by Autumn Dawn
Elizabeth woke and started babbling, and Camille cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the little girl. At least the strain of the situation didn't seem to be getting to her. Camille smiled at the baby's obvious good humor. Except for her brief high fever, the little girl was thriving in a stable environment.
"What are we going to do, Elizabeth?” she said softly. “I don't want to have to put you through those long days on the road again, one eye watching for anything that looks like a tail, jumping every time a man's voice sounds a little familiar. But I can't bear the thought of putting you in danger, either."
Elizabeth stopped her babbling as though she had understood Camille's words and was waiting for an answer. “I know you trust me to do the right thing. The problem is I'm just not sure what that is, sweetheart."
Sighing, Camille pulled up on the shoulder outside the cottage where she unstrapped the baby from her seat and went to push open the rusty iron gate. She reached out a hand and drew it back as though she'd burned her fingers, remembering yesterday's shock. She hadn't replaced the pebble this morning and it occurred to her now that she had no way of knowing if anyone had been snooping around while she'd been out this morning. Unless of course, she had a convenient flash of clairvoyance or whatever it was.
She stood for a moment, but nothing came. Still the uneasiness remained.
Camille looked around but could see no one, but that didn't mean that someone wasn't there. Snapping the baby back in her car seat, she checked around the outside of the house but there was no sign of a visitor. Trying to summon her courage, she cautiously unlocked the front door and pushed it open, calling out. Nothing but silence greeted her.
Quietly, trying not to tremble, she dropped her bag on the hall table and walked from room to room, pushing every door back against the wall in case someone was hiding behind it until she reached the kitchen door out onto the veranda. She unlocked it and stood there, staring at the garden for endless minutes before she walked across the grass to check the shed. Nothing. Her limbs felt weak with a mix of nerves and relief, and she wanted to slip to the ground and simply sob until the tension and fear had ebbed from her system, but she couldn't afford to break down. She had Elizabeth to consider.
Her rattled nerves started to ease as she made her way back into the house and started down the hallway. She smiled as she heard Elizabeth's gabble. She went to call back but stopped short, icy fear freezing the blood in her veins as a muffled male voice responded to the baby.
A scream formed in her throat as she raced down the steps toward the car. Oh, God! Lord had found them. He was taking the baby. She could see him reaching in to unsnap the little girl.
"Stop! Get away from her.” Her voice was shrill, trembling. “Don't touch her!” She rushed forward, fists clenched. She would scratch his eyes out before he'd take the baby from her.
The man turned, his mouth wide with astonishment at her hysterical tone and Camille froze in her tracks as Nathan Donnelly turned to face her.
"What the hell are you doing with her?” she screamed. “Just get away, get away!"
He held up his hands and backed away as Camille rushed forward to pull the little girl from her seat.
"Cami ... Ms. Aston, calm down,” he said quietly. “I was just going to bring her into the house. I wouldn't hurt her."
"What are you doing here? Did someone send you?” Her hands trembled as she unsnapped Elizabeth and tugged her from the car, pulling the little girl's hands out of her hair.
Even as she spoke the words, Camille knew she needed to get a grip. She could imagine how ridiculous she sounded to this local cop, used to humdrum country affairs like flooded roads and disputes over livestock. He wouldn't have a clue about people whose influence and power was so immense that there was nowhere their tentacles didn't spread. But she knew what Malcolm Lord was capable of and how far he would go to retrieve what belonged to him.
"Camille, what's going on? No one's going to hurt Elizabeth.” He shook his head for emphasis. “My young constable said you'd rung the station last night. Or at least he said it was this number, which I recognized as yours. I've been trying to call you this morning but there was no answer.” He spread his hands, palms up. “I was just coming back from lunch when I saw your car heading down from Ravenswood House.” He took a step forward.
"Please don't come near us,” Camille said, trying to bring her voice under control. “Please."
She began shaking as the adrenalin high started to fall away. Her knees trembled and she felt as though she couldn't stand upright. In a second, Nathan was there, his arms around her and the baby, his warm embrace holding her steady.
"Come on,” he said gently. He took Elizabeth from her unresisting arms and tucked her against one side, his free arm still supporting Camille. “Let's go inside."
Camille felt numb as Nathan took her into the house, making her sit at the kitchen table while he placed Elizabeth amid her toys on the veranda. Camille didn't say anything as she watched him moving unhurriedly around her house, making hot tea for them both. She guessed he must have made tea for shock victims in a lot of strange kitchens over the years because he seemed to know the obvious places to look for mugs and teabags. He brought two mugs over and sat opposite her.
"I put some sugar in yours. It will help with the shock,” he said, and she was aware of his eyes on her trembling lips.
Camille avoided his eyes and brought the mug to her lips, trying hard to steady her shaking hand so she didn't spill the tea. After a few sips, the warmth began to return to her body, and she replaced the mug quietly on the table in front of her. She didn't resist when Nathan picked up her hands and held them in his large warm ones.
"So. You want to tell me what that was all about?” His voice was firm but authoritative.
