Remy’s voice came from behind her. “Dana? It sounded like we have company.”
She looked around. He stood in the kitchen doorway. Or filled it would have been more accurate. Why did she keep forgetting about his size? “Uh, yes.”
His gaze went to the window, then snapped back to her. His jaw hardened. His nostrils flared.
She edged away from him, suddenly breathless.
“It’s a cop,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Why would a cop come up here, Dana?”
She mentally measured the distance to the door. This was no time for doubts, and it was too late for finesse. She spun around and ran.
Had she thought he had moved quickly yesterday when he had tumbled her to the floor? That was nothing compared to the speed with which he moved now. Before she could take more than two steps, he grabbed her by the arms and hauled her back against his chest.
Where was the man who had just chuckled over her cat? Where was the tender lover who had kissed the side of her neck and spoken of loneliness?
“What have you told them?” he demanded.
Should she play dumb? Should she try to continue the act? “John, what are you talking about?”
He turned her around and loomed over her, his gaze boring into hers. “No more lies, Dana. You know who I am, don’t you,” he stated.
“What do you mean?”
“You know damn well. You’ve known all along.”
“No, I—”
“Why else did you run?”
She tried to hold his gaze, she really did. She had lied just fine for two days, but now his mask of harmlessness was gone. Even without the long hair and the outlaw mustache, there was no mistaking the dangerous look in his eyes. She glanced out the window at the approaching policeman. If she broke away, could she make it to the door? Would a scream carry all the way to the path?
Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face. Remy’s breath hissed out on a curse. It didn’t seem possible, but his features hardened even more. “I hadn’t wanted to believe it,” he muttered. “I’d hoped you were different, Dana.”
How dare he? she thought. Out of the turmoil of her emotions, the anger she had been feeling minutes ago resurfaced. He was the criminal here. He’d been the one to initiate all the lies, so how could he be looking at her as if she had disappointed him? She threw her weight backward and kicked out, trying to break his hold.
He grunted when her toe connected with his shin, but he didn’t release her. He changed his grip to enclose her wrists with one hand and put his other arm behind her back, lifting her from the floor. In two strides he pinned her to the wall with his body. “Please, don’t fight,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She continued to struggle, but his body was as solid as the wall at her back. “Let me go, Remy.”
It was the first time she had spoken his real name aloud, and it was obvious by the way his eyebrows angled together that it jarred him. She parted her lips to scream.
Remy stretched her arms over her head and covered her mouth with his palm. “I’m sorry, Dana. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but I have no choice. I can’t let you turn me in.”
From the corner of her eye she could see that Savard was less than twenty feet from the cabin now. She shook her head.
“I need your cooperation.”
She squirmed and made a noise in her throat.
He held her in place effortlessly while he glanced over his shoulder. A muscle twitched in his cheek. “For God’s sake, Dana, there’s no time for this. Keep still and listen.”
His order only made her struggle harder.
Remy swore and brought his face so close to hers their noses touched. “That cop is going to be here any second. When I answer the door, you follow my lead.”
“Mmph!” she grunted.
“We’re crazy about each other, got it?” he said through his teeth. “You didn’t have any trouble playing along up to now. You were so good, you almost convinced me. All you have to do is keep it up.”
She narrowed her eyes and considered biting his hand. Keep it up? Play along? What kind of fool did he take her for? The truth was out in the open now. How could he possibly expect her to pretend—
“Tell the cop we’re engaged. I’ll explain everything to you later.”
Her pulse was pounding in her ears, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. His grip and his body were like steel, hard and unyielding. His face was as cold as the black-and-white mug shot she had seen on the news.
If there ever had been a time to get frightened, this was it. He was twice her weight. He was a convicted killer. She knew it, and now he knew that she knew it.
Yet she still didn’t fear him. Was it adrenaline? Was she nuts?
“Dana, please!”
The naked desperation in his gaze bypassed her brain to stir something deep inside her. For an instant she almost complied.
But then sanity reasserted itself. She wrenched her mouth free from his hand. “No!”
“Then I’ll tell that cop you’re my accomplice.”
She jerked her head back. “No. You can’t.”
“You took me into your home. You’ve sheltered me for days,” he said, his voice fast and harsh. “That’s called aiding and abetting a fugitive. No one’s going to believe you weren’t willing. It’ll be your word against mine.”
There was the sound of boots on her doorstep. A series of sharp knocks rattled the cabin door.
Remy released her wrists and grasped her by the shoulders. “I know how it works. You’ll be arrested. You’ll go to court. All it takes is an accusation and people will believe you’re guilty.”
She hesitated, his threat finally sinking in. “You wouldn’t.”
He stepped back suddenly, and she staggered against the wall. “Believe me, Dana, I would do anything,” he said. “Whatever it takes.”
Another series of raps vibrated the door. A voice sounded faintly from outside. “Miss Whittington?”
Remy moved to the door. He paused with his hand on the latch and fixed her with a hard stare. “Don’t even think about calling my bluff. I’m not bluffing. I have nothing left to lose, Dana, but you do.”
