Читать книгу Sudden Recall - Jean Barrett - Страница 14

She had a full bottom lip that made her mouth sultry. Had the circumstances been otherwise, he would have been tempted to explore that inviting mouth with his own. But right now his only interest in her lower lip was how it trembled with emotion as those wide blue eyes of hers stared at him in disbelief. He had just informed her of his intention.

“You can’t,” she objected.

“This says I can.” He waved the pistol in front of her nose.

“You don’t want to do this,” she attempted to reason with him. “Aside from the fact that forcing me to go with you constitutes kidnapping, there’s nothing for you to gain by taking me along.”

“What do I want to do instead, Eden? Borrow that car of yours out in the alley, have you cheerfully promise me you won’t call the cops while I run for it? Assuming, that is, I have a reason to run.”

Her silence told him she realized any further argument in that direction would be useless. They both knew he couldn’t leave her behind, couldn’t trust her now out of his sight.

“It’s a houseboat, isn’t it, Eden? Well, you and I are going to play house on it while you tell me everything I want to know, and maybe before we’re through I’ll be able to decide just what the hell is going on. Oh, don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen to you. Providing,” he added, his voice slow and raspy as he leaned in close to her, “you behave yourself.”

“Look, I can help you if you let me. I will help you, but not this way, not—”

She got no further. They were interrupted by a male voice calling out to her from the direction of the parlor where she had left the door open to the piazza.

“Eden, you in there?”

“It’s Skip Davis from next door,” she whispered.

“Answer him. Tell him you’ll be there in a minute.”

“I’ll be out in just a second, Skip.” She lowered her voice again. “Now what?”

“Get rid of him. Whatever he wants, tell him you’re busy and you’ll talk to him later.”

“And what if he caught a glimpse of you and wants to know who you are?”

“Tell him your long-lost husband is back from the dead,” he said, unable to keep the sharp edge of sarcasm out of his voice. “You ought to be able to convince him of a little lie like that. You had me believing one.”

There was more than just fear in those blue eyes now. There was also healthy anger.

“Get going,” he ordered her before she could express that anger. “Make it good. And, Eden?” She paused on her way to the connecting door, looking back at him reluctantly. “Be careful. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

She nodded, understanding him, knowing he had the pistol and that he would be listening and watching from behind the office door. Leaving the office, she crossed the parlor, greeting her neighbor who waited in the open doorway.

Through the crack, he could just make out the heavy figure of the retired naval officer, hear him as he asked Eden to join him and his wife for lunch. There was a pause after the invitation was issued. He tightened his grip on the pistol and tensely wondered if she would do or say anything to alert her visitor.

But to his satisfaction, she was too smart to make this kind of mistake. She probably figured he was so desperate he wouldn’t hesitate to use the pistol at the first sign of a threat to him. Let her go on thinking just that. He would be safer that way, and so would she.

“I’m sorry, Skip. I wish I could, but I have to work. I’m afraid Sundays are no exception when clients come to me with troubles that won’t wait.”

He had to give her credit. She couldn’t be anything but nervous, and yet she sounded cool and without a concern. She also managed to convey in that simple reply an explanation for him, should her neighbor have detected his presence, as well as a reason for her later absence.

He was relieved when her neighbor accepted her excuse and departed, and she closed the door after him. But he was far from ready to relax. The sudden appearance of the navy man justified his decision, making it more imperative than ever that he remove them from the scene.

He waited to make certain Eden came directly back to the office before he turned his attention to her purse on the desk.

“What are you doing?” she challenged him sharply, as he appropriated the purse and began to investigate its contents.

“Looking for a breath mint. You never know, I might get lucky later on. Man and wife, remember?”

“That’s low.”

“Is it?” He lifted his gaze, coldly meeting her angry eyes. “So, just how virtuous were you being, sweetheart, when you didn’t correct me? When you let me go on believing we were married?”

“That was wrong of me, I know, and I apologize for it. But I had a vital reason, and if you’ll just let me explain—”

“Later,” he cut her off. “Right now I have some vital business of my own.”

He found no weapons in the purse, nothing that she could turn against him. There was a cell phone, and this he removed and tucked into his pocket. Making sure that her wallet held an adequate supply of cash and that the purse contained her keys, he handed the bag to her.

