When she’d slid behind the wheel, she looked at him again. “Are you going to lend me your gun?”
“No way in hell,” he said, and slammed the door.
Quickly lowering her window she jerked her head outside and shouted as he returned to his SUV. “Then maybe I’ll just borrow it!”
“You do that,” he shouted back. “Then maybe I’ll just report it stolen, Frasier will tuck your sweet little ass in a jail cell and all of our worries will be over. Actually, I might do it anyway!”
Releasing a frustrated curse, Abbie dropped the Expedition into gear and sailed across the bridge. She searched the barren trees fronting the road and the thicker evergreens deep in the woods.
Was he hiding in there? she wondered, her anger continuing to build. Was he smiling at her powerlessness, waggling his paint can and promising more with his crazy blue eyes? Or was the graffiti just the work of kids, after all? Well, she was through cowering in a corner. If he came for her, he was in for the fight of his life.
She felt another jolt when she approached the gated driveway and saw two sets of tire tracks in the dusting of snow. One set continued past the locked gate. The other stopped in front of it, then backed out onto the road again.
Pulling to the side of the lane, she parked and got out, leaving her door open again. “Two sets of footprints,” she said when Jace joined her.
The small scuffling prints near the padlock were undoubtedly Dorothy’s. The larger boot prints circumventing the gate and continuing down the long drive—then returning—weren’t.
Abbie watched Jace take it all in.
“Obviously, whoever was here is gone now, and he made no attempt to walk in the woods or hide his tracks. It was probably just someone making a delivery or one of the utility companies reading a meter. But,” he continued, snagging her hand. “As long as Harris isn’t here yet, let’s see where the tracks lead.”
Two hours later, Jace snatched the paper plate they’d used as a target from the hay bales he’d stacked, then walked the ten yards back to where Abbie waited in the pavilion. He was still dead set against it, but teaching her to shoot was the only damn way he’d been able to get her back to his place. That didn’t mean he planned to hand over his gun—or let her move back into her dad’s house. He was less certain of his motives for keeping her with him—less certain about a lot of things.
She slipped off his earmuffs and safety glasses—set them beside the gun on the picnic table as he flashed the paper plate.
“One hit in twelve tries,” he said grimly. “You’re getting worse. You can’t hold the gun steady, you flinch when you fire and sometimes you shut your eyes. You’re more of a threat to yourself than he is.”
She lifted her chin. “We still have a few minutes before we leave for the airport. I want to try again.”
Feeling a headache build, Jace shoved a new clip in the automatic and waited for her to put the glasses and muffs back on. Then he stepped behind her and handed her the gun. “All right, once more—but that’s it. Then we leave to meet Ty and Betty at the airport.”
As he watched her squeeze off a few more rounds, he wondered for the billionth time if any of this was necessary. As he’d guessed, the boot tracks had led straight to Morgan’s electric meter, and the inspection of the house and surrounding area by Harris had produced nothing useful.
The patrolman’s search of the bridge area hadn’t produced a paint can or other evidence, either, so with no reason to suspect anything but vandalism, Harris had left, and Jace and Abbie had returned to RL&L to bring Ty up to date. Ty had been the bearer of bad news, too. But when he’d said that Ida wouldn’t be in to work tomorrow, either, Jace had had mixed feelings. He didn’t want their little fireball to be sick, but being short-handed meant that Abbie would once again be manning the phones, and under his watchful eye. But did she need to be watched? Were her back-of-the-neck feelings reliable?
All he knew was she was determined to meet Long head-on—either here or back in L.A.—and she wasn’t prepared. That worried him.
Taking off the muffs, she nodded at the torn holes in the plate. “That was better, right?”
“Yeah, you’re a pro,” he muttered, because he just wanted to end this. Betty’s commuter left for Pittsburgh at 6:10 p.m., and if they didn’t leave soon, they wouldn’t have time to visit over coffee before she boarded.
“Dammit, Jace, don’t patronize me. This is too important.”
