Endless Night (13 page)

The two front legs of Jake’s chair thumped back to the ground. The finality of her
statement chilled him as he swallowed down the effect and tried to be objective. “How do you know that? What has he said to you on the phone?”

Under the Tiffany lamp, shiny sable hair dusted across tense shoulders as she angled her head toward the phone. Jake was riveted by the sleek curve of her neck. So fragile. So beautiful. If anyone tried to touch it—

“He tells me he’s coming.” Her voice was detached. “He doesn’t have to say any more. We both know why.”

For one minute, no not even a minute, more like a labored heartbeat, the brief flash of time it took for a lucid thought to congeal—he considered leaving. This was not his life. It was not his battle to fight.

But when he looked into Megan’s eyes he felt himself going under, sinking deep beneath the tumultuous surface into a green subterranean world that glowed with possibilities. There was simply no recourse. He knew he would protect this woman with his life.

Jake coughed into his hand. “Well then.” He cleared his throat to loosen up the emotions. “We’ll be waiting for him, won’t we?”

Megan leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, her hair spilling down to cover her face. White hands skimmed through the strands to cup the sides of her head. “Why?” she asked from behind her veil.

“Why what?”

“Why would you do this?” Her voice grew stronger and she sat up. “Why don’t you get out of here? Leave this madness behind, Jake. It’s not your problem.”

There it was. The verbal offer of flight. The excuse to ignore this situation and pretend it didn’t concern him. A chance to return to Boston and not look back.

“Because I can’t.”

“This can’t be because I’m real good in bed. We haven’t even slept together.”

One thing he found remarkable about Megan was her ability to speak her mind when she wanted to. Every time he thought she was at the cusp of caving under the weight of her predicament, she surfaced with a quip or retort.

Jake smiled and felt his heart in the gesture. “All the more reason for me to hang around.”

The guarded expression eased up only slightly. Her hands slipped out of her hair to leave it with a windblown look. “I’m not going to be responsible if you get yourself killed out here.”

“Would you like me to sign a waiver?”

It didn’t appear that his charm was making a dent in Megan’s emotional armor. It probably didn’t help that the wind had kicked up outside and Wakefield House had started up its symphony.

“I don’t know what I would like.” Weary resignation punctuated her words as she stood and walked to the counter.

Jake traced her back, a supple form in a turtleneck and jeans. The women he had dated in the past always seemed to overdress. Even if he paid an unexpected visit to their homes, they were decked out with too much makeup as if they had sat there all night, primping on the off chance a man would arrive.

There was something natural about Megan, something earthy, something exquisite, something so elemental that he connected with it—even if she did come equipped with her own personal murderer.

“Coffee?” Megan mumbled with her back to him.

He moved in behind her and sensed the immediate tension in her shoulders. Resting his
hands on those taut muscles, he slowly kneaded the pressure away.

“I’d love some,” he whispered, hoarse.

“Jake—”

“Meg, please, there’s a lot going on here for us to deal with. It’s not exactly the ideal components to build a relationship off of.”

Her shoulders went taut again beneath his touch.

He dipped his head, his mouth sweeping a phantom brush against her hair. “But I want to try.”

She caved in. Her body literally crumbled back against him, and his arms swept around her waist, holding her tight.

“Thank you.” It was a ragged croak.

“For what?” He closed his eyes. “For accepting everything I’ve heard here tonight. For deciding that I will do everything in my power to make sure you are safe?” He opened them. “Or for wanting you?”

A tiny whimper sounded from deep inside Megan’s chest. Perhaps he hadn’t even heard it, but rather felt it. Her efforts to turn in his arms were thwarted by his strength. He knew that if she were to turn around now, he would start kissing her, and he didn’t think he could stop.

Instead, he held her tight for a moment, and then reached out for the coffee mug. As his hand swept around the steaming mug, Jake noticed an apple sitting on the counter next to a porcelain sunflower-shaped cookie jar. Not a real apple, but a plastic replica serving as a cooking timer.

“Can I see that timer?” he whispered into her hair.