“Now what?” she demanded, hugging the bag to her breasts.

He didn’t answer her. His mind was busy with a mental list, checking off the preparations for this flight to her houseboat. Once again, he was aware of old skills. Training from his unknown past that urged him to be thorough, to cover all the necessities before he went into action. He didn’t understand this instinct, but he was grateful for it.

“This friend of yours upstairs—Tia. She have an answering machine?” He remembered Eden telling him Tia was out for the day.

“Yes.”

“Call it. Leave a message for her. Tell her you’re going to be gone for a couple of days on a case. That everything is fine, including the patient, and she isn’t to worry about you. You’ll explain everything when you get back.” It wasn’t the most brilliant of remedies to a potential problem, but it would have to do. He just hoped her friend would be satisfied by it. “No details, Eden, and make it convincing.”

He handed her the receiver and stood close beside her as she dialed, ready to grab the phone away from her if she tried to communicate any warnings. But again she was wise enough to do just as she’d been told. In a calm voice, she delivered the concise message he had instructed.

Of course, she wasn’t calm at all underneath that composed exterior. Her lower lip continued to betray her. It was still quivering when she hung up and faced him. He didn’t blame her. He’d be shaken himself if someone was holding a gun on him. Well, he had no choice about it.

Damn, but she had one sweet mouth, as appealing as those pure blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. Were the lashes real? he wondered.

“Do you have to stand so close?” she complained. Her voice was low and breathless, as if his nearness was robbing her of air. As if she was suddenly and unwillingly as aware of him as he was of her.

But his awareness of her on any sensual level was a mistake. He reminded himself that her blue eyes were not guileless and that her sweet mouth had lied to him. He stepped back away from her, forcing himself to be practical again.

“You keep any personal essentials at this houseboat? Some extra clothes for yourself, that kind of thing?”

“Yes.”

“Then we don’t need to waste time while you pack a bag.”

He was anxious to get out of here without understanding why. What was he running from? The police? Did the cops want him for something so bad that his mind, unable to deal with it, had shut down on him? The possibility worried him.

Or was it a much darker enemy that had his insides in knots? Someone he had to elude at all costs? An enemy for whom Eden Hawke might be working? Having her business card and the photograph of the boy, both of which had been a link that had brought him to her, didn’t make her a friend. He realized that now. Understood that she could be as treacherous as that generously endowed body of hers.

“Let’s go,” he ordered her gruffly, gesturing with the pistol in the direction of the parlor.

She preceded him from the office carrying her purse.

“Where’s the jacket I was wearing last night?”

“There,” she said, indicating a coatrack near the door.

“Get it.”

She snagged his jacket from the hook and a light coat for herself, draping them both over her free arm as she led the way through the kitchen to the back door that opened onto the alley.

“Wait,” he said, when she’d unlocked and opened the door.

He moved in front of her to check the alley in both directions. It was empty except for a dark green Toyota.

“Car keys,” he commanded.

She fished the keys out of her purse and passed them to him. He unlocked the Toyota, saw her settled behind the wheel, and rounded the sedan to install himself in the passenger seat. Only then did he return the keys to her.

“All right,” he said, buckling his belt, “let’s roll. And, Eden?”

“What now?” she asked, starting the engine.

“Don’t surprise me. Make sure it’s your houseboat that’s our destination. And if for any reason we get stopped, I’m your husband, remember. Your loving husband.”

She glared at him, but she offered no objection. Not when he reminded her of the consequences if she tried to trick him by patting the hard lump that was the pistol hidden beneath the jacket slung across his lap.

The houseboat, he thought as they swung out of the alley onto a side street. Only that wasn’t where he needed to go. It was somewhere far more important than that. This was what had driven him last night, the conviction it was urgent for him to reach something or someone. If he could remember just who or what it was…

WATER AND church steeples. They were what came first to Eden’s mind whenever she thought of historic Charleston.

The water was everywhere in the shapes of the broad harbor, countless inlets, tidal marshes and the Ashley and Cooper Rivers flowing on either side of the peninsula that embraced the original city. Clustered within its core, with their soaring spires, were Charleston’s famous churches, majestic Georgian structures outside whose doors basket makers offered their wares to passing tourists.

