Endless Night

by Maureen A. Miller

  Vaguely, she was aware that Jake crouched before her, his dark eyes intense and concerned. Warm hands gripped her arms in an effort to support her, though she was inconsolable. Every one of her senses was honed in on the stillness at the other end of the receiver.

  And then she heard it.

  “I know where you are, Margaret.”

  The voice was formal and collected. It rang slightly deep, yet with a polish that resisted true masculinity.

  It was a voice Megan knew well.

  I know where you are, Margaret.

  Only one time had Gordon ever crossed the line with Margaret professionally. In retrospect, she wondered why it had only been once. His prowess was well known throughout the office as was revealed by their high turnover of paralegals. Perhaps Gordon actually respected her enough not to touch her.

  Except for that one night—the one night they were stuck together in the office, working late over a trial that would commence shortly after sunrise.

  Margaret was in one of the old meeting rooms that still housed filing cabinets. Stooped over a pullout drawer, thumbing through manila files not yet chronicled in the computer database, she felt hands on her hips and an insistent male pressure behind her. She gasped and clasped the cabinet to try to shove backward, attempting to push off the invasion. Determined hands clenched around her midsection and she sensed a warm breath tinged with mint on her ear.

  “I thought you’d never ask, Margaret,” Gordon whispered in a gruff tone, his hand boldly sculpting her hip and following the curve of her thigh.

  Margaret struggled, but she was boxed in against the cabinet. The drawer was shoved shut by the pressure of their bodies.

  “Ask? Ask for what?” she nearly shrieked.

  “You knew I was sitting here staring at you, fantasizing—” he continued against her hair,

  “—and you bent over and offered me that gorgeous ass.” His hips nudged hers and Margaret jerked in denial. “What is a man supposed to do?”

  Gordon’s hands were moving in between her thighs and Margaret’s strangled cry pitched into a scream.

  “Shhh.” Long fingers pinched the flesh of her thigh through the twill skirt. “You don’t have to play hard-to-get anymore. I mean, I appreciate us keeping this strictly business and all. I have plenty of women. I was content to just watch you and nurture the torture.”

  One hand left her thigh to surge up into her hair. Its insistent grip was used to haul her upright and back against him. Margaret’s body shuddered in revulsion.

  “Let go of me,” she ordered through clenched teeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t want you—I don’t want this.”

  “Margaret, really,” Gordon chided, “please don’t play coy, it truly doesn’t suit you.”

  The only part of her body that was free of his tenacious grip was her leg, and Margaret immediately put it into action. She lifted at the knee as far as her tapered skirt would allow and slammed down her two-inch heel on Gordon’s instep. Thick polished leather threw off the brunt of her assault, but the impact was enough to make him howl in anger and release his grip.

  Margaret wasted no time. In three unstable strides she was out the door, though she never sensed that he gave chase. She did not call the police, but neither did she return to work the next morning.

  The trial Margaret had worked so hard to prepare for was not even a consideration the following morning. Perhaps her reaction was pure cowardice, but she was still young and naïve enough to handle the situation the only way she knew how.

  Run from it.

  In a week Margaret was sitting in the lobby of the Richard A. Manfredi Law Firm, her resume tucked in her leather portfolio. Her cell phone vibrated inside the case and she retrieved it to see the caller ID. It was Gordon. It was his first contact since the incident in the conference room. She had no intention of answering and reached for the power button, her palms sweating as she turned it off.

  “Ms. Simmons?” The blond receptionist with exorbitant eyeliner looked at her expectantly from behind her glass-plated desk.

  “Yes.” Margaret gathered her purse and gave herself a mental pep talk as she rose.

  “There is a phone call for you.”

  Margaret’s shoulder jerked in a spasm. “Mr. Manfredi is ready for me?”

  “No.” The receptionist held up a glossy black receiver. “This is an external call.”

  Margaret walked on unstable legs the few feet to the desk. She glanced at the phone incredulously when the receptionist extended it to her.

  “Hello?” Her voice wavered.

  “I know where you are, Margaret.”

  She was too professional to engage in a verbal altercation in the lobby of a potential employer, so she stood and helplessly listened, not surprised to hear his voice.

  “Margaret, do you honestly think I will let you work at another firm?”

  Margaret swallowed and focused on the red fingernails of the secretary as she swirled her mouse around on the mouse pad in apparent boredom.

  “You don’t have a choice,” she managed.

  “You know one call from me will have you blacklisted. Don’t waste your time and come back here. We will forget that incident. I need you in my office. I can get anyone in my bed. I will not pursue that with you. Name your salary increase and I’ll put the paperwork in motion.”

  She refused to speak, but her face felt as red as the secretary’s fingernails.

  “Seriously, Margaret. You will not work in another law office. And you should not want to.”

  She really wanted to tell him to go to hell. Gordon would see to it that she never got a job in Boston, she was certain of that now. She felt like a little kid running away from home, only to be picked up by her parents a block away. How far would she have to go until she was out of arm’s length of Gordon’s power? She knew he would honor the salary increase, and she also sensed that there would never be a repeat of the incident.

