by Rebecca York
He tried to read her face, but she turned quickly away and disappeared again. When she returned, she was stepping briskly, carrying another towel, gauze, a basin of water, a cloth. Unwrapping the makeshift bandage, she kept her eyes away from his as she examined the wound. Blood was still oozing, although the flow had slowed.
He gritted his teeth, caught her regarding him, and made an effort at humor. “We have to stop meeting this way.”
She answered with a little nod, not the laugh he’d hoped for.
“You need an antibiotic, I think,” she said as she washed off the wound.
“Yeah. I’ve got some at home.”
“Just like that—you’ve got the medicine you need?”
“My security company gave me an emergency medical kit,” he replied laconically.
SARA WANTED TO press for answers. Actually, she suspected that she should demand answers, which she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to get, judging from their last meeting.
When he’d failed to explain what he was doing in her house, she should have ordered him to leave. Yet he’d saved her—again—and she felt obligated to make sure he wasn’t going to keel over on her account. Once she was satisfied he could leave under his own power, she’d kick him out.
And the sooner the better, because he was making her uneasy. Not just from the sudden flare of passion between them, although that was bad enough. If he’d gotten into her house so fast, he must have been right outside, watching her. Either that, or he’d followed the guy who had attacked her.
She poured antiseptic on the wound, knowing she was hurting him.
“When did you have your last tetanus shot?” she asked.
“Antibiotics. Antiseptic. Now tetanus shots. I thought you were an accountant not a doctor.”
“I am an accountant. I’m just asking you one of the standard emergency-room questions.”
“My tetanus vaccination is current.”
Reaching for a couple of sterile gauze pads, she pressed them against the wound, watching his lips compress. “You’re a macho bastard,” she muttered.
“I’ve found that complaining doesn’t do much good.”
“I’ve found that cussing helps get you through the pain,” she said as she secured the sterile pads with tape.
“I can’t picture you cussing.”
She laughed. “Then I hope you’re not around when I hit my thumb with a hammer.”
He joined her in the laughter, and she found she liked the sound of his chuckle. It was warm and deep—seductive, actually. She had to be careful. She found this man enormously appealing. Yet she still didn’t know how he’d appeared on the scene at just the right time—twice.
“I think you’d better explain what you’re doing here.”
He leaned back in the chair, looking at her. She watched as he shifted his weight, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles.
“Okay,” he finally said, his gaze trained on her face. “Lee Tillman was worried that someone was trying to kill him. He hired my company, Randolph Security, to nose around St. Stephens. I’ve been down here since last month—investigating some of the people who have a beef against him.”
“So what are you like—a hired gun in the Old West?”
“No. I’m not in the business of shooting until I’ve asked questions.”
Was that supposed to be a joke? If so, it wasn’t very funny, she thought as she struggled to keep her expression neutral.
Alex was speaking again. “Early this morning, he called me. He was panicked, wanted me to come over right away. So I pulled on some sweat clothes and drove to his estate. Following his orders, I parked in the woods down the road and came up along the river. I couldn’t find Lee, so I searched the house. I was in his office when I heard the front door open and a woman coming up the stairs. I slipped into the closet so I could find out what she was up to.”
Sara felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. She’d felt them stir when she was in Lee’s office. Felt as if someone was watching her. Now she knew why. But she said nothing as she waited for him to finish his explanation.
“I saw her march in like she owned the place, go to a file cabinet and take out a folder. Then she left.”
“You followed me into town! And you didn’t say anything.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re a suspect.”
The way he said it sent a shiver across her skin. “Suspected of what?”
“His murder for all I know.”
“Murder! That’s quite a stretch,” she answered around the sudden knot in her throat. “He was supposed to be going on vacation.”
“He was upset this morning when he called me. I believe he thought he was in danger. I have as much reason to think he was murdered as to think he’s gone on a holiday. So do you want to tell me why you were at his place, in his office?”
“I don’t owe you any explanations.”
“We’re going to get along a lot better if you level with me the way I just did with you.”
She took a step back and folded her arms across her chest. “No we’re not, because you’re getting the hell out of my house.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’ll call—” She stopped abruptly.
“The police?”
“Yes.”
“Then why the hesitation?”
When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Police Chief Hempstead already knows I’m working on the case. I didn’t tell him I saw you at Lee’s house this morning. He might be interested in knowing you were there.”
She wondered if he was bluffing. She wondered about his motives. Still, she found herself on the defensive.
“I was picking up accounts he wanted me to work on.” She blurted out what she hadn’t intended to say.
He silently watched her for long moments, stroking his chin with his right hand, and she struggled not to squirm under his scrutiny. His gaze was penetrating, as if he could see through her skull, into her mind, and she hated the sensation.
“Can I see the papers?” he finally said.
“Certainly not! That’s confidential information.”
