Page 42 of The Fence Between Us

Rabble understood the apprehension in Declan’s voice. They lacked an absolute shit-ton of necessary information, like the layout of the house and property, Skye’s location, and any other active players who may be part of this fucked-up scenario. Rabble was sure of exactly one thing: Skye was here, and he wasn’t leaving without her.

“Wait a second. I’ve got an idea.” Declan grinned, then proceeded to fill them in on a classic Declan MacAlister Hail Mary.

Thirty minutes later, Rabble crouched under the thick green leaves of the lilac bush. This gift from Skye’s grandmother had grown over the years since watching over them from its sentinel position by the fence. His heart ached for those long-ago days.

When Declan explained the plan to them, Rabble thought he’d crossed over from a creative thinker to something closer to an evil genius. This plan was so far from what they were used to, what they’d planned and executed for years, that Rabble thought it just might work.

From under the giant bush, he could barely see Declan walking right up to the front door. The sound of furious knocking came across the yard as Declan pounded on the door, cursing and slurring, a mostly empty whiskey bottle gripped firmly in one hand.

Dylan, the senator’s son, opened the door and frowned at the interruption. “What the fuck, man?”

Declan’s slurred words were barely audible to Rabble, but he could just make out his friend doing his best impersonation of a pissed-off drunkard.

Dylan stepped outside, not a hair out of place and his black suit jacket impeccable. He flailed his arms at Declan, shooing him like a stray dog.

On cue, Dash jogged up the driveway, apologetically raising his hand as he came to Declan’s side and grabbed hold of his shoulder. Stumbling away, Declan swung at Dash, who ducked and Dylan took a strong fist to the jaw.

That was the signal. And what a beautiful signal it was.

In a stooped crouch, Rabble raced across the lawn and skirted around the windows until he reached the backdoor. When he opened it with a quiet click, he sent up a quick prayer of thanks for well-oiled hinges. He entered the house, muscles coiled, ready to strike, but he stopped every few steps to listen for Gayle or her staff.

During his life, he’d never been in a house that felt less like a home, and that included the hovel of his boyhood. The space, sterile and silent like a museum, made him a tad nervous. Rabble forced himself to clear each room, ensuring Skye wasn’t tucked away in some random closet or chained to the stove. His mind ran rampant with off-the-wall scenarios, and he shook his head to clear the what ifs away.

After searching the entire first floor and finding no sign of Skye, Gayle, or anyone else while Dylan and Declan shouted at each other in the near distance, Rabble clenched his jaw and forced his muscles to obey him. He focused on taking the stairs one at a time though the driving pounding in his heart screamed for him to ascend the stairs faster. Despite his need to reach her, he wouldn’t risk putting Skye in more danger because he couldn’t think clearly.

The second floor had four closed doors around a common sitting area, the obnoxious floral pattern on the settee and sofa were enough to make him cringe. Rabble groaned. Each door offered an opportunity for someone to hide Skye, or themselves. He took a deep steadying breath and twisted the knob on the first door. Time to find out exactly what type of messed-up the Wellingtons hid in this ridiculous mausoleum of a house.

The first door opened without a sound, revealing a cream-colored bedroom, the expensive four-post bed perfectly made up, not a wrinkle in sight. The second room must have been Max’s home office, the furniture all crafted from that same dark wood in the first room. The smell of cigar smoke hung faintly in the air, and Rabble quickly shut the door.

Please let this be the lucky door.

Rabble reached for the knob, but the handle didn’t budge. Locked. Rabble’s heart picked up. Deep in his bones, he sensed he’d found her.

Again, Rabble sent up a prayer of thanks for the skills he acquired during his days in the service—and the less savory ones he’d gathered before that. He pulled out the lock-pick set he always carried with him and attacked the doorknob. No stupid locked door would stand between him and Skye. The moment the latch snicked, Rabble was back on his feet and through the door.

His eyes took in the entire room all at once, a room designed and decorated for a young girl. Pale-pink and lacy white frills filled the space, suggesting elegance, picture-perfect expectations, and polite manners. He didn’t see a trace of the Skye he’d known as a child, the one who loved dirt and flowers and reading under the lilac bush amid the spring grasses.

A long, bright-pink bag hung limply on the back of the closet door. Inside, the shelves were bare, not a stich of clothing to be found. He searched every corner, but the room was unoccupied.

Why would they lock an empty room?

Rabble’s gaze caught on the twin-size bed. Tied to the metal bedpost, a thick swath of fabric made a thick knot, before disappearing out the window. Rabble ran to the ledge and peered out, shock and awe making him sputter at the sight below him.

Clinging to a rope made of sheets and torn bits of white fabric he could only assume belonged to the hideous concoction she wore, was Skye. She’d made it about halfway down, her eyes clenched tightly against the distance between her and the safety of the ground. Curse words flew from her lips in hushed whispers, and he doubted she even knew she was speaking.

“Skye,” Rabble called, his voice pitched low to avoid being heard by anyone else who might be in the house. “I’m going to pull you up.”

She shook her head, he tried again. “Skye, it’s me. I’m going to keep you safe, okay? Just hold on and don’t let go.”

This time, she nodded, and her white-knuckled grip on the makeshift rope became impossibly tighter.

He braced himself against the window frame and grasped the rope. Hand over hand, he hauled her up. Even though Skye was slender, the strain of pulling her body upward wrenched at his muscles, and he breathed deeply, straining to keep his pace smooth and steady as she gradually moved closer to the second-floor opening. At the top, Rabble grasped her seeking hand and hauled her inside until they lay sprawled on the floor together, Skye slightly atop him and shaking.

Rabble pulled her tightly against his chest, his arms sliding around her in a protective embrace that she nestled into. She jerked back from him and Rabble struggled not to reach for her, to bring her back into his arms.

“No, Rabble, you can’t be here,” Skye’s eyes widened and her voice broke with terror, “they said—they said they’d kill you.”

Rabble’s relief rumbled through his chest, “Honey, I won’t die easy. I’ve got too much to live for.”

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