Читать книгу Sudden Attraction - Rebecca York, Rebecca York - Страница 8

Outside in the darkness, George Camden gritted his teeth. Abandoning the protection of the tree, he’d crossed the weedy lawn and gotten as close as he could to the window. He’d been able to see them, but he hadn’t heard a lot of what they were saying because of the damned rain.

After a half hour out there, he was wet and cold, and he needed a smoke. Bad.

He’d been all set to get his hands on Gabriella Boudreaux tonight. Apparently that wasn’t going to happen. It looked as if she was spending the night in the cottage. But not in Buckley’s bed, for some reason.

So why was she there if they weren’t going to do anything fun?

Maybe because her mom had died today. However, if Buckley was smart, he could have comforted her and then offered more than back patting. Despite how he’d acted outside, Buckley must be too honorable for that.

George’s mind circled back to the earlier question. Why was she staying there? Did Buckley think he was protecting her?

If he was, that meant they were worried about someone snooping around. Or worried about someone causing the mom’s death. Or maybe she was just upset about staying alone after coming home and finding her mother had kicked the bucket.

Yeah, that made sense.

The phone in his pocket vibrated, and he jumped, then cursed under his breath.

The only guy who had this number was the Badger, the one who’d hired him to snoop around Houma and find out about the clinic.

The phone kept vibrating as he stepped far enough away from the cottage to avoid being heard.

“Yeah?” he said as he flipped it open.

“You haven’t reported in,” the curt voice on the other end of the line said.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?”

“I got a lead on one of the women who was treated at the fertility clinic. I came down to Lafayette to … question her.”

“And?”

He waited a beat before admitting, “She’s dead.”

The curse on the other end of the line had him holding the phone away from his ear.

“I haven’t heard about any murders in the news.”

“Because it wasn’t murder. She fell down the stairs,” he said, stretching the facts. “An old lady tripping and falling isn’t news.”

Again, he waited through a string of curses.

“But she led me to her daughter,” he said, putting the best spin he could on the past few hours.

“What’s the daughter’s name?”

“Gabriella Boudreaux.”

“And you’re going to pick her up?”

“She’s with a guy.”

“Who?”

“Someone named Luke Buckley. He rented a cottage on her mom’s property.”

“I’m paying you good money to get results.”

“I will.”

“If the Luke Buckley guy interferes, kill him.”

Even though he’d already thought of that, he snapped, “So now you’re saying you want the police investigating a murder?”

“Make sure it looks like an accident.”

“If I can.”

“You’d better.”

The line went dead, leaving George wondering what would happen to him if he didn’t fulfill this assignment. Would he be scheduled for an accident? Or would he just disappear?

IN THE BEDROOM, Luke put out the light and looked out the window. He couldn’t see much in the darkness, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was out there in the night. Someone who shouldn’t be on the property.

He was torn between slipping out the back door to investigate and staying inside. Either course made sense.

But he had told Gabriella he’d protect her, and if he went outside, someone else could come in.

Which made the decision for him.

He straightened the covers, then stood by the bed, listening to the sound of running water in the bathroom and then the toilet flushing. He’d been alone for a long time, and it was strange to have someone else in the house.

Finally, Gabriella settled down, and he pictured her lying on the couch. Probably she hadn’t taken her clothes off. He walked to the bedroom door and slipped out without looking in the direction of the couch. After making a quick trip to the bathroom, he returned to his room, laid down on his bed and tried to get comfortable, although he suspected that he wouldn’t get much sleep.

His mind was still processing everything that had happened since he’d thrown Gabriella to the ground.

He’d thought that maybe one of the wiseguys from New Jersey had found him. And he still didn’t know if he was in the clear. What if he had brought trouble to Gabriella just by choosing this plantation as a hideout?

And why had he come here, exactly?

He’d had the whole United States to choose from. Hell, the whole world. But when he left New Jersey, he headed south-west—and ended up in Lafayette. It had felt right to be here. Like the feeling when he decided to go after Rudy Maglioni.

