The Strong, Silent Type

by Jule McBride

  “Alice—”

  Whatever it was, she wasn’t about to listen. Turning once more, she strode the two remaining paces to her car and shoved the key into the lock. Just as she lifted the door handle, she felt him behind her. His breath was right near her ear and as warm as an oven; she spun around. Lord, was he close. “Stand back!”

  His voice was low. “Not till we’ve talked.”

  Talked! Heat rushed into her cheeks. As if that was all the man—the stranger—had on his mind last night. “I don’t have anything to say to you!”

  “Judging from your tone—” He braced his ungloved hands on either side of her, pressing his palms against the car’s frozen metal. “I think there’s a lot you want to say to me right now.”

  Her heart ached. Was it her imagination, or had he really sounded a little like Dylan right then? “Get away from me!”

  But he clearly wasn’t going anywhere. Sudden, uncontrollable panic made her do what she’d never thought herself capable of. Raising her hand, she brought the flat of it good and hard against his cheek.

  The smacking sound hung in the air.

  His eyes narrowed; his lips compressed. She waited. For the first time, she was glad she wasn’t wearing gloves. Nothing had ever felt quite so satisfying as slapping Stuart Devlyn. “I think,” she announcing coolly, “that is all I have to say to you, Mr. Devlyn.”

  He hadn’t so much as flinched, and the slap didn’t seem to bother him any more than the cold. Sounding frustrated, he growled, “Oh yeah?”

  It was a ridiculous thing to say, and the seeming hurt in his eyes acknowledged that. She said, “Yeah. And don’t look so hurt. You’re the one who asked what I think.”

  His eyes were even darker than usual, more black than brown in this light, or else they’d darkened with emotions she didn’t want to contemplate. Dylan’s eyes. She pushed away the thought. He said, “I know you’re mad about—”

  “Don’t even say it!” she shouted, her fingers itching to slap him again. Before last night, she’d only given herself to one man—Dylan. Emotional pain caused her to suck in a breath. Yesterday seemed a million years ago. Had she really been about to get married again? She’d been trying to move on with her life. But now there were crank calls to contend with. Bloodred writing on the picture in the locket. Nancy Nolan’s warning.

  His voice was even. “Ready to talk?”

  “No!” She moved to duck beneath his arm, hoping she could open the car door, get in and drive away, but his body was like an unforgiving wall of steel. “How many times do I have to tell you?” she gasped. “Let me go!”

  “Sorry, but I can’t. Not until we talk like two rational adults.”

  “Rational?” What happened last night was hardly rational. “I thought you were somebody else! And you knew it!” Her eyes bored into him. “No decent man would—”

  His eyes said he hadn’t been trying to be decent.

  Her knees went weak as she remembered how easily he’d taken her over the edge, and her heart clutched. She loved Dylan, but last night this man... I only responded like that because I’ve been alone so long. And she’d liked it. As she tried to deny it, her eyes darted past him again, toward the sheriff’s office. “I had reason to believe you were someone else,” she repeated. “Someone...I loved...”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Loved? But don’t love anymore?”

  “As if you have a right to ask.”

  He surveyed her, and when he spoke, she fought the urge to shiver at the sound of his voice, which was gruff with seeming emotion. “Last night led me to think I could take certain liberties.”

  “Well, today you can’t.”

  He stared at her. “Hmm. Well, I think I’ll just take the liberty of asking one question, anyway. If you were so sure I was your husband, and if you were so in love with him, then why did you apparently annul your marriage to him? Why were you marrying another man?” Faint self-satisfaction twisted the corners of his lips. “Answer me that, Alice.”

  Before she could, he nodded as if to say, “I knew you wouldn’t.” Then his big strong hand swooped down and closed over hers. It left the impression of unforgivably smooth warmth right before he took away her car keys. She snatched the air, trying to get them back. “What do you think you’re doing now? Taking my car?”

  He met her gaze, his eyes unreadable, but she knew that’s exactly what he intended to do.

