Читать книгу Nightfire - Barbara McCauley - Страница 9

Barefoot, dressed in a leotard and tights, Allison tiptoed out of her bedroom and down the stairs, then quietly moved toward the back of the house. The chilly air brought goose bumps to her bare arms, but she welcomed the cold. Anything that would help her wake up at the ungodly hour of five-thirty in the morning was appreciated.

A small price to pay for privacy, she reminded herself, holding her breath as she paused outside the guest bedroom Kane was sleeping in. She leaned her head toward the door and listened. Absolute silence.

Smiling, she crept down the hallway, pleased that she’d found a few quiet moments for herself. Everywhere she’d turned last night, it had seemed as if Kane was there. Not that he’d stood over her shoulder or followed her around. If anything, it had been the opposite. He’d kept to himself most of the evening in the kitchen, studying maps and files, going outside periodically to talk with the other men. He’d barely acknowledged her the entire night.

And yet, though she’d hardly seen him, she still felt his presence. It didn’t matter that he was in the other room or outside. There was an energy that pulsated through the house, a force that had never been there before. She realized, of course, that the situation itself called for a heightened sense of awareness on her part. After all, someone was out there, and whoever it was, he was watching her and her father.

But at a deeper level Allison knew that her anxiety, her apprehension, hadn’t nearly as much to do with the circumstances as it did with Kane himself. Danger and excitement were inherent in the man, a part of who he was. His passion. She knew it, felt it instinctively, and as surely as it frightened her on one level, it seduced her on another.

And that, Allison told herself, was what made Thomas Kane such a dangerous man. A man to avoid at all costs. Even if it meant rising with the sun.

When she opened the door of the rec room, what she saw took her breath away.

He was there at the weight machine, his hands tightly clasped around the T-bar over his head, his arms rhythmically moving up and down, the movement as fluid as the sweat that glistened on his face and bare arms. He wore sweatpants and a ragged gray sweatshirt cut off at the shoulders. The underarms and chest were also stained from the exertion of his workout.

She should have left, simply backed out before he caught her staring at him, but her legs suddenly felt as heavy as the weights he lifted, her feet rooted to the cold wooden floor. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted to.

He was magnificent. His eyes were closed with intense concentration; his jaw set hard as concrete. The muscles on his arms bunched and rippled under the force as he moved. He strained at the weights, teeth gritted, obviously pushing himself to and then beyond his limits. She watched in fascination, admiring not only the physical body, but the dedication, as well. She recognized the look on his face, the driving need to be the best. She’d seen it in more than one dancer’s eyes and had even paid the price herself. Performances with pulled tendons. Practices with wrapped, bleeding toes. Dancing was all she’d ever known, all she’d ever wanted, and when she’d had her accident she’d thought it a curse. But now, when she looked into the faces of her children at the center, she knew in her heart it had been a blessing.

The weights clattered down, startling her. Her gaze met his and they stared at each other, neither one of them moving. The silence of the room closed around them, held them. She heard the sound of her own heartbeat, felt her body tighten like the string of a violin, waiting for the pull of the bow….

When he looked away and reached for a towel on the weight bench, she breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry.” She started to back out. “I’ll come back later.”

Breathing hard, he waved her back into the room as he wiped at the sweat on his face and neck. “You’re early.” He gasped between breaths.

The rapid rise and fall of his chest held her attention. Sweat rimmed the top of his sweatshirt. She pulled her gaze from his body. “What do you mean, ‘I’m early?”’

He glanced at the clock on the mirrored wall behind Allison. “You don’t work out until six-thirty.”

Was there anything this man didn’t know about her? Frowning, she stepped into the room. “And where did you happen to get that little bit of information?”

“Your father mentioned it.” He dragged the towel over his damp hair, then wrapped it around his neck.

“After you asked, you mean.”

He reached for the thermos beside the weight machine, twisted the top off and poured the steaming liquid into the cup. “Coffee?”

No sane person turned down coffee at this hour of the morning. She took the plastic cup out of his hand, hoping that something hot would steady her shaky nerves. “Just a swallow,” she said, taking a sip.

“Go ahead and finish it.” He stood and tossed the towel over the weight bench. “The extra caffeine will do you good before we start.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean ‘before we start?”’

“Your lessons.”

“What lessons?”

He shook his arms out, then planted himself in front of her, his feet spread slightly apart. “I’m going to teach you self-defense.”