Radiating from this nucleus was a maze of lanes that boasted a wealth of traditional architecture with a strong West Indian influence. Narrow streets like Eden’s, where the air was scented with camellias and an exchange of Gullah could be heard by the strolling vendors from the sea islands.

It was a rich, wonderful culture, and Eden was never immune to it. Until this morning. She was far too angry to be aware of sights, sounds or smells as she navigated the Toyota through the Sunday traffic. Her current anger was directed not at her silent companion but at herself.

How could she have been so overconfident, so naive to totally misjudge this man? She was a private investigator. That meant she was supposed to be able to read people accurately, tell the good from the bad. She hadn’t. Not this time, not even when Tia had cautioned her against permitting her emotions to get in the way.

Nor had she been resourceful enough to manage any warnings for either Skip Davis or Tia. She had messed up all around and deserved to be angry with herself.

Trapped. Trapped with a man who plainly regarded her as his enemy. What now?

Stopped at a traffic light, she stole a glimpse at his profile. His features were rigid, uncompromising. And dangerous.

He turned his head and looked at her. Something tugged at her insides. She wanted to believe it was nothing but fear and was worried it might be more than that.

“The light’s green,” was all he said.

It’s not too late, she told herself as they proceeded through the intersection. You can start being the P.I. you’re supposed to be. Convince him you’re not his enemy. Your survival could depend on it.

“Will you let me explain now?” she asked him, making her voice as persuasively pleasant as she could.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“But—”

“I said no. Why should I believe you? Why should I believe anything you tell me? Just be quiet and let me think.”

It was no use. He was not going to listen to her. Not, anyway, until they reached the houseboat. But if there was any way to prevent it, she couldn’t let him take her there. The houseboat was isolated. She would be all alone with him in a lonely place. Anything could happen.

Help. She needed to seek help, but she had to be careful how she managed it. Trying something reckless, like alerting a passing police cruiser of her plight, was out of the question. Not when he had that gun in his lap.

But her situation wasn’t entirely hopeless. She did have one promising means of rescue, providing she could make the opportunity to use it. Not yet, though. A glance at the fuel gauge told her she would have to wait a bit. Until then, she tried to forget the desperation of the man seated beside her, tried to remember instead that he was still a link to Nathanial.

Charleston was also a city of bridges, and they crossed one of its major spans over the Ashley River a few minutes later. Then, with the peninsula behind them, came the slow crawl through the urban sprawl of the modern city.

Reaching the river road, they traveled inland, following the winding Ashley River through a region of ancient live oak, groves of palmetto, and all the other less familiar vegetation of the lush low country. As the miles passed, Eden kept her eye on the fuel gauge.

Now, she thought.

“We need to stop for gas,” she informed her companion.

He leaned over to check the gauge for himself, breaking his long silence. “How far is it to the houseboat from here?”

“Far enough that we’d arrive on empty. Anyway, if you plan on us staying there long enough to eat, then we need a few essentials. Milk, bread, that kind of thing. We can get them, along with the gas, at a convenience store just up the road here.”

“All right,” he agreed.

There was a tricky, tense moment when they arrived at the convenience store and pulled up in front of a pump. He insisted on taking the keys from her again before either of them got out of the car, then challenged her when she started to open the back door on her side.

“What are you doing?”

“I want my coat. I’m cold.”

“Feels like summer to me.”

“It’s February, and I don’t care what the temperature is. I’m still cold. I imagine being scared has something to do with that,” she said sarcastically.

“Have it your way. Just hurry up.”

Eden breathed with relief and removed her coat from the back seat, where he had allowed her to place it before leaving Charleston. His own jacket was still with him. It hung over one of his arms, where it continued to hide the pistol under its folds. He stood beside the pump and watched her fill the gas tank after she slipped into her coat.

“You pay for the gas before we shop for groceries,” he instructed her as they entered the convenience store. “Just in case we have to make a fast exit.”

He was being thorough, Eden thought. Except there was one thing he had overlooked. He had failed to check the pockets of her coat.

The store was empty of customers other than themselves. He stayed close at her side to make sure she didn’t try to signal the attendant as she paid for the gas.