  There was no help for the righteous haughtiness that crept into her voice. “Really, Mr. Devlyn,” she snapped. “I think you’ve taken enough already.”

  Anger flared in his eyes—and a challenge. “I didn’t take anything,” he corrected. “You gave.” His gaze dropped a notch, and despite the frigid cold, and the strange circumstances, she became uncomfortably, unaccountably aware of her breasts beneath her coat. Damn. Why was she so powerless against her response to him? She thought of Dylan again and guilt flooded her. Glancing away, she reined in her emotions. Obviously Stuart Devlyn was a liar and a cheat, but her gut said he wasn’t dangerous.

  And he’s right. I wanted him.

  As she turned back to him, her cheeks warmed, flaming into a humiliated crimson that she’d give anything in the world for this man not to see. Lord, what was he thinking last night, when he’d lavished attention on her body, knowing she thought he was Dylan? “I bet you’re getting off on this,” she said coolly.

  “Getting off on what?”

  At least he had the good grace not to acknowledge the double entendre. “Humiliating me!”

  “No,” he said simply. “I’m not.” And then he nudged her aside, opened the driver’s door, nodded toward the passenger side and said, “I’m waiting.”

  She stared at him. “For what?”

  “For you to get in.”

  “You can’t drive my car!”

  His brown eyes went unpredictably liquid again, as if she’d been privy to a sudden, quick view of the myriad angry emotions that seethed inside him, only to bet cut off again. “C’mon, get in.”

  “For all I know, you don’t even have a driver’s licence. And if you do, you don’t have it right now. The sheriff would have found it last night.” She watched in stunned astonishment as he ignored the comment and slid past her and into the seat. As he turned the key in the ignition, he glanced up. “C’mon,” he said again. And then he slammed the door.

  Her eyes darted toward the sheriff’s office. Not that anyone cared if this man stole her car. Her jaw set. There was only one way to find out if Stuart Devlyn’s appearance in her life had anything to do with the other strange things that were happening. Furiously circling the car, she got in. The second she shut the door, her heart thudded. Was she doing the right thing? Hazarding a quick glance at the man beside her, she suddenly decided she’d lost her mind. Why had she been so sure this was Dylan? And why had Nancy Nolan believed it?

  “What’s going on here?” she found herself saying as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

  He cocked a thick dark eyebrow. “Going on?”

  She heaved a sigh. “You know what I mean.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Not until you enlighten me.”

  Panic made her heart skip a beat as they zoomed along the main road; she could feel the locket through her coat and blazer pockets. Sweet memories of what this man had done to her last night in bed suddenly left her mind, leaving only terror.

  And yet she was sure Stuart Devlyn was the key to everything that was happening to her. Which was why Alice, who was usually cautious and self-protective, had gotten into the blasted car with him. At least that’s what she tried to tell herself.

  But guilt flooded her when she glanced in his direction. Even now, she found herself noticing his good looks. With a sudden intake of breath, she glanced away from him, through the passenger window. The day seemed to look back at her—snowy-gray with dark barren trees. “Wait!” She suddenly gasped. He hadn’t taken the turn to the ranch! “Where do you think you’
re going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Her mind racing, she traced her eyes over the dashboard, then the gearshift. If she had to, could she quickly stretch her foot over the hump covering the transmission, grab the wheel and slam on the brake? Probably not. The roads were so icy that the car would spin if she tried to stop it. And he hadn’t even asked her for directions, she realized. If he was really from L.A. how did he know where he was going?

  Glancing over, he caught the panic in her eyes. “Don’t worry.”

  She sent him a slack-jawed stare. “Telling me not to worry? That’s supposed to make me feel safe?”

  “You’re fine,” he assured her.

  “Right,” she managed to say as he drove into the mountains. And maybe she was. Somehow she believed this man. It was foolish, no doubt, but she did trust him. Sort of. At least enough that she was fighting the urge to open up and tell him what had been happening since yesterday. Absolutely no one on earth knew about the crank calls. Or about the locket. And the only reason she’d kept her mouth shut was to protect Dylan. But now she knew this man wasn’t Dylan, and she was just as sure her hunch was right, that this man hadn’t appeared by accident. He knew something. Maybe it was information that could help her find Dylan. If Dylan’s not dead. Sudden tears stung her eyes. Yesterday, when she’d first seen the man who was now beside her, she’d felt such a rush of hope.