Self-defense? Allison lowered the cup and stared at him incredulously. “You mean like karate or judo?”

“Not exactly. I’ll just work with you on some simple but effective techniques to protect yourself.”

The coffee obviously wasn’t helping her nerves at all. She tightened her fingers around the cup, struggling to hold on to her composure. “I thought it was your job to protect me.”

“And what if I can’t?” He stared down at her. “What if these guys manage to get you alone, or what if I’m shot or even dead. There’ll be no one but you, Allison. Then what?”

The thought of Kane being hurt while he was protecting her horrified Allison. And the idea of violence, even in her own self-defense, made her stomach twist painfully. “I don’t know.”

“You have to know. You either take responsibility for yourself or you’ll be a victim, no different from your kids at the center.”

The anger that shot through her was as swift as it was furious. She leveled her gaze with his, and the fact that he was a good nine inches taller was irrelevant. “You leave the children out of this. They have no choice in their lives.”

He nodded stiffly. “That’s right. They had no choice at all. But you do. You can walk out of here, or you can be a headline in the morning newspapers whom everyone feels sorry for. What’ll it be?”

She wanted to walk away, needed to walk away. But the truth of Kane’s words permeated the fist of anger gripping her. He was right. She did have a choice.

Setting her jaw, she drew in a slow, deep breath and handed him the cup back. “Just get on with it.”

Kane took the cup from Allison’s hand, watching her eyes shift from the hard edge of anger to the rigid set of determination. Good. Tenacity was always the best pupil, not size or gender. He forced himself to hold her gaze, refusing to give in to the impulse to skim over the curves beneath the skintight outfit she wore that—much to his discomfort—more than defined her gender and size.

Setting the cup behind him, he faced her again. “The first rule, and most important, is to be aware of what’s happening around you. Watch the movements of anyone walking close by. Keep track of the traffic around you. Always know what your options are, what street you can pull onto, where you can run for help. Be alert to anything, or anybody, out of the ordinary.”

“Someone like you, maybe?” Sarcasm edged her words.

One corner of his mouth tipped upward. “Especially someone like me.”

He moved closer to her and Allison realized he was intentionally trying to intimidate her. Though the impulse to step back was strong, she held her ground, trying to ignore the rapid-fire beating of her heart. “And what if I can’t get away?”

He moved closer still. “That’s when you need to keep calm and assess the situation. Does he have a gun? A knife? What’s close to you that you might use as a weapon yourself? Your keys, your purse, a picture frame or rolled-up magazine. Anything you can strike with quickly, that will give you the extra seconds you need to run.”

What she wanted to do was run out of here. Dammit. He was too close. The clothes he’d been wearing yesterday hadn’t revealed how muscular he was. His arms were like cords of steel, his chest as wide as a doorway. She knew that fact should make her feel safe, but at the moment she felt anything but.

“Most assailants,” he went on, “expect pleading and acquiescence, not a counterattack. Use that to your advantage. Beg with them not to hurt you, then let them have it while they’re gloating over their dominance.”

“Hit hard, hit fast and get the hell out,” she quoted Kane from yesterday.

“Good girl.” He smiled. “You pay attention.”

She wondered if he had any idea just how true his statement was. With no more than ten inches between them, he definitely had her undivided attention. The masculine scent of his skin, the waves of heat radiating off his body. And his eyes. His eyes were deep blue, as brilliant and endless as a moonlit sky.

Dealing with an attack was beginning to look like a piece of cake next to dealing with Kane.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “Now what?”

“Now—” he grabbed her suddenly “—you’re going to learn how to take the offensive.”

With his hands wrapped tightly around Allison’s wrists, Kane wasn’t sure who was surprised more—Allison or himself. He’d intended to catch her off guard, of course, but he certainly hadn’t planned to be caught as well.

Her skin was cool and soft beneath his hands, her scent distinctly feminine. As he stared down at her wide green eyes and softly parted lips, he had to remind himself—again—that Allison Westcott was a client. A beautiful one perhaps, but a client nonetheless. When she tried to pull away from him he held fast.

She narrowed her eyes. “You really expect me to be able to break out of your hold?”

“Every hold has a weak point. Mine is here—” he lifted her arms “—between my thumb and forefinger. Twist your arms,” he instructed, “then quickly pull down and away.”

