by Jana DeLeon
He glanced at the caretaker’s cottage, but the twenty feet may as well have been a mile now that the intruder knew where he was. The situation had gone from worse to impossible.
Chapter Twelve
Olivia grabbed her pistol and dove out of her chair at the first sound of gunfire, then cursed herself for sitting right in front of the window. She crawled over to the wall and peered into the courtyard. The light from the front porch barely extended a couple of feet from the caretaker’s cottage and the rain came down in sheets, never seeming to lessen.
She pulled the unraveled towel from the top of her head and tried to think. Could it have been thunder that she heard? But she knew better. She’d been to the shooting range so often that the sound of gunfire was ingrained in her mind.
Think, Olivia. What the hell is happening?
If someone had been trying to shoot her they should have succeeded, but they hadn’t even hit the picture window she sat in front of. That could only mean that they were shooting at John. She stared into the blackness trying to make out movement, when the light at the main house went out and the gunfire began again. She could barely make out a figure run from the porch and dive behind her car.
John.
She ran for the front door and threw it open, then turned off the porch light to mask her movement and slipped outside behind an old tractor, several feet from the entry. Another shot sounded across the courtyard and the driver’s window on her car shattered. She peered over the tractor wheel, trying to determine where the shots were coming from. Based on the angle, it had to be from the far side of the courtyard, but where?
“John!” she yelled.
“Olivia?” John’s voice sounded from behind her car.
Thank God. “I’m going to open fire. Run for it!” She laid her arms across the tractor wheel and squeezed off two rounds toward the far end of the courtyard nearest the main house, then directed her aim ten feet over from there and squeezed off another two rounds. She couldn’t hear anything but the gunfire and the storm, and hoped that John was able to run. Aiming her pistol a little farther down, she squeezed off another round before she felt a hand on her shoulder pull her down just as a bullet grazed off the fender of the tractor with a zing.
“Get inside,” John yelled above the storm and she lowered her weapon and ran back into the caretaker’s cottage, John close behind. He slammed the door behind them, threw the dead bolt and pulled her into the bedroom at the back of the cottage. Only after he’d drawn the drapes did he slide onto the floor, his back against the bed, weapon still drawn, with a clear view of the front door.
Olivia slid down beside him, trying to assess his injuries by the dim glow of the bedroom lamp. He was soaked to the skin, which made things more difficult, but she sucked in a breath when she saw a dark circle at the thigh of his jeans. “John, you’re hit,” she said. “We have to get you help.”
“It’s just a scratch. The bullet grazed me.”
“What the hell is going on here, John? It makes no sense.”
“Maybe the sheriff asked some questions and let whoever locked you in that tunnel know you were armed.”
“Then why didn’t they shoot me? I was sitting at the kitchen table, the light on, in full view of anyone.”
John stared at her for a couple of seconds. “I don’t know.”
Olivia blew out a breath. “Because he wasn’t trying to shoot me, and you know it. You’re just not saying it. If he wanted me dead, I would be right now, but instead, he came after you. Why?”
John ran one hand through his wet hair and Olivia could tell he was stalling. He had an idea, but he didn’t want to share it with her.
“You know something,” Olivia said.
John shook his head. “I don’t know anything for sure.”
“But you have an idea?”
“Yeah, I have an idea that whatever he wants from you, it requires you being alive. Based on the picture you discovered, I have to think it’s personal, too, and that’s the part that bothers me the most. A simple thief I could handle.”
“But why go after you?”
“Maybe because he wants you alone.”
Olivia felt a chill run through her at John’s words. She’d known, deep down, that she was at the core of everything going on at laMalediction, but still couldn’t wrap her mind around being the center of something she knew nothing about. It was unfathomable, but it was.
John rose from the floor. “I don’t think he’s going to try anything with you in the house. He obviously needs you alive.”
Olivia bit her lower lip and watched him head into the bathroom. She was putting him at risk. Just her presence at laMalediction was risking his life. There truly was no option any longer. She had to leave. Despite the overwhelming feeling that she was close to solving the mysteries of her past, she couldn’t risk someone else’s life to do it.
She rose from the floor to go see if he needed help dressing the wound. Tomorrow she’d leave the house and never return. She could disappear if she had to and her publisher would be perfectly willing to help, even if it meant getting her out of the country. At least long enough to find out what was going on.
John stood in the bathroom in front of the sink, inspecting the wound on his thigh through the torn patch on his jeans. “How bad is it?” Olivia asked.
“Not bad. I just need to dry it off and cover it. Even wet, it’s barely bleeding.”
“Why don’t you take off your jeans and let me cover it?”
“I can get it.”
“It’s toward the back. I’ll be able to reach it easier than you.” She looked up at him. “What? You think I’ve never seen a man in his underwear before?”
“How many men have you seen in their underwear with a gunshot wound?”
Olivia shrugged. “Okay, you got me there. This is definitely a first, and hopefully a last—the gunshot wound part, anyway. I’d sorta like to see a man in his underwear again before I die.”
