The image of her helplessness stirred something in Kade that he was at a loss to identify for a moment. Then he cursed himself for being soft. So, she appeared sweet and fragile. She wasn’t. She was a murderer and he had to remember that. If he let her deceptive innocence fool him he’d be thrice an idiot and he’d deserve to lose the hefty fee Carleton was prepared to pay for her handover.
At the thought of Carleton’s heavy face, Kade shuddered. He didn’t trust that man. Looking again at the drawn, delicate features of the young woman in his care, Kade was revolted at the idea of giving her over to Carleton.
She moaned, louder, and shifted restlessly under the covers. ‘No! No. Please don’t. Not him… I didn’t…I didn’t…I couldn’t help…please?’ The jumbled, blurred words were torn from her throat and she fought the feather quilt, kicking.
Kade sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her thick, damp hair.
It came off and he gasped.
Then the knot in his gut unwound. A wig. He tossed it aside. Her own hair was dark, short and sweat-soaked, clinging to her skull. She looked even younger and more fragile.
Tears leaked from beneath her closed lids.
‘Shhhh,’ he murmured, ‘it’s alright. You’re safe. Sleep. You’re safe.’ The words were automatic, but they seemed to soothe her a little. She relaxed and a smile brightened the corner of her mouth. A faint surge of something tingled his arm; a mild, warm electric current passing through his bones.
‘Kade…’ she breathed and sank into a deeper slumber.
He stood abruptly. Cautiously, he touched her cheek. It was a little warmer. She slept, even if it seemed to be an unnaturally deep sleep. He trod into the dim hall and made his way to the bathroom, intending to have a long, hot shower.
He almost tripped over a pile of rags. No, that was his shirt and jeans. They were torn. Not a small rip, but great ragged tears. Dark stains covered huge areas of his jeans and the remains of his shirt. Everything was still damp with water and…
Blood? That was the smell on her.
He flicked on the hall light. The floor was slick and sticky with blood; great red-brown smears and a drying puddle of pinkish water showing where something had been dragged in the back door. There were bloody handprints on the door and the door to the bedroom. Small footprints tracked blood along the hall to the kitchen and back again.
Her footprints.
Her handprints.
Her blood?
No. He’d seen her almost naked. No injuries, no bruises but a large black one on her backside. Certainly no cuts that would result in this much blood.
Whose, then?
Kade snatched up the bundle of clothing, stepped into the bathroom and shucked the robe. Sliding the sticky-damp sleeves of his once-grey shirt over his arms, he flipped it onto his shoulders and examined himself in the mirror. All the buttons were gone, so he held the front together while he tried to reconcile the reflection with reality.
Both legs of his jeans were slashed from waistband to ankle. The left leg had a massive tear over the thigh. The cloth was damp and black with blood. He touched his bruised thigh and ran a thumb along the length of the thin, ragged white scar. Holding his jeans up to his hips, he matched the position of the torn material with the marks on his body.
It had to be his blood. There was no other explanation. But how?
Dropping the clothes, he checked his watch—only to find it missing. Damn! He hurried along the hall, slipping on the wet floor, and picked up his cellphone from the kitchen bench. The time and date confirmed his suspicion. The bedroom clock was right. Only about seventeen hours had passed since the accident. Not days, not weeks, certainly not the months it would take to heal wounds that bled so much.
He had to be going insane. This wasn’t possible. Was it? This made no sense at all. It wasn’t happening.
He needed that shower. And time to think. A lot of time.
Kade shoved the destroyed clothing into a bin.
#
Half an hour later, showered, dressed and feeling less like he’d been stomped by a herd of horses, Kade was no closer to an explanation. He fixed himself an enormous breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, coffee and orange juice before finally directing his thoughts to the woman in the guest bedroom.
Something was totally out of place here. Something he didn’t feel qualified to understand. There had to be a rational explanation. Several years in Special forces, and another five in O’Connor Inc Private Investigators and Security had exposed him to a lot of bizarre things, but this had to top the list.
