Bed of Lies (47 page)

Took her a minute to figure that out, screaming the whole time, the dog dancing around the two of them, seemingly unable to figure out if this was some kind of game or if Aidan was trying to hurt her. He whined, barked, cried and then finally licked the girl's face, bringing forth a howl of outrage from her, and then, finally blessed silence.

"God, thank you," Aidan said. "I don't know how much more of that I could take."

"How much more you could take?"

She sounded even more pissed than before, started struggling again, and he tugged a little harder on the arm until she stilled. Once she did, he could feel that she was trembling badly and felt guilty about that, but not enough to let her up yet.

"Who are you? What do you want?" she cried.

"Right now, just to talk."

"Oh, I'm sure. If you hurt me, you'll be sorry—"

"I'm already sorry—"

"My family is insanely protective," she insisted. "They will hunt you down. The whole town will—"

"The whole town? Think a lot of you, do they, princess?"

"Yes, they do— Ahhh!"

She probably would have kept going, but the dog came up and licked her cheek again, effectively silencing her once again.

Okay, maybe he'd keep the dog for a few days. No matter how much of a pain in the ass he was, he was better than having the girl screaming. Aidan had planned to stick the barrel of his pistol in her back again to hopefully silence her, but this was probably better and less threatening.

"What is that thing?" she asked, breathing hard, but she wasn't screaming anymore. It was more stunned amazement as she turned her head to stare.

Tink danced a bit, coming close and then retreating, barking once, then again, maybe asking her to get up and play with him. Aidan couldn't be sure.

"Some people claim he's a dog. I'm not convinced," he told her. "Be still for a second so we can talk about this, and I won't hurt you. Give me a hard time, and I'll order that thing to lick you again."

Now, if she didn't figure out that he had no control over the dog, they'd be okay.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Who are you?" she shot right back.

Aidan sighed, exasperated. "I can sit here on top of you as long as you want. You're not going anywhere unless I let you, so I suggest you start talking."

"My name is Grace, although I don't understand why you'd want to know. Is that some quirk of yours? Wanting to know your victim's names?"

"Victim? How did you get to be the victim here? You broke in, remember?"

"I didn't break in. I know where the spare key is. My family owns this cabin," she claimed.

"Owns it?"

"Yes, owns it."

Could it be that simple? A mix-up in who was going to be here when? "I've been here for almost three weeks. Zach told me the place was empty, that I was welcome to use it as long as I want. He said no one wanted to be here when it's this cold."

"Zach? Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Prove it." She was being still at least, and she wasn't screaming. "Call him. I want to hear the conversation, so put your phone on speaker."

She was giving orders? Did she not understand she was pinned to the floor, and he was calling the shots? Plus, she was dead-wrong about one thing, which had him doubting her whole story.

"Cell reception here sucks on a good day," he shot back. "Which I suspect you'd know, if you'd been here before. In this storm, it's probably impossible to get any kind of signal anywhere on the lake. And there's no land-line."

"Okay, yeah. I remember that now. It's been a while since I was here."

"And if it does really belong to your family, what's with you tossing the place? You steal from your own family?"

"No! And even if I did, there's nothing here to steal. I was looking for something. Not to steal. Just... there's something I need to find, and I think it might be here. Could you get off me, please?"

Aidan thought about it. His shoulder ached. So did his side and his hip. He wasn't going to be able to move off of her quickly or easily, so if she threw another elbow—or worse, a knee—it was going to hurt.

He pressed the gun between her shoulder blades, just to the left of her spine. "Feel that, princess?"

"What? You sitting on me and trying to break my arm?"

He pressed the barrel more firmly into her skin.

"Oh, my God! Do you have a gun?"

"Hell, yes, I have a gun," he said.

And if she'd spent any serious time in trouble before, wouldn't she have realized that when he'd first grabbed her? But maybe she wasn't the kind of girl who'd been in serious trouble before. Maybe she'd been too startled to pick up on exactly what was going on, like the fact that she had a gun at her back.

"Okay... just... what do you want from me?"

Her voice trembled, and if he wasn't mistaken, she was crying.

He ran his hands over her as quickly and matter-of-factly as he could, pushing to the back of his mind the knowledge that it had been a long time since he'd touched anyone with curves like these. She was petite and—he sincerely hoped, so he didn't feel like such a letch—at least over the age of twenty-one. She tensed, whimpered, but stayed still and quiet.

"Good, you're not armed."

"Of course, I'm not armed. I'm not a criminal. I just didn't know Zach had loaned someone the cabin. Please, don't hurt me."

"But you didn't ask before you came up here? Why is that?"

"Because I didn't want anyone to know I was here."

Aidan laughed, couldn't help it. "Princess, you're just digging yourself in deeper. Why didn't you want anyone to know you were going to be here?"

"Because... Just... Because I didn't."

"You're going to have to do better than that," he insisted.

"Do you have a family?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Are you close?"

How to answer that? "Close enough."

"Do they worry about you? Do you know what it's like to have all of them worried about you?

"Yes." Did he ever. He'd kicked them out of his hospital room and the rehab facility more than once. He'd come here in part to get away from all those people watching and worrying over him.

"Having them watch you all the time, trying to figure out how you're doing, if they should be even more worried than they already are. I mean... I love them, really I do. I'm just not used to being the one they worry about. And it's exhausting, trying to convince them not to worry so much. I just didn't have the energy to do it anymore, and.... This was a totally impulsive move. I was driving down I-275 and saw the exit and just like that, decided to go. Didn't tell a soul where I was going...."