"No,” she said. “I mean ... it was nothing.” Half-heartedly she tried to tug her hands from his, but when he resisted she let them lie there, feeling a warm tingle spread from her fingers up her arms.
"Nothing?” Nathan raised his eyebrows. “You accuse me of doing God-knows-what to your child and you say it's nothing? At the very least, don't you think it was something of an over-reaction?"
"I'm sorry,” Camille mumbled.
"Camille, I don't want apologies. I want to know what's going on. Why are you so damn jumpy?"
She looked away from the direct blue gaze. “You just caught me by surprise, that's all."
"And do you usually start screaming blue murder when you're caught by surprise?"
Only around you, she wanted to say, thinking of that time on the beach. She pressed her lips together and stayed silent, trying not to feel the stroke of his thumbs against her hands.
"Camille,” he prompted.
"I just want to be left alone.” Camille pulled her hands from his grasp and took another gulp of tea.
"Well, we have a problem then because I can't leave you alone."
Chapter Seven
Nathan hadn't meant for the words to spill out like that but he wasn't sorry they had. He'd only spoken softly but there was no denying their meaning, and they hung there. It had been there from the start, this something between them. Unvoiced, it didn't have to be acted upon, but now it flared, stoked by his words, into a living breathing flame that sucked the oxygen from the air. He reached across the table, pushed her hair behind her ear, and let his thumb brush across her cheekbone.
"Don't,” she said. “I'm married."
"I want his name, Camille.” He bit out the words, not appreciating the reminder that he was breaking one of his cardinal rules.
"Whose?"
"I'm not playing games, Camille, and I don't make false promises. If your husband has beaten you, let the police deal with it. I've seen the bruises. We can get an Apprehended Violence Order. He'll have to stay away from you, then."
She shook her head fiercely. “Just leave it. I don't want you to do anything."
Nathan couldn't accept it. One of the reasons he had joi
ned the force was to protect the vulnerable, particularly women and children. And his growing feelings for this woman made it impossible not to want to protect her, whether she wanted his protection or not. “Camille. For Christ's sake. Let me help you. You don't have to be scared."
For a moment, she seemed almost about to give in, but then she glanced through the window to where Elizabeth wriggled and kicked, and her face firmed. “No,” she said and her voice was quiet but certain, the terror gone for now. “I don't want your help."
Nathan let go of her hands, observing her as the color returned to her face. She was one tough cookie that was for sure. He wasn't going to get anything more from her at the moment but that didn't mean he had given up either. He pushed himself away from the table and folded his arms across his chest, wondering what tactics would get him the results he wanted.
"I need to put the baby down for her sleep,” she said shortly, shifting her chair back.
Nathan watched her as she went to pick up the baby, noting the way her face lost that pinched look as she tenderly stroked the little girl's head. She quite obviously loved the child. Mind you, the kid was as cute as all get out. His own nieces and nephews had all been pretty damn appealing at that age, too, but Camille's baby was the kind of winsome blue-eyed blonde he normally associated with diaper ads. Fuzzy fair curls haloed her head, and her dimples gave her the look of a naughty cherub.
He smiled as the baby objected to being removed from her toys. Her mouth drooped mutinously as Camille took her into her bedroom for a diaper change. He followed and stood discreetly outside the doorway, watching as the baby waved her arms and legs so that Camille struggled to fix the new diaper.
"Elizabeth!” she muttered in mock frustration. “Not today. I need you to be good for me now, sweetheart."
The baby gabbled something in her own incomprehensible language and kept on waving her legs as though she was cycling in the air.
"Come on, Elizabeth. It's nap time. Close your eyes.” But the little girl just cycled all the harder.
Nathan watched as Camille, oblivious to his presence, started singing a soft lullaby to the child. She gently rubbed the little girl's stomach until she at last settled, her eyes closing and her breathing slowing. She stood over the crib looking at her for a long moment before she turned to leave, stopping short when she saw Nathan.
"She's very precious,” Nathan said softly, thinking maybe the child was the way to reach her. He stood back to let her pass and followed her through to the kitchen. “Are you worried he might try to take her from you if you leave him?"
"Nathan, please,” Camille said tiredly. “You don't understand."
He realized that she'd used his given name for the first time, and for an instant he wondered how her voice would sound calling his name as they made love. He imagined her ... that fine-boned face alight with passion as she lay under and around him, and his cock came to immediate attention. Down boy, he told himself. This was not the time for those thoughts.
He watched her fidgeting, moving from sink to stove to table, like a butterfly uncertain of the most favorable place to land. He walked toward her and this time she didn't retreat or pull away as his hands rested gently on the curve of her shoulders.
"You say I don't understand,” he said. “But how can I when you refuse to talk to me. At the moment I see a woman who's quite obviously terrified of her husband, terrified for the child she loves, but who won't do anything to deal with the situation."
He saw her blanch at the idea she might be compromising the baby's wellbeing, and for a second, he hated himself for making her doubt herself. But, hell, if it worked, he'd get over it.