Now comes the hard part, she thought when they came away from the counter.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she said.

“That can wait until we get to the houseboat.”

“No, it can’t. I’m sorry, but being scared makes me more than just cold.”

He swore under his breath. “Okay, where is it?”

She led the way to the far end of the store where the single, unisex rest room was located off an alcove. Its door stood open, the light inside already on.

“Wait,” he said, moving in front of her to check out the interior, presumably to make certain there was no other exit or a window that would offer her a chance to escape.

“Will you please hurry?” she urged him, wanting him to be convinced it was an emergency.

There was another bad moment when he turned his head to gaze at her speculatively. Did he suspect something?

“Maybe I ought to go in there with you,” he said.

“You wouldn’t!” But she was afraid he might do just that.

“Then just make sure you behave yourself in there. When I check afterward, which I intend to do, I don’t want to find any distress message scrawled on the mirror. And don’t lock the door behind you either. I’m going to be standing right here in this alcove just outside, and if I hear the click of that lock…”

He left the rest unsaid as he moved his jacket aside to finger the pistol tucked now into the waistband of his pants. He was telling her that attendant or no attendant, he would shoot off the lock if she tried to barricade herself inside.

When Eden hesitated, wondering if he actually meant his threat, his broad shoulders lifted in a little shrug. “If you’re not sure about the lock, then I think I should go with you.”

“No lock,” she promised him.

Before he could insist on some other precaution, she scooted past him into the rest room, swiftly closing the door behind her. Damn him. She had counted on locking herself in, but now she would have to risk her action without that security.

There had been no opportunity to investigate the pockets of her coat, either back in Charleston or outside at the gas pump. He had been much too observant for her to take that chance. But now, placing her purse on the sink’s counter and hoping her memory was reliable, she plunged her hands into the deep pockets of the coat.

To her relief, her probing fingers closed around a flat, compact instrument at the bottom of the right-hand pocket. Thank God, she hadn’t been wrong. The phone was here where she had placed it after last using it.

Eden’s mother, who was the accountant for all the Hawke detective agencies at the home office in Chicago, had complained that Eden’s purchase of a second cell phone was excessive. She had withdrawn her objection when Eden explained that she was forever either misplacing her cell or forgetting to keep its battery charged. And since a P.I. often had to rely on a cell phone, a backup was essential.

Grateful for her carelessness that had made an extra phone necessary, Eden withdrew the instrument and flipped it open. Now, if only she hadn’t gone and drained its power again… Ah, good, she had a strong signal and a full battery. She was in business.

With a worried glance at the closed door, she flushed the toilet and turned on the faucet at the sink, counting on the sound of the running water to muffle her voice. Then, extending the phone’s antenna, she started to punch in a rapid 911.

The nine was all she managed before the rest-room door burst open. Her heart sank at the sight of him. Covering the space between them in two swift strides, he snatched the cell phone out of her hand. His face was like a storm. A savage one.

“You were cold, huh?” he thundered. “The hell you were!”

He was talking about her coat. That was why he had charged into the rest room. It must have suddenly occurred to him out in the alcove that he had neglected to investigate her coat.

That he would have thought of the coat at all at this stage startled Eden. Just who was this man, anyway? No one ordinary, certainly. Not when he was so careful not to overlook any potential threat to him. That smacked of a dark history, maybe even a violent one. Just what was he involved in, and how serious was her own jeopardy because of it?

“What do you do?” he growled. “Collect the damn things?”

Switching off the instrument, he thrust it into his pocket where it joined the phone he had seized earlier from her purse. Then, tossing his jacket on the floor in order to free both his hands, he advanced on her slowly. The look on his face said he meant business.

Eden backed away from him until she had nowhere else to go. She was pinned against the sink. He towered over her, a daunting figure.

“You have any more surprises in that coat, Eden? Something I should be worried about?”

Before she could stop him, he was pressed up against her, his arms on either side of her, his big hands plunged into her pockets. She could feel the heat of his fingers probing the depths of both pockets. There should have been nothing personal in that search, but there was. Eden found it difficult to breathe.

“Guess not,” he said.

Swallowing, she managed a cool “If you’re through.”

