Healing Heather

by Aiki Flinthart

  Heather manoeuvred the struggling Volkswagen onto flat ground in front of the garage and doused the lights and engine. Wishing again she’d been able to afford a car with a better heater, she clambered stiffly out of the seat and shouldered her medical bag and duffle.

  Sharpening winds plucked at her coat and long wig. Flurries of snow chilled her exposed cheeks. Head bent, she mounted the front porch and knocked on the white door.

  No response.

  She knocked again and still got no answer.

  She tried the handle and found it unlocked. Not surprising, this far out of town. Torn between getting out of the cold and the fear of entering the wrong house uninvited, Heather opened the door a fraction and called out.

  ‘Maria? Are you there? It’s Katherine, the midwife.’

  Still no voice in reply.

  Now she was concerned. What if, in the two hours or so it took her to get here, the girl’s labour had progressed faster than expected. What if…

  Cutting off her runaway thoughts, Heather stepped inside and shut the door.

  Warmth and the faint smell of Italian food spices greeted her, seducing her, easing her fears. A fire burned low in the grate of the cosy lounge room to her left, throwing dancing yellow lights across timber-panelled walls and thick, soft-looking navy suede couches. To her right, a kitchen was brightly lit and beautifully decorated in a classic country theme, complete with blue and white cupboards, polished timber bench tops and a massive wooden centre island. A large, lidded pot sat on the stove, steam rising faintly from it.

  Straight ahead, along a wide hall, were several closed doors.

  Calling out the girl’s name, Heather dropped her duffle and opened each door in sequence, finding an empty bedroom, a study-library lined with books, a laundry, a large bathroom, and a mudroom/woodstore room, full of chopped wood and the heady smell of pine.

  Winter preparations were in place. That was a relief.

  She closed the door and headed for the nearby stairs.

  With one foot on the bottom riser, Heather delayed. Something was amiss. Each step she took upward increased the sensation. Vague uneasiness gelled into a sharp awareness of wrongness. Not danger, exactly, more like a certainty that something was just not right.

  She reached the top of the stairs but hesitated. At the front bedroom door she paused again, trying to shake off the feeling she was in a bad horror movie; that a ghost or something equally ridiculous was about to appear. Her grandmother had had the Sight, but even she hadn’t believed in ghosts.

  Hardening her resolve, Heather flung open the door and stepped into…

  An empty, warm, lit bedroom.

  What?

  There were no other exits. The ensuite lay open for inspection, empty. She checked the three other bedrooms and bathrooms on the upper level. All empty and dark. Where could the girl be?

  She re-read the directions. Yes, she’d found each road correctly and this house had to be the one. It matched the description of the external appearance.

  So where was Maria?

  No. There was something wrong. She needed to get out. Get back to the town. Hurrying down the stairs, Heather concentrated on where her feet went on the slippery timber risers...

  …and careened headlong into a large man standing squarely between herself and the front door. Gasping, she tried to shove free and encountered broad, muscular chest clothed in blue wool.

  A familiar smell. A familiar power.

  No!

  Kade Miller.

  He’d found her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HEATHER

  Stunned, Heather made the fatal mistake of meeting his amused gaze. His hand latched onto hers. She reeled beneath a welter of his uncontrolled feelings—grim triumph, relief, a hint of anger and, underlying them all, the strong red-gold of desire.

  Yanking free, Heather retreated back, cradling her hand. Her heart raced. Was it worth trying to play dumb again? No, pointless. The triumph and relief in his feelings showed he knew who she wasn’t: Katherine Douglas.

  Did he know who she was? That was the next question. Why was he here? And where was the girl, Maria?

  Nope. Of course there was no Maria.

  This was an elaborate setup that meant serious trouble.

  Heather gathered every ounce of mental strength at her disposal and struggled to calm her nerves; to think clearly. She had to get out. No matter what it took. Looking at him down the length of her nose, she raised a supercilious brow.

  ‘Can I help you, Mr Miller?’

  To her surprise, his handsome face lit with a broad, wry smile.