"Okay, I gotta tell you, if there was a test about what not to tell the man holding a gun on you, you'd have flunked right there, princess."

She whimpered again, then turned her head as far to the right as she could, trying to look at him. He thought if she could, she'd have slapped his face right then.

"Oh, stop. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Then get off me already."

"I will, but this is how we're going to do it," he decided. "Slowly, no sudden moves. I'm going to take my weight off of your back, and I want you to stay on the floor and slide forward on your belly until you get to the refrigerator. Then you can turn around and sit up. You stay over there. I'll stay over here. Everything will be fine. Got it?"

"Yes, I do."

"Good. Here we go." He put one hand down on the floor beside her shoulder to brace himself and then put his weight on his knees to take his weight off of her. "All right. Not too fast."

She got her hands up beside her face and used her arms to slide forward, her body catching a bit on his as her hips slid past. He put his right lower leg flat against her to make sure she didn't try to kick him at the last minute.

She didn't, sliding all the way to her corner and sitting down on the floor. The dog followed along, whining and pawing at her side, obviously thinking it was some kind of a game.

"Tink, no!" he said forcefully.

To his surprise, the dog stopped and at least looked at him, cocking his head as if to ask, Why not?

"Tink?" She almost laughed in his face. "The guy with a gun named his dog Tink? As in Tinkerbell?"

"I know, not very dangerous-sounding, is it?" Aidan said. "The thing is, he's not my dog."

"Oh. Okay."

Aidan had gotten slowly to his feet while she was busy sliding across the floor and couldn't see the effort it took him to do it. He walked over to his corner and eased down into the ancient recliner there, still holding the gun but not pointing it at her. Reaching up, he flicked on the light, which wasn't all that good, especially through the gloom of late afternoon amidst all the trees and the stormy sky.

She was young, but not a teenager. Twenty-something, he decided, and probably beautiful when she hadn't been crying her eyes out. If he knew women, hers was the face of one who'd been crying for hours. She was red and splotchy, with puffy eyes and frown lines on her forehead, still defiant and mad. But he suspected it had been a very bad day for her before he'd grabbed her and scared her.

The dog was practically in her lap, sniffing all over her and smiling, begging for attention. She made a face at him, clearly horrified by his condition, by the wet and the mud. "Oooh."

"Tink, sit," he tried.

And the dog did, right next to her, wagging his silly tail and looking like he'd fallen in love with her on sight, her devoted servant from this point on.

"Okay. We can be friends, I guess," she said, smiling skeptically at the dog. "What kind of dog is he?"

"I have no idea. He lives half way around the lake. His owner had a tree come through her roof today, breaking her leg. Compound fracture, so she'll be hospitalized for a while, and there wasn't anyone to take care of the dog."

"You're trying to tell me you're such a nice guy, you volunteered to take care of this... thing?" she asked.

"I'm telling you I'm not a bad guy, and I got stuck with him. Oh, and I did help get his owner out from under the tree, if that makes you feel any better about... Well...."

"Being held at gunpoint by you?"

"I'm not pointing it at you anymore," he reminded her.

She pouted a bit. "You have to be careful with something like that. It's dangerous, unless you really know what you're doing—"

"I really know what I'm doing."

"Did you put the safety on, at least?"

He held up the weapon. "It's on, princess. Let's talk about you."

"Call Zach," she insisted.

He frowned at her, but pulled out his phone, changed the settings to speaker, flipped down to Zach's name. They both heard the phone dialing, the line crackling, and then... maybe Zach answering.

"Zach, it's Aidan. Zach?" And then the line went dead. He looked at her. "Try your phone, princess."

She gave an annoyed sigh. "No one calls me princess."

"Really? Why do I find that hard to believe?"

"They don't!"

"Then what do they call you?"

"Grace."

He scoffed. "No, there's something else. Come on. What is it?"

"None of your business."

"I'm babysitting a giant, goofy-looking dog named Tinkerbell. How bad can it be?"

She rolled her eyes. "Angel. Sometimes, they call me angel."

Oh, yeah. He could see that.

The golden hair, blue eyes, beautiful face she was bound to have if she ever stopped crying.

Yeah, that worked.

"And sometimes, people still call me Sunshine," she admitted.

Which was even better. An angel was all well and good, but just a little bit too good.

Sunshine.

A woman named Sunshine would have a little heat, a little fire.

"Although, I doubt you believe the last one," she said. "Since I'm not feeling very sunny right now."

No, not today, but he'd bet the girl could shine when she wanted to.

"Call Zach," he said. "Same deal. Speaker phone, so I can hear."

She pulled her phone out of the pocket of her jeans and dialed, getting the same result, static.

"So, what?" she asked as she clicked off the phone. "We just sit here until we get him?"

"You have somewhere you're supposed to be, Sunshine?"

"No, I just.... People have never really been scared of me. I'm not a threatening woman. There's really nothing here worth defending with a gun. It seems obvious that if you wanted to overpower me, you could easily do that all on your own. So, I don't get it. Why the gun?"

Great, Aidan thought. He got a woman who could think at gunpoint.

He sighed, shifted in his chair hoping to get a little more comfortable.

"Oh, my God, you're hurt! You're bleeding!" she cried, pointing to his side.