Still lodged in his embrace, Megan made an inquisitive sound, but reached for the apple, spun it several times in her fingers and then held it over her shoulder for his inspection. He touched his lips to those fingertips and took the plastic device.

Reluctantly he let go of the warmth of her body to twist the timer and listen to its shrill alarm. Megan jolted at the sound and watched him with wide eyes.

“Suddenly have a yen to bake cookies, Mr. Grogan?”

Ah, did this woman realize what she did to him when she smiled like that? It was a timid smile, but laced with mischief. Given the gravity of her situation, that she could manage such an expression made him respect her all the more.

“I have a yen to do a lot of things.” Jake grinned. “But no, baking cookies is not on the list.”

One twist of his grip and he pried the timer into two pieces. “I’ve got an idea though.”

Hair dryer in hand, Megan studied Jake’s back as he worked at the kitchen table. His black sweater was stretched taut over muscular shoulders. Her gaze slipped down his long spine and traced the jeans that wrapped around his powerful thighs. His body was something a woman could sculpt in her dreams, or could her dreams even orchestrate such an image? She jerked her glance back up to the dark hair with the “fresh out of the storm” look that made her want to run her fingers through it.

Was she insane? Thinking about all the possible ways she wanted to touch Jake, when outside a killer approached?

The weight of the dryer in her hand jarred her back to reality.

“Will this do?”

Jake looked over his shoulder and she felt his eyes stroke her before dropping to the item in her hand. “Perfect.”

That deep voice affected her as much as any caress would. Megan trembled, but hastened forward and set the appliance on the table, looking at what had already been assembled. The timer lay in two apple halves. A pair of speaker wires that had been yanked from an old stereo found at the bottom of the foyer closet now crossed the butcher-block table and dropped off to the floor.

“When do I get to ask what you’re doing?”

His attention was focused on the spliced ends of the speaker wires. Jake didn’t even look up as he mumbled, “An alarm.”

“I know it’s an alarm.” Exasperated, Megan looked at the rusted guts of her cooking timer. “Or—it
was
an alarm.”

A flash of metal grabbed her attention. Jake clutched the butcher knife in his hand.

“How bad do you need this hair dryer?” he asked.

“Well…” Fashion and beauty weren’t high on her priority list. There had been no one to look good for over the past year, but Wakefield House was still too cold to walk around with a wet head. She
did
have another dryer in the spare bathroom. “I don’t need it, but what did you have in mind?”

That powerful hand moved once, swiftly, and the loud smack of metal against wood sent a shock through her body. Jake turned around and held up the dryer, minus the cord and plug which had been severed by the sharp blow of the knife.

“Well, I guess I really don’t need it after all,” she whispered, breathless.

Industrious hands maneuvered the knife and split the power cord into two wires. He used the sharp blade to peel off the plastic shield and expose the copper innards. These raw ends, he spliced to the bare ends of the speaker wire lying on the floor. When he was done, Jake tossed her a triumphant smile that looked male, smug and sinfully attractive.

“Ta
-da.
”

Her eyebrows inched up. She opened her mouth to give him the praise he seemed to expect, but her lips clamped shut, perplexed. “What exactly am I looking at, other than a mass of ruined appliances?”

Jake shook his head, but his smile stayed fixed. “An alarm.” He held up the farthest end of the apparatus, the plug and cord from her hair dryer. “We’ve got power.” His fingers skimmed the cord to reach the sheathed speaker wire. “We’ve got a trigger.” He pieced the apple halves back together, the wires sticking out of them like entrails. “And we have noise.”

Okay, maybe she was starting to get where he was going with this, but he must have read the incredulity still in her eyes.

“Here, plug this in.” He handed her the adapter that had been severed from her hair dryer. Megan looked at it like a snake whose head had been cut off. She stooped over and plugged the power supply in. With Jake’s grip firm around the apple timer, the speaker wires grew taut, spanning a trail between the two of them.

“Okay,” he uttered quietly. “Now hit your hand on the tension of that wire.”

Fascinated, she reached out and tentatively tapped her hand on the wire. Nothing
.