  ‘At least you’re not going to pretend you don’t know me this time, Katherine.’ He cocked his head. ‘Or is it Fiona? Or Meagan? Or Margaret? Or, what was the other one?’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Oh yes, Alanna. That was my favourite, by the way. Alanna Donnelly.’

  He flicked on a light in the lounge room and walked to a bar tucked into the far corner. Pouring himself a nip of brandy, he offered the balloon glass to her.

  ‘Want one?’

  Heather pulled herself together. How did he know so many of her past aliases? She swiftly surveyed the room, searching for ideas, tools, exits. With him out of the way, a clear path lay to the front door. She bolted for her car, fumbling to keep her footing on the now-snowy front stairs. Snow fell so thickly that she could barely make out the outline of her little bug.

  With the key in the car door, she checked the house. Kade Miller leaned against the doorframe, backlit by the golden glow from inside, sipping his brandy.

  What the…?

  Heather spotted the reason for his lack of concern. A large, black SUV was now parked behind her car, blocking the narrow exit from the property. No way could she drive out. The fences on either side of the driveway were solid stone and there was no other exit.

  How far was the next house? Several miles, from memory. Too far to walk in this weather. It was almost dark, and extremely cold now. She wore clothes suitable for indoors. Her coat and boots were not heavy enough to keep her warm in a snowstorm. Only a desperate fool went out unprepared in this sort of snow. She might be desperate but she wasn’t a fool.

  Shivering, Heather glanced at the house. He still hadn’t come after her. She didn’t have much choice but to go inside.

  But what did he want with her?

  Four times she’d met him now and each time she’d got strong overtones of desire, anger and strength from him. That episode in the cafe bathroom had almost knocked her over with the mutual inflammation of their desires. He’d never given her a sense of potential for abusive violence, though. Somehow she knew that, whatever he had planned for her, it didn’t involve anything physically hurtful.

  But no man went to this much trouble to track a woman just because he wanted to chat, PI or not.

  She stood in the cold and snow for a long time, uncertain. He stayed where he was, smiling, waiting, certain.

  With a growl, she went back.

  Stomping the wet snow off her boots she ignored his fake sympathy and brushed past into the warmth. She held out her chilled hands to the fire and kept her back to her captor. That’s what he was. She was stuck here until he decided to let her out—or she could steal his car keys. Even if her phone had reception, or the phone in the house worked, who could she call? No-one. She was alone, as she had been since her mother died ten years ago.

  ‘Warm enough?’ His deep, rough voice sent curls of heat through her, which she tried hard to ignore.

  ‘Yes.’ Her reply was as cool as the snow outside.

  ‘Want that drink?’ He seemed undaunted.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hungry?’ Now he sounded like the perfect, polite host.

  ‘No!’ Heather whirled on him. He was closer than she expected and she had to step aside to avoid colliding with him again.

  He yanked the eyeglasses off her nose. ‘Do you need these? Ah.’ He peered through them. ‘Thought not. Plain glass.’ He tosse
d them aside and they landed on the coffee table with a metallic tinkle.

  Heather retreated to the warm wall next to the fire. he wind whistled outside, howling. The storm battered the house, echoing her fear and reinforcing her sense of isolation.

  ‘What do you want?’ Her voice sounded more shaky than she wanted it to.

  Kade sent her irony. ‘Probably not what you’re thinking.’

  Heather returned the haughtiest indignation she could muster. ‘Why are you keeping me here?’ T

  He stalked across the room, and slammed his empty glass on the bar. ‘Oh please. Spare me the dramatics. I thought we were past these stupid games, Katherine. No.’ He glanced over his shoulder, amused again. ‘That’s not your real name, is it? What shall I call you then? Alanna?’

  Heather raised a shoulder. What he called her was a matter of indifference. She scanned the room, assessing its masculine, heavy timber furniture and minimal ornamentation. Not much in the way of potential weapons. The fire pokers that ought to be in the stand next to her were missing. Had he removed them? Was he that forward-thinking?

