by Sheryl Lynn
She didn’t harbor a single doubt that he’d hurt Easy and Trish. Or kill them. She watched the dogs. They had moved to the window where they peered up at Jeffrey. If she survived, she determined, she was adopting the biggest, meanest, ugliest, noisiest dogs she could find.
On leaden legs, she trudged to the door and unlocked it. Tensing her muscles to keep from trembling, she backed away from the man she once believed she could love. His blue eyes looked like shards of flint—hard and emotionless. She tried not to look at the gun he held with such easy confidence. “You’ve already ruined me, Jeffrey,” she said. “You destroyed my contract with Doc Halladay. You’ve sullied my professional name. My agent won’t take my calls. What more do you want?”
“First things first, darling. I know you and lover boy cooked up a little trap for me.” He gestured with the gun. “So, be a good girl and uncover all the microphones and recorders you’ve planted.”
“No.”
“How about I just burn down the house? Wood-frame construction. Dry roof. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
“It’s over, Jeffrey! The police are looking for you. They arrested Lou Palmer. They know you murdered Noreen.”
His pale eyebrows lifted, but he continued to smile. “Is that so? She killed herself.” His teeth glinted wetly. “Despair is a terrible emotion, isn’t it?”
She shook her head. “You’ll never get away with it.”
“Won’t I? It’s the oldest story in the book, darling. Kill your lover, then in despair, turn the gun on yourself.” He raised the pistol, aiming directly at her face. “We had such a wonderful future ahead of us. Why did you betray me, Catherine? Why did you have to cheat and lie and treat me like a fool?”
Her dry mouth refused to cooperate by forming words.
“I loved you. I was ready to give you the world. Then you had to go and blow it.” A flicker of emotion tightened his forehead and narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were different. I thought you and I were perfect. What happened?”
“You’re a killer.”
He laughed softly. “Where are they? Cameras? Microphones? How about I bring your boyfriend in here to find his toys? I bet if I blow off your kneecaps, he’ll be real cooperative.”
“All right, all right.” Wondering how in the world she and Easy were to escape this madman, she turned to a file box where a video recorder taped the proceedings.
“EASY?” TRISH’S FEAR came through clearly despite her voice being muffled by the trunk. She thumped on the trunk, rocking the car. “Easy?”
“I’m here, sweet pea. Relax. Don’t panic. I’ll get us out of this.” He tried the trunk-release button, but it was jammed.
“I’m sorry,” she called.
“Don’t sweat it Keep your cool.” He jangled the handcuff binding his wrist to the steering wheel. Keeping an eye on the house, Easy dug in his pocket for his keys. He hoped that the handcuffs binding him were a standard model. The small car, tight jeans and his awkward position made retrieving his keys difficult, but he did it.
One-handed, he worked through the keys. The cuff on his left wrist was so tight his fingers had gone numb and were turning an interesting shade of purple. He made a mental note to not be so rough with the cuffs in the future. It hurt. He fit the small cylindrical key into the keyhole. It stuck, and he feared Livman had specially ordered the cuffs so that a universal key wouldn’t work.
“Easy?” Trish thumped on the trunk again. “What are you doing?”
He forced the key. The cuff released. Breathing a prayer of thanks, he rubbed his wrist briskly.
He shifted his attention between the house and the wide field. Recent rains had caused a growth explosion of grass and weeds. If he searched for his telephone, Livman would see him. He didn’t care about himself, but flying bullets could pierce the Mustang’s trunk.
“Trish? Can you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“I can’t open the trunk. You’ll have to wait this out.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll think of something. Stay quiet and quit pounding on the trunk.” He opened the passenger door as quietly as he could and pushed it open. He crawled out of the car.
“Damn you, Martel!” Livman strode onto the deck. Catherine stumbled along behind him. He held her by the arm and cruelly jerked her in front of him. He shoved the pistol bore against her neck. “You have to make this hard, don’t you? Step out with your hands up.”
“No, Easy! Don’t do it!” Catherine yelled. She yelped in pain.
