The weight on her throat tightened cruelly, cutting off her air and making her see stars dance behind her closed eyelids. She kept her grip on the other man’s hand, though, biting as deeply and as viciously as she could, but soon her lungs were bursting from lack of fresh air, and her head swam dizzily, her consciousness beginning to recede. Her mind was divided into two parts: the one part totally wrapped up in her desperate, physical struggle and pain, and the other part simply incredulous that this was really happening to her. As she slumped in her attacker’s arms, so did her jaw relax her death clench on the one man’s hand, and it was jerked away. She was barely conscious of it happening, for she was going under into a murky blackness, her hands pounding weakly on the man strangling her. The passage of time from the moment she had stepped out of the motel room to now had been perhaps three minutes, if that.
She began to die.
Mike was stronger than the man in front of him, and he had to his advantage the element of surprise, so the chopping blow that fell on the back of the man’s neck caught him off guard and he slumped over, stunned. Then Mike was advancing on the man who had his hands on Dee’s neck, his normally calm façade cracked into a ferocious snarl of rage as he took in her drooping slight figure, and then the man holding her was tossing her aside like a paper doll tossed to the wind. He turned to Mike and had just enough light to see blazing, searing, feral green eyes glint at him, and had just enough time to wonder if a man was attacking him or a wild beast. Then Mike launched a blow right out for his face, and he had no more time to think of anything but survival.
That awful blackness receded, and Dee was able to gulp frantically at the sweet, cold, life-sustaining air, retching slightly from the terrible pressure that had been on her neck. Both her hands were around her bruised and swollen throat, and she fought her way back to consciousness with grim determination. She wasn’t to know that one of the men was already half-conscious on the ground, because her vision had not yet cleared. All she could think of was that there were two of them against only Mike. She didn’t bother to analyse just how she knew that it was Mike. Some sixth sense told her, and he was fighting all by himself. And he was in danger. She turned, crouched on the pavement, one hand still at her aching throat, one hand on the ground for balance, and she saw two panting, plunging, heaving figures in front of her. One of them managed to get back far enough for a blow, and there was a grunt of pain from the one struck, a whoof of expelled air. It went right to her heart, for she imagined that it was Mike, and she was so close to them both she could have reached out a hand to touch either of their legs.
A pale gleam of moonlight struck light blond hair on the man fighting closest to her, and she smiled a wicked smile as she realised that the man in front of her was not Mike. And it was never a good thing to turn one’s back to Dee.
Both hands went down to the pavement, her crouching body drew into itself tightly, and then, with all of the speed and the force that she could impel into her right, powerful leg, she swung out and knocked both of the man’s legs right out from under him, felling him like a tree. Both of them cried out in pain, for he fell awkwardly, badly, heavily, and Dee bruised herself painfully from the force of her blow connecting with hard shin.
Mike’s powerful body blurred with movement and the fallen attacker doubled up on himself, moaning. Then Dee cried out and pointed behind him where the first man was heaving himself to his feet. He didn’t remain standing for long.
Mike stepped over the prone figure between himself and Dee, bending to the ground and picking her up as carefully and as tenderly as if she’d been made of fragile blown glass.
That gentleness, in comparison with his earlier deadly violence, completely shattered what was left of her composure. She crossed her arms tremblingly around his neck, bent at the middle, and started to cry painful, racking, hoarse sobs that tore through her body with the ferocity of a tropical storm. She was barely aware of Mike lifting her up and carrying her over the two sprawling figures. She sensed the passage from open night to the darkness of the inside building, and Mike laid her carefully down on one of the beds. He vanished briefly into blackness and in a few moments light was flooding throughout the room, making her close her eyes tightly.
Thus she didn’t see the look of profound, intense shock that quivered over Mike’s already white features as he looked at her. She was doubled up on the bed, arms crossed around her middle, instinctively protective, and her blonde hair was tangled and smeared with blood. One side of her face was already swollen from the blow she had sustained, and there were dark, ugly welts appearing on her slender neck. Her mouth and lower face were streaked with blood that had spurted when she had bitten her attacker. He stood stick, rigid still for a moment, like stone, and then he ran swiftly to the bathroom, emerging scant moments later with a cold wet hand towel. He knelt by the bed and touched her gently, making her start violently, and then he was wiping very carefully at her face, checking all the while for some deep cut or abrasion. The towel was regulation motel issue, basic white, and it was soon covered with bright red, making him swallow at the sight.
She sighed with pleasure at the cold wet cloth passing over her heated, hurting face and neck. She closed her eyes and turned her face to his gentle fingers. She hurt so, all over her body. It was very strange, because she didn’t remember being knocked in some of the places where she ached.
“Dee,” he said lowly, and the sound of it was urgent. She looked at him questioningly. “Where are you bleeding?”
“What?” she asked him blankly. It must be shock, she decided, this deadened feeling. She had meant to ask Mike what he had meant, but nothing had come from her mouth. Her tongue came out to moisten her bruised lips and then she tried again. This time it was she who was profoundly shocked at the hoarse croak that issued from her vocal cords. It hurt, and she put up a hand to massage her neck, fleetingly surprised at the sensation of violent tremors from her unsteady fingers brushing her neck. She tried again, “What do you mean? I’m not bleeding.”
