Not until a couple of days ago, Cassandra told herself silently. When he walked into my life, and turned it upside-down.
She looked at her father again. 'I've heard one or two rumours,' she said carefully. 'People have said that the way you took over his company wasn't—well, entirely fair.'
'Nothing's particularly fair in business,' growled her father. 'You don't get anywhere unless you push a little, take advantage of circumstances.'
A faint feeling of nausea was beginning to gather in the pit of Cassandra's stomach. She had never heard her father talk like this before—perhaps because she had never bothered to question him about his business life, or the way he conducted his affairs. Jared was right, she realised with another wave of unpleasant sickness. She had taken her father's money, enjoyed a very comfortable life-style, and never once questioned where that wealth had come from or how it had been acquired. Wasn't there something extremely immoral about that?
'You still haven't told me exactly how you acquired Glenveil Toys,' she reminded him, her voice not totally steady now.
Her father shrugged. 'You'd be bored by all the complicated details. Let's just say that I realised it was an advantageous time to step in. Sinclair's mind wasn't on the business—I suppose that was only to be expected after the accident—and he didn't even notice that I'd whipped the whole thing out from under him until it was too late for him to do anything about it.'
Her father sat back in his chair and grinned with satisfaction, as if the memory gave him great pleasure. And there was an expectant look on his face, as if he were waiting for her to applaud his business acumen. Cassandra's mind had latched on to just one phrase, though, and her head came up sharply.
'Accident? What accident?'
'His wife and kid were killed. A drunken driver mounted the pavement and mowed them down.' Her father shrugged. 'Tragic I suppose,' he said, not sounding in the least bit sorry. 'But a bit of luck for me. Sinclair let things slip for a while after that, and that gave me the chance I'd been looking for. By the end of the year, Glenveil Toys belonged to me.' Then he looked rather peeved again. 'Only it didn't turn out to be the sound investment I'd expected. Without Sinclair, the company just began to slide. I might have to dump it before too long—that's if I can find anyone fool enough to buy it.'
Cassandra wasn't even listening any more. Her heart felt as if it had actually stopped beating. My God, Jared had lost both his wife and child in one horrific accident? No wonder he had lost virtually all interest in the business of living, and found so little pleasure in anything!
Then the rest of it slowly began to sink in. Her father had deliberately taken advantage of the tragedy. Knowing that no man could concentrate fully on his business affairs after such a devastating event, her father had chosen that time to step in and take Jared's company away from him. Whether he had done it fairly, or used totally unscrupulous methods, no longer seemed important. The very fact that he had done it at all was suddenly more than she could stomach.
Without even realising she was moving, she slowly got out of her chair and began to walk towards the door.
Her father glanced at her sharply. 'Where are you going?'
'I don't know,' she muttered, in a voice that didn't sound in the least like her own.
'Cassie, come back!' he ordered. 'There's a lot we've still got to talk about.'
'There's nothing more I want to say to you right now,' she replied in a low tone.
In fact, right at this moment she felt as if she never wanted to talk to him again. She seemed to be seeing him clearly for the first time in her life, looking at him with the unbiased eyes of a adult instead of as a dutifully loving child. A part of her had always been aware that he could be a hard man. And she had known that he was ruthlessly competitive, that he couldn't bear to lose. But—perhaps deliberately—she had closed her eyes to a lot of his less pleasant qualities. She couldn't do that any longer, though. He had virtually thrown them in her face, proud of the way he had taken over Glenveil Toys, taking advantage of the tragedy that had hit another man's life.
He was still saying something to her as she walked out, but she wasn't listening. All she could hear was a small voice echoing inside her head. His wife and child… His wife and child… Cassandra shuddered. What on earth must it be like to go through a hell like that?
She went directly back to her flat, and then just sat there for most of the afternoon, staring blankly at the wall. She couldn't seem to think; too much had happened over the last couple of days, and it was all mixed up inside her head in a tangled mess. As evening draw in, she automatically cooked a meal and ate it, without tasting a single thing. And when she finally went to bed, she closed her eyes, but didn't sleep.