He’d known the guy was dangerous, yet once he’d read about the mobster ordering the murder of a whole family because the father was in the witness protection program, Luke hadn’t been able to walk away from his investigation.

Did being drawn to the right story mean he had some of the same psychic power as Gabriella? Maybe not the ability to see the future, but the ability to set himself on the right course, whatever that meant.

Or was he making stuff up, giving himself reasons to think he was like her in some way?

After stopping in Lafayette, he’d looked at the bulletin board in a local real estate office and seen that the Boudreaux plantation had furnished cottages for rent. There were other places in town he could have selected. Some of them were cheaper, but he hadn’t looked at the others. Because, again, as soon as he’d read the listing, this was the one that seemed right. More than right. He’d felt as if he was on the brink of a discovery that had nothing to do with hiding out.

After weeks in the plantation rental house, he’d thought that he’d made up the notion about finding his destiny here— until tonight, when he’d touched Gabriella. And his world had turned upside down.

Another line of thinking reemerged. If he’d brought trouble to the plantation, he’d have to leave, although the thought of clearing out made his chest tighten. He couldn’t do it. Not until he and Gabriella had figured out why they’d gotten into each other’s minds when they’d touched.

GABRIELLA HADN’T EXPECTED to sleep. But the emotional upheaval of the day finally exhausted her. When she woke just before dawn, she lay on the couch staring at the gray light outside the window and thinking about why she was here instead of at the main house. If she stayed on the couch, Luke would come out of the bedroom, and she’d have to confront him. That would be a hell of a morning after, especially because they hadn’t done anything more than kiss.

They’d both wanted to go further. She couldn’t lie about that. In some mysterious way, they’d exchanged memories. Underlying that was the strongest sexual pull she’d ever felt, coupled with a headache that was worse than anything she could remember.

Usually, she didn’t even like being touched. When she’d made love with guys, she’d gotten drunk first to blunt the edge of her own reluctance. This morning when she thought about the sexual part with Luke, her body reacted. Which was reason enough to get out of here before the man in the bedroom woke up.

She hardly knew him. And she certainly didn’t like being at the mercy of sexual feelings she couldn’t explain.

Really, she should go back to New Orleans. Her mother’s refusal to have a proper funeral had given her that option, but there was something she had to do before she left.

Mom had fallen down the stairs. There had to be a reason why she’d been up there, and Gabriella wanted to know what it was.

And what about Luke Buckley? Did he represent something important to her, something she was trying to ignore?

Because she was afraid to explore it?

She clenched her teeth. She’d always longed for intimacy with someone. Now, here it was for the taking, and she was ready to walk away. Because she was a coward?

No, because she’d set herself on a life course, and she couldn’t imagine simply abandoning her plans on a whim.

That was probably the wrong word, but she wasn’t going to quibble about it now.

Quietly she picked up her shoes and tiptoed toward the door. On the porch, she stood in the chilly morning air, staring at the space between Cypress and the main house.

In the soft morning light, it looked just as it always did these days—in need of TLC. But she could imagine how it would look if she had the money to restore it’s former grandeur.

For a moment, she let a little fantasy run through her mind. She could tell Emile to go to hell. She could take a loan on the house, come back here and fix the place up, then start a restaurant that would be the showplace of Lafayette. She was working as a pastry chef now, but she had the skills to do the rest of it. And the vision. It would be fun to go around to auctions and flea markets buying furnishings. Fun to make the gardens here look beautiful again. And fun to grow her own herbs and vegetables for the restaurant.

But she knew how much work the whole project would take. Really it would be better to have a partner who could handle the business end of it. And who would that be—because she didn’t have any friends good enough to trust as a partner.

The image of Luke Buckley leaped into her mind. She saw again his dark hair, a little too long. His strong jaw. His intense dark eyes.

She made a dismissive sound. Luke Buckley? She had to be kidding. She barely knew the man. And a few minutes ago she’d been talking herself into leaving the plantation before he woke up.