  Realizing he’d pulled to the road’s shoulder, she narrowed her eyes. “Why did you stop?”

  He didn’t answer, only looked past her and through her window, forcing her gaze to follow his. Cat’s Canyon. She hadn’t been here for years. Her breath caught, lodging in her throat. “Why did you bring me here?”

  His eyes settled on hers. “You know why, Alice.”

  She did. But none of it made sense. All at once, she was sure this man and Dylan really were one and the same. And yet how could that be, when this man’s fingerprints identified him as Stuart Devlyn, heir to the estate of a murdered musician? Fingerprints didn’t lie. Her words were hoarse. “Why?”

  “Because, Alice—” he leaned close, his voice going so soft it made her imagine liquid velvet “—it’s where we first made love.”

  STUART DEVLYN, he thought. It was so strange to be called by a name he’d never heard. Stranger still to have a face so unlike his own. And to be told about the death of a father he’d never known he’d had.

  He let the engine idle while his eyes took in the high, jagged, snow-covered mountain peaks blocking the already weak afternoon light. When his eyes returned to Alice’s, he thought he’d never felt so conscious of her, of her soft scent, her shallow breaths. Her skin was the kind only true blondes possessed—winter-pale, flawless and so soft... The fabric of her camel coat looked soft, too. So touchable he longed to bury his face against the lapel. Her confused, lovely green eyes were brimming with questions, but she said nothing.

  His voice came out low. “It’s me, Alice. It’s really me. I came back.”

  He didn’t know what he expected, but more than the curt nod she offered. Impulsively, he reached for her, but she slipped from the embrace, crossed her arms and stared through the windshield. “Don’t back away,” he said, his voice catching. “I know I should have told you, but I couldn’t...”

  Her tone was sharp. “Couldn’t?”

  His voice dropped another notch until it was almost a whisper, laced with pain and begging for forgiveness because he’d left her. She had to understand he had no choice. “I couldn’t tell you last night. I...” Still feel I shouldn’t, darlin’. I was going to leave.

  Seconds ticked by, and then she finally spared him a glance. “Your face?”

  “I...had surgery. It was changed. It...” He could barely force himself to go into it. “Please don’t be angry.” He reached for Alice again, but she pulled away.

  “Start talking.”

  He blew out a sigh, his heart aching. Was she really going to push him away? Keeping his emotions in check, he said, “I don’t even know where to begin.” Or if I should at all. “I...don’t know how much I can safely say or not say.”

  Her voice was strangled. “You’d better tell me everything.”

  He didn’t know what in her eyes urged him on more, the concern or smoldering betrayal, but something definitely made his heart do funny things; it pulled, ached and burned all at the same time. He could only imagine what this past twenty-four hours had done to Alice. Not to mention the past year and a half. Even so, a part of him—the better part—knew he should still walk away. “I don’t want to hurt you, Alice. And if I talk to you now, I’ll be putting you in danger.”

  Wary anger played in her eyes. “I’m already in danger.”

  Nothing could be further from the truth. He’d taken every possible precaution to protect her. He’d given practically everything but his very life to make sure she was safe. His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not saying until you tell me what’s going on here.” Her eyes wavered. “Dylan?”

  He hated the telltale tremor in her voice as she spoke his name, as if she still wasn’t entirely sure it was him. And what did she mean, she was in danger? Uttering a soft curse, he felt damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. His heart hammered. “It’s really me, Alice. I promise. And I haven’t been trying to confuse you—”

  “Maybe not, but you’ve been doing a good job of it.”

  “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  “No!” she shouted. “You’ll tell me everything! I thought you were dead!”

  His lips parted in astonishment. “Dead?” He’d never considered that she might think such a thing.

  “Dead,” she emphasized.