  She handed the black receiver back to the receptionist and said in a tight voice, “Please apologize to Mr. Manfredi, but something has come up that I have to address.” She turned around and walked to the door.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”

  Hearing that self-possessed voice, Megan thought it was like listening to all the flawed decisions in life shouting back at her, only this rang with the calm resonance of menace.

  Then the line went dead.

  Megan clutched the handset and stared at the shadows lurking outside the arc of the lamplight. They seemed to advance, to worm their way toward her—a vicious set of black fingers moving in to strangle.

  “Megan?” Jake clutched her shoulders. “Who is it? What’s wrong?”

  The sound of his voice snapped Megan to her senses. She would not be a victim. She would not let Gordon do this to her. Nothing gave him more satisfaction than the hunt and applying his sadistic proficiency, especially to a quarry like her.

  Okay, so Gordon knew where she was. Well, she wasn’t going to roll over and play dead. Margaret was the one who ran. Margaret was the one he wanted.

  Margaret was gone.

  Megan hurled the handset to the floor where it snaked and writhed as the coiled wire snapped it closer to the nightstand. In a well-honed move, she swept her arm under the mattress and yanked out the gun. Familiar with the feel of the cold metal, she had taught herself to load and unload the chamber when she first arrived at Wakefield House. She forced herself to hold the sleek frame, to grow comfortable with it. And now fingers that had shaken uncontrollably on the phone worked with remarkable agility to handle the weapon.

  “Stop.”

  The soft command penetrated as Megan looked up.

  “Megan.” His voice returned, soothing as it drew nearer. “Baby, you don’t need the gun now.”

  A few impassioned moments ago there was nothing she would deny that stable tone. Jake’s voice was husky with passion and concern, and offered a solemn sense of reason that she lo
nged to surrender to. But she was reluctant to let go of her defense.

  “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” he persisted.

  Megan jerked when she felt his hands. Panic flared through her and she tried to control possession of the gun but his hands connected with hers and still the soft voice penetrated her defenses.

  “I don’t know what’s going on here, but so help me God, Megan, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  Strong fingers curled over hers with such diverse layers. Warm, sinuous strength above her hand. Cold steel beneath it.

  Which would she yield to?

  The gun slipped from her grip. With one great shudder, Megan was left vulnerable to her very core. Were it not for the supportive hands that returned to embrace her, she would have sunk to the floor.

  To Megan’s surprise, those caring hands did more than hold her. They slipped with silent precision behind her back and beneath her legs to hoist her into the air. The loss of stability should have shocked her into action, but she bent into the haven of musk and rain and drew in his scent as if her very life depended on it.

  She should have fought him. Where was the bravado of only moments ago?

  Instead, when Jake sat on the edge of the mattress with her still in his arms, she curled up on his lap and felt so young and small. Trauma took a backseat to the feelings this man inspired. Instinctively, Megan’s arms wound around his neck and she plunged her face into his collarbone, praying he would hold her tighter.

  As if Jake sensed this, his embrace constricted.

  For a minute—or an eternity—she couldn’t be sure, they sat in silence until finally his hoarse voice broke the stillness.

  “Tell me, Megan.”

  Megan. Megan.

  “They used to call me Meg,” she whispered.

  Even in this cocoon of warm male flesh she sensed his hesitation and his curiosity. “Meg. I like that.”

  Coarse fingertips brushed aside her bangs, and then Megan felt Jake’s lips on her forehead. “Tell me, Meg. Who was that? If you say it was a wrong number—”

  “There was no one there.”

  “Meg, there is a reason you’re on my lap clinging on for dear life, and as much as it kills me to say so, it isn’t passion.”

  That declaration nearly drew a smile from her lips, and it did succeed in making her snuggle even closer. But she sobered quickly at the memory of the man on the other end of the phone.

  I know where you are, Margaret.

  “There was no one there,” she repeated tightly.

  Jake set her back so he could look into her eyes. In his amber depths she detected smoldering emotions.

  “Alright, let’s switch topics for a moment. I look at you and I don’t see a woman who sleeps around frivolously. Am I right?”

  She frowned, wondering where he was going with this.

  “Of course I don’t.”

  Jake touched the pad of his pointer finger to her lip. “Well, as of five minutes ago, you and I were this close to making love.”

  “I—”

  He shushed her with the mere rise of his eyebrow. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you would only sleep with me because you trusted me.”

  Megan groaned out her frustration. His rationalization was dead-on.

  “That rogue ego of yours is kicking in again,” she whispered. “What makes you think I would have slept with you?”

  Jake’s sexy grin could fend off any evil foe, or reduce them into a vapor that would seep through the cracks of this house and dissipate into the night.

  He brushed his finger over her lip and she saw his eyes flare at the tiny gasp she thought she had contained.

  “Oh, okay, yes dammit,” she conceded. “One more second and we would have—”

  “Would have what?”

  “You know.”

  “Meg, say it.”

  “We would have made love.”

  Relief softened Jake’s features. He replaced his finger with a slow sweep of his mouth.

  “Now, am I right? You wouldn’t do that with someone you didn’t trust, would you?”

