One Night At A Time

by Christa Conan

  Finally finished, and knowing she had to face the day, as well as her pain, she made the bed, the very act reminding her again of their shared passion, passion she had never known existed.

  Downstairs, she poured the last cup of coffee from the carafe and stared out the window above the sink. A blanket of snow decorated the landscape, a layer clinging to tree branches and covering the swing set. Several sets of footprints led back to the small opening in the surrounding woodlands. The wind had shifted, though, leaving certain branches bare and filling in some of the footprints. A drift was buttressed against the shed.

  As she watched, wind whipped again, tossing snow from the roof and throwing it across the patio. She shivered, the temperature in the house seeming to drop a couple of degrees. Absently she wondered how Doug managed to stay warm. Knowing him, she figured he probably didn’t feel it. At times, he seemed superhuman.

  She decided to brew fresh coffee and turn up the thermostat a couple of degrees. He might not feel the chill, but she did, more so since her emotions were involved.

  Suddenly, a shriek slashed from overhead speakers. A woman’s disembodied voice calmly stated, “Intruder alert, zone three.”

  A scream rose and died in Arielle’s throat. Hysteria battled rational thought as she frantically tried to decide what to do. Doug! She needed Doug.

  A glance out the window showed no signs of him. Oh, God, something couldn’t have happened to Doug.... Please, God, no, she prayed. She needed him.

  A shiver lanced up her spine, a shiver of bone-chilling fear. Her pulse slammed into a frantic staccato. Had the intruder left, or was he there, behind her, staring at her? Was he there to kill her? To kill them?

  Breath burned her lungs as she fought for calm. Panic solved nothing. But terror wasn’t easily harnessed.

  Her pulse pounded as the words intruder alert ricocheted around her and through her mind. She had to think. But how could she? Mouth dry and palms sweaty, she carefully made her way to the back door. Ripping it open, she rushed out back, nearly collapsing in relief when she saw Doug striding toward the house.

  “Doug!” she screamed, running through the snow.

  “Miss me?”

  “Thank God you’re back.”

  He frowned, wrapping her in the comfort of his arms.

  “What’s the matter? Need company in the shower again?”

  She barely noticed the cold or the dampness on his jacket. All she knew was that he’d protect her. She hadn’t realized how much the terror had paralyzed her until she saw him. She hadn’t been capable of thinking straight. All she’d known was she needed him...trusted him.

  “Arielle?”

  “He’s here.”

  “Who is?”

  She gulped at the frozen air, her teeth chattering.

  “Tell me once we’re inside,” he said, leading her back toward the house.

  “No!”

  “You’ll get sick out here without a coat.”

  “I don’t... We can’t go inside.”

  Doug looked down at her and saw the same fear on her face that had made his insides curdle the first day. Whatever scared the hell out of her then had been real. But this time, it meant more to him. He cared for her, had a personal mission to save her, to right the wrongs of the past. His nostrils pinched as he surveyed the landscape.

  He noted nothing different or unusual. Not that that came as a surprise. He’d checked the perimeter three times since dawn. Hell, he’d had to do something to burn off the energy that heated his blood.

  He’d spent half the night and all the morning trying to get her out of his soul. But he’d failed. How could he embrace shadows again, after experiencing the brightness his spirit craved? A hike through drifted snow in freezing temperatures hadn’t helped. The colder he grew, the more he longed for her heat.

  He told himself the Bahamas sounded good. But now he wanted company on the trip. He was in deep, deeper than he’d ever been, and, boldly, he swam away from the lifeline his mind tried to toss in his direction.

  He didn’t want to be rescued.

  Instead of clinging to the lifeline, he boldly ran toward a rope shaped like a noose. The closer he got to her, the tighter the knot became. He’d always been partial to his neck, just the way it was. So why wasn’t he running like hell away from her?