She looked wildly around the cabin. No one would believe him if he named her his accomplice, would they? Surely justice wouldn’t be that blind. An innocent person wouldn’t be convicted. Her family would stand by her. So would her friends…
But she had cut herself off from them in order to write. They already thought she was eccentric. And what about her publisher and her fans? Who would buy her books for their child if she was accused of helping a murderer? Even if the charge was thrown out of court, the damage would be done, her reputation would be tarnished.
This could end her career. What would she do if she couldn’t create stories, if she couldn’t share with her readers the love she would have given her own child? That was all that had kept her going. That was all she had left.
Damn him! she thought, blinking back a sudden rush of tears. He was right. He had nothing left to lose, but she did. Oh, God, did she ever.
Remy heard the third knock and knew he couldn’t delay any longer. Had the alterations he’d made to his appearance been enough to pass a cursory inspection? If they hadn’t, he was about to find out. Slumping his shoulders in an attempt to take a few inches off his height, he yanked open the door.
The policeman was heavyset, on the far side of middle age and—thank God—a complete stranger. He had the relaxed posture of a neighbor paying a social call, but Remy didn’t underestimate him for a second. It took all his self-control not to flinch at the sight of the uniform. “Good morning,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
The man coughed, then whipped a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “I’m looking for Dana Whittington,” he said when he was done.
Remy forced himself to project a facade of calm. He’d found that people saw what they expected to se
e. When he’d appeared in court shackled by handcuffs and leg irons, no one had seen an innocent man. He hoped the reverse held true and that no one would be expecting a wanted fugitive to answer the door boldly in broad daylight. Nor would anyone expect a respectable citizen to vouch for him. He turned his head and called, “Honey?”
Dana was still standing by the wall where he had left her. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was in a tangled cloud, and her sweater was twisted tightly across her breasts. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her unsteady breathing.
Was she going to go through with it? Would she do what he’d said? Remy had hated coercing her, but what choice had there been? He only hoped that Dana believed he was enough of a bastard to make good his threat. He looked at her hard and held out his hand. “There’s a policeman here to see you.”
She took a moment to regain her breath before she came forward. “Yes. Hello, Constable Savard.”
“Good morning, Miss Whittington. Is everything all right?”
Remy’s stomach turned to stone. She knew this cop by name. They didn’t appear to be friends, so she must have dealt with him on a professional level. And he had obviously noticed how disheveled she was.
Thinking fast, Remy took Dana’s hand and twined his fingers with hers. “Sorry about taking so long to answer the door,” he murmured, dropping his voice. “Dana and I were…” He paused, hoping the man would assume they had been busy doing what most couples would do together in a private cabin. Her flushed cheeks and disordered clothing could have been the results of passion rather than a physical struggle. “We were…talking.”
Savard’s face remained impassive. “I’d like to follow up the report you made last week, Miss Whittington,” he said. “Do you mind if I come in?”
Remy felt Dana’s hand tremble as they moved aside to let the policeman enter. Whether it was from fear or frustration or anger, he couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter, he reminded himself, as long as she played her part.
Now he knew for certain that Dana had been lying all along. Somehow she must have heard the news, put the facts together and reported him to the police the day he had left. She must have met this Savard before Remy had returned to the lodge. She had been playing him for a fool for days while she waited for the chance to alert the authorities.
Considering the way he had used her—and was continuing to use her—he had no right to feel betrayed.
Constable Savard’s gaze went from Remy to Dana. “Perhaps you’d prefer it if we could speak privately, Miss Whittington?”
Remy gave her hand a warning squeeze.
She shook her head. “No, this is fine. My…fiancé and I don’t have any secrets.”
There was no time to even begin to feel relief. This was merely the first hurdle.
The cop pulled out a notebook from his coat and flipped it open. “And your name, sir?”
Remy was about to use John Becker’s name again, but paused when he saw Dana glance up at him. She had made a report. That meant she had probably given the name he had been using. “Josh Lawrence,” he said, picking a name out of the air.
Savard scribbled in his notebook, then used his handkerchief to smother a sneeze. “Excuse me. I picked up this cold three days ago. It’s a real killer.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dana said. “There’s a lot going around.”
“This weather doesn’t help.” He wiped his eyes. “How have things been up here?”
“Uh, quiet.”
“No more trouble?”
“No.”
He had been right not to underestimate the cop, Remy decided. Savard was being deliberately cagey with his questions, despite Dana’s claim that she had no secrets from her fiancé. It was time to take a gamble, he decided.
“Have you caught him yet?” Remy asked.
Savard looked up quickly. “Who?”
“That murderer, Leverette.” He wrinkled his forehead. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Dana told me all about the way he showed up here in the storm, pretending to be some stranded motorist.” He rubbed the back of Dana’s hand with his thumb. “It scared the hell out of me when I heard what had happened. I got here as soon as I could.”
“You told me that you lived alone,” Savard said, turning his attention back to Dana.
Beneath his light caress, Remy could tell she was as stiff as a block of ice. “Yes, most of the time,” she said.