  Kade folded his arms and mimicked her pose, resting against the wall nearby.

  ‘Can I ask you why you always choose names of Irish or Scottish origin?’

  Heather said nothing.

  ‘Maybe…’ He tilted his head. ‘Maybe it’s because your real name is something Irish or Scottish.’

  Heather tried not to let surprise show. It was the truth. She’d gotten careless; habitual. She wasn’t wearing contacts over her ice-blue irises this time and, although her real hair was shorter and wavier than the long wig she wore, it was Celtic black. Common enough in Ireland. As was her real name.

  He hitched himself off the wall, striding toward her with long, panther-like steps that made her shrink against the brickwork. He placed a hand either side of her on the wall and searched her face. Heather battled to keep her mind blank and her expression calm.

  ‘It’s a common mistake people make when they’re trying to hide,’ he murmured, his gaze dropping to her mouth. ‘They either take names with initials the same as their own, or they use their first name and change their last, or they have some sort of theme running through their choice of name.’

  Heather froze, caught by the hunger in those stormy eyes; unable to move even though a part of her mind screamed at her.

  His first kiss fell softly on her lips and, much to her surprise, she swayed into it. The second was harder, demanding, taking, controlling, giving passion and drawing it from her. She had no chance to guard herself. This time she was swept into the desire that billowed from his core and overwhelmed his innate sense of right and wrong. She knew that he knew he shouldn’t be doing this. She also knew he couldn’t help himself, and that was her fault. Neither could she.

  Was she being carried along by his emotions? It was hard to tell. It had been so long since she’d been held, kissed; made love. She couldn’t tell where his lust began and her own ended. She was too emotionally wound up, tired and aroused to keep her mental walls intact. Her mind merged with his, egos and emotions swirling in a thickening cloud between them; bodies pressed tightly together; rapidly submerging in a tide of white hot desire.

  A log cracked in the fire and Heather jumped, smacking her head on the bricks behind.

  ‘Ow!’ Grateful for the brief pain, she rubbed her skull and Kade retreated, wide-eyed.

  ‘What the hell did you do to me?’ he demanded, his voice rough.

  Heather glared at him. ‘Do to you? You’re the one holding me prisoner. You’re the one who lured me here with a fake call out. You’re the one who came on to me like some sort of won’t-take-no-for-an-answer jerk. What do you want with me?’

  Kade turned from her, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. He cast her a look full of irritation that spoke volumes.

  ‘I felt, no…you felt...’ He hesitated. ‘Afraid. Confused. Turned on. How do I know that?’ For a moment he frowned at her. Touching his lips, he added softly, ‘I felt it last time, too. I just didn’t realise it…’

  ‘How do you know?’ she snapped. ‘Maybe you’re just growing up and realising you’re being a jerk. Realising that you’re scaring an unarmed, unprotected woman who’s trapped on her own in the middle of nowhere.’

  With a short laugh, Kade replied, ‘You knew you weren’t in any physical danger and I’ve seen you do a martial arts workout that would shame most in the military.’

  Heather narrowed her eyes. ‘Stalking and spying. Nice.’

  ‘Stop trying to change the subject. I am a PI, remember. Besides, I’ve never hurt a woman like that in my life.’ Pain fleetingly darkened his expression and his jaw worked. ‘No. There’s something else going on…’

  She stayed silent, mouth tightly closed. Could he really feel her emotions? Her heart stuttered.

  He frowned, stared at her, swore under his breath and pointed to the large, wooden dining table nearby. ‘Sit.’ Reaching for her elbow, he stopped at the last second and growled, throwing his hands up. ‘You don’t have anything to fear from me. I won’t touch you again. I’m going to finish making dinner.’ He strode purposefully to the kitchen.

  Heather followed him more slowly, sank into a straight-backed wooden chair and watched him move around the kitchen. He added seasoning to the bubbling pot and produced a tray of breadrolls out of the oven, sliding them onto the countertop. All like nothing untoward had occurred.