But she did know he had integrity. The mob had tried to intimidate him into dropping his book project, and he’d gone into hiding so he could finish writing before they killed him.

And once it was published, he was thinking they couldn’t touch him because if they did, the whole world would know who had done it.

Which brought her back to the restaurant fantasy. He was a gambler, the perfect …

“Stop,” she ordered herself. You are not going into business or anywhere else with Luke Buckley.

Quickly, she slipped on her shoes, then hurried across the lawn to the plantation house. Her keys were still in her pocket, and she paused to unlock the door, reassured to find that it was still secured. She locked it again behind her, then walked around turning off the lights that had been on when the power had gone off. Finally, she went back to the front hall and started up the stairs.

GEORGE CAMDEN WATCH ED from the shadows of the trees as Gabriella Boudreaux crossed the scraggly lawn, then climbed the stairs and walked into the plantation house.

He’d gotten a little sleep in his car, then come back to check the cottage. Gabriella had been in the cottage. Now she was alone and unprotected. Nice of her to give him an opportunity to get her alone.

Had she ended up sleeping with the Buckley guy? Or did they have a falling out? That was more likely because she was in a tearing hurry to get away from his place.

The front door of the plantation house had been locked, but George had already figured out another way to get in. The house, like most of the ones in this low-lying area, had a raised basement. It had been a simple matter to remove the glass from one of the windows and put it back in place so it looked secure.

Waiting for a few minutes to make sure Gabriella wasn’t coming out again, he circled the building, then ducked under the overhang at the edge of the basement area. The window was just as he’d left it. Careful not to make any noise, he lifted it out and set it along the wall. He’d laid a small outdoor end table on its side near the window, like somebody had thrown it there and forgotten it.

After righting the table, he placed it under the window and climbed up, then inside. Again he’d positioned a convenient piece of furniture—an old chest—where he could use it to climb down.

Inside, he stood listening for a few minutes. As far as he could tell, Gabriella hadn’t heard him. He wasn’t sure where she had gone, but he knew this was going to come out differently than with the mother.

LUKE HEARD GABRIELLA GET UP. He heard her tiptoe across the living room, heard the front door open.

She was sneaking out, and in a way he couldn’t blame her, but he wasn’t going to let her disappear so easily.

When he ran to the window of the cottage and looked out, he saw her crossing the lawn to the plantation house. To get her stuff and leave?

He was about to go back for his shoes when movement in the stand of trees to the side of the house made him freeze. A man emerged, checked to see that he was alone and looked toward the house. When he started to look back toward Cypress Cottage, Luke ducked to the side of the window.

Peering out again, he saw the intruder start for the house—not for the front. Instead, he circled around and disappeared from sight under the overhang of the raised basement.

Not good.

Luke had thought someone might be out here last night. It looked as if he had been right.

Was it a mobster? More likely someone interested in Gabriella because he’d gone after her and not come to the cottage. But it was clear that the guy was up to no good.

Otherwise he would have gone up and rung the doorbell.

AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS, Gabriella paused. Nobody much had been up here in years, and the smell of dust was heavy in the air.

If she wanted to turn this place into a restaurant, the first thing she’d have to do was give the house a thorough cleaning.

“Forget the restaurant fantasy for now,” she muttered as she looked one way down the hall and then the other. Finally, she couldn’t resist peeking into her old bedroom.

It was the way she’d left it when she’d gone away to chef school. The curtains were drawn, making the light dim, but she could still see posters of kittens and puppies on the walls. How sappy!

But as a teenager, she’d related better to animals than she had to people.

In the hall again, she paused for a moment, unsure which way Mom had gone on her last trip up here. Too bad there wasn’t enough dust on the floor to leave a trail of footprints.

Probably her best bet was Mom’s old room. She stepped inside, looking around at the faded spread, the limp curtains, the antique furniture that was still in excellent shape.

Her gaze went to the dresser. People kept all kinds of intimate stuff in dresser drawers, but then when they died, someone else would poke through their possessions.

Like she was planning to do now.