“Then I guess I’ll accommodate you,” John said and unfastened his jeans. Olivia reached for a clean towel on the rack behind him and watched as he carefully tugged the damp denim over his thigh and stepped out of the jeans. He pulled off his soaked T-shirt next and tossed it on the floor next to his jeans.
Olivia handed him the towel and tried not to notice the way the muscles in his abdomen rippled as he stretched to dry his back. He ran the towel down one long, muscular leg then the other, stopping short at the gunshot wound, which he patted gently.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Olivia’s gaze flashed immediately from places it had no business being to his face. “I think you’re perfect,” was right on the tip of her tongue before she realized he was referring to the bullet wound. “Oh, uh, well, let’s see.” She bent over to inspect the wound, hoping he couldn’t see the blush she felt creeping up her face.
She took a close look at the wound and reached for the cotton balls and peroxide he’d placed on the counter next to the sink. “It looks okay. Shallow, like you said. I’ll clean it and bandage it so it doesn’t rub against your jeans. Do you have any ointment?”
“There wasn’t any in the cabinet that I could find.”
“Wait here. I have some in my backpack.” Olivia hurried into living room, then remembered her backpack was on the kitchen table—right in front of the picture window. She took a deep breath and dashed into the kitchen, snatched her bag from the table and rushed back into the bathroom. She took a deep breath as she placed the backpack on the counter next to the sink.
“You all right?” John asked.
“Yeah. My backpack was on the table in the kitchen, so I rushed.”
John frowned. “You should have let me get it.”
Olivia shook her head and pulled a tube of antibiotic cream out of
her backpack. “How does that make sense if it’s you he’s after?” She fixed up a cotton ball with peroxide and dabbed it on the wound. “Does that hurt?”
“No.”
Olivia held in a smile and kept cleaning the wound. Likely his leg could be completely severed and he’d swear it didn’t hurt. John was definitely a man’s man. “It’s not deep,” she said once she’d wiped away the blood. “I doubt it will even scar.” You’ll still be perfect.
She sighed and began to spread the cream on the wound, then covered it with a medium bandage to prevent chafing. When she rose, he turned to face her directly, their bodies as close as they could be without touching. She sucked in a breath as she felt the heat from his body on her own. She looked up at him, expecting to see aggravation or impatience, but instead his amber eyes were fixed on her, the attraction undeniable.
She expected hesitation and retreat, but instead, he lowered his head and placed his lips on hers. Gone was the tenderness from earlier. Instead this kiss was urgent, hungry, and Olivia responded with the same energy, pressing her clothed body against his almost bare one. He stiffened slightly and Olivia thought for a moment he’d pull away again like he did before, but this time he gathered her in his arms and pulled her in closer.
Olivia wrapped her arms around him and ran her hands down his back and across his rear end, like she’d been dying to do earlier. His body was hard and muscular, and she felt the heat in her rise as she imagined this man over her. In her.
He pressed his hips into her and she felt the long, hard length of him, only two thin layers of cotton separating them. She moaned and he lifted her from the floor and carried her into the bedroom. They stood at the end of the bed and he pulled her T-shirt over her head, exposing her bare breasts. He kissed her again, his hands caressing her breasts, his fingers circling around her nipples until she thought she would scream.
He pushed her cotton shorts over her hips and they slid to the floor. She dug her fingers into his back as he trailed kisses down her throat and took one engorged nipple into his mouth. His hand slid down her stomach and between her legs, his fingers stroking her where she ached for him the most. She pushed his briefs down and took the length of him in her hand and he shuddered. She stroked him with the same rhythm he used on her, back and forth, her hands moving across the smooth, hard skin.
She felt the climax build within her and cried out as wave after wave of pleasure rocked her body. He raised his head from her breast and smiled at her, then lifted her up once again and placed her on the bed.
“Protection?” she asked. “If you don’t have any, I do. Front pocket of my backpack.”
He raised his eyebrows at her. “More supplies?”
“I like to be prepared for anything.” Olivia grinned. “They’ve been there awhile, though. I hope they haven’t expired. That would be sad on so many levels.”
John laughed and rose from the bed. “I’ll check.”
Olivia took a deep breath as he left the room, trying to absorb that she was about to sleep with a veritable stranger. Her mind flashed back to the way he felt in her hand and her already pleasured body throbbed for more. Hopefully those condoms were still good.
John walked back into the room, condom in hand. “You made it just under the wire.” He lay down beside her and rolled the condom. He shifted over her and she parted her legs, allowing him to sink between them. When he entered her, she gasped and clutched his back, pulling him deeper inside her.
He set a smooth pace, their bodies and breathing in sync, and Olivia felt the pressure building in her again. His body stiffened and she felt her pulse quicken, anticipating the release that was about to come. With a final thrust, he sent them both over the edge.
* * *
JOHN WAITED UNTIL the climax subsided and kissed Olivia gently before sliding to the side, his arm still draped across her. His body was charged and sated all at the same time, reveling in a satisfaction he’d never felt before. This woman, Olivia, was different from the others before her, and John had no idea what to make of that. Especially now, with everything going on.
