See How She Dies (42 page)

“It's only been a couple of days.”

“I have my life.”

“You mean London's life.” He cocked a dark brow and scowled at a few white clouds as a wavering flock of geese, trying and failing to maintain a “V,” honked into the wind and flew steadily southward, as if making up for lost time.

With one hand she shaded her eyes against the lowering sun. “It's time I settled this.”

“How?”

“I think I need to hire an attorney and a private investigator. Get things moving along.”

She was staring at him so intently, her gaze shifting from his eyes to his mouth, that desire swept through him like a hot prairie wind that no man could tame, no mortal could control. He remembered kissing her, nearly making love to her by the river, and it was all he could do to slide his hands into his pockets to hide the swelling that was beginning to warm his groin. He wanted to reach out and grab her, press his lips over hers and kiss her until neither one of them could breathe. He imagined bending her backward till her hair swept the ground.

Hell, this was getting him nowhere!

She was still talking about hiring a detective. “…best for all of us.”

“Jason's already retained a guy—a creep named Oswald Sweