by Anita Meyer
In leaping from a groggy sleep to the anticipation of getting out, she hadn’t noticed. But she noticed now. He had changed into a knit polo shirt that molded his chest and upper-arm muscles and emphasized his broad, squared shoulders. His torso narrowed in a classic wedge shape to a hard flat belly clearly defined by the snug-fitting shirt. A pair of white tennis shorts revealed heavy tapered thighs and well-shaped calves. His legs were long, powerful, and covered with dark bronze hair. His feet were bare.
Caroline sucked in a quick breath. Witty and charming, she could handle. Sexy was something else altogether.
When she realized she was staring, she cleared her throat with a self-conscious sound. “I’m sorry I slept through it.” She gulped, wrenching her gaze from the smooth, golden skin exposed by the three open buttons of his shirt.
“Don’t worry,” he said, grinning. “I’m sure you’ll get another chance.”
She was spared answering by a loud knocking at the door. Instantly the humor drained from Jeff’s face. He pushed her in the direction of the bathroom, then flattened himself against the wall by the outside door.
“Who is it?” he called out.
“Room service. I have a picnic lunch for Mr. and Mrs. McKensie.”
“Just a minute.” Motioning Caroline to stay out of sight, Jeff grabbed a bathrobe from the closet and threw it on over his clothes. He cinched the sash tightly around his waist, tousled his hair with the palms of his hands, and rumpled the bed. Finally, he cracked open the door and squinted at the bellhop. After a moment he closed the door, slid back the chain, then opened the door all the way. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Jeff said, his voice surprisingly deep and husky.
“No problem, sir. I, uh, understand.”
Jeff pulled a bill from the pocket of his robe, and handed it to the young man. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Jeff set the picnic hamper on the floor while he relocked and rechained the door. “Lunch is served,” he said, moving the basket to the glass-topped table. He readjusted the bedspread, then shrugged out of the terry robe and tossed it on the foot of the bed.
“Isn’t that going a bit far?” Caroline asked, watching as he combed his hair with his fingers.
“It helps maintain the illusion. And maintaining the illusion will help keep you safe.” He pulled a half-dozen containers from the basket. “Come on. Let’s eat before we both waste away.”
Caroline put a small mound of potato salad and a large assortment of fresh fruit on her plate. “I don’t suppose a full stomach will make you amenable to leaving this room long enough to get a breath of fresh air.”
Jeff smiled and offered her the container of chicken. “Not a chance.”
Somehow she managed to survive the rest of the day. She jogged in circles, and paced back and forth like a duck in a shooting gallery. She sang rock-and-roll songs and briefly considered switching to a lullaby in the hopes of putting Jeff to sleep. She even tried to count the “snow” on a vacant television channel. But all she got for her efforts was a headache.
He, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to sit and read. If her nervous energy bothered him, he didn’t show it. He never so much as batted an eye, never nodded off, never even went to the bathroom.
The sun had set some time ago. Not that she’d seen it, of course, but the air had cooled and the light had grown gradually dimmer, until Jeff had to turn on the lamp to continue reading.
About ten o’clock, Caroline yawned and stretched. “I think I’ll take a shower,” she said, “and then turn in.”
“Uh-huh,” mumbled Jeff, turning another page of his book.
“Don’t you need to stand guard or something?” she asked.
Jeff hooked a thumb in his book and looked up at her. “You planning on running away?”
“First chance I get,” she said bluntly.
Jeff bit back a smile. “I appreciate your honesty…and the warning.” He turned his attention back to his book.
Caroline whipped open the dresser drawer and rummaged around, looking for something appropriate to wear. Even if she planned to slip away at the first snore, she would still have to pretend to go to bed. The clingy rose negligee was out of the question. So was the hip-length sheer black baby-doll chemise. She groaned. What on earth had Jeff’s grandmother been thinking when she packed these ridiculous things?
Finally she discovered something that made sense—an oversize cotton T-shirt in a tropical print. Obviously intended as a swimsuit cover-up, it would do very nicely as a nightshirt. She gathered up the hair dryer, shampoo, and other toiletries and hurried into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her.
The bathroom was spacious, with marble-topped double sinks and brass fixtures, and a coral-rock-walled shower. But one glance told her why Jeff wasn’t worried about her slipping out the back door—there wasn’t one. And furthermore, there wasn’t even a window large enough to crawl through.
Anticipation grew as she showered and washed her hair. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with steam. Soon she’d be breathing in the cool night air. A few more hours of confinement and then she’d be free.
She understood Jeff’s concern for her safety and she truly appreciated his zealous dedication. But it was highly unlikely Augie Davis had had time to uncover her whereabouts—yet. Besides, she knew how to be careful. She wouldn’t do anything stupid, wouldn’t jeopardize the chance of making Davis pay for what he had done to her family. All she asked in return was a few minutes of freedom. A chance to run, stretch her legs, clear the cobwebs from her mind. She would sneak away as soon as Jeff was asleep, and be back before he realized she was gone.
She toweled off, brushed her teeth, and blow-dried her hair. “I suppose you’ll want to fix your bed right in front of the door,” she said, coming back into the room.
Jeff looked up from his book with a puzzled expression on his face. “Why would I want to do that?”
“So you’ll know if anyone tries to sneak in…or out.”
Jeff shook his head. “No one can get in with the chain on and the door bolted, and besides, the floor is bad for my back.”
“Surely you don’t expect me to sleep there,” she said, lifting her chin.
“Of course not.” He pointed to the bed. “There’s room enough for both of us.”
“I’m not sleeping with you!”
“No one’s asking you to—not in the biblical sense, anyway. But be practical. There’s only one bed, no couch, a tiled floor, and we both need to stay well rested and healthy for the next few weeks. The bed is huge and there’s no reason why we can’t share it. You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine. I’ll even let you choose the side.”
“How generous,” Caroline said. “But no thanks.” She picked up a pillow and tossed it to him. “You can take the tub.”
“And have you sneak away in the middle of the night? Not a chance.” He tossed the pillow back to her, then snagged a piece of clothing from the dresser drawer and disappeared into the bathroom.
A minute and a half later, he was back—dressed only in a pair of pajama bottoms. “I’m sleeping right here,” he said, pointing to the bed.
She gulped and tried not to stare at the perfectly proportioned, half-naked body before her—the broad shoulders rippling with muscles, the smooth bronzed chest, the hard taut belly, the fisted hands firmly planted on his hips.
“And what makes you think I won’t slip away just because you’re sleeping on the bed?” she asked.
“These.” He reached into his suitcase and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, dangling them in the air.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“They’re standard P.I. issue. Although, I admit, this is the first time I’ve had to use them on a client.”
“You can’t chain me to the bed. It’s illegal.”
“I’m not going to.” He held up the key to the cuffs, made sure she saw it, then carefully
placed it on top of the television. “I’m going to chain you to me.”
“In your dreams,” she retorted.
“I assure you, I am a man of honor. I have never violated a woman, or taken advantage of her. And I’m not going to start now.”
“You’re treating me like a criminal,” Caroline protested. “I’m not the enemy.”
“Neither am I.”
“Could have fooled me.” She watched as he opened one of the cuffs and wrapped it around his own right wrist, then clicked the metal shut.
“Oh, no,” she said, backing away.
“Oh, yes,” he said, stepping toward her. “Right or left, it’s your choice.”
“What if I have to go to the bathroom?”
“You’ll wake me up. We’ll climb out of bed, get the key off the television, and unlock you. When you’re done, the cuff goes back on.”
“It’s dehumanizing. It’s against the Geneva Convention.”
Jeff made a face.
“I don’t want to sleep in the same bed with you, let alone chained together. What if I give you my word that I won’t try anything?”
“I wouldn’t believe you. You already told me you were going outside first chance you got.”
“Well, what if I promise? What if I give you my word?”
“Not good enough.”
“You don’t trust me, do you?”
“Nope.”
“Well, then, looks like we have something in common after all.” She drew herself up, squared her shoulders and held out her left arm, offering him her wrist. “You’ll regret this, McKensie. Mark my words.”
He smiled as he clicked the bracelet around her slender wrist. Then he threw back the bedspread and sheet and climbed into bed, taking her with him. “Good night, Caroline. Sweet dreams.”
Sunlight streamed through a crack in the curtains and bounced off one side of Jeff’s face as he lay on his stomach, his head turned to the window. He squinted and started to roll over onto his back until the tug on his right wrist reminded him his movements weren’t entirely his own. Instantly he stilled, not wanting to wake her.
Still facing the window, he let the sunlight slowly wash away the dregs of the best night’s sleep he’d had in weeks. It took two elements to sleep well—an exhausted body and peace of mind. And last night he had both. He was physically spent from the nonstop activity of the past forty-eight hours, and, thanks to the handcuffs, his mind was released from the burden of responsibility for Caroline’s safety. She had to stay put for the night, and that fact left his mind completely…unfettered.
He chuckled at his own joke. Heck, he knew how to get the upper hand—or wrist.
He inched his right leg under the covers toward her side of the bed. His promise not to take advantage of her vulnerable situation was good—as far as it went. But surely he couldn’t be held responsible if his leg casually brushed against hers while in the throes of sleep.
He stretched his leg a little farther, surprised he hadn’t connected with her, surprised at how cool the sheets seemed, surprised that his movements hadn’t disturbed her slumber.
He tried to sit up, but was abruptly yanked back down on the bed. Squirming onto his left side, he quickly discovered the problem.
One handcuff was still attached to his wrist.
The other was locked around a bedpost.
And Caroline was gone.
Chapter 5
Instantly awake, Jeff stared at the cold, empty place beside him, and his blood froze in his veins. Every single word she had said since they’d arrived at the beach house washed over him like a stinging rain.
She had tried to tell him, tried to explain how she had to get out, how the confines of the room imprisoned her. But he wouldn’t listen. He’d pushed her too far, backed her up against some invisible wall.
And now she was gone.
A knife of regret twisted in his gut. A cold knot of fear replaced the anger.
He yanked futilely at the handcuff, glancing at the top of the television. The small metal key was still there, mocking him with its nearness.
Damn! What was she, a female Houdini?
Wrapping both hands around the wooden spindle of the bedstead, he tried to twist it first in one direction, then in the other. The thing solidly refused to budge.
He cursed first his stupidity and then hers. As soon as he caught up with her, he was going to throttle her…
Unless someone else beat him to it.
The sobering thought infused him with renewed energy. He planted his feet against the headboard, grabbed the wooden spindle, and pulled.
Caroline breathed deeply as she jogged along the wellmarked trail, filling her lungs with the luscious fragrance of the frangipani. A warm tropical breeze whispered through the palms and hibiscus, bougainvillea and ixora were in full bloom.
Paradise. Pure and simple.
And heaven knew, she needed a piece of paradise.
This was what Arthur Peterson had promised her. A place of tranquillity and beauty. A reasonable-size area to patrol and monitor. Freedom and space to move about.
The cold, stinging rain and harsh memories were back in New York where they belonged. She would return to them soon enough. But for now, for just a little while, she’d pretend that the whole world existed on this little island, where the sun was warm, the air was fragrant, and the breezes were gentle.
A small twinge of guilt rippled through her conscience, but she brushed it aside. With luck she would be back in the room and rehandcuffed to Jeff before he even knew she was gone. And if he did wake—Well, it served him right for having the audacity to treat her like a common thief.
She rounded a turn, jumped over a low-hanging branch of a thick baobab tree and winked at the huge sea gull carved in the wooden sign that marked the trail. Remorse be damned. She couldn’t be melancholy on a day like this.
She exhaled on a puff, forcing the cold, stale air out of her lungs and cleansing her mind of the fear that had relentlessly pursued her since the night Brian was shot. Then she inhaled again, more deeply than she would have if she were running on an indoor track, trying to fill every pore with the scented air, letting the sun warm her to her soul.
She ran lightly, easily, pacing herself, running for the sheer joy of it. She had already been twice around the twomile course, and had yet to encounter another soul. Early morning was always the best time to run. That’s how it had been in Europe—all those years in boarding school when she would get up before dawn and run with the wind in her face, racing the sun into the sky. A time when life seemed so…uncomplicated. Lonely, yes. But uncomplicated, guileless, accepting. If she closed her eyes, she could almost recapture those days….
Caroline shivered. A sudden chill enveloped her like an icy mist, belying the tropical heat. Her scalp prickled, and apprehension tingled up her spine and spread along her shoulders. Her ears strained, were greeted only by a deep silence. Even the birds seemed suddenly quiet.
You’re being ridiculous, she scolded herself. The trail rose to the top of a small knoll and Caroline paused, jogging in place, as she scanned the trail for signs of a fellow runner. No splash of color…no noise…nothing.
Shaking her head, she turned and continued on, determined to regain some of the serenity that had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Two more laps, she thought. Just two more and then I’ll go back. She picked up the pace, testing herself, pushing her muscles to the limit.
A twig snapped and every nerve in her body went on instant alert. She stopped and turned. But again there was nothing. No one. The first real tendrils of fear seeped through her.
She started running again, faster than before, and she heard the sound of footsteps pounding the trail behind her. Perhaps she had been hasty in leaving the security of the room, foolish in coming out here alone. Memories chased her and she ran as much to stay ahead of them as any pursuer.
She was at least half a mile from the room—half a world from safety. A coiling, rasp
ing fear sucked the air from her lungs. Her heart thumped painfully against her breastbone, then climbed up into her throat and threatened to close off her breathing. The bitter taste of bile lay against her tongue.
Her boundaries began shrinking—collapsing. She felt trapped, even in the midst of all this openness. She struggled to breathe as invisible walls closed around her.
A sudden breeze, whipped up from the sea, whistled through the trees and she shivered. Alden was dead. So was Brian. Her sanity was threatened by the unspeakable notion that life could be cut short so quickly, so easily.
A scream echoed through her mind. She would stand and fight the way her brothers had—and she would win.
Never breaking stride, she rounded the next turn and ducked under a limb, crouching between the tree and the large wooden sea gull sign. Her view of the trail was severely restricted, but that meant she was equally hidden. With the echo of footsteps pounding in her brain, she held her breath, and waited.
Jeff ran with the determination of a man possessed. He ran along the oceanfront, the sand sucking at his feet. He turned and headed uphill past the vacant tennis courts, past the cottages and the silent shops, past the empty swimming pools. He had never been much of a distance runner and he was uncertain of his stamina. But he had to find her…would find her…would die trying.
He had paged Mac as soon as he had gotten out of the damn handcuffs. Mac had assured him no taxis or cars had been to the hotel since about ten the previous evening. Mac was searching indoors—the lobby, the arcade, the restaurants, the salon—while Jeff took the outside. She had to be on the property somewhere…unless she tried to walk all the way to Christiansted…or swim.
Maybe she was at one of the workout stations located along the jogging trail. Then again, maybe she was on the other side of the track. Two miles was a long way and if they ran at the same pace, they could run all day and never find each other.
Jeff stopped at the next workout station. Bending forward, hands on his knees, he panted heavily. He checked his pager, hoping against hope it would reveal a number even though the beeper had not gone off. He and Mac had promised to call each other as soon as she was found, but the LCD display was blank.