When his breathing became more normal, he pushed himself up on one elbow and looked down at her. She was beautiful—her hair tousled, her lips pink from kissing. Her eyes were closed and she wore nothing but a satisfied smile. John felt fortunate that he’d been the man to put that smile on her face, especially since she’d be leaving the next morning.
That bothered him, more than he wanted to admit, but it was the only way to keep Olivia safe and free him to look for his sister completely unencumbered by lies and misdirection. “So you really meant that whole ‘preparedness’ thing,” he said.
Olivia looked up at him and smiled. “I never know when I might get lucky.”
“The box hadn’t even been opened.”
Olivia waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t remind me. It’s sad.”
John laughed. “I guess it’s hard to meet people with what you do.”
“That, and then there’s the fright factor. What I do tends to scare people away. They don’t want to visit haunted houses and I don’t stay in one place very long.” Olivia raised one hand to stroke his face. “You know, I really hate wasting things. I bet we could use that whole box if we worked at it.”
“In one night? I’m flattered, but even I have to admit I’m no superhero. Maybe when I was fifteen...”
Olivia’s expression changed from playful to serious. “I don’t have to leave. I mean, I know that’s what we talked about, but I wonder if it’s the best idea. I’m a good researcher, and I know a lot more about these houses than you. I could be a big help.”
John’s pulse quickened. This was a complication he didn’t need. With Olivia safely out of the way he could concentrate all his effort on finding his sister. If she remained, he knew his loyalties would be divided. He looked at her—the earnest expression with just a touch of excitement behind it. But was it for the thrill of the hunt or because of him?
Either way, he couldn’t afford the liability. Making love to Olivia had been a huge mistake. It had shifted the playing field and created a situation he hadn’t planned on dealing with. He had to convince her to leave, but he knew logical argument wasn’t going to be enough. Olivia already knew the logic behind why she should leave. No, the only way she would budge now was if it was personal.
He rose from the bed and paced the length of the room. Olivia sat up on the bed and looked at him. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “I thought you’d be happy to have my help.”
John ran one hand through his hair. Now or never, Landry. “There’s something you need to know about me.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not the person you think I am.” He grabbed his wallet from the dresser and pulled out his badge. “I’m a cop—New Orleans Police Department.”
Olivia stared at the badge, her confusion apparent, then looked back at John. “I don’t understand. Are you investigating me?”
“No. I’m trying to find a missing girl. We think she intended to visit laMalediction, but without proof that she was in Cypriere, Wheeler won’t allow the police to search the property and we don’t have the evidence to get a warrant to compel him to do so.”
“You lied to Wheeler to get access to the estate?” Olivia frowned.
“It was the only way, and we’re running out of time. The longer someone remains missing, the less likely they’re ever found.”
“And you lied to me,” Olivia continued, “but what I don’t understand is why.”
John looked down at her, already hating himself for what he was about to say. “For all I know, you might have ratted me out. I couldn’t afford to risk my job and the victim over someone I didn’t know.”
“Why would you risk your job for this girl?” Olivia jumped up from the bed, her hand over her mouth. “It’s person
al, isn’t it? Oh, my God. It’s your girlfriend. I just slept with some missing girl’s boyfriend.”
She closed her eyes and swayed, and for a moment John was afraid she was going to pass out. He rose from the bed and grabbed her shoulders with both hands to steady her. “It’s not my girlfriend. It’s my half sister.”
Olivia opened her eyes and looked at him, the disbelief still resident. “Then once you got to know me, why didn’t you tell me? Surely, you know me better than to think I would get you fired and leave some poor woman trapped in this heap.”
“I...I was afraid if I told you how dangerous I thought this place was, you’d leave.”
Olivia stared at him for a moment, then her eyes widened and she pushed him away from her. “You used me. You knew someone was stalking me, and you hoped I would lead you to your sister. I guess having sex with me was the icing on the cake, right? Did you think I would be so wrapped up in you that I wouldn’t care about all your lies?”
“Olivia—”
“You expected me to argue with you when you told me to leave this evening, didn’t you? I must have ruined all your plans when I agreed to go, so you upped the stakes by having sex with me.” She grabbed a spare blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her. “Your days of using me are over. First thing tomorrow, I’m out of here. But don’t worry—I won’t tell Wheeler your little secret. I have higher standards than that.”
Pushing past him, she left the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. John sank onto the bed with a sigh. He’d done what he needed to do. Olivia would be safe away from laMalediction and that was all that mattered.
Then why did he feel like such a heel?
Chapter Thirteen
The sound of the front door opening woke Olivia and she bolted upright on the couch just in time to see John slip out. She started to call out, remind him that a madman with a gun was on the loose somewhere out there, but she figured he probably hadn’t forgotten and being a trained law enforcement officer, probably didn’t want her advice. Although her watch indicated it was a little after seven o’clock, the cottage was gray and dim and Olivia could hear the storm still raging outside.
