And then she felt Jack stiffen. He cried out.
As he spilled into her, her consummation came, more powerful and complete than the two that Jack had given her before. Her cries echoed his cries. The world spun away.
Oh, how had she lived, she wondered inchoately, until this moment? Her life had been gray until this moment. And now it was a rainbow. A technicolor dream.
They lay entwined for the longest time. And then Jack rolled them both to their sides, so that they faced each other. Idly he smoothed her hair and then edged even closer to place a light kiss on her nose. Then he left her to rid himself of the condom.
He was back in no time, stretching out beside her once more.
She dared to reach out and touch his chest, to feel the hair there that was wiry over his nipples and became silky where it began its inviting trail down his abdomen. She felt one of the scars, jagged as a lightning bolt, that started in the curve of his shoulder and traveled down to his left nipple.
"Where did this come from?"
"An encounter with an angry barbwire fence, I think."
"And this one?"
"Hell, who knows?"
"The one on your leg, that curls around your calf?"
"In a bar on Alvarado Street
, when I was still a cop. I tried to break up a knife fight. Two mean drunks. I got a hold of one of them and was reading him his Miranda rights, when the other one, who was supposed to be passed out on the floor, crawled up and grabbed my leg and started—"
"Never mind. I get the idea." She kissed the jagged scar he'd said he'd acquired on a barbwire fence. Then she snuggled into his shoulder with a sigh. "Maybe we could just lie here like this forever."
She could hear his smile in his voice. "Not a bad idea."
His arm was wrapped around her, his hand tracing a heart on her upper arm. Then in one long stroke, his hand slid down her arm and over the gentle curve of her hip. Her belly jumped when he caressed the little cove between her pelvic bone and her abdomen.
"Hey."
She lifted her head. He snared her glance. She watched the heat kindle in his eyes.
He touched her, opening her. She looked down, watched his hand, even as she felt the magic beginning all over again. Olivia surrendered to it utterly, wishing the night would never end.
Her wish was not granted. Though for a few enchanted hours Olivia was sure that the wonder and power of their passion could hold back the dawn.
Still, the moment came when, through the open curtains of the window, the rising sun began painting the desert sky in iridescent strokes of orange and magenta.
Olivia buried her head against Jack's chest. "It's morning," she whispered. And then she yawned.
Jack lifted up a little and looked past her shoulder at the clock, which sat on the nightstand next to the phone.
"Yeah." He shook his head when he saw the time. He lay back down and she snuggled against him as he tucked the blankets more comfortably around them.
She kissed his chin and closed her eyes. She felt herself drifting toward sleep and smiled. "Good night. Or should I say, good morning?"
"Does it matter?"
"No. Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter at all."
She felt his hand, smoothing the hair back from her neck. She felt his lips on her forehead, right between her brows, in the most tender of kisses.
With a soft sigh Olivia let sleep have its way with her.
The phone by her bed was ringing.
Olivia reached out and grabbed it from its cradle just as it shrilled out a second ring, before she remembered that it was not her phone at all, but Jack's.
"'Lo?" She murmured the word without thinking how drowsy and contented she must sound.
"Olivia?" She recognized her father's shocked voice. "Olivia, my God, is that you?"
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
Olivia dragged herself to a sitting position.
"Olivia, are you there? Olivia!"
She looked at Jack. He was sitting up, too, by then. He stared back at her. His face was very strange, very still. His eyes were so deep. They told her nothing.
On the phone her father kept talking to her, saying her name. But she knew that he had not called to speak with her.
It was Jack he had called for. So she held out the phone. Jack took it.
"Yeah?" he said warily into the mouthpiece.
Her father started shouting at Jack. He shouted loud enough that Olivia could make out a few of the words. Her father called Jack a bastard. And she heard him say the word fired.
"Fine," was all Jack said. Then he held out the phone to Olivia. "He wants to talk to you."
Olivia took the phone. Very carefully she put it to her ear.
"Liwy?" her father asked. She could hear his fear for her and his love, but she felt no response to it. She felt numb, anesthetized.
"I told you that you had to leave me alone, Dad." She spoke slowly and precisely.
"Liwy, please, I—"
"Goodbye, Dad."
"Olivia, wait! Don't—"
Olivia quietly hung up the phone.
Sitting there in the silence of harsh morning, in the bed where she had known such tender ecstasy only hours before, she stared at Jack. He stared back.
And then the phone started ringing again.
Olivia turned to it, picked it up and found the plug where the cord was connected. She pulled it out.
"There," she said calmly as the ringing stopped. She tugged the sheet up to cover her breasts and then folded her hands in her lap. "Now. I think you owe me an explanation, Jack."
Jack looked at her, at the grim set to her pretty chin and the flat deadness in her eyes. He realized that it had all happened just as he'd feared it would.
He'd done it. Tossed away his last shred of self-respect. Made love to the sweetest, most innocent woman on earth without telling her the truth about himself first.
"I'm waiting, Jack." Her voice was as dead as her expression.
There was nothing to do now but one thing. Tell her. Time, as he had always known it would, had run out.