By rights, judging by the amount of blood around the house, in his clothes and on the back porch, he should have bled to death last night. Or at least be semi-comatose in a hospital, hooked up to beeping machines and an IV.
Instead, he was sitting over the remains of breakfast, staring out the window while the storm blew in fits and gusts against the hillside. Hell. There’s no way anyone could have got to the house last night; or got him to a hospital and back.
What was it Sherlock Holmes used to say? Kade searched his memory of teenage under-the-covers-reading stints. Oh yes. Once you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever is left—however improbable—must be the truth.
The only unaccounted factor left here was…her.
Damn. He thumped a fist on the table. He still didn’t even know her name.
A quick search of her duffle bag and handbag left him no better off. She was a professional identity-changer. Every piece of paper and information on her was in the name of Katherine Douglas. Undoubtedly she had her real papers stored somewhere else. He needed to find that out, at least.
Carleton would want to know, too. Especially if she was connected to his daughter’s death. It was obvious that Carleton didn’t want this girl just to chat about his daughter’s last wishes, as he’d told Torin. He wasn’t a sentimental fool. He wanted the woman he suspected of letting his daughter die. Kade understood that feeling. He empathised. He’d wanted justice, too.
But what if there was more to this than just catching a murderer? What did Carleton really want from this woman?
A soft cry of despair whispered from the bedroom. Kade flung open her door, expecting to find her awake and upset. She slept on, but restlessly; moaning and crying out in her dreams. Her fingers scrabbled at the bedclothes.
Kade frowned. Her skin was again clammy and cold to touch, so she wasn’t feverish. It had taken on an almost translucence. Blue veins were starkly visible. The pulse at her neck beat erratically. A tear trickled from beneath those long, dark lashes. She released an anguished whimper.
This wasn’t right. Whatever she’d done last night had obviously taken too much out of her. She needed to get to a hospital. One quick glance out the window at the unleavened, heavy grey and white outside showed that idea to be impossible. The storm had deepened again, throwing its rage full force against the house until the solid, double-glazed windows rattled in protest.
He had to do something.
Acting on impulse, Kade scooped the featherweight of her out of the bed, complete with quilt, and carried her along the hall. She huddled into him, trembling.
In the bathroom, he lay her on the tiles, the quilt wrapped around her. Then he turned the taps on full and fast, filling the bath with warm water. He added some of the aromatherapy oils Tor kept for his female friends, just for good measure. Next he retrieved apple juice, water and a chocolate bar from the kitchen and placed them handily beside the tub. Finally he shucked all but his underwear, unwrapped the girl and carried her into the enormous bath.
As her body submerged, she cried out and twisted. Her eyelids flickered and half-opened before drooping shut again. Kade held her firmly against his body and murmured soothing nothingsayings. He sank down until both of them were under cocooned in warmth.
Cradling her like a baby, he sponged off her face and even managed to awkwardly wash her damp hair. Eventually, the worst of her shivers slowed and her lashes lifted.
Those ice-blue eyes stared at him without recognition for a moment. She released a long, heavy sigh. The soft flutter of her breathing stopped. Her slender body loosened. Her head lolled, attention focussed on nothing but the emptiness of death.
CHAPTER TEN
KADE
Panic and fear froze Kade’s rational thought. He could feel the life slipping out of her; feel her relief at it all being over; feel her spirit drifting. No! He’d lost too many people to lose another. This was not happening. He hauled her higher in the water, shaking her and calling the only name he thought truly fit her.
‘Alanna! Alanna! Goddammit, don’t do this to me. Stay!’ Hastily, he tested the pulse in her neck. Thready, but there. Hope surged. She wasn’t gone yet. There was time. Holding her tightly, he pressed her body against his chest.
‘Dammit, fight!’ he yelled. ‘Don’t you dare quit on me! You hear?!’ With all that was in him, he willed her to live, to stay. For some reason, beyond comprehending, he needed her to stay. ‘Live, Alanna,’ he whispered against the soft skin of her neck.
A strange surge of almost-sensation passed through his body; a visceral connection that sucked energy from his bones and flesh. Dizzy, he had to push against the end of the bath with his feet to prevent them both from slipping under. Water sloshed around them, splashing into his eyes, stinging.