“That was lame.” He rolled his eyes. “I want you to pretend you’re a foot.
Step on it.
”

Megan’s forehead knotted and she gave him a look that said, “You asked for it.” She crooked her leg and pushed on the wires with the pad of her sneaker. The timer shrilled its protest in the warm cocoon of the kitchen, and even though she was prepared for it, the sound still startled her.

“Wow, how’d you do that?” she cried over the noise.

Jake motioned her to unplug the power supply. As soon as she did, the device fell silent.

“Once it goes off, it won’t stop until you unplug it.” He already began working at impossibly tiny screws inside the apple shell. “I’ll rewire it so it’s all set to go off again.”

Megan regarded his work in awe. “Do you have to do this often in your skyscrapers?”

To her surprise, Jake set down the items. He watched her, and she wished she could read his mind.

“Come here.” He patted his thigh in invitation.

Megan looked at him, then down to the powerful thighs sheathed in jeans.
Who was she to argue with an invitation like that?

The solid surface was uniquely pleasant, but she leaned forward, trying to keep her weight on her toes, afraid she might be too heavy.

“Hey,” he whispered, close enough to stir her hair. “Sit back and relax, I want to show you this.”

And she did. She sat back, she relaxed and she felt Jake’s arm weave around her stomach to hold her tightly.

God help her.

“It’s basically an open circuit,” he explained. “All we really needed was a power source—the hair dryer. If you tug on one of these wires, it’s going to trigger the timer.”

It was hard to ignore the warm chest pressed against her back, or the solid thigh beneath her rear, but Megan was fascinated by his work. “So what are you going to do with it?”

“There’s only one way upstairs, right?”

She nodded, conscious of his hand against her abdomen. Everything felt too good and it was making her anxious. Margaret might have turned around and straddled this man’s lap and kissed him until they both could not breathe, but this was Megan’s domain.

“This’ll just be a little peace of mind. I’ll mount this on the landing at the bottom of the stairwell. Discreet, but it can’t be missed by someone who doesn’t know it’s there. If it rings, at least you’ll know it’s not me coming up those stairs.”

Wow.
Her personal alarm system. In her first weeks at Wakefield House, Megan wanted to invest in one of the sophisticated security setups that she’d seen on TV, but they told her the wiring in Wakefield House was too outdated. The cost to replace it was hefty and certainly not a decision for her to act upon as a renter. She’d had to resort to her own defense.

“And I’ll take over the first floor tonight. Gordon’s going to have to get by
me
to get to you.”

Anxiety bolted her posture ramrod straight. “You—you don’t have to do that. Come upstairs. I’ll feel better if you’re up there.”

Jake chuckled against her hair and his hand slipped to her thigh. “Meg,” he whispered into her ear, “if I go upstairs with you, I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off of you, and how is that going to help the situation?”

“You have your hands on me right now.”

The fingers on her thigh clenched and started to climb. “That I do,” he said.

When his hand nearly reached the point of no return, he dropped it and sat back.

The cool air assaulted her exposed back and Megan reluctantly stood. She felt weak, but crossed her arms and stared down at him. Jake’s eyes were dark, with golden sparks from the overhead lamp. His skin looked bronze under that same hazy glow. He looked like a warrior, ready to go to battle for his mate.

She forced herself to swallow. “Are you sure about this?”

For the first time she noticed his confidence falter. That fleeting hint of insight, more than anything else, terrified her.

“You can’t ask me that.” There was a rough sense of inevitability to his tone.

“Fair enough. Then, are you sure you want to stay downstairs?”

Black lashes flew open and Jake gaped. “How can you ask me
that?
”

Given any other circumstances, Megan might have smiled at that response, but he was right. If they were going to have a shot at any sort of relationship, the cloud of death known as Gordon Fortran had to be extracted from her life.

It was late. A quick glimpse at the clock confirmed that, but Megan didn’t want to leave the refuge of her kitchen. She didn’t want to leave Jake. In the midst of this lull in conversation, her hand flew to her mouth.

“Jake!”

“What?” He flinched.

“I was such a wreck when you got here—what did you find out today? At O’Flanagan’s.”