  He wasn’t rich enough to be able to afford involvement with her, with any woman, but he cradled her against him, regardless. He held her for a full minute, maybe because it was what she wanted. Maybe because it was what he wanted.

  “I saw a shadow in the bathroom mirror.”

  “Go on.”

  “When I looked, I didn’t see anything.”

  Snow-blasted around their calves and thighs, and he knew the wind was biting through her sweatshirt and blue jeans. In her tennis shoes, her toes had to be curled against the cold, but she didn’t complain. He extricated himself long enough to shrug out of his coat and drape it around her shoulders.

  “You think I’m being hysterical.”

  “Arielle, you don’t have a hysterical bone in your body.” But this time, he hoped she was mistaken, that the stress had driven her to see danger in harmless things. “The alarm said intruder alert in zone three.”

  His curse carried on the wind and fueled anger. He released his hold on her and unholstered the nine-millimeter. He carefully surveyed the landscape for the dozenth time, frustrated to note nothing out of the ordinary. This was a game of hide-and-seek. He didn’t like games, especially when he was on the hiding end.

  She shuddered, and he held her with his left arm, absorbing her shivers against his chest.

  “Doug, he might still be in there.”

  Leave it to her to lay it on the line, stating what he’d rather keep hidden. Her honesty humbled him.

  “What if he stood there, watching me?” Her voice dropped as she said, “Maybe he watched me getting dressed.”

  Doug’s jaw clenched tightly. Damn it all to perdition.

  “It may not be the jerk who’s after you, may not be Pickins. Could be someone wanting shelter from the cold.” He wondered if she’d take reassurance from the lie, or whether she’d see through it.

  “But it might be the guy I hired,” she countered. “He might have found us.”

  She had seen a shadow, then heard the alarm. So when and how had the perp gotten in, snuck past their defenses and Doug’s vigilance? How long had the intruder been out there, watching, waiting to make a move? “I’m on it.”

  “I want to stay with you.”

  He shook his head.

  “You can’t lock me up.”

  He could and would. “You’ll be safe in Rhone’s office.”

  “I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I don’t want to be worried about you if there’s someone in the house. I can’t afford the distraction.”

  Softly, against his chest, she said, “I’m not Kerry.”

  “And I’m no hero.”

  “I disagree. To me, you are.”

  “Don’t.” He looked down at her, seeing the fright, but, layered above it, drowning it out, a serving of strength. She was right that she wasn’t Kerry. She was so much more, meant so much more to him. And that left him defenseless. “Five minutes, Arielle. Give me five minutes.”

  He saw indecision in her eyes. She wanted to trust, but was afraid of that very thing. He knew what he was asking of her, knew what it would cost her.

  Finally, she released a soft sigh of defeat. “Five minutes?”

  “Not a moment longer,” he promised. “Stay behind me. You know the drill.”

  She worried her lip.

  Inside, he noted an untouched cup of coffee, air filtering through the overhead vents, and a trace of peach on the air. But it was the bite of fear that annoyed him. He didn’t want Arielle to be afraid ever again. When he found the son of a bitch who’d scared her, Doug intended to extract cold, slow revenge.

  Doug punched in the code for Rhone’s office,
then held open the door for her. Following, he grabbed a handheld shortwave radio and flipped the switch on the receiver that occupied a corner filled with state-of-the-art communication equipment. Before he headed out, he briefly explained how to operate the mike. “Don’t use it unless absolutely necessary. Understand?”

  At her nod, he pointed toward the secured phone. “Call Brian. Tell him I need reinforcements.”

  Her answering nod was more automatic than genuine. With her safe, he headed for the front room, cold blasting through the open window. Carefully detailing the placement of furniture and knickknacks in the room, he went to the window. Pistol propped in his hand, he checked the grounds. Tracks. Damn it. They led away from the house, but there were none heading toward the house.

  The questions remained. How the hell had he gotten in? And when? Had the faceless enemy been inside the house all night? Watching Arielle? Watching him? Watching them?