He gave her a piercing look. “That’s right. It is. And that’s exactly why you’re not taking this gun to your dad’s place or anywhere else.”
She tore the safety glasses from her face. “Fine. I’ll just stand around and wait for him to bludgeon me to death. Because whether you believe it or not, that’s his plan. He wants me dead, but he wants it up close and personal— just like the Vegas, Oklahoma and Missouri murders that are taking up so much of the nightly news!”
Jace’s stomach pitched, and his gaze dropped to the open collar of her jacket where a small gold cross on a chain lay against her black knit top. It had been a loving keep-you-safe-in-the-big-world gift from her mother on her eighth grade graduation, and she’d taken it from her old jewelry box during Harris’s inspection of the house. Pretty. But it wouldn’t keep her safe from a psycho bent on revenge. Not here, and not in L.A.
“Come on,” he said grimly, recalling her pseudo-aerobic self-defense session. She was lithe and moved well, and he’d seen strength and balance in her arms and legs as she’d gone through her Sandra Bullock routine. “Let’s meet Ty and Betty, then we’ll get back to this.”
Three hours later, Abbie stood across from Jace in the great room. She’d changed into sweatpants and sneakers while he’d found a roll of Christmas wrap in a storage closet, stuffed the tube with paper toweling and sealed the whole thing with duct tape. He gripped it, bat-like, as she faced him, the alpaca area rugs forming a mat of sorts around them.
“Okay,” he said, his gray eyes serious, “we’ve talked about it, now let’s try it. Stay focused. If he comes after you, you need to disarm him. He won’t expect you to fight, so remember, yell loud and move fast. You’ll have surprise on your side.”
Abbie nodded, her heart pounding just looking at the silvery makeshift bat.
“When I start my swing, move into the arc of the bat and bring your forearms down on my arms in a stiff double karate chop. Do it hard and fast. Make me drop my weapon.”
“Got it.”
“Good. If I don’t drop it, you’re going to wrap your left arm around my right one and keep it close to your body so I can’t pull back and swing again. Then throw your right elbow or fist into the side of my head to stun me.”
Abbie nodded. She wouldn’t be able to reach Jace’s temple with her elbow, but Danny was shorter and a lot lighter. She would absolutely take him out. “Okay, then it’s knee, knee, knee, and keep kneeing you until you’re down, then run.”
He sent her a dry look. “For that part, I’d prefer that you didn’t take me too literally.”
He swung unexpectedly. With a thwack, cardboard and duct tape connected with Abbie’s upper arm. It didn’t hurt, but the sound and slap startled and annoyed her.
“Wait a minute! I wasn’t ready!”
“Lesson two,” he said gravely. “He’s not going to give you time to think. You need to react. You saw me pull back, but you stood there and did nothing.”
He swung again, and still startled by the first hit, she let him hit her again.
“Dammit, Jace!” she shouted. “I didn’t even have time to bring my arms up!”
“Then you need to change your mindset, don’t you? I’m not me, I’m him, and I want to kill you. You need to commit 110 percent to this, or you’re going to be dead.”
He swung. Abbie moved into the arc, chopped her forearms on his before the bat could connect—trapped his arm and clamped it to her body, then jammed her elbow up to his neck. She stopped just short of inducing pain and smiled up at him. “
Want me to keep going?”
His gray eyes twinkled in approval. “Yes, but do it gently.”
She brought her knee up, bumped him, bumped him again, and, laughing, he went down on the rugs, pulling her with him. “Very good for your first try, Madame Ninja.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Smiling, he tugged her ponytail as she lay there on top of him, then he moved his gaze over her face. “But when you chop, chop harder. You’re not swatting flies, you’re trying to disable someone.” He sobered then. “And if he keeps coming, remember the first thing I told you. Palm, knee, knee. Drive your palm into his face. Hit him with enough force to drive his nose straight through the back of his head. After you’ve hit him, go for his face, his eyes. Use your fingernails.”
Abbie blew out a soft breath. She wasn’t sure she could do that to anyone.