“Our wedding date’s not until the spring,” Remy improvised. “In the meantime, we have to be discreet because of Dana’s fans. My fiancée told you she’s a children’s author, didn’t she?”
“Yes, Miss Whittington did mention something about writing.”
At the mention of her profession, Dana stiffened even more. “This whole thing has ruined my concentration,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I keep thinking about how there was a murderer right here in my cabin.”
Savard cleared his throat. “I did some checking, Miss Whittington, but I haven’t yet been able to confirm your story.”
“What do you mean?”
“Apparently there was a man named John Becker from Toronto who was in this area during the storm, but I’ve been unable to contact him. It’s possible that your visitor was exactly who he said he was.”
Remy was a long way from being able to smile, but he felt the lump in his stomach loosen. This was a stroke of luck he hadn’t anticipated, yet it made sense. Becker was a salesman, according to the day planner that had been in his coat pocket. It wasn’t unreasonable that he would be off on another business trip.
But what about when Becker returned? Once the cops had a chance to talk to him, it would be only a matter of time before they put together the truth. When they did, they would come back to the resort, and next time they would bring a lot more firepower than one, lone middle-aged cop with a bad cold.
How long did he have? Days? Hours?
All the more reason to establish a rock-solid identity as Dana’s fiancé so he could make the most of the time he had left.
“But whether this turns out to have been a false alarm or not,” Savard continued, “it would be a good idea to be careful about who you let in your door, Miss Whittington, considering how isolated you are out here.”
“Yes, I’ll have to remember that,” she said.
“Have you made any progress tracking down that fugitive?” Remy asked. “We haven’t seen anything on the news lately about him.”
“No, Leverette is still at large,” Savard said.
“Then that settles it, honey.” Remy brought Dana’s hand to his mouth. He kissed her knuckles, hoping Savard didn’t notice how white they were. “I don’t care what your publicist says about the gossip. With a maniac like Leverette on the loose, I’m not leaving you alone again.”
“Gee, thanks Josh,” Dana said, her tone as cold as her fingers.
The policeman’s gaze narrowed.
Remy tensed. He couldn’t tell whether Savard was buying the act yet. It could go either way, but he didn’t know what else he could do without coming on too strong. He didn’t want to overplay his hand. An innocent man wouldn’t feel the need to prove he was telling the truth. He would assume the truth would speak for itself.
Then again, he’d learned the hard way that truth didn’t always work.
Something bumped against his shins. There was a familiar meow before Morty sat on his toes and screeched.
Savard appeared startled. “What’s wrong with that cat?”
Remy bent down to scoop Morty up and settled him in the crook of his arm. “I was just about to feed him when you arrived. He likes to pretend he’s starving.”
“Your cat was a lot quieter when I was here before.”
“Morty’s shy with strangers,” Dana said.
Remy rubbed the spot behind Morty’s ears that made the cat purr and close his eyes in pleasure. “Hang on there, old fella,” he said. “I haven’t forgotten you.�
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The policeman continued to scrutinize him. “My wife has two cats. Persians.”
“Those are lovely animals,” Dana said.
“Picky animals. They’ve been with us two years and they’re just starting to tolerate me.” He closed his notebook and stuffed it away with his handkerchief. “Well, thanks for your time, folks. I’ll let you know if there are any developments.”
Remy saw that Savard’s suspicions were waning. Thank God for the pesky cat, he thought. Morty’s fondness of him seemed to have tipped the balance in his favor. Too bad he couldn’t get Dana to purr like that…
Or maybe he could. They were supposed to be engaged, weren’t they? And he’d already implied they had been doing a lot more than holding hands when Savard’s arrival had interrupted them. Remy put the cat back on the floor and shooed him toward the warmth of the kitchen. Slipping his arm around Dana’s waist, he drew her firmly to his side as they ushered the policeman to the door. When Savard started up the path to where he had parked his car, Remy dipped his head and whispered in Dana’s ear. “Smile.”
“What?”
“The cop can still see us.”
“I can’t—”
“Don’t forget, we’re in this together now.” He moved his hand lower and splayed his fingers over her hip. Framed in the doorway as they were, he knew the action would be clearly visible. “If I go down, so do you. Now smile and look as if you mean it.”
Her lips curved woodenly.
“More,” he whispered.
She flicked her gaze to the policeman and inched her smile up a notch so that her teeth showed.
From the corner of his eye, Remy could see that Savard had paused on the path to glance back at them.
Moving swiftly, Remy lowered his head and pressed his lips to Dana’s.
Shock must have kept her immobile. He had a quick impression of moist warmth and a sweet yielding, but then she tensed. Before she could pull away, Remy reached out with his free hand and swung the cabin door shut.
Instantly Dana twisted out of his grasp. She drew the back of her hand across her mouth. Color flooded her cheeks. “Why did you do that?”
Why? It probably hadn’t made that much difference to the cop—he had been leaving, anyway. Had it been the defiance in Dana’s gaze?
Fugitive Hearts Page 11