Early next morning, she got out of bed with a new sense of purpose. During the long night, quite a few things seemed to have fallen into place, and she knew what she had to do. It didn't take her long to pack a bag. Then she reached for the phone and dialled the number of her part-time secretary.
'Susan?' she said, when a rather sleepy voice answered at the other end. 'This is Cassandra. I'm going to be away for a while—no, I don't know quite how long. Can you take care of things at the office? If anything urgent comes up, deal with it as you think best. And if any new clients get in touch, try and stall them. I'll contact them when I get back. No, I'm afraid you can't ring me. Where I'm going, there isn't any phone.'
Since Susan was a competent, level-headed girl, Cassandra was confident she could deal with the day-to-day routine while she was away. If anything else came up—too bad. It would just have to wait.
Just minutes after she had replaced the receiver, the phone rang. Cassandra instinctively knew it was her father. For just an instant, her hand reached out automatically to answer it, then she realised what she was doing, and stopped, her mouth setting into a hard line. His 'little Cassie' wasn't at his beck and call any longer. Let him ring as often as he liked. He wouldn't be getting an answer.
A couple of hours later, she was on a flight to Scotland. Was she behaving sensibly? she asked herself more than once. Even rationally? Probably not, she conceded. But she didn't feel that she had any choice. She had walked out on a sick man, which was a pretty lousy thing to do, and for her own peace of mind she had to make sure he was all right. OK, so Jared's own behaviour had been pretty bizarre, not to mention illegal. Rather late in the day, though, she was forced to admit there had been extenuating circumstances. And, despite all the harsh words he had thrown at her, she was certain it had never been his intention to actually harm her in any way.
After her plane landed at Inverness, she found Jared's car was still at the airport. Someone had simply moved it to a legal parking space. She paid the parking fee, and minutes later was behind the wheel, driving rather too quickly along the narrow roads that wound between rolling hills and higher ridges of mountain. She didn't notice the russet glow that had begun to touch the Highlands, the sparkling streams, or the wider waters of the lochs. Even a solitary eagle soaring high overhead didn't distract her attention. All she seemed to be seeing were pictures inside her head, of a man who had looked extremely ill when she had walked away from him without even a backward glance.
What state would he be in now? Surely he would be feeling better by this time? she argued with herself a little frantically. Perhaps he would even be up—and if he were, how he would laugh at the way she had come rushing up here, with all sorts of wild fears flashing through her mind!
Only, Jared Sinclair didn't laugh, she reminded herself with new grimness. Nor was that very surprising, considering what he had been through during the past few months.
She pressed her foot down even harder on the accelerator, and was glad the roads were clear. Her driving was erratic, to say the least, as if reflecting her state of mind.
Then Glenveil finally came into view. The afternoon was bright and sunny, showing the house off to its best advantage. With the backdrop of tall pines and impressive mountains, Glenveil
seemed to have taken on a new grandeur and dignity. 'Romantic' was how Jared had once described it, and today it fully lived up to that description. Cassandra half expected to see a kilted piper on the turret, or the ghost of some old laird flitting through the shadows. Nothing stirred, though. The house seemed totally deserted, as if no one had lived there for years.
Cassandra brought the car to a skidding halt, cut the engine, and then hurried to the front entrance. She didn't have a key, but it didn't matter. The door wasn't locked. She turned the handle and pushed it open, then stepped more slowly inside.
The silence was almost oppressive. She called out once, rather falteringly, then jumped slightly as her voice echoed rather eerily back to her. No one answered her call and her heart began to thump rather faster.
Although, quite suddenly, it was the last thing she wanted to do, she slowly began to climb the stairs. Goose-pimples covered her skin now, and they weren't caused entirely by the familiar chill inside the house. What she was afraid of more than anything was what she was going to find when she reached the top of the stairs, and opened the door to Jared's bedroom.
