by Adrianne Lee
Lyssa closed her eyes. What was it that she knew? Who? Who was doing this to her? She felt like screaming. Instead, she opened her eyes and stared at the headliner, the pressing darkness relieved only by the dull gleam of dashboard lights. “Are we being followed?”
“Not so far.” Craig answered. “But don’t get up until I tell you. We’re at Bob’s driveway now.” The tension in his voice echoed the tension zipping along her veins.
The car took a sudden sharp left, then ascended, bouncing up a rutted road. Pressed against the back of the seat, Lyssa strained to hear, fearing that at any second the crunch of tires on the gravel behind them would shatter her fragile sense of security. That the revolver would be needed.
A second later, Craig parked, turning off the engine. He opened his door, whispering, “Don’t get out of the car.”
Lyssa heard the gentle clicking as he closed the door, heard his muffled footsteps as he raced behind the car, and presumably down the road they’d just come up. Then all was quiet. Too quiet. She waited a minute. Two. Three. Four. Had something happened to him? She could almost feel the air inside the car dissipating. Why couldn’t she remember what it was that could solve this for her? Sweat pooled on her upper lip. What if the stalker found her cowering in this car? She was a sitting duck. At least outside she’d have a fighting chance.
She opened her door as quietly as Craig had closed his. Clutching the purse to her belly, she left the car. The night air was chilly on her clammy skin.
The Ford was parked before an A-frame cabin that was centered on about a quarter acre of cleared land. Behind it, the forest grew dense up the mountain side. In front, the view was incredible--all the sprinkling of home and business lights twinkling against the darkness as if for her pleasure. It gave her none.
The stalker was out there somewhere…waiting for her. Maybe coming up the driveway even now.
Panic blossomed inside Lyssa. Where was Craig? He'd been gone well over five minutes. She jammed her hand into her purse and withdrew the pistol. Just in case. Just in case. She scrutinized the moonlighted driveway, seeking his familiar form, dreading that other form.
A low growling brought her jerking around. Her heart crawled into her throat. A huge black Mastiff was advancing on her, its teeth bared. Lyssa gulped. Her racing heart seemed to stop altogether. “Nice doggie.”
Another growl.
“I’m friend not foe.” She stuck a shaking hand toward him, praying he wouldn’t snap it off with those fearsome fangs. Any sudden moves, even a dash for her open car door, might spur an attack. She gripped the gun tighter. “Nice, doggie.”
His breath fogged the cool air as he gained on her.
Horrified at the thought, but realizing it might be her only option, she said, “Don’t make me shoot you, fella.”
“Cannibal!” Craig’s voice cut through the tension, catching the dog by surprise as much as it had Lyssa. Cannibal glanced from one to the other, his ears twitching. Craig continued talking to him in gentle tones as he approached.
Somehow, Lyssa’s legs held her upright. Her body was as rigid as one of the pines behind the cabin. Three feet from the dog, Craig hunkered down, offering his hand for Cannibal to catch his scent. She held her breath. The Mastiff took his time deciding. Then his stance slackened slightly and he retracted his teeth. Craig let out an audible sigh.
Relief sloughed through Lyssa. Craig glanced over his shoulder. “What are you doing out here? I told you to wait in the car.”
“You were gone so long…”
“I was listening to see if anyone came up the drive.”
“And?”
“Nothing.” He had a hold of the dog’s collar. “Now, come…slowly. Cannibal’s not a pet, but once he knows you’re a friend, he won’t harm you.”
Lyssa shoved the gun into her purse and with stiff, measured steps walked toward them. Craig reached for her hand, and she clutched his as if it were a lifeline. A moment later, Cannibal sniffed her hand. Lyssa couldn't stop trembling.
Craig rose. “At night or whenever Bob is away, Cannibal patrols the perimeters. We’ll be as safe as if we were in jail. Safer.”
“It’s not the dog. It’s--” Hell, it was everything. The whole ordeal. Grandy. The stalker. The hit-and-run accident. Tonight. All of it crashing down on her.