  The alarm had been set the entire time....

  Except when Doug brought in firewood earlier this morning. He cursed. A momentary lapse had been all it took. While he was in the shed, someone had walked into the house. That meant that the someone had been close, anxious for an opportunity to move in.

  And Doug, her protector, had gone on a perimeter check, locking Arielle in the house with a madman.

  The thought of what might have happened made a pulse thunder in his temple. Some hero. Some protector.

  Vowing to redouble his efforts at vigilance, he checked the rest of the house, even though it was obvious that the perp had toyed with Arielle, then left. In one of the bathrooms they hadn’t used, a metal tube of lipstick lay on the vanity, the insides smeared in the sink. The mauve tone, a subtle and becoming hint of color on Arielle’s lips, was a blatant and obscene contrast against the white porcelain. Doug swiped the sink, removing the remnants of the crude innuendo.

  Descending the steps two at a time, he reassured himself that for now, Arielle was safe, before allowing the urge for action, fed by the single-minded need to retaliate, to obliterate his need to be with her.

  He headed outdoors, careful to arm the system, before hunting down the tracks to the nearest oak tree.

  The tracks abruptly stopped, and a dislodged pile of snow covered the tree’s trunk.

  Whoever had been there had climbed the tree and jumped the privacy fence. Following the trail, he’d walked to the road...the road that had already been plowed.

  Doug exhaled in disgust. Defeat and determination both gnawing at him, he returned to the house, to Arielle.

  She was still on the phone to Brian, and she mutely offered the receiver to him. In answer to her raised brows, he shook his head.

  She perched on the edge of the desk, her struggle for bravery evident in the curve of her shoulders.

  “Understand you’ve had a visitor, boss.”

  “Lost him.”

  “I know you like good news.... Pickins was seen on a commercial flight out of Logan International yesterday.”

  Other than the Bruins, nothing much good had come out of Boston.

  “Destination?” He didn’t need to hear the answer. Denver.

  “Your jet’s fueled. I’m out of here in two minutes,” Brian said.

  “Rhone?”

  “He’s with me.”

  Doug reached to hang up the phone, only to have Brian’s voice halt the motion. “Got some more bad news.”

  “Wasn’t that enough?”

  “Destiny...”

  Doug rolled back his head. Grinding his back teeth, he inhaled deeply.

  “He got her?”

  “Big-time. Be prepared for some grumpy neighbors, not to mention your insurance agent. Your premiums will be supplying a chunk of change to the local glass company. The explosion blew out all the windows in a quarter mile.”

  “Job security.”

  “Not according to your agent. Says his loss ratio this year is in the toilet, no thanks to you. There’s more, boss.”

  “Go on.”

  “There was a flag tacked to a nearby dock....”

  “Marine Corps.”

  “No need to play twenty questions with you.”

  Doug was sick enough of games to be tempted to burn the cribbage board.

  . “Weird thing is that he spray-painted a picture of a pick on the flag, sort of like a sickle.”

  The Marine Corps flag was enough of a giveaway. Why did Pickins need to paint a pick on it? Pick had been his nickname. It was as if he wanted to be sure his identity was not mistaken.

  “On my way, boss.”

  Doug hung up, facing Arielle.

  “Brian told me about your boat. I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Yacht. She’s a yacht.” Then he corrected himself with a wince. “Was a yacht” The loss of Destiny didn’t even begin to register when compared to the thought of something happening to Arielle. A boat...a yacht...could be replaced. Arielle couldn’t

  “You didn’t find anyone?”

  He shook his head.

  “Are we safe?”

  “For now,” he hedged. The knowledge that someone, maybe Arielle’s assassin, had found them, made the tension three times thicker. He was out there, watching. Waiting?

  Doug considered the possibility of moving her to another location, but if someone was there, anticipating a move, they might walk into a trap. Much as his instincts screamed for immediate action, he needed to wait for backup. The house was safe...or would be, as long as he didn’t drop his guard for a single second.