She drew a deep, shuddering breath and coughed. Another breath. He felt her pulse again. Stronger than before, surely. Now those eyelids opened again and this time showed a hint of recognition.
‘Kade,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so thirsty.’
Suppressing a surge of elation, he snatched a premixed glass of half-water, half-applejuice. She lifted a hand but it dropped back into the bath with a splash. He held the glass to her lips. She gulped at it, swallowing the whole before giving a little, sobbing exhalation. Her head lolled once more on his shoulder. He boosted her upright again, this time to force a tiny piece of chocolate between her teeth. She objected faintly but he insisted. Obediently, she ate.
It took fifteen minutes, but he managed to cajole her into eating half the block of chocolate and another glass of juice. Not much, but hopefully enough fuel for her body to repair itself.
Finally, exhausted himself and with the water cooling, Kade hauled her out of the bath. Gravity dragged at his limbs and his knees buckled as he crouched to lay her on the quilt. Cradling her, he absorbed the impact on his shoulder, grunting when pain shot through his ribs. He lowered her onto the cloth and paused, panting. Man. He hadn’t felt so weak since the surgery to remove two bullets lodged in his gut. She weighed nothing but he could hardly carry her.
Water beaded on her skin and she shivered. Kade yanked a towel from the rack and dried them both. With the last of his strength, he wrapped her and carried her to bed. It was barely after twelve thirty, but he felt like he’d run a marathon. His arm, leg and ribs ached. His brain pounded worse than any hangover.
Fetching a dry quilt, he rolled her onto the bed and covered her. Now to get himself up those damned stairs and find another bed. The prospect of climbing the steep risers was daunting. Kade braced himself against the wall.
Heather’s thready voice drifted through the dark room. ‘Please, stay.’
He vacillated. Was she dreaming—perhaps repeating what he’d said to her in the bath?
‘I’m s-so c-cold,’ she said, her lips blue again. ‘Please?’
Utterly spent, Kade stumbled to the bed and wriggled beneath the covers. Her skin was still chilly, so he hauled her close, ignoring her faint protest. With his last waking thought, he noticed an essential rightness to the way her body fitted against his, the way she exhaled and snuggled languidly closer.
#
‘Kade?’
Her soft, wondering question roused him from a light sleep. Only darkness showed around the curtains so the entire day had passed but he had no idea how much of the night. Neither of them had moved. She still lay snugly in his embrace, fitted along his length, her legs entwined with his. It was the deepest sleep he’d had for many years and his body was heavy, relaxed.
For a moment he didn’t reply, wondering if he’d dreamed her word. No. Something had changed. He could feel it in her. Her skin was warm, the rise and fall of her chest even. Then she spoke again and shifted a little against him.
‘Are you awake?’ She sounded hesitant, wary, unsure.
He knew she was wondering how she’d ended up naked, in his bed. He could feel the beginnings of fear mounting in her and spoke quickly to allay it.
‘You were sick. I didn’t know what to do, so I held you and tried to think you better.’ He shrugged and felt her relax under his arm; the tips of her breasts brushed the thin skin there.
He had to clamp down on some very unprofessional urges that tried to take control of his body. Now was not the time to think of making love to her, but at least it showed he felt better, too.
She stiffened again, shifted from under his touch, and covered her breasts. By the hall light filtering around the doorframe, he saw her look at the door.
Kade kept still. He pretended to yawn, deliberately relaxing every aching muscle. Her quick, shallow breaths eased a little.
‘It’s ok, Alanna,’ he murmured. ‘You’re safe. Go to sleep.’ Now what had possessed him to say that?
After a few moments, she released a sigh and faced him. She tucked the sheet between them, but laid her head on his shoulder. He could tell she was smiling even as her body pressed against his.
‘I know. Thank you.’ She relaxed.
Kade waited to see if she said more, but silence followed. Had she fallen asleep?
She spoke again, dreamily, her words blurred. ‘My name’s Heather. But my grandad used to call me Alanna. He was Irish.’