“Sweetheart,” he said gently, holding the bloodied towel in front of her face, “look at this. This is blood, from you. Can you tell me if you hurt anywhere?” One hand came up under her hair and probed her skull carefully.
“It’s not mine,” she whispered painfully. “I bit one of those fellows and wouldn’t let go. That’s why the other one was choking me. It tasted horrible!” She shuddered at the memory.
The blank look on his face would have been ludicrous to see, had she noticed, but she was busy looking at the dark purple mark on his jawline and the harsh abrasion on his neck. She took the towel from him and wiped at the cut. He didn’t even appear to notice. His eyes were trained on her face, then he rose abruptly to stride over to the door and open it to look out. A wry look passed over his face, and he disappeared a moment to come back with her purse, shutting the door and locking it.
“They’re gone, of course. We certainly gave them enough time for it! I should have called the police right away, but the sight of the blood on your face—distracted me a bit.”
“Well!” she croaked emphatically. “I’m glad I distracted you, then. The last thing we need right now is the police and all those questions…you aren’t still thinking of calling them, are you?” Her throat hurt so, and she longed for a drink.
He ran a keen look down her swiftly. “I can’t really see the point, now. And you’re right, the last thing we need is uncomfortable questions.” He came over to sit down beside her and the bed creaked under his weight. “Let me see your poor face…you’re going to have quite a collection of bruises, I’m sorry to say. How’s your throat?”
His kindness and his gentle touch just about destroyed her newly won, precarious control again, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “It’s okay,” she whispered brokenly. “I’m lying, it hurts like hell. I need a drink of water.” He rose immediately and unwrapped a clean glass from the tray provided by the motel, fetching fresh water for her. Without
waiting for her to sit up, he slid a strong arm underneath her shoulders to ease her up into a position comfortable for drinking, and she grasped the glass greedily. When it was drained, she relaxed back on his arm, grateful for its support. And suddenly she broke up completely, her face crumpling and hands fluttering tentatively out to him as she sobbed, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Oh God, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know—”
“Dear heaven,” whispered Mike, closing his eyes. Then, pulling her up so sharply that she cried out an involuntary protest, he hauled her quivering body into his arms and buried his face into her hair. A shudder hit his strong, powerful frame, and then he was steady again, like a rock, and he was stroking her hair tenderly, rocking her back and forth. “You, apologising to me! I’m the one who should be on my knees apologising to you! I was awake the whole time, and I knew you’d try to get away if you could. But I was going to let you get outside and then I was going to follow you, to see what you did. I waited until you got outside and then got dressed, taking my time. Taking my time, dammit!”
He was holding her so tightly, and soothing her, and stroking her, and she clung to him. “He was k-killing me!” she sobbed. “I was never so afraid in my life! I couldn’t breathe! I—” She gave up trying to talk and just buried her head into his neck and howled. After a few minutes, however, she pushed at his shoulders until she was able to sit up, away from him. She wiped her eyes, grinned a little shakily, and tried to run her fingers through her tangled hair. “Got a bit out of control there, for a moment.” With huge, deep breaths she was striving to get a grip on her emotions.
He watched her, eyes dark—strangely not green at all, she thought—and a muscle bunched in his tightly clenched jaw. “It’s allowable, you know.”
Her eyes managed to smile at him. “I know. But I don’t like it, all the same. Whenever I cry my eyelids get puffy and I get headaches.”
This made him laugh, reluctantly. “I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, sweetheart, you’re something special!” He paused, and a look of what seemed to be pain flitted across his face. “Promise me something?”
Dee was so tired, too tired. Her head felt as if it weighed ten tons, and her eyelids drooped in spite of herself. She was simply too tired, and sore, and discouraged to fight him any more, and she nodded silently. That made him shake his head ruefully.
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you.”
“Yes, I do,” she said, sounding like a frog, and she just couldn’t help herself as she felt for the pillow behind her and put her head down on it, closing her eyes, so very weary. “You’re going to ask me not to run away until morning. Okay, I won’t—too sore and sleepy. Gonna nap first.”
He watched her eyes flutter shut, and when her breathing deepened, he stood to ease her jeans and socks and shoes off, and the sight of her long nightshirt underneath the trim black sweater had him smiling again, but it spoke more of pain than amusement. Then he pulled the covers up and tucked them carefully around her curled-up figure. He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair for some time, looking down at her sleeping, vulnerable, bruised face.
“It wasn’t what I was going to ask you,” he whispered quietly. “But it’s good enough for now. It’s more than good enough for now.”
Chapter Five
A shaft of sunlight mottled Dee’s pillow with a puddle of gold, and she turned her head away in protest. But though she didn’t want to, she had already begun to wake up, and she opened her eyes reluctantly to look around her. It was hard to get them open, and with a flash of remembrance, she ruefully realised that she was paying the price for crying last night. Her eyes sought out the other bed and found Mike reading a paperback novel, fully dressed, with his back propped against the headboard and his long legs stretched comfortably out. The bed was made neatly.