But he was in no hurry to withdraw his hands. They remained in her pockets, making an intimate contact with her hips through the fabric. His eyes were on her face, a seductive gleam in them. He inhaled slowly, deeply.

“Lily of the Valley, huh?”

Her fragrance still intrigued him. And her lower lip.

“It’s quivering again, Eden,” he said, his voice husky.

He was leaning into her so closely she was aware of the stubble on his square jaw, the heat of his hard flesh. This time he did slide a hand out of her pocket, lifting it to the level of her face where the slightly rough pad of his thumb lightly stroked her bottom lip. Eden felt a slow flame coiling deep inside her.

“Take your hand away,” she commanded, her own voice turning hoarse.

“You wanted to play husband and wife. So, all right, we’re playing husband and wife.”

“Stop saying that!”

“Maybe you’d like my mouth here instead of my thumb. Would you, Eden?”

She’d had enough of his steamy games. Whether he was formidable or not, she refused to be intimidated any longer. “You’ve satisfied yourself there’s nothing else in my pockets. Now back off. And count yourself lucky I didn’t try to grab my pistol out of your waistband.” She had considered such an action, but as quick as his reflexes were, that could have resulted in a struggle in which one of them might have been shot.

Motivated by her threat to recover her gun, he stepped away from her. His eyes never left her face. “If you had the gun, would you use it on me?” She didn’t answer him. “Maybe you think I’m some kind of monster. I’m not. At least I don’t think I am.”

“Then what are you? Just an innocent victim?”

“It’s possible.”

“If you believe that, then why don’t you turn yourself in to the police? Tell them as much as you know and let them sort it out.”

“That’s a plan. Except if it turns out I’m a wanted man—” He shook his head. “Uh-uh, I’m not bringing the cops in on this. Not until I know what’s going on and why.”

“So, instead, you’re going to go on playing the tough fugitive who kidnaps women at gunpoint.”

“And makes their lips tremble in tempting ways.”

Eden angrily tightened her mouth. It was a defensive reaction, and he didn’t miss it. He smiled. A sardonic smile.

“You know,” he drawled, “if I wanted to, I think I could make that mouth of yours do a lot more than just tremble. And not by using my thumb, either.”

“You might have lost your memory, but you’re not suffering from a loss of ego, are you?” The awful thing was, she feared there was some truth in what he claimed and that she would have to guard herself against it.

“Could be you’re right,” he admitted. “Only we don’t have the time to test your theory.” Leaning down, he recovered his jacket from the floor. “We’ve still got that shopping to do. Come on, let’s go make that attendant out there think you and I are the happiest married couple in South Carolina.”

THE HOUSEBOAT WAS exactly what she had wanted when she’d bought it a little over a year ago. A quiet getaway far enough removed from the city to guarantee her absolute privacy whenever she needed a few days’ retreat between difficult cases.

But now, looking at the gray houseboat moored at the end of its short pier, Eden regretted the remoteness of the place. There were no neighbors within hailing distance, just the thick vegetation along the shore and the softly flowing river with its reedy shallows where the herons fished.

She was aware of the man who followed closely behind her along the narrow path from the car, bearing their sack of groceries. She was alone with him in this seclusion, not knowing what he intended to do with her. It was a situation that unnerved her on every level.

He, however, was satisfied by the isolation. She could see it in his face when they reached the door of the houseboat, and she turned to him as he spoke to her.

“You’ve got electricity, huh?” he said, noticing the wire stretched from the pole on shore to the side of the houseboat.

“Yes, all the comforts of home,” she said, unlocking the door and spreading it open.

He held out his hand. Knowing what he wanted, she laid the keys on his palm. He was making certain that she wouldn’t try to escape in the car.

“Inside,” he directed her.

She looked at him again when they were inside and the door was shut behind them. His gaze was making a fast survey of the place. It was a simple arrangement. A narrow living room in the center, a tiny kitchen off one end, and at the other end a single small bedroom and bath. All of it was comfortably but plainly furnished in the warm colors that Eden favored.

“Nice and cozy,” he observed. “Just the sort of setting that makes a man think of, oh, I don’t know. An intimate weekend with his wife, maybe?”

The houseboat had never seemed cramped to her before. It did now, as if there wasn’t enough room to contain both of them. But Eden refused to let him see how that worried her. Or to respond to his mockery on the subject of a marriage that had never existed. She had more vital matters on her mind.

