’m the one giving orders and you’re going to give me whatever I want and you’re going to like it—”

Suddenly he was ripped off her and tossed across the gazebo like a rag doll. Her blouse tore with a horrid ripping sound.

Roy yelled, “Hey—what the—” as he crashed into the bench on the far side of the slatted structure.

“Leave her alone,” Jackson thundered, appearing out of nowhere. Rachelle hadn’t heard his bike or boots. She gulped back tears, limp beneath a tidal wave of relief at the sight of him. He glared over his shoulder at her. “Run!”

Rachelle tried to get to her feet, but she could barely move.

“I shoulda killed you when I had the chance,” Roy yelled, struggling upward and lunging at Jackson. But the beer had made him sluggish, and as he scrabbled for Jackson’s neck, Jackson shoved him back down.

“Leave her alone,” Jackson ordered, then shot Rachelle a furious glance. “Damn it, I told you to run.” He grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her to her feet. “Get outta here!”

A dozen of Roy’s friends converged on the gazebo. There were shouts and hoots; the smell of a fight was heavy in the air.

Roy climbed to his feet, reached into his pocket and pulled out a jackknife. Jackson glared at him. Roy clicked the knife open. The blade gleamed wickedly in the night.

“No—Roy—” Rachelle cried, horrified.

But Roy smelled blood. He swung at Jackson, and Jackson spun, but not quickly enough. Roy drew back and the blade slashed downward. With a sickening rip, the knife connected with Jackson’s leg.

Jackson sucked in his breath as Roy struck again, this time plunging the knife into Jackson’s shoulder.

“Stop it, Roy!” Scott McDonald yelled.