Feeling her eyes on him, he turned his head to smile at her. “Good morning—finally. How are you feeling?” She moved experimentally and winced.
“Sore,” she croaked hoarsely, and put her hand up to her throat in embarrassment She had forgotten about her bruised larynx. Mike slid off his bed and came over to look at her slim throat carefully, one of his big hands resting casually against the side of her head. Staring up, she saw the dark blue bruise on his cheekbone where he had sustained a blow, and the sudden, unexpected terror of last night flooded back with an overwhelming power that made her body quiver. His hand tightened briefly.
“I think that after you use your voice a while, the hoarseness will dissipate,” he said, and his voice and face were so calm and matter-of-fact that she found herself back in control, and grateful for it.
“Oh, probably, but in the meantime I shall sound like a frog croaking,” she whispered, and grinned slightly when he laughed. He continued to laugh, though, without stopping when she would have considered it appropriate to. It had been, she thought, puzzled, a very mild joke. Her eyes narrowed on him as she crossed her legs and looked like a small sprite perched on the huge bed. “I take it you have a fondness for frogs?” she asked dryly.
Mike sat on the edge of the bed and the springs creaked with his weight. His expression was light, amused…admiring? Dee wondered at her own perception at that, doubting her own conclusion. His hand was still resting on her, now on her slim shoulder. “Remind me never to get into a fight with you,” he told her, still chuckling. “I’ve taken self-defense courses and consider myself fairly well equipped for whatever might occur, but you! Well, you’re something that just isn’t in the books. Where did you learn to kick like you did last night? That man went down like a ton of bricks, and he didn’t even know what had hit him!”
She chuckled, and it was a dry, painful sound. “Watching you, I guess. You knocked my feet right out from under me, if my memory serves me right. I don’t know, if I’d thought about it, I probably wouldn’t have done anything but sit on the ground and have hysterics!”
But he was shaking his head at that, saying, “No, you wouldn’t—you aren’t the type to have hysterics. You’d have looked around for something to hit him with. And I’ll bet you scarred the other one for life, by the amount of blood you had on you.”
“I certainly hope so,” she said, totally without remorse. She looked down at herself and shuddered with disgust at the dried blood on her sweater. “He certainly bled like a pig! I need another bath.” A hot one, she thought longingly, and then her expression became more serious, troubled, frightened. “Mike, why—why do you suppose they attacked me?”
His own expression changed, something dark showing before he carefully masked his features. “I can only guess,” he replied flatly, running his hand through his hair. “And I’ve been doing nothing but guessing all morning. They couldn’t have known who you really are—the only people who know that are you and I, and of course your guardians, whom I’ve kept up to date.” His hand left her shoulder. She found that she missed its weight and she shied away from the thought. “It could have certainly been a random crime; but they didn’t take your bag last night, so I’m afraid they must have had something uglier in mind.” She shuddered convulsively, and his expression gentled. “Don’t dwell on it, though! Nothing irrevocable happened, and you’re safe now. But, Dee, we need to talk. There are some things that I’d like to understand better about you before we go anywhere or do anything else. And I think we need to give you a little time to rest up and recover a bit, and let your bruises heal. Can we call a truce? I won’t force you to go anywhere, and I won’t get in touch with your aunt and uncle for a while. In return, you won’t scamper off the very moment I turn my back! And we both know you could do it, too, and get away with it, if only for a while. And we both know, don’t we, that I’d come right after you. Something’s got to be resolved. Can we trust each other for a while? Can we let things slide a bit?”
She dropped her eyes. His simple words shook her so, and she wanted badly to do what he asked. She wanted to trust him. “All right. What are we going to do? I’d like to go ba
ck home…” At her choice of words, his brows shot up and she knew he thought she meant Kentucky. “…because I’ll bet Mrs. Gordon is going out of her mind with worry. And I really should get in touch with my boss, at work.”
Mike had a strange expression on his face. “Do you really consider that place home?”
Her blue eyes rested on him with sombreness. “Yes, I do. I’ve made it my home. I’ve worked hard and I’d saved money, and I’d wanted to go to college. I decorated that tiny little room with all of the colours I love best…yes, it’s home to me.”
He was silent for a few minutes, his brows drawn down into a frown and his lips pursed thoughtfully. “I talked to Mrs. Gordon before I left and told her you’d received some rather bad family news, and she doesn’t expect you back any time soon. I don’t know what your situation at work is like. What do you think you should do?”
“They aren’t expecting me back any time soon,” she whispered, and felt suddenly a heavy weight of depression settle on her. “In fact, Sammy isn’t expecting me back at all. He knew the truth about me, you know. When you showed up at the restaurant I wrote him an explanation and said goodbye.” Her face crumpled up into tears as a lost feeling gobbled her up and she said raggedly, “I guess I don’t really belong there, any more. That’s the problem, isn’t it—I don’t belong anywhere—I don’t fit in anywhere!” She tried to cross her arms over herself, but was unable to do so, because Mike was there and taking her gently, holding her against his broad comforting, supportive chest. She succumbed to her own need and crept over to sit on his lap, like a child, and her arms slid around the strong column of his warm neck. She just hid her face in his sweater and cried.
The Great Escape Page 8