His thumbs subconsciously rubbed delicate circles in the skin over her shoulders. He looked down at his tanned hands against her pale skin, and wanted to pull her slender body back against his. Wanted her to feel and acknowledge the way she made him hard. She turned to face him then, and he saw her nipples had peaked under tee-shirt. Camille Aston might not be able to admit it, but she felt something for him, too.
"Nathan, I.... “she started and he knew what she was about to say.
"I know you're married,” he said harshly. “You don't have to say it again."
She looked up at him then. “I'm sorry."
"You know what really pisses me off?” he said, looking down at her, forcing her hazel eyes to meet his.
"What's that?” she whispered, that soft mouth trembling. Nathan wanted to pound the bastard who'd scared her into the dust.
"I hate the fact that you won't trust me."
"Nathan ... I have responsibilities."
"I know,” he said grimly. “I didn't say I didn't understand the reasons why. I just said I hated it. You know, you're going to need someone sooner or later. I just hope for Elizabeth's sake it's not too late."
Camille gave a bitter laugh. “Everyone wants to help. You. Rowan Byrne. No one seems to think I might know what's best for my ... child."
"Rowan?” Nathan said, remembering that Rowan had told him she hoped Camille would attend the mother and baby clinic.
"Yes, she wants me to trust her, too."
"There's only one person I'd trust with my life and that's Rowan."
Camille shook her head. “I only went to get Elizabeth checked over after she had a fever over the weekend. Instead, I got a whole lot of.... “she waved her hand, “...whatever. I'm beginning to think the whole village is crazy."
"Rowan's not crazy,” he said, wondering exactly how much Rowan had told her. His mouth twisted. “And neither am I ... although you're sending me that way.” His gaze locked on hers and he felt that hot blaze of desire leap between them. “Think about what I've said. About what's best for Elizabeth. You can call me anytime. If I'm not at the station, I've told my guys to put you through to my cell phone.” He moved toward the doorway, then stopped abruptly. “By the way, why did you ring last night?"
Camille took a shuddering breath. “You were out here yesterday, snooping around. I wanted to know why."
His eyes narrowed. Had she been here all along, holed up in the house? “How do you know I was here? You didn't answer the door."
"I ... I just do,” she said, and Nathan wondered at the flush that appeared along her cheekbones. “Rowan said ... well, never mind. I just wanted to know why you were here.” She followed him out toward the front door.
Nathan turned toward her slowly. “I think you already know the answer to that,” he said softly."
He loped down the path to his car, aware that she watched him and hoping that he'd achieved some sort of breakthrough. The Landcruiser roared to life and gravel crunched on the track as he pulled on to the road. He lifted a hand as he drove off, aware of her standing there until the trees obscured her from his view.
* * * *
Camille felt suddenly alone and wanted to rush out the door and beg him to come back. God, how she wanted to feel his hands on her, to be wrapped securely against his strong body. How blissful it would be for someone else to shoulder the burden just for a few hours.
She longed to blurt out her story but knew that once she told Nathan, he would have to make it official, and as soon as her name made it into a police file and into the computer, Lord would know where she was.
He'd have no hesitation in seizing Elizabeth—and as her father he'd be quite within his rights. Camille knew there was no way she could confront him in a legal battle. His QCs, paid for by his old family money, would rip her to shreds, especially after what she'd done. And there was no way the authorities could protect her even if they did believe her, a babysnatcher.
And Lord wouldn't be satisfied with Elizabeth being restored to him. He would want the kind of vengeance that her sister had suffered. And once Camille was gone, what would happen to Elizabeth?
She'd come to World's End seeking sanctuary and the time to devise a strategy but the more she thought about it the more she realized that nowhere was beyond his reach. She could go against all her instincts
and trust the police to protect her and Elizabeth, or she could run and hide once more, and hope that she could evade Lord long enough for him to lose interest. The choice was up to her.
* * * *
Malcolm Lord concentrated on the voice at the other end as it updated him on his interests on the south coast. He tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk, waiting for the voice to finish. The investigator he'd hired, Welch, was an irritating little weasel, but he got results.
"They're there, all right,” said Welch. “Turned up at the grandmother's place nearly two weeks ago. Just as well I went back to check today. The first time I had a poke around, just after you called me in, there had been no sight of them. So where they were then is anyone's guess."
"Never mind where they were before,” Lord said tightly. Unnecessary talk irritated him. “We know where they are now."
"So, what do you want me to do, mate?"
Lord gritted his teeth at the casual term. He wasn't anyone's mate. Certainly not this cheap little PI's. Well, not cheap, he amended. The little weasel might look low-rent, but he was supposedly one of the best in the business. At least in terms of results, if not methods. And he wasn't afraid to charge five hundred a day for his services, either.
"Just stay on her,” he said at last. “Keep a low profile. I don't want her to realize I've caught up with her. I want her to stay put where you can keep an eye on her."
"So what are you going to do?” said the PI.
"You don't need to know my plans. Just do what I tell you."
"Right. Oh, there's another thing,” said the nasally-sounding PI. “She had a visitor today."