“Now can we have that talk?” she asked him.

“Later,” he said brusquely, dumping the sack and his jacket on the bar between kitchen and living room.

“But you told me—”

“I said later.”

He had spotted the portable TV in the bookshelves. The clock on the VCR that accompanied it registered the time as just a minute past twelve. He lost no time in settling on the sofa, the remote in his hand.

“You’re going to watch television?”

“It’s noon. There should be a news broadcast.”

Eden understood his sudden interest then. He was eager to learn of any accident or crime that might offer him a clue to his identity. Leaving him perched on the sofa, knees spread as he leaned earnestly toward the screen, she went into the kitchen area to put away the groceries.

She listened to the broadcast as she fixed sandwiches and poured them glasses of milk. Like him, she hoped to hear of something to which they might connect him, but there was nothing promising in any of the reports.

She brought him his lunch. They ate in silence, his attention focused on the news. And all the while, Eden was conscious of him, wary of his possible danger to her. She remembered he had tried to assure her he wasn’t evil, and last night her instincts had been convinced he was a decent man. But how could she trust any of that when he was driven by a desperation neither of them understood?

Well, she was desperate herself, as only a mother could be. She managed to restrain that desperation through the entire lengthy newscast of both local and national events. But by the time the program wrapped up without results for him, she’d had enough. She wanted answers, and she no longer cared how much she might be risking herself to get them.

Opening her purse, Eden removed the photograph and business card she had found in his jacket last night. His gaze was still fixed on the television screen when she came to her feet and inserted herself between the sofa and the bookshelves.

“Look at them,” she commanded, facing him with determination as she placed the photo and card on the coffee table in front of him.

He glanced down and then up. “Again? I thought I told you back in Charleston—”

“I want to know how you got them. Do you remember at least that much?”

“No.”

“Try.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing since I opened my eyes this morning? When I wasn’t worried about what you were going to try next, that is. And why are you so interested in that picture?”

Eden was prepared at this point to plead with him. “I have a good reason. The best reason in the world. It’s because—” She stopped abruptly, realizing that, unless someone was able to address an individual by name, an appeal somehow lacked strength. “Look, if you and I are going to spend any time together—”

“Ah, now you want to spend time with me?”

“I didn’t think I had any choice about that. You were the one who forced me to come here.” She was getting angry again. That wasn’t the way to reach him. “The point is,” she went on, her voice softening, “you don’t have a name because you don’t know who you are. So what am I supposed to call you?”

His gaze drifted away from hers. There was a long silence between them. Had the windows been open, she might have heard the gentle lapping of the waters against the pier, a sound that would have soothed her while she waited tensely for his answer. But the windows remained closed, and the only sound in the houseboat was the TV, which droned on behind her.

She looked at his face. Except for a slight discoloring around the eye that had been bruised and swollen shut last night, what had to be a tenderness in the lip that had been split open, and the bandage that still covered the bridge of his nose, he was healing rapidly.

There was strength and character in that face. She could see it in the square shape of his jaw, the fine radial lines at the corners of his observant brown eyes, even in the small mole high on one beard-shadowed cheek. That it was also a face with sensual qualities, to which she was regrettably susceptible, Eden preferred not to think about.

A lean face, too, like the rigorously conditioned body that carried it. Solid and athletic, even with that limp. As though it had been trained for a specific purpose.

And again the question gnawed at her. Who was he?

“Him,” he said without expression, nodding in the direction of the TV behind her.

Puzzled, Eden swung around to face the set. There was a movie playing on it now, a classic old western. She couldn’t remember its title.

“Shane,” he said. “You can call me Shane.”

Eden recalled the story now. Shane was its hero, a mysterious loner who had arrived out of nowhere. No past, no other identity beyond that single name. Shane. It was perfect. Like the character in the movie, the name suited him.

“Shane it is, then,” she said.

He nodded, satisfied. “Now let’s move on to another name. The kid in that picture. You know who he is, don’t you? Or at least you think you do. Who is he?”

Eden caught her breath, then released it in an emotional rush. “His name is Nathanial. Where is he, Shane? What have you done with my son?”