“I know,” he murmured. “It’s not pretty, it’s down and dirty. But you only get one shot as a woman. If you don’t get the job done, you’re going to be raped or you’re going to die. Maybe both.”
Nodding, Abbie stared down at him, feeling her anxieties mount and—at the same time—an awareness of his warm, muscular body beneath her. And suddenly one emotion overpowered the other and coalesced into a breathless sensation. It was danger and pleasure all wrapped up in one, a buzzing, caffeine-like high that sent a Make Love, Not War message.
It was contagious.
She watched Jace’s eyes turn dark, noticed a subtle catch in his breathing. Then things started happening south of his belt buckle, and scowling, he rolled her off of him. “Ready to try it again?” he asked. “Down and dirty, no holds barred?”
“You sure?” she replied, dredging up a grin. “I took it pretty easy on the family jewels a minute ago.”
He chuckled, and she loved the low, husky sound of it. Loved the strength in his hand as he rose and pulled her to her feet. “Actually, those little bumps felt pretty good. But yeah, let’s keep the contact on the gentle side.”
That night, once again, coyotes howled and yipped, keeping Abbie awake as they played to a bright white full moon. Lying in the frosty half-dark, she fingered the small gold cross at her throat, every rustle of wind against the house or unfamiliar noise making her pulse race. She glanced up at the ceiling, picturing the loft bedroom several inches above it. And she admitted that her pulse was racing for another reason.
He was probably asleep, she thought, missing his closeness and his touch—missing him, and wishing their street-fighting session could’ve gone on a little longer. But there would be no more sessions tonight. No more lying on top of him and feeling his body respond to hers.
Swallowing, Abbie left the bed, slipped on her short silky green robe and quietly left the room. She was waiting for milk to heat when Jace ambled into the kitchen.
“Can’t sleep?”
In the meager light from the range hood, Abbie took in his formidable height and broad shoulders—followed the soft tapering pattern of his chest hair down to where it disappeared behind the drawstring on his sweatpants.
“Nope. Sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t. I was awake, too.”
She tipped the saucepan a little to keep the milk from scalding, then turned back to him. “Want a cup? It’s supposed to help with insomnia.”
“No thanks.” But he did grab a mug for her from the cabinet over the sink. “Why can’t you sleep?”
Sending him a small smile, she turned off the burner. “A lot of reasons,” she said, filling her cup. “Coyotes. Bad memories.” Wanting you. “I was impossible this afternoon, and I’m sorry.”
“No problem. It all worked out for the best. It gave us something to do, and it got you back here.” He hesitated. “Are you still planning to move back to your dad’s place?”
Leaning against the sink, she shook her head. “No. I’ve had my psychotic episode for the month. If you still want me to, I’ll stay here until dad and Miriam get back on Friday.”
She took a sip, then set the mug on the counter and dropped her gaze to their bare feet. “That’s another thing I’ve been worried about. If Long’s not picked up by the time they get back—here or in L.A.—I’m not sure they should stay at the house, either. In fact, maybe they shouldn’t be around me.” Pausing, she continued on a lower, more serious note. “Maybe you shouldn’t, either.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“You should be,” she said soberly. “You didn’t see what he did to that girl.”
Jace ambled a little closer and tipped her face up to his. “Any man who beats a woman is a coward. This freak would run from a fair fight with a man.”
“Is that so, Dr. Freud?”
“Absolutely.” His gaze stroked hers for a while longer, his caring shining through and fanning the tender, soul-deep feelings inside her. Then, as though he suspected they might lose their heads again, he stepped away. “How’s the milk?”
“Awful,” she replied. “Needs chocolate.”
He took a sip from her cup and made a face. And there was something very sexy about drinking from the same cup in a silent kitchen in the dim light of the range hood.
“You’re right.” He went to the refrigerator and grabbed the chocolate syrup.
“That’s not going to help my insomnia. Chocolate’s full of caffeine.”
“I think you should chance it anyway,” he teased as he squeezed some into her cup. “If the chocolate makes it worse, we’ll just have to move on to nature’s remedy. Hot, sweaty sex.”