“Listen, I told you Lee Tillman has disappeared. If you want to help find him, you’ll help me out. For example, did you notice anything strange about the office?”
“Like what?”
“Like something missing.”
She had the kind of mind that paid attention to details. That was how she’d become an accountant in the first place. Now, in her memory, she brought Lee’s office into focus—the desk, the book shelves, the rug—
“The rug,” she whispered. She hadn’t been thinking about it that morning. Now she realized she hadn’t felt it underfoot.
“So you noticed it, too. Well, that’s a start.”
“A start on what?”
“On the two of us cooperating.”
“In your dreams.”
His eyes narrowed. “You need my help and I’m willing to give it to you—in exchange for your coming clean with me.”
“What do you mean by ‘coming clean’?”
“You’re hiding something.”
She fought to keep herself from taking a step back. “I don’t need anything from you.”
“A pickup tried to run you down this morning. Then a man came in here and attacked you. Either he was someone you know or someone with reason to go after you, or both.”
She kept her gaze steady. “For all I know, you sent the guy this morning. And then tonight, so you could rescue me and gain my confidence.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Oh, come on!”
“How do I know you were really in Lee’s office?”
“I saw you go right to the file cabinet. After you took the folder out of the drawer, you stopped and adjusted your bra strap.”
Her face heated at the memory.
“Then you took a peppermint candy from the dish on the table. You didn’t put the wrapper in the trash, which made me w
onder if you wanted to make sure nobody knew you’d been there.”
“Bull! I had every right to be there. I have a key, in case you didn’t notice.” She glared at him. “You say you’re with a security company. How do I know that’s the truth?”
“You can call Cam Randolph, the head of the company, and ask if I work for him.”
“Right. And he could be some guy you paid to make it look like you have a legitimate job.”
He made an exasperated sound.
The air in the room seemed to vibrate with tension—and sexual awareness, which she did her best to ignore.
“I’m not guilty of anything!” she almost shouted.
“Prove it.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “You mean like in a medieval witch-hunt. You dunk me in the water. If I float, I’m a witch. If I sink, I’m innocent.”
“We could try it,” he said dryly.
“We might as well, because you aren’t going to believe anything I say.”
He sighed. “Okay. If you have nothing to hide, what’s your relationship with Lee Tillman?”
“I’m his accountant.”
“That’s all?”
“What are you suggesting, that I’m sleeping with him?”
“Are you?”
“Of course not. He’s old enough to be my father,” she almost shouted, thinking that protesting only made her seem more guilty in this man’s eyes.
He was watching her with that unnerving keenness. “Old guys with lots of money turn on some women.”
“Not me!” she retorted, hoping he wasn’t going to ask what did turn her on.
“But you like him?”
That was a little easier to answer. She dragged in a breath and let it out slowly, ordering herself to stay cool and calm. “He’s gruff. He can be abrupt. But he’s been pretty decent with me.”
“Then help me find out what happened to him.”
“Nothing happened,” she answered, although she couldn’t stop a small sliver of doubt from working its way into her mind. This morning she’d felt uneasy at Lee’s house. But that was probably because Alex had been watching her.
Instead of giving her time to mull that over, he pressed on with more questions.
“You’re sure he’s just on vacation? Has he been the same recently, or has he struck you as being worried about something?”
She hunched her shoulders, considering. “He’s been tense. But he doesn’t confide in me. You say you’re working for him. You should know more than I do.”
“He hasn’t been exactly straight with me either. Like you.”
“How dare you.”
Ignoring her quick flare of temper, he pushed himself out of the chair. “Okay, pack some clothing and your toilet articles.”
“What?”
“Pack some things. You’re coming home with me.”
“I am not.”
“Yes, you are. My gun’s back home, and I can’t protect you here.”
“You think I’m going to go with you just like that?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“And why is that?”
He gave her an impatient sigh. “Because you’re in danger. And I think you’re a smart woman. You’re not going to sit around here waiting for someone to attack you again. The guy could be outside in the bushes, watching for me to leave so he can come back and finish what he started.”
His words had the desired effect. Like a heroine in a classic horror movie, she felt a tremor go down her spine.
She knew from his face that he’d caught the reaction.
Quickly, he pressed his advantage. “I’m not going to leave you in this house alone tonight. And I’m not staying here. We’re going to my house. Don’t worry, I’m not going to take you there and then tell you there’s only one bed, and we have to share it.”
“You’re damn right.”
“Let’s stop wasting time. I need that antibiotic you mentioned earlier.”
She was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. If she went home with Alex Shane, then she was letting him call the shots—which was a dumb thing to do. On the other hand, staying here by herself was equally dumb. Alex could have scared her attacker off, but he was right: The assailant could be outside waiting to catch her alone again. Of course, the police were another option. But she had reasons for not calling them.