Would the room be empty? Or would he still be there? And if he was, would he be—?
She closed her mind to the terrifying possibilities that immediately rushed into her head. Instead, she steadily walked on, across the landing on the first floor to a door that still stood ajar. Just as she had left it when she had rushed out, the night before last—
It took every scrap of nerve she had to inch it open a little further, allowing her to see right into the room. And when she finally found the courage to look inside, she instantly caught her breath and gave a small groan.
There was the bed, with the sheets and blankets heaped in total disarray. And in the middle of the chaos lay a male body, frighteningly still, arms and legs flung out in a haphazard fashion.
'Oh, God, no!' Cassandra moaned.
At that, Jared moved his head, coughed a couple of times, and then opened his eyes and looked at her.
'You're not dead,' she breathed in utter relief.
'Apparently not,' he agreed, his voice sounding hoarse but quite lucid. 'I might feel like it, but it doesn't seem to have actually happened.'
Cassandra ran her fingers shakily through her hair. 'Damn it, you gave me a fright!' Then, realising he was probably expecting some kind of explanation for her presence here, she added a little awkwardly, 'I've come back.'
Jared's silver gaze regarded her steadily. 'I didn't know you'd been away.'
She stared at him. 'But—didn't you miss me? You must have done.'
His dark brows drew together a fraction. 'What day is it?'
'Thursday.'
'Then Wednesday seems to have gone missing. I can't remember anything since Tuesday afternoon.'
He coughed again, and Cassandra looked around with some concern.
'This room is like a fridge. If I don't get some heat going in here, you'll end up with pneumonia.'
'I've already had it,' he said calmly.
Her eyes opened wide. 'You have? When?'
'A few months ago. I eventually got over it, but it's left a few irritating side-effects. Whenever I get a cold or the flu, I end up like this, completely knocked out for a couple of days.'
He said it so matter-of-factly that Cassandra wanted to hit him. What was wrong with the man? Didn't he care what happened to him? Then she bit back her angry retort. He had already answered that question himself. No, he didn't care. Everything he said, everything he did, made that perfectly dear.
'If you've been in that bed since Tuesday, then the sheets must need changing,' she said in a more practical tone of voice.
His eyes briefly gleamed with a familiar mocking light. 'I think I must have left it a couple of times—for basic necessities.'
'In that case, you should be able to get out of it now,' she said firmly. 'I can't remake it with you still in it.'
It clearly took some effort, but Jared finally managed to sit up and swing his legs over the side. A fit of coughing made him pause for a moment, and Cassandra was very glad of that. She hadn't realised until this moment that he was totally naked!
'I'll—er—go and find some clean sheets,' she muttered, and hurriedly left the room.
Outside on the landing, she was annoyed to find her face was flaming. How childish! she lectured herself furiously. Anyone would think she was completely unfamiliar with the male anatomy!
Finding the sheets took longer than she had expected. Eventually, she found a heap of them tucked away in a cupboard in one of the bathrooms. By the time she eventually returned to Jared's room, her face was back to its normal colour again, and she kept telling herself that she felt perfectly calm and in control of things.
All the same, she shot a quick, furtive glance in Jared's direction as she went into the room. Then she let out a silent sigh of relief. He was wearing a bathrobe now, and sitting in a chair by the side of the bed.
He still didn't look at all well, but he was obviously very aware of what was going on. The fever had passed, leaving him weak but quite clear-headed again.
It didn't take her long to strip the bed. Then she began to unfold the fresh sheets and tuck them into place.
'I couldn't find any pyjamas,' she said, as she shook out the quilt and smoothed it over the remade bed.
'That's not very surprising,' remarked Jared. 'I never wear any.'
Cassandra felt herself flushing all over again. Thoroughly irritated with herself, she straightened up and said rather acidly, 'Then it's hardly surprising you're coughing and wheezing. This house has got to be one of the coldest places on earth. Anyone who sleeps here naked—and in an unheated room-deserves absolutely everything that he gets.'