"I'm a private investigator," he said. "Your father hired me to keep an eye on you while you were in Las Vegas."
She stared at him. "I see."
He made himself continue. "It was a simple surveillance gig, or that was all it was supposed to be."
"But then I caught you watching me."
"Right. You caught me twice. And I knew it was either give up the job or make a move."
"You made a move."
He nodded.
"So this was all a job to you."
"Olivia—"
She put up a hand. "No. Never mind. Don't explain any more. I've heard enough. More than enough." She raked her hair back from her face and stared blankly at the bedspread. Then she lifted her head and looked at him, a vacant look. "I have to go now."
And with that she tossed back the covers and swung her feet to the floor. For a moment she hovered there, on the edge of the mattress, her slim back slumped, her head hung low.
Jack's gut clenched. He hated himself. "God. Olivia." He reached out.
"Don't." There was steel in her soft voice. Her shoulders straightened. "Don't touch me. Ever again."
His insides twisted at her words. He withdrew his hand.
She bent and slid on the red slippers. Then she stood. He watched her, wanting to stop her, knowing he wouldn't.
He remembered how young she had seemed—was it only last night? Right now she didn't seem young at all.
Her pale, slim body gleamed in the morning light. She was beautiful, the way a statue can be beautiful. He felt that if he did touch her now—which he wasn't going to do—her skin would be cold and smooth as marble under his hand.
She strode to the table, where her coat hung over a chair. He watched her round, tight buttocks, only vaguely aware that he was clutching the sheet in a death grip to keep from rising and preventing her escape.
>
She scooped up the coat and wrapped herself in its thick folds. She walked to the door.
She turned back to him before she went out. "Don't follow me anymore, Jack. If you do—" Her voice broke then. He saw the lost little girl inside of her. A pain shot through him, sharp and terrible. He had to look away. "If you do," she began again as he made himself face her once more, "I'll call the police."
She turned and went through the door, closing it softly behind her.
After she had gone, Jack didn't move for a while.
He was trying to convince himself that he should respect her wishes and give her what she wanted. He should leave her alone.
But then he knew he couldn't do that. After what he'd done to her, he couldn't just leave her alone out there in the big bad world. At the mercy of suspicious characters like himself.
He looked at the clock. It was seven minutes since she'd left. In her mental state she might do anything. She could just keep on walking, to the elevator, down to the lobby and right out the door.
"Please, God, don't let her do that," Jack muttered at the ceiling. He was not a religious man, but he was willing to try anything right then.
He threw back the covers, strode to his own suitcase and grabbed a pair of jeans and a sport shirt. He was packed and out the door in five minutes flat.
He needn't have hurried.
Olivia was in bad shape, but not so bad that she'd stroll out onto the Las Vegas Strip, wearing nothing but her sable and a pair of red high-heeled slippers.
She returned to her room.
When she let herself in, the phone was ringing. It would be her father, of course. She walked to the table by the love seat and unplugged it. When the extension in the bedroom kept on ringing, she marched in there and unplugged that one, too.
Then, when it was finally quiet, she sank to the side of the bed and rubbed her eyes. She looked at the clock. It wasn't even nine yet. She'd had about an hour and a half of sleep.
She felt terrible, all shaky and bewildered. But she knew that if she stretched out on the bed, the comfort of sleep would elude her. And even if she did manage to doze off for a while, she would still feel awful when she woke up.
Besides, there was her father to consider. He would be on his way here, she had no doubt. In a few hours he'd be pounding on the door.
She wasn't going to be here when Lawrence Larrabee arrived. He had meddled in her life one time too many. This thing with Jack was the last straw.
Jack.
Olivia hunched her shoulders, clutching her middle. Just thinking his name made her double over with pain. She had to stop thinking of him. She must forget him. Completely.
She made herself sit straight.
Then, shoulders back, she got to her feet and let the sable drop to the floor. She walked out of the red slippers. She went to the bathroom and stood under the shower, trying to clear her mind a little.
It didn't do much good. She got out and dried herself and tossed some more clothes on the floor, until she found some pink slacks and the big pink shirt that went with them. There was a cat's face embroidered on the shirt, a winking cat's face. It was a silly outfit, really. A silly outfit for a silly woman with a pointless life. She even found the pink flats that completed the ensemble. She'd be totally color coordinated as she ran off to Lord-knew-where.
When she was all dressed, she packed. Or she tried to pack. But she had no clue how to get her clothes back into all the suitcases and garment bags. Constance, who usually went with her whenever she traveled, always packed for her.
Finally she stuffed a few things into one of the smaller suitcases. Then she transferred her wallet and other essentials back to her shoulder bag from the evening purse she'd used last night. Slinging the shoulder bag in place, she grabbed the suitcase and her makeup case and headed for the door.
In the room she left a fortune in designer clothing, not to mention her sable. But what did she need with all those things, anyway? She was nobody, headed for nowhere. Starting fresh and traveling light.