ALEX FOUND he was holding his breath, waiting for her decision. He needed to get home. Not to take an antibiotic but to use the special salve that Randolph had provided in the kit he’d brought with him. It would speed the healing process, and by tomorrow the wound would be no more than an annoyance.
But he wasn’t going to tell that to Sara. And he wasn’t going to let her stay here without protection.
Finally she sighed, then nodded. “Okay.”
She disappeared from the room and was gone for several minutes. When she returned, she was carrying an overnight bag.
“I’ll drive you,” he said.
“More like I’ll drive you. I’m not the one who got a knife in the arm.”
“I’m not an invalid.”
“Then you can take your car, and I’ll take mine. No way am I getting stuck at your house without transportation.”
He felt his stomach knot, hating the idea of letting her out of his sight until they were safely inside his house. So he made one last try.
“I’m not very far out of town. You can call a cab if you want to leave.”
“I prefer to have my own transportation.”
“Suit yourself,” he muttered and told her what they were going to do.
First he stepped outside and breathed in the night air, looking and listening for anyone hiding in the darkness. Then he checked her car. After he’d satisfied himself that nobody was hunkered down in the back seat, he crossed the street and pulled his vehicle right behind hers.
Still wishing he was armed, he blinked his lights, then watched her step outside, slam the door, and dash to her car. Not until the door was locked behind her did he breathe out a little sigh.
He didn’t like the idea of her following him. He wanted to stay in back of her where he could keep an eye on her. But he was the one who knew the way.
Probably he was a macho bastard, he decided, because he was grateful that she wasn’t sitting next to him, watching him grimace in pain as he maneuvered the car through the dark streets.
At this time of night, with little traffic on the road, it was a fifteen-minute ride to his house. The whole way over he kept one eye on the rearview mirror.
His hands clenched the wheel as he thought about her taking the opportunity to slip away into the darkness. But to his profound relief, she stayed with him, following him up the long driveway to the old house that he’d picked because he liked the solitude. Now he was aware that the isolated location might make him vulnerable to attack.
Damn! When he’d come back to St. Stephens to find out who was making trouble for Lee Tillman, he hadn’t been thinking he was going to get personally involved. He was thinking about it now as he stared around at the darkened fields that stretched away on either side of the house. A line of trees was just visible about twenty yards behind the structure, where Turtle Creek marked the back of the property.
He cut the engine, stepped out of the SUV and waited for Sara to join him on the sidewalk that led from the driveway to the front porch.
He hadn’t been home since early in the day, and all the lights were off, leaving the house as a dark, shadowy mass hulking under the dim light from the three-quarter moon.
Sara stayed three paces behind him as he climbed the steps and crossed the porch. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside so he could switch on the hall light, then the porch.
Assuming she would follow him, he walked down the hall, turning on more lights as he went.
Now that he’d brought her home, he was feeling awkward. He was also looking around at the slightly shabby furniture he’d rented along with the place, w
ondering what she thought about it. He stifled the impulse to dash into the kitchen to see if he’d left a bunch of dishes in the sink. Probably not. He was pretty neat, by male standards.
“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” he asked.
She scuffed her foot against the worn beige carpet. “No thanks.”
“The guest bedroom is upstairs. The bed’s made, and towels are in the closet in the bathroom,” he continued, still trying to play the gracious host, then added, “Maybe we should both get some rest.”
“Yes. Thanks.”
She was keeping her comments to a minimum and keeping her face averted from his. Probably she was remembering the intensity that had flared between them back at her house. He knew the best thing was to give her some breathing space.
He led her upstairs, showed her the bedroom at the front of the house and showed her the bathroom. Then he quickly withdrew into his own room and closed the door, keeping out of her way while she got ready for bed, wondering if she was going to turn down the covers or keep her clothes on and lie on top of the spread.
While she was in the bathroom, he took his Sig .40 out of the nightstand drawer and loaded it.
He started to put on his shoulder holster, but because of his injured arm thought better of it. He simply slipped the weapon into the holster and laid it beside him on the bed.
Feeling more secure—at least in the weapons department—he got out the special Randolph first-aid kit with its little jar of magic salve, the formula provided by Thorn Devereaux, one of the more unique individuals working for the company.
He could hear water running in the bathroom down the hall. Trying to block out the distraction, he removed the bandage and inspected the wound, then slathered on the salve, feeling an immediate warmth as it went to work on his sliced flesh. By the time he’d applied more gauze, the house was quiet.
After slipping off his shoes, he picked up the holstered gun and padded back down the stairs to his office, where he checked the answering machine.
There were four messages. The first was from Police Chief Hempstead who was reporting back on his conversation with Dana Eustice. His impressions matched Alex’s own. As far as he could tell, Ms. Eustice didn’t seem worried about Lee Tillman.