  But he’d felt her. He felt what she felt. She tried to come to grips with this development, to fit it into a scheme for escape but it was too new and incredible. She’d had a total of four lovers in her past and not one of them had ever shown any sign of knowing what she felt when they were intimate—or at any other time.

  Sex had always been a trying duty. A time when she was drained; when her partners fed off the strong emotions, battering her with theirs and sucking her emotional energy dry without giving any in return. The cause of all her relationship breakdowns had been her partner’s complaint that she didn’t want to have sex often enough. Explaining why was impossible, so she’d resigned herself to a single life.

  Now, here, with this inexplicable stranger in this inescapable place, she’d finally experienced a hint of something more: a duality; a two-way connection with another human. It was as unexpected as it was terrifying; as incredible as it was impossible.

  She still didn’t know why he’d been sent to find her. What had she done to someone’s daughter that warranted sending a PI after her?

  KADE

  Kade inspected her profile, chin propped in her hand, those incredible black-circled ice-blue irises focussed blank past him, toward the white-darkness outside. What colour was her real hair, and how long? The dark locks she wore as Katherine MacDonald suited her, as did the startlingly light blue eyes with dark rims. Were they contacts? What did the rest of her look like? Was she smoothly creamy, ivory and rose all over that stunning body?

  A rush of heat to his skin and various other parts of his anatomy brought him to his senses. He growled and ladled out two bowls of thick beef stew with fierce concentration. Dammit. What had she done to him? Was she inside his head? He was losing control; losing focus on his job; being drowned in the intoxicating emotion of being near her.

  No woman had ever rattled him this much. Not even Amanda.

  This was ridiculous. He had to remember what he was paid to do and who she was.

  She was a midwife practicing obstetrics on illegal immigrants who couldn’t afford to take her to court for malpractice. She had to be stopped. Yet Kade had the distinct impression that Andrew Carleton wanted to do more than simply talk to this woman about his daughter’s death, and the thought made his palms sweat. The last thing he wanted to do was give his prisoner over—to anyone.

  Annoyed at his own lack of control, he stalked to the dining table and plonked a bowl in front of the woman responsible. She flinched, her expression showing clearly that her situation was sinking in. She
was his prisoner. The realisation was tinged with savage glee. Stuck here, in his power, until he could get them to the airport and onto Torin’s helicopter, to New York.

  He finished laying out stew, bread and butter, a good red wine and tableware without comment. Seating himself opposite, he poured two glasses of wine and began to eat with methodical hunger.

  She sat opposite, watching him but not eating—though her attention slid to the bowl over and over and she swallowed.

  ‘It’s perfectly safe,’ he said calmly. ‘If I wanted to drug you or poison you I wouldn’t need to use any subtlety. You’re not going anywhere for awhile. Eat.’ He waved a spoon at her, ignoring her half-frightened, half-defiance. She selected a spoon and took a tentative mouthful.

  ‘You cook well,’ she said, though her tone was grudging.

  Kade laughed. ‘I do a lot of things well.’

  ‘Including humility,’ she shot back.

  He shrugged. ‘No point. I’m confident I can cope with pretty much anything.’

  ‘Must be nice to have an easy life.’ Bitterness and a hint of longing edged her throaty voice. She directed her attention to her food, blowing on a spoonful as though it were the most important thing in the room.

  ‘I never said I had an easy life,’ he responded mildly. If he told her even half the things he’d done in the Special Forces with Tor, or even in O’Connor Inc over these last few years, she’d... He cut off the line of thought. What was it about this woman that had him even contemplating telling his maudlin backstories? He had to be insane. She was a job, nothing more.

  ‘Oh?’ She gestured around the room with her spoon. ‘This house must have cost a fortune. The kidnapping industry must be lucrative.’

  Kade bit down on a hasty, angry reply and let his shoulders relax. She really knew how to push his buttons. Instead, he took another bite and swallowed. There was no point in letting her know she got to him. She was smart enough to find a way to use his anger against him, as she had used his desire before. So he simply shrugged again.