  “No,” she sighed.

  “All right then.” His voice was deep and tender. “Today you shared with me an experience I never thought I would go through. I never imagined confronting a stranger to ask if she was my grandmother. I never thought I would travel to some obscure village in search of my heritage, but you were there for me. It meant a lot.” His arms tightened. “Maybe we’re just getting to know each other, but I was so grateful to have you by my side today.”

  A lump worked its way down her throat. Megan closed her eyes to escape the warmth infusing her. She needed the stability of fear. It was her best defense. It kept her sharp, whereas this languorous spell weakened her.

  “Let me return the favor.” Jake gently tugged under her chin to lift her eyes back to his.

  “Trust me to help you.”

  “I can’t,” she cried in frustration. “I can’t, Jake.”

  She tore from his arms and crossed into the shadows, standing adjacent to the window so that her profile could not be seen from outside. She searched the dark world, wondering if Gordon was out there right now.

  If he wasn’t, he would be soon.

  To her relief Jake stayed on the bed. In a deceivingly calm motion, he leaned back against the headboard with one leg crooked at the knee where his hand rested in a fist. “Why not?”

  In that simple question she heard a rough combination of hurt, anger and concern. Was it really possible that in the past few days he had come to care about her?

  Don’t care. Walk away from it.

  “Jake, look, maybe it’s best if you left in the morning.”

  He turned his back toward her and crossed his arms, facing the window fully. Her eyes traced the strength in his shoulders, remembering how those arms felt around her, like a fortress where no enemy could reach her.

  And she was tearing that fortress down.

  “Christ, Megan.” He wrapped a hand behind his neck and massaged at the tension. “I just grabbed a gun out of your hand tonight—after a phone call from I don’t know who. You would have shot at anything that moved, myself included.”

  Jake turned and Megan’s breath hitched. His gaze burned and his lips were set thin. “You could have hurt yourself. How in God’s name am I going to leave you alone right now?”

  A lump of emotion clogged her throat. Her fingers trembled, but she curled them up into dogged fists as her chin inched up. “Just walk away.”

  One long stride and Jake was next to her. She felt her shoulders encased in strong palms. His head dipped and Megan nearly parted her lips in anticipation of his kiss. A hint of his musky breath blew across her lips as he whispered.

  “Just walk away, huh?” There was an edge to his tone.

  “Yes.” She held her chin up again and hoped to come across with conviction.

  That bravado faltered under his dynamic stare. His eyes seemed to search for so much more than she was capable of giving.

  “Who was on the phone, Meg?” he asked quietly.

  Her head shook and she tried to inch away, but she was backed into the corner of the room. There was nowhere to flee. “Don’t.”

  “Look at me.”

  She tried to evade his eyes. She tried to look anywhere other than that kaleidoscope of autumn colors, but the draw was too strong and she dove into the warm foliage.

  “Jake, please—” Please what? Please don’t look at me like that. Please don’t touch me like you are. Please leave before something happens to you.

  “Please what?” He moved in.

  So subtle was the motion, Megan barely noticed until she felt the heat of his body. Her back was against the wall, and for a moment, panic welled up. But then he touched her with just a soft stroke of her hair.

  Tears lurked behind her eyes as she pleaded from the heart, “Please go.”

  Chapter Ten

  It shouldn’t have hurt like
it did. Hell, he shouldn’t care at all. He shouldn’t even be in this godforsaken isolated village. He should be back in Boston, in his busy existence that suited him just fine.

  “Jake, please.” Megan touched his wrist as he felt her fingers tremble. “I don’t want to drag you into the mess my life has become. You’re not involved in this.”

  Her eyes were wide, nearly black with fear. He took a steadying breath, relieved to see the windows blush with a new sunrise. The warm rose hues did little to diminish the bleakness of the cliffs, but at least there was something other than another dismal stratum of gray on a horizon that promised nothing but more rain.

  “Too bad,” he uttered with weary resolve.

  Megan’s arms crossed. “Excuse me?”

  “I said that’s just too bad.”

  Now she tried to catch his eye, but he evaded her gaze.

  “What do you mean, too bad?” The pitch of her voice inched higher.

  “I’m involved. I’m already involved.” And that was the truth.

  In retrospect, he tried to determine during what pivotal moment that had occurred. Was it the first timid smile he goaded out of her? The coffee klatch at three o’clock in the morning? That first kiss, so tender, and so tempting? Or that fiery merger in the hall tonight?

  No. It was the moment Megan leaned back into him at the bar, as she bowed and melted into his torso in search of protection. It was as if she trusted one man amidst her world of demons. Maybe now, she wouldn’t commit to that trust, but that simple instinctive gesture spoke more than words.

  “You are not involved with me.” Only a keen perception brought on by the solitude of the house enabled Jake to hear the erratic swing in her voice.

  “Jake, dammit.” Her hands batted like floundering butterflies as she tried to convey her frustration. Another deep breath and Megan let loose. “Dammit, just go. Do you hear me? You don’t need my help with your search. The sun is coming out. You can’t use the weather as an excuse anymore. Just go.”