  He leaned closer, desperately wanting to hold her, but she scooted against the door. Her withdrawal made him that much more willing to talk and make her understand. “The day we got married,” he began, “I was heading for the reception and someone attacked me in the church hallway...” He willed the memories by closing his eyes, and when he finally opened them, he told her the rest—how the attacker had thrown the plastic bag over his head, how the knife felt, wiggling against his throat.

  Alice’s tone held more than a trace of fear. “You were really attacked?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you get a look at the person?”

  “No. He was behind me the whole time.” Fighting down a rush of shame, Dylan shook his head, still unable to believe he hadn’t successfully defended himself. What kind of man let a knife-wielding maniac destroy his life?

  Alice’s voice shook, but he didn’t know with what emotion now—fear or anger. “Whoever attacked you must have killed Jan.”

  He nodded. When Alice said nothing more, he stared through the windshield. Shadows were lengthening against the mountainous walls that formed Cat’s Canyon, and as Dylan watched a hawk circle overhead looking for prey, he felt a sudden chill. Just like that hawk, someone was out there, stalking Dylan. And they had been since high school.

  Alice was watching him guardedly. The disbelief and distrust in her eyes made him feel fresh hurt. “Why didn’t you find me?” she said. “Tell me? Tell the sheriff? You didn’t even call. Where did you go?”

  “Alice...” Dylan’s voice trailed off, his lips parting in silent protest. Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone? “Don’t you trust me?”

  She gaped at him. “Not anymore.”

  Didn’t she understand he could never stop loving her? “Alice, I had to leave. He threatened to kill you. He said if I didn’t walk away, walk right out of your life, that you’d die.” Even now, the thought was more than Dylan could bear.

  “And so you did? Just like that?”

  He surveyed her. “Of course I did! What would you expect me to do?”

  “Tell Sheriff Sawyer.”

  “And risk having you die?”

  She nodded decisively, her cute, determined chin bobbing. “Yes.”

  He released a soft, exasperated breath. “
I know what you must have gone through, Alice, but—”

  “You have no idea!”

  Suddenly it was too much. Even more overpowering than his desire to touch her. His voice turned gravelly, rough with emotion. “But I do. I know. I’ve gone through it, too, Alice. Every single day I’ve imagined what you’re thinking. I’ve imagined your doubts. And I’ve shared your loneliness. Over and over, I’ve had to wonder if you thought I killed Jan. It never occurred to me that you might think I was dead. And when I found out you were marrying Leland...” Emotion ripped through him and he couldn’t go on.

  The soft catch in Alice’s voice gave Dylan a glimmer of hope that she could still love him. “About Leland,” she said “It was...”

  “Was?”

  Alice offered a slight shrug. “We weren’t in love.”

  Her eyes said the rest. She and Leland had been trying to be practical, to move on. And for that, Dylan felt only compassion. Lord, what had all their lives come to—his, hers, Leland’s and Jan’s? Dylan glanced around helplessly. Through the windshield, he watched the hawk’s black silhouette trace another wide predatory circle in the sky. Suddenly the hawk swooped, diving straight down between the steep canyon walls, and Dylan found himself wondering what unsuspecting creature was about to die. Amazing, he thought, how much cruelty, uncertainty and danger there was in life. And how much love. Dylan hazarded a glance at Alice. At least there used to be. Clearing his throat, he continued, “I came back, Alice. But before I could, I had to do everything I could to disguise myself.”

  Her eyes flickered over him. “How? Who... operated? Where were you?”

  He shrugged. “I, well, I did what the guy said at first. I walked right out of that church and never looked back.” His voice rose. “And, Alice, I don’t care what you think. Hate me if you want, but I’d do it again to keep you safe.”

  Darkness crossed her eyes, like storm clouds over a green lake, and only her trembling lower lip revealed the sweeter emotions she wanted to hide. “So why are you telling me this now? Why are you talking to me?”

  “Because you were going to many Leland. And I couldn’t lose you. By the time I cleared my name—if I could—you’d have been married. I guess because I couldn’t stand it anymore.”