  “Would you pour some coffee?” He didn’t want the caffeine, but she needed something to do.

  She nodded woodenly, the motion automatic, rather than sincere. It didn’t matter, though, as long as he kept her focused on moving forward.

  In the kitchen, she took out two clean mugs and filled them. Handing Doug his, she half turned to stare out the window and, as far as he could tell, looked at nothing in particular.

  “I heard you say Pickins sank your boat,” she said, steam rising from a cup to bathe her face.

  “Yeah.” He pulled out a chair to sit at the table. “Left his calling card. A flag with a spray-painted pick on it.”

  Her face drained of its remaining color. She sloshed coffee over the rim as she slid the cup onto the counter.

  He stood. “What is it?”

  “A pick?” she whispered.

  He nodded.

  “He had a tattoo...on his forearm.”

  Doug frowned as things clicked into place. “Who did?”

  “The man I... the man I hired.”

  Doug’s single curse singed his own ears.

  “I’m sorry, Doug.... I was trying to remember, but I couldn’t see well, and it was dark.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, striding to her. He gathered her close and held her tight. Bile burned his gut. “You couldn’t have known.”

  He saw tears swimming at the corners of her eyes. “I hired the man who wants...to kill you.”

  The irony of it struck Doug. Pickins, just released from prison, had had no money and no means to exact his revenge... until Arielle innocently blundered into something she had no understanding of. And Pickins, probably laughing the whole time, wanted Doug to know that the woman he was protecting was the one who’d sealed his death warrant.

  Pickins had played them all for fools, and Arielle was in more danger than Doug had ever imagined. The small amount that she had seen would prove a positive ID of Pickins.

  He stroked the tears from her eyes.

  “I led him straight to you,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Not likely, when the agency’s listed in the phone book. You simply provided him the monetary means to accomplish his goal. The fact that you unknowingly led him to me was a bonus for him.”

  “But—”

  “It’s me who’s at fault. I should have sent you with Brian. Pickins wants me, not you, not Brian.”

  “You tried to send me away. I wouldn’t go.”

  The
reminder didn’t lessen the guilt.

  “I wanted to be with you.” She reached up her hand and traced his cheek with tenderness, with recollection. “You asked for my trust, I’ve given it to you.”

  His heart squeezed at the enormity of what she offered, both burden and blessing.

  “And no matter what happens,” she continued, “I’m glad we met. I have no regrets where you... we... are concerned.”

  His eyes closed.

  “Doug, I don’t expect you to feel the same.”

  He opened his eyes, seeing sincerity and more, love in her eyes.

  “But I want you to know that I—”

  He sealed off her confession with his lips. She didn’t love him, couldn’t love him. He didn’t believe in the emotion. More, he didn’t trust it.

  Kerry had offered him her love, and he’d been unable to save her.

  That wouldn’t happen with Arielle. He deepened the kiss, and she made the confession with her body, if not her words. He didn’t deserve her, he knew.

  Didn’t deserve her love.

  Chapter 15

  Arielle sighed in frustration and tossed down her cards. Neither she nor Doug had glanced at the cards since she dealt the hand, several minutes ago. The tick and tock of the clock echoed off the house’s shadowed log walls, the overcast sky adding hours to the time, making it seem later than early afternoon.

  Looking up at her, he asked, “Had enough?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, standing and wrapping her arms across her chest. “I feel like a fish in a pond, just waiting for someone to toss in a hook.”

  Doug had closed all the blinds, but they’d stayed in the kitchen, near enough to the office, where she could take refuge, and near enough to the action for him to respond instantly.

  So far, since he returned to the house, she’d avoided asking the question uppermost in her mind, half-afraid of the answer. But the not knowing was driving her crazier than the truth. “You know who was in the house, don’t you?”

  “Someone who likes hide-and-seek.”

  “Doug...”

  He threw down his cards. “I don’t have proof.”