He had to be kidding, she thought. His hands were like twin bands of iron on her arms. Still, she did as he said. And all she managed to achieve was two sore wrists. She glared at him. “Kane, I can’t—”

“Just think of it as a dance movement,” he encouraged. “Fast and furious, yet smooth and even. Concentrate. Focus on that weak point and pull your own strength from deep inside.”

“I can’t—”

He drew her closer to him. “I’m not giving you a choice. You either break out, or we’ll be standing here all day.” One corner of his mouth tipped upward. “Just you and me, Allison. Alone.”

The suggestive tone in Kane’s voice was all the incentive Allison needed. Jaw set, shoulders straight, she twisted her arms, pulled down and away.

It worked.

She stared at her free arms. She’d done it. She’d actually broken out of his hold. Amazed, she looked at Kane. He grinned at her with that damn I-told-you-so look. The temptation to frown at him was strong, but the satisfaction that rippled through her wouldn’t let her. Instead, she smiled slowly and put her hands on her hips. “All right, Mr. Kane,” she said as she faced him. “You’ve got me for one hour before I have to get ready for work. Teach me what you know.”

Two hours later, sitting next to Kane on the drive into Seattle, Allison was already regretting those words.

One hour with Kane had left her feeling as if she’d been run over by a herd of elephants. It was putting it mildly to say that the lesson—like the man himself—had been intense. Her arms were sore from being grabbed and twisted, her wrists bruised and her weak knee, sensitive to extreme movement, was throbbing from the kicks he’d taught her.

But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil she was feeling. Though Kane had been completely professional, aloof even, the feel of his hands on her, his body pressed against hers repeatedly, had left her a nervous wreck. The contact might not have been gentle, but it sure as hell had been intimate, and her reaction to his closeness was anything but professional.

And Kane hadn’t batted an eye, not even when he’d wrapped his arms tightly around her and held her against him while he instructed her on the move to break out. It had taken every ounce of mind power to even listen to him, let alone follow his directions. She’d failed miserably on that hold, which only meant that they had to practice it more than all the others. Over and over he’d held her, and each time it seemed closer and tighter, until she felt as if he might pull her inside him.

Frowning, she glanced over at him. Not once, not when he’d held her, not even when her breasts had been crushed against his chest, had she seen his expression change. Not once had he looked at her as a man looks at a woman.

So what if she wasn’t his type? she thought irritably. It certainly shouldn’t bother her because one man was indifferent to her.

She settled back into her seat and stared out the window. So why then, did she feel so damn annoyed?

When it started to rain again, Kane began to seriously wonder if Seattle ever saw blue sky. It was certainly a far cry from Florida. Swearing silently, he flipped on the windshield wipers and checked the rearview mirror for the white sedan that had been with them since they’d left the house. The sedan, driven by a kid named Tony Salinas, was two car lengths behind. Tony had only worked security for Oliver Westcott for the past six months, and at twenty-five he hadn’t the experience Kane would have preferred. But his records were clean and the six years he’d spent in the navy had earned him a congressional Medal of Honor following a skirmish in the Gulf. Though Kane had little respect left for the military itself, he had tremendous respect for the men who enlisted and served. When Kane exited the freeway, Tony followed.

Beside him, Allison gestured to the left. “Take the next turn at—”

“Second Street,” he finished for her.

She frowned at him, then glanced back at the car following them. “I still don’t understand why it’s necessary for both you and Tony to come to the center with me. There’s at least a dozen people around all the time. What could possibly happen?”

He looked at her sharply. “How well do you know Tony?”

“Tony Salinas?”

“How well?” Impatience edged his words.

She definitely didn’t like the implication she heard in Kane’s voice. “Not well at all,” she ground out.

The back wheels of the van skidded as Kane took the turn too fast. “I told you I’m not interested in your personal life, Allison. I’m just doing my job. If Tony’s objectivity might be blurred because you two have—or had—something going, I’ll request someone else.”

She faced him, carefully enunciating her words. “I do not have—nor have I ever had—a relationship with Tony Salinas. I’ve met him exactly twice, both times in a professional capacity as security for my father’s company.”

Arms folded tightly, she turned away. Kane might have smiled at her irritation, but the fact was he was feeling the same damn thing. He tried to tell himself it was the lack of clues and suspects he had to work with on this case, but he knew—whether he wanted to admit it or not—that wasn’t the truth.