Easy peered under the low-slung chassis, trying to gauge how far it was to the house. If he could get under the deck, he might be able to shake up Livman enough for Catherine to escape. He breathed hard, reminding himself that Livman had no military record, he didn’t own a gun permit, he wasn’t a hunter and he didn’t belong to any sporting clubs. So the chances of him being able to hit a fast-moving target were slim.
“You have to the count of three, Martel! One—two—”
Easy burst from cover. Sprinting, his body remembering the fast moves from his high school football days, he zig-ged and zagged, churning gravel.
He didn’t hear the shot. He didn’t feel the blow. All he knew was that, somehow, he was staring at the sky, listening to a woman scream.
CATHERINE SCREAMED. A scream that was cut short when Jeffrey ran to the railing, jerking her along behind him. She stumbled to one knee. Her fall pulled Jeffrey off-balance. His grasp loosened enough for her to twist away. She fell back, sitting hard on the deck. He reached for her. She kicked him with all her might.
Her left foot connected with a satisfying crunch on his thigh. Jeffrey yowled and hopped on his good leg. He hit the deck railing and nearly tumbled over. Catherine rolled, sprang to her feet and ran. She jumped down the steps, straight to Easy’s side.
“Run,” Easy croaked. He lay on his back, his arms and legs sprawled. Blood turned the front of his T-shirt black. His eyes blazed. “Run, damn it!”
Catherine looked over her shoulder, spotted Jeffrey recovering his balance. She ran.
A shot rang out Running on instinct, she swerved, aiming for the closest trees. Jeffrey shouted at her. She ran faster. Thistles snagged at her skin. Spear grass whipped her bare legs. Wrong, she knew. Her direction took her away from the road and away from neighbors, toward a wild patch of forest. Another gunshot shoved reason from her mind.
She reached the trees and darted around the trunk of a pine. Panting, she peered back at the house. Jeffrey ran after her. Sobbing, she pushed away from the tree and ran again. Pine straw, pinecones, loose branches and snapped-off stumps made the path treacherous. She changed direction, scrambling up a hill. Rocks and brush oaks slowed her, but they offered cover, too.
She heard Jeffrey pounding behind her. She sucked wind into her burning lungs. She caught a boulder and climbed, banging her knees and shins on the rock, but not caring as she flailed about for foot- and handholds.
Half a mile, she told herself. Half a mile and she reached a road. A road with houses. Houses with people. Run! Over the hill, she slipped and skidded from rock to rock. An arroyo yawned before her. Though neither deep nor wide, it was full of rocks and broken logs. Unable to stop her wild downhill run, she jumped. She hit a narrow flat patch on the other side. The dirt crumbled beneath her feet.
She fell hard, flat on her belly. Unable to breathe or even think, she grabbed instinctively, her hands finding a rock to hold on to. The ground broke away from beneath her legs. Dirt and gravel poured into the arroyo, rattling and surrounding her in a cloud of choking dust.
“Stop!” Jeffrey ordered. “I have a dead-on shot. I will kill you.”
She listened to him coming down the hill. His descent was reasonable and measured, marked by soft thumps and rustling foliage. She blinked back the urge to cry. An image of Easy, still and bleeding filled her head. If he died, she didn’t want to live.
“Get up,” Jeffrey ordered. “Slowly. If
you try to run, I will kill you.”
“You’ll kill me anyway. Just like you killed Roberta and Noreen.” She dug her feet into the sides of the crumbling arroyo, found a solid place and pushed herself forward. Rocks grating across the belly made her groan. The baby. She had to save her baby. She sat up, facing Jeffrey.