Unaccountably moved, Kade brushed his lips against her forehead and whispered her real name, inexplicably certain it was true. She had given him a gift.
Together they drifted into sleep.
HEATHER
When she awoke, Heather felt an odd sense of loss. She swept a hand languidly across the bed, feeling for….? Vague memories skipped across her brain and confirmed that her captor had indeed shared her bed—and…a bath? Had anything else happened? Surely she’d remember sex?
The bed was empty beside her now, cotton sheets rumpled and still warm, his scent lingering faintly. She briefly dwelt in contentment; the memory of his arms around her, his shared strength, the giddy feeling of safety.
Then the midnight conversation blossomed in her mind. She’d told him her real name. Only half of it, admittedly, but still her real name. What on earth had come over her?
And safety? She was mad to think herself safe with him. He might have nursed her but only out of duty and because he was being paid, undoubtedly very well, to bring her in alive. She couldn’t afford to trust or like him. After all, he intended to take her to New York and give her over to Andrew Carleton—a man she knew by reputation to be calculating and ruthless in the extreme. Regardless of how well Kade had cared for her, she had to get away.
Heather threw aside the covers and spotted her duffel bag. Hauling a change of clothes out, she threw them on, ignoring the trembling weakness in her legs. She shoved the rest of her gear into the bag, hefted it and gently eased the bedroom door open.
The sound of running water in the bathroom assured her of Kade’s whereabouts.
On the kitchen bench lay Kade’s wallet and, glory be, his carkeys.
Snatching them up, she padded to the front door and flung it open. Only to be greeted by air so cold it stole the breath from her lungs. Snow lay piled in drifts of six feet or more. Both cars were no more than white lumps in the driveway. The sky was still leaden, although snowfall had eased off to a few dainty flakes. Icicle teeth glittered along the eaves. The world slept under a thick, white blanket.
Heather stood, staring blindly at the featureless front garden, her hopes of escape falling about her.
‘Going s
omewhere?’ Kade’s deep voice startled her and she spun to face him.
Bad move. The house kept spinning even after she stopped and she staggered. He was by her side in a flash, supporting her with a strong arm around her waist. All his concern, his confusion of mixed feelings for her, the slight twinges of pain from his healing wounds, engulfed her and she sank to her knees in the middle of the cold doorway.
He dropped to one knee beside her, stroking her hair, urging her to rise and come into the warmth.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she whispered, struggling to separate herself from him both physically and mentally. Afraid of what she might do, unintentionally, if he didn’t let go soon. If he triggered that response, she might not be able to control it. ‘Please!’
In reaction to her final, agonised plea, he withdrew his hands and body, taking his tumult of emotions with him. Relative calm returned to her mind and Heather climbed stiffly to her feet. Cold air crept into the gaps of her inadequate clothing. She shuffled inside and leaned on the wall, resting.
What now? She was trapped here. By him. What would he do?
Kade closed the door, stepping carefully around her. A mixture of anger and worry flashed in his fine grey eyes. Worry? What over? Her? Anger, why? Because he felt rejected. Normally she could deal with that by removing herself. Here she couldn’t. Would he take it out on her?
She studied him closer. Confusion, too, lurked in him, tinged with glimmers of fear.
Fear was more familiar. Fear she’d seen more often than she could count. Fear was an old companion and antagonist.
How to diffuse it, though? He was intelligent enough to have worked out something had happened last night, even if he didn’t understand what. He wanted an explanation. She’d tasted that in his touch. But what could she possibly say that would make any sense? It was too hard to explain and he wouldn’t believe it anyway.
So she simply struggled to a chair at the kitchen table and dropped her forehead onto her arm. Within a few minutes, a mountain of food appeared before her, along with a huge, steaming mug of milky coffee. Heather wasn’t sure if she was hungry until she tasted the first forkful of scrambled egg. After that she didn’t stop until the plate was empty. It had to be the largest meal she’d had for years, but it barely touched the void in her belly and made no dent in the emptiness in her heart.
Healing Heather Page 7