Releasing her hand, he drew her into his arms. “It’s all right.”
Was it? Would anything ever be all right again? She nuzzled against his chest, feeling the first sense of reassurance in hours, feeling protected, sheltered. She hadn’t trusted any man for three years. Since Kevin’s betrayal. But she trusted Craig Rival…with her heart…with her very life.
He led her to the door, deactivated Bob’s security system, reactivating it as soon as they were inside and had turned on a few lights. Eucalyptus scented the air. The cabin was small, clean, and open. An eating counter, shaped like a J, was the only division between living room and kitchen.
Lyssa noticed a spiral staircase leading to the loft that served as the second floor, and likely Bob’s bedroom. The police sergeant seemed fond of red, white, and blue, and she decided, the combination gave his home a cheery, masculine appeal.
“Why don't you sit down?” Craig gestured toward the overstuffed, navy leather sofa.
As she complied, he began filling the red brick fireplace with kindling. “A nice fire will take the chill off this place.”
And he was right. Within the hour, she had ceased trembling, had realized how hungry she was and joined him in preparing steaks, potatoes, and a salad.
Now they sat close together on the sofa, plates on their laps, the fire crackling, and soft music on the stereo. He said, “More wine?”
She extended her glass, appreciating his refrainment from the subject of the attacks on her. Dwelling on that another moment tonight would strip the fragile layers of her composure. She needed this normalcy, this reaffirmation of life as she’d never needed it before in all her twenty-eight years. She sipped her wine, then asked, “Why is it you’ve never married?”
Craig studied her face. She was calmer than he’d seen her in hours. Thank God. And here at least was a subject he could talk about. “My parents had one of those wonderful marriages most people dream about but seldom accomplish.” He gave her a wry grin. “I’m not willing to settle for less. And so far, most of the women I’ve been serious about, cared more about what I could give them, than they cared about me.”
Lyssa could relate to that. “Well, I don’t care to ever try marriage again.”
“Pretty bad experience, huh?”
“The worst. Try finding your mate in bed with your sexy cousin.”
So, that explained her hostility toward Ginger Van Allen. He grimaced. “Ouch.”
Lyssa nodded. “I thought Kevin loved me. Now I realize he’s incapable of really loving anyone. He’s stingy and selfish, a real ego maniac.” Then again, what could she have expected from an insecure man who made his living by his looks? Probably all male models weren’t as vain as Kevin was, but if they were, she supposed it was a hazard of their profession, what with everyone always telling them how wonderful they looked. A clamminess swept her skin. Shakily, she lifted her wine glass and sipped. Thoughts of Kevin always upset her, and she didn’t want to be upset. Not tonight. Talk about something else. “You know the DeHaviland history--why Mom and Grandy want the Purity back in my family--but none of us know why it’s so important to you.”
Now it was Craig’s turn to face difficult memories. “As you know, the necklace was created as a wedding gift, as a symbol of the purity of the groom’s love for his bride.”
“My great, great grandfather and grandmother.”
Craig nodded. “As per tradition, Dad gave Mom the necklace on their wedding day. She treasured it, as she did him, and he did her.” A tender gleam came into his dark eyes. “She used to look at it the same way your grandmother looked at it, as if it had some magical power. My mother’s dying wish was that I give
it to my bride, the daughter-in-law she would never know.”
Lyssa felt a catch in her chest. She’d once wondered if family meant as much to him as it did to her. Obviously it did. His mother sounded like someone she’d liked to have known, and at long last, she understood his possessiveness of the Purity, and could, indeed, relate to it.
She watched him walk across the room to the stereo. The wine was making her languid. She stretched her legs onto the coffee table as if this were her own home. She was comfortable here with Craig. Something about him relaxed her. Maybe it was his upbringing. She envied him growing up in a harmonious environment.
Michael Bolton’s soulful voice, eschewing the virtues of loving, issued from the speakers. Lyssa sighed. Her parents’ idea of loving was screaming--about everything. Wincing at the memories, she swallowed more wine. She doubted very much--as Grandy seemed to think--whether the Purity would have smoothed the rough waters of their matrimonial seas.