She took State Route 95 because, when she got out on the highway, her car ended up on that road. It wasn't really important which road she took, though. As long as she wasn't headed back to L.A., any direction was fine with her.
State Route 95, as it happened, took her north and slightly west, through the high desert. She saw a lot of tall mesas and more sagebrush than she ever wanted to see again. She drove with single-minded concentration, stopping only when she had no choice, either for gas or to answer nature's call.
As morning faded into noon and noon moved along toward evening, she drove by high, stark peaks and past towns named Indian Springs, Beatty, Tonopah and Coaldale. It was nearing five and the sun was sinking toward the horizon when State Route 95 met up with Highway 80. At that interchange she switched directions a little and found herself heading straight for Reno.
Olivia reached Reno at six o'clock and left the highway briefly. Looking around in the gathering twilight, she decided that Reno was a lot like Las Vegas, only smaller. Also, it had pine trees instead of sagebrush.
She considered checking into a hotel for the night, especially since the air had the moist chill of a coming storm in it, and big dark clouds had rolled in, obscuring the early-evening sky.
But then she decided that she still wasn't ready to be cooped up inside four walls with only her own thoughts for company.
Better to keep moving.
She got back on the highway and went west, crossing into California. But then she kept seeing signs that said how far it was to Los Angeles. And she wasn't going to Los Angeles. She was going away from Los Angeles.
She turned off the main highway the next chance she got. By then, twilight had settled over the world. It was almost full dark. Then the rain started.
At first the rain was light. Olivia turned her wipers on low and had no problem. Occasionally a flash of lightning would bleach the angry darkness and make the tall trees on either side of the road seem to loom threateningly at the car. Then the thunder would roll.
Olivia drove on as the gathering darkness became true night, turning randomly each time she came to a crossroads. Soon enough, as the rain increased and each new road grew narrower and more twisted, she realized that she really had no idea at all where she was. Not that it mattered. She'd been headed for nowhere when she left Las Vegas, after all. And these tiny, rutted roads she was driving on made her more and more sure she was getting there.
Once she came to a crossroads that she was certain she'd been at before. The sign had the same unfamiliar places listed on it as the one she'd just seen a while back.
It came to her that she was probably driving in circles. A small shiver of uneasiness went through her. She tried to ignore it.
But the storm was becoming a little frightening. The rain grew progressively worse. It began beating at the windshield, heavy and thick. And now it was freezing a little, becoming slushy, half snow. She had to crane her head forward and squint her eyes to see the narrow road, even with the wipers on high.
Once or twice, far behind her, she caught a glimpse of the beams of another car's headlights when the road would straighten out for a little. But ahead there was only darkness. Sometimes she thought she saw the lights of cabins or houses tucked among the trees off the road, but by the time she spotted them, she'd be rounding another bend and the reassuring glimmer of brightness would be lost to her.
She began to feel very much on her own. More than once she found herself looking in her rearview mirror for a sign of that other vehicle behind her, to prove to herself that she wasn't completely alone on an unknown road.
She tried not to give in to anxiety. She told herself not to be foolish. Of course she would find her way out of this maze sooner or later. Actually it had barely been an hour since she'd turned off the highway. It only seemed like the middle of the night.
She would be okay. She would be just fine. She was in charge of her life and affairs.
&nbs
p; Right then her cute little foreign car made two small coughing noises and stopped running.
It took Olivia a moment to realize that she was slowing down and that pressing the gas pedal had no effect.
As soon as she accepted that the car wasn't working, she steered to the shoulder, a maneuver made possible by the fact that she was on a slight downhill grade at the time.
It was after she'd come to a full stop that she glanced at the gas gauge. It was as far to the bottom of the reserve space as it could get. And the little red signal light was on. Obviously it had been on for quite some time now.
With a tired groan, Olivia leaned her head on the steering wheel.
Oh, why hadn't she remembered to fill up in Reno? Her mind was simply not working very well.
She was fatigued from lack of sleep. She'd been driving for eleven hours, and she was using every ounce of willpower she had at every moment not to think of Jack.
Jack.
There, she'd done it.
With a moan that was half exhaustion and half wounded grief, she let her head drop back against the seat.
Jack.
Rain beat on the car. Lightning flashed, thunder boomed and rolled away.
Jack had betrayed her. He'd done worse than betray her. He'd deceived her. The Jack she'd thought she knew didn't even exist. He'd been her father's man all along.
She had thought that what had happened with Cameron was bad.
But that was nothing next to this.
Jack's deception was a lance, turning in the deepest part of her.
Making love with Jack had been the one bold and dangerous thing she'd ever done in her life. And it had all been a lie.
Jack was her father's employee. He had made love to her in the line of duty. Everything they'd shared had been a sham. As Olivia herself was a sham.
A poor little rich girl.
And girl was the right word. There was no point in kidding herself. In all the ways that mattered she was still a girl at twenty-nine. A girl no man would want without the added attraction of her daddy's millions.
Olivia looked up. The furious rain still beat on the windshield. And a pair of high beams shone in the rear window at her.
A HOME FOR THE HUNTER Page 8