'You're such a sympathetic girl,' Jared mocked lightly.
She instantly felt ashamed. He had been through enough. He didn't need to be spoken to with such sharpness.
Almost as if reading her mind, Jared added immediately, 'I don't mind. I'm sick of sympathy. You can only cope with so much, and then you start to feel as if you're drowning in it.' He hauled himself to his feet. It seemed to take the last of his strength, but Cassandra knew better than to offer a steadying hand.
He shot her an exhausted, but faintly taunting smile. 'Unless you want to be offended all over again, you'd better turn your back. I'm about to take off this robe and get back into bed.'
'I wasn't offended,' Cassandra denied at once, furious that he had noticed her confused reaction to his nakedness. 'I was just—' Her voice trailed away. She wasn't at all sure how to describe the feelings that had swept over her.
'Just what? Impressed?' Jared suggested, his eyes glinting as he shook off the bathrobe and tumbled tiredly into bed. 'That would definitely give my male ego a boost. And it feels as if it could do with it, at the moment—'
Cassandra glared at him indignantly, but then found he had fallen asleep the moment he had finished speaking. Her expression changed, and she let out a small sigh. Coming back here had been every bit as difficult as she had thought it would be. She might feel desperately sorry for Jared, but that still didn't stop her from responding to his subtle gibes with a hot flare of temper. Not that it really mattered, she excused herself. He had made it perfectly clear that he didn't want her sympathy, that he had already had a surfeit of other people's pity.
What he needed right now was purely practical help, she decided. That was the way she could be most useful. She set about clearing the cold ashes from the grate, and then relaid the fire. It was a fairly inexpert job, but she finally managed to get it to light, and felt a deep sense of satisfaction as she saw the flames beginning to build steadily, throwing out a warm glow.
There wasn't much she could do after that. Jared was still soundly asleep, and she didn't think he would appreciate it if she woke him up to ask if he wanted a hot drink, or something to eat. With a last long look at him—just to make sure he was all right, she told herself firmly—she tiptoed out of the room
, leaving the door half-open so she would hear him if he called out.
She took her bag up to the room she had slept in before, and slowly unpacked. It felt odd to be back again. She hadn't expected to set foot in this house a second time—and certainly not voluntarily. After her clothes were stowed away in the cavernous wardrobe, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Jared might not want anything to eat yet, but she was starving.
Dusk was setting in now, and she clicked down the light switch. Nothing happened, though. Cassandra muttered something very rude under her breath. The generator had obviously stopped, and she had no idea how to get it going again. That meant cooking and eating by candlelight—very romantic, but she would have preferred a bright electric glow!
Once her meal was finished and cleared away, she realised she felt very tired. She had had virtually no sleep last night, and she was just about dead on her feet.
She blew out most of the candles, leaving just one to light her way upstairs. Fixing it into a holder, she then made her way up to the first floor, shutting her mind to the fact that Glenveil looked distinctly spooky at night, especially with the candlelight sending shadows jumping and dancing ahead of her.
Her newfound conscience reminded her that she ought to check on Jared before she crawled into bed. She poked her head round his door, but the candle didn't give off enough light for her to see him dearly. She had to go right inside and stand over his bed in order to see if he was still asleep.
He was. The room felt much warmer now, and she put a few more logs on the fire to keep it going, before returning for one last look at Jared. A little anxiously, she peered at his skin. Was it slightly damp with sweat, or was it just the flickering candlelight creating an optical illusion?
Rather tentatively, she reached out and laid her palm against his shoulder. To her relief, his skin felt cool and dry. Then the sound of his voice made her nearly die of shock.
'Really, Cassandra,' he murmured reprovingly, without even opening his eyes. 'Every time I wake up, I find you haven't been able to resist the urge to touch me.'
Wild Justice Page 7