The DeHavilands hadn’t helped either, siding with her mom after every quarrel, until Roxanne’s loyalties shredded and her marriage collapsed. The sad truth was, although they still loved one another, her parents simply couldn’t live together.
Given that and her own experience, she thought Craig wise not marrying until he was certain. Marriage was such a gamble. You had to be willing to risk your heart and soul, give up your independence, and sometimes your individuality. A heavy price. And even then, outside influences could rip it apart.
She gathered the dishes, carried them to the sink and loaded the dishwasher as Craig wrapped the leftovers and cleaned the counter and grill. Sharing the mundane task like any couple on an autumn night. Except that they weren’t any couple, and this night hadn’t been like any other night. She tensed. No, she would not think about it.
“All done?” As if he’d seen the slight tensing of her shoulders, Craig gripped her by the upper arms and gently pulled her around, then brought his deft fingers to her neck and massaged the taut muscles. His face was inches from hers, his warm breath fanning her lashes, her cheeks, her lips.
She gazed up into his black-brown eyes, saw the smoldering light there, and felt a jolting current of awareness course through her, that sudden flaring of desire that possessed her whenever he was near.
“Maybe this isn't the perfect time or place…” The huskiness in his voice intensified the sweet shivers streaming through her. “But you’re leaving tomorrow and there may never be another moment for us. I want you, and I think you want me.”
He wasn’t asking for a commitment. No, this was something much simpler, much more basic and it was something she was ready and willing to give.
“Oh, yes.” A quavery breath rushed from her as his hands left her shoulders, skimmed down her arms, then up again, higher, higher, grazing the sensitive flesh of her neck, until they cupped her head, and he lowered his mouth to hers. The contact was like an explosion, releasing need and hunger in equal doses. Her bones seemed converted to water, water that was being slowly heated to a roiling boil.
She heard herself murmur his name as she wrapped her arms around his neck, laced her fingers through his thick blue-black hair and arched her body against his. Craig carried her into the living room and laid her gently on the thick area rug that was spread before the fireplace.
Lyssa felt as if she were sinking into a sumptuous abyss. All that seemed to matter was this place, this man, this overpowering need to give and take. She had no memory of clothes disappearing, only of his glorious nakedness brushing hers. She surrendered to his touches, his kisses, the forays of his erotic tongue, and with her long hair whisking his belly like silken blonde feathers, she bestowed and explored in like turns.
Then he was pulling her to him, his lips claiming hers as his body claimed hers, joining, uniting in the age-old way that felt as if they’d just invented it. Joy and passion rocked through her with every thrust, searing her as if she’d been burned by the fire, lifting her as if she were soaring toward the moon on wings of love. And then heaven and all its stars came tumbling down to meet her in a wild, giddy explosion as brilliant and breathtakingly beautiful as the grandest fireworks display.
Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms, warmed by the fire, gentled by the dim lighting, lulled by the sensuous music and the slowing of their hearts.
Craig brushed a lock of hair from her face. Stripped of his condom, he wore only a wry grin. “You really are a witch.”
“What…?”
“An enchanting sorceress.” And he was her willing captive. Instead of getting her out of his system…he wanted her all the more. She smiled up at him, and he reached for her again.
Sunday
Around ten, Bob arrived with the Lexus which had been given a thorough going over by the Belmont police lab. “Picked up a few clues. I’ll let you know if anything specific turns up on it.”
Lyssa and Craig thanked him, then started for Seattle. Craig realized Lyssa seemed calmer, as if their lovemaking had managed to restore her sense of well-being. She still hadn't remembered what she’d seen or what she knew that was putting her in jeopardy. Maybe he could help. “Why don’t you tell me everything you can remember about that Monday, the last time you saw the faux and the Purity together?”
They spent the next hour examining her memories of that day, but as Seattle came into view, neither had come up with one thing someone might call threatening. Craig felt as if they were getting nowhere like tires spinning on ice. One glance at Lyssa told him she was every bit as frustrated. He reached for he hand and changed the subject. “I never told you what I decided about the faux.”