After a moment’s hesitation, she began searching the drawers. They held only a few articles of clothing and costume jewelry that her mother obviously hadn’t been wearing lately.

Some dresses hung in the closet. All the clothes could go to one of the charities in town when Gabriella had the time to sort through them.

More interesting to her was the top shelf of the closet, which held several of the sturdy, rectangular boxes that department stores used to give away before they went to the cheap, fold up kind.

What was up there? Maybe what Gabriella was looking for.

She dragged the boxes down and took off the top of one, seeing a stack of papers. The next one held family photographs.

Not so secret. But maybe the secrets were mixed in with the normal stuff.

She was taking out a picture of Mom and Dad as newlyweds when the strong smell of cigarette smoke on clothing made her turn.

A man stepped into the doorway, his gaze fixed on her. He was tall, with dark hair, gray eyes and a predatory expression that sent a chill up her spine. Except for the look on his face, he was rather ordinary. A guy who could blend into a crowd.

Had she seen him before? Maybe, but there would have been no reason to remember him.

Her heart lurched inside her chest. “Who … who are you?” she asked stupidly.

Instead of answering the question, he said, “Come on. We’re getting out of here.”

“What do you want?”

“Shut up and do what I tell you.”

Arguing was pointless. She thought about screaming for Luke’s help. But he was too far away to hear. Could she get around the guy? Probably not. What about locking herself in the bathroom? Could she make it there before he grabbed her?

Her heart was pounding as she contemplated her options.

The man narrowed his eyes, pulling a gun from the waistband of his slacks. As he pointed it at her, he pulled a pair of handcuffs from another pocket.

“You’re going to put them on.”

She stared from the cuffs to the gun and back again, struggling to control her terror and thinking she should never have left Cypress Cottage on her own. Luke had been worried that someone was on the property. Apparently he’d been right, and she’d been too wound up in her own concerns to credit the warning. Well, that and the need to put some distance between them.

The man walked across the room, still holding the weapon pointed at her, then tossed the handcuffs onto the bed near her. “If you don’t want to get shot, put them on.”

All sorts of horrible thoughts raced through her mind. She remembered what she’d learned in self-defense classes. If someone took you out of your environment and had control over you, you were probably going to end up dead.

Mom had already ended up that way, and suddenly she thought—had this guy pushed her mother down the steps? And would he shoot now?

If the man used the gun, would Luke hear? Or was he still sleeping?

One thing she knew for sure—she wasn’t putting on the handcuffs. Not willingly. He’d have to knock her down first, maybe knock her out.

When the cuffs landed near the boxes, she pretended to follow his directions, seeing him relax a little. But instead of clicking them onto her wrists, she threw them at him as hard as she could, already ducking as she scrambled to get out of the line of fire. A shot whizzed over her head, and she knew that he hadn’t been bluffing.

Now what? The bed was between them, and she heard him cursing as his footsteps came toward her.

There was nowhere to go. The window was behind her, but it was locked. And if she made a dash for it, he’d shoot her in the back. But maybe she could get into the bathroom and climb out the window onto the portico roof before he battered down the door.

“Bitch,” the intruder snarled as he came around the bed.

This time she picked up the dusty throw rug and threw it at him.

He started coughing and slapping at the covering, apparently having trouble dislodging it with the gun in his hand—and also having trouble breathing through the dust.

Good.

But how long would the rug stop him?

Her only way out was across the bed, and she leaped onto it, listening intently for sounds behind her.

She knew he had finally gotten the rug off because his cursing was less muffled. She was almost to the edge of the mattress when he clamped his fingers around her ankle, preventing her from fleeing.

“You’re going to be sorry about this,” he growled as he pulled her across the bed.

She started kicking at him with her free leg, desperately trying to inflict damage while she struggled to get away.

When he whacked her shin with the side of the gun, she gritted her teeth and kept kicking.

The sound of pounding feet in the hall made them both look up.

Her back was to the door, but what the man saw made him turn her ankle loose and dodge back, aiming the gun at whoever was in the doorway.