Abbie held a breath as he took a spoon from a drawer and gave the milk a quick stir, then put the mug in her hands. She knew he wasn’t serious, but after their sparring round this afternoon, his words landed with a thump behind her navel.
A rattling bang outside startled them both as she raised the mug to her lips.
Before the fine hairs on Abbie’s nape could finish standing on end, Jace was moving toward the door. He’d left the spotlights burning around the outbuildings, and quickly opening the kitchen door, he stepped onto the porch and scanned the area.
Abbie followed him out, her breath fogging. “Bears again?” she asked nervously.
Tension edged his low voice. “No. The door to my workshop’s open.” Gently shoving her back inside, he slipped into his boots, grabbed his down vest and pulled it on. “Lock the door and stay by the phone.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Take your gun.”
He tapped his vest pocket. “Got it.”
When he pulled the door shut behind him, she locked up, cupped her hand against the glass on the door and peered out, the wall phone only an arm’s length away. Nerves thrumming, she watched him disappear inside the shop, then flood the shed with light. A moment later, it went dark again, and in the glow of the spotlights, he latched the door and retraced his steps.
“It was nothing. No tracks but mine out there. I was in a hurry when I put the safety glasses and earmuffs away earlier, and apparently I didn’t latch the door tightly.”
Still, his expression disturbed her. It was a mixture of believing it had happened that way…and uneasiness because there was no way he could know for sure.
Again, Abbie loathed the uncertainty of her situation. She loathed it even more when, as they reluctantly returned to their own rooms, Jace paused to double-check the locks on the doors and windows.
“It’s just a precaution,” he said.
But seeds of doubt had found a frighteningly fertile field in Abbie’s mind.
Danny shook hard from the cold as he crouched deep inside the thick stand of fir trees. He was afraid to rub his arms or stamp his feet, even though he doubted he could be seen. The two of them had left the kitchen. He’d bought a hooded parka at a Goodwill store before he left Bradford, but it wasn’t warm enough, and now he was paying the price for buying somebody else’s lousy castoffs!
Who would live in a frigid dump like this? He’d take California mudsli
des and earthquakes any day. His legs were cramping and his friggin’ feet felt like blocks of ice!
But in the end, it would all be worth it.
Slowly pushing to a standing position, he smiled despite his discomfort. Then he opened his coat, reached low and made yellow snow to let her know—without letting her know—that he’d been here and seen her whoring in the man’s kitchen.
Excitement lifted him high, pulsed through him as hot sweat flooded his armpits and he righted his clothes. He wanted her dead. Dead, dead, dead! Inhaling, he closed his eyes and visualized her naked body, experienced a sublime buoyancy and a pleasure he hadn’t felt since Maryanne.
He just had to get her alone. Away from the guy.
Not that Rogan intimidated him. He’d looked big and tough when he’d rushed out to check the shed door Danny hadn’t latched right, but Danny knew he could take him easy. He just didn’t feel like it.
He was saving his energy for her.
Clutching the cold metal wood rasp he’d taken from the shed, he made his way through the firs, glad the moon was high. He’d hidden his car behind the decrepit barn a couple hundred yards down the road. That’s where he’d be staying now. Earlier, he’d seen a cop car go by real slow. There’d been prowl cars cruising by the whore’s father’s house, too, which told him that she’d received the cards and told the police to be on the lookout for him.
That is, he thought in amusement, if she wasn’t convinced he was back in L.A. Right now, she probably didn’t know which end was up.
Danny hooted at his cleverness, then, startled by the echoing sound, shut himself up and concentrated on following the tracks he’d made on the way in. It was an easier trek than his tight, trackless walk along the side of Rogan’s shed, where the overhang kept the snow from collecting.
Grinning, he glanced back through the trees to the spotlight-drenched log house, watching pale smoke curl from the chimney and thin snow spangle the yard. He loved this! Loved watching her when she thought she was safe living inside a sweet little picture postcard.
Just a Whisper Away Page 17