His face was red from exertion, but his demeanor was as calm as if they’d taken a pleasant jog. “You should be so lucky, darling. Roberta never saw me coming. I doubt if she felt a thing. And Noreen? Well, don’t feel sorry for her. She was sick of living’ with the guilt of killing Charlie anyway.” He laughed. “Do you know what the funny part is? She didn’t kill him. Oh yeah, he had a nasty bump, maybe a concussion. But he was alive when I put him in the bathtub. So, even if she’d known I’d drugged the booze, she’d have drank it anyway. She wanted to die.” He pointed the gun at her belly. “Now you on the other hand, you insist on making this as messy as possible.” He gestured for her to jump back over the arroyo. “Get back over here. I can kill you now. I don’t mind dragging you back—”
A large body crashing through brush cut off his words. He whirled about in time to see Oscar come over the top of the hill. The greyhound raced flat-out, ears flat against his skull, his eyes bright with lust for the hunt. He flew over an outcrop of boulders, hit the narrow path with his forepaws then sprang into a leap. Unable to speak or move, Catherine watched the dog hit the ground again. He seemed to fly. Jeffrey shouted at the dog to stop. He aimed the pistol. Catherine recognized joy in Oscar’s eyes. The joy of the run, the joy of catching her in this wild game.
Realization struck. “Jeffrey! Watch—!”
Eighty pounds of greyhound moving at top speed struck Jeffrey squarely in the legs. Man and dog tumbled into the arroyo. Oscar screamed in pain. Jeffrey made no sound at all.
H“EY, TINK,” EASY SAID. He smiled groggily, floating in the warm woolly shroud of painkillers.
Catherine touched his face, rubbing her knuckles lightly over his cheek. Her beautiful eyes smiled warmly at him. “Good morning. How do you feel?”
He gave her question serious thought. He’d spent three hours in surgery yesterday. Despite a broken clavicle, punctured lung and ripped muscles, the doctors assured him he was a lucky man. Lucky, he knew, as long as they kept providing painkillers.
Luckier by far than Jeffrey Livman. His fall into the arroyo had broken his neck. Toni Johnson had visited Easy last night, and if he remembered correctly, she’d told him Livman was now paralyzed from the shoulders down. Even if, the assistant district attorney had assured him, the confession Catherine had taped on the hidden wire she’d been wearing didn’t earn him a prison sentence for three murders, he’d be imprisoned in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.
“I feel better than Oscar, I bet. How is he?”
“You’re sweet to ask. He’s still at the vet’s. He broke both of his front legs. He’ll never outrun Bent again, but he’ll be okay. He saved my life.” She rose from the chair and touched his lips with a tender kiss. “So did you.” She snuffled and backed away. Her shoulders hitched; her eyes brightened. “Idiot! You’re no smarter than that dumb dog.”
“Yeah, but you love me.”
Her fire faded and her smile returned. “God help me, but I do.”
With great effort, he lifted a hand, urging her closer. She resumed her seat by the bed. “Where are my folks?”
“Your parents and Trish went to breakfast. I’ll go tell them you’re awake—”
“That’s okay. Stay with me. Have you been here all night? How come they let you stay?”
“I told them I’m your fiancée.”
He clucked his tongue. “You lied?”
She shrugged. “Is it a lie?”
“Not if you don’t want it to be. Spring me out of this joint, and we’re on the first plane to Vegas.”
“No Vegas. If I marry you, it’ll be a real wedding. Okay?”
He lifted his head and peered in the direction of her abdomen. “Can you make arrangements that quick?”
She rested her chin on her arms folded atop the bed. Her heavy sigh and sad eyes warned him. “I’m not pregnant.” Her chin trembled. She blinked rapidly. “I didn’t want to be pregnant, but now that I’m not, I feel awful.”
He caressed her hair. “Me, too. Marry me, anyway. Let’s do everything right this time. A ring, wedding, carrying you over the threshold. A honeymoon. The works.”
“Ask me again when you aren’t all doped up.”
He searched her face. “Why wait? You know you don’t stand a chance against me.”
She laughed, sweet music in his ears. “I never did, Earl Zebulon Martel. Not once.”
eISBN 978-14592-6160-0
EASY LOVING
Copyright © 1998 by Jaye W. Manus
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Printed in U.S.A.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Table of Contents
Excerpt
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Books by Sheryl Lynn
Dedication
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Copyright