Over the last twenty-four hours, Lyssa had come to a new realization about the faux. She stared at the traffic, seeing instead the disappointment that would soon be on Grandy’s face. “Forget it. You were right. Perhaps a faux would have fooled Grandy last week…before she held the real one. But last week I hadn’t considered I was making a mockery of her beliefs, and now I know that’s exactly what the faux is. She deserves better from me.”
As he exited Interstate 5 onto the Madison Avenue ramp, he said, “You tried to do something special for her. You wanted to grant her dying wish, and if it weren’t for--” He bit off the words. So much for changing the subject.
They stopped at her hotel long enough for Lyssa to change clothes. Craig was wearing blue jeans, cowboy boots, a white cotton shirt and his black leather jacket. She changed clothes into something similarly comfortable, equally generic, and they were soon back in the Lexus, winding through the streets of Seattle toward Pike Place Market, the oldest, continuously operated farmers market in the United States.
She couldn’t think of any place quite like it. Part of its appeal was that no national or regional chain stores or franchise businesses were allowed; it was a small business owner’s haven.
Lyssa was consulting with one such merchant, and afterward Craig and she would enjoy a late lunch at Cutter’s Bayhouse before he took her to the airport.
The crisp October day radiated with sunshine. People were out in droves, meandering among the stalls and shops, sampling the astonishing variety of ethnic and regional foods, selecting fresh seafood and produce.
Lyssa, her nose twitching at the ripe odor of fish, led Craig through the main arcade, past the famous bronze pig, and down a flight of the stairs to the first floor which reminded her of a mall with shops lining each side of a long walkway. Foot traffic was less congested.
The store she sought was near the stairs and sold women’s clothing. The owner, a disgruntled matron, who didn’t trust men, eyed Craig with suspicion. Lyssa suggested he window-shop until she finished.
Her business took almost an hour longer than expected. Through the shop window, she spotted Craig out in the main walkway, watching a man demonstrate a child’s toy. She smiled and headed for the door. But when she got outside, Craig had moved away. Foot traffic had grown denser. She scanned the crowd, then some distance away, near the stairs, she spied his blue/bl
ack hair, his black leather jacket.
His back was to her and he was too far away to hear her call his name unless she shouted. She started after him. The way he shifted his head from one side to another, it seemed something had his attention. Something down the stairwell. As if to confirm this, he started down the stairs.
Pressing her shoulder bag--the gun tucked inside--tight against her hip bone, she hurried after him as fast as her sore ankle allowed. She reached the landing and peered into the stairwell. There he was, just dipping out of sight. “Craig!”
The only answer was the echo of his retreating footfalls. Cautiously, Lyssa descended. Down one level, then another, into the bowels of the market. No longer could she hear the reassuring chatter of people.
Her pulse thrummed unpleasantly. She reached the last step, spinning toward yet another staircase and there he was. Standing three feet ahead. His back was to her. “Craig?”
He spun around. Her heart crawled into her throat. It wasn't Craig. But she knew those pale green eyes and knew before he tugged the black wig from his head that this was the person who'd been trying to kill her. “Kevin?” Her throat constricted. “Why?”
Her ex-husband’s cover-boy-handsome face grew ugly with hatred and rage as he leaped at her, brandishing a switchblade inches from her face. Lyssa lurched back, swinging wildly with her purse. The shoulder bag nailed his wrist.
The knife flew loose, clattering down the stairs, followed by her purse…with Craig’s gun still nestled inside. She whirled away from him and dove for the stairs.
Roaring wildly, Kevin was on her in a flash, grasping her from behind, his hands encircling her throat.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kevin’s thumbs pressed into Lyssa’s windpipe cutting off her scream. She kicked back ineffectually, tore at his hands with her own, tried twisting free. But he was too strong. Points of light danced before her eyes, and pain gyrated from her throat as he dragged her away from the stairs she’d just descended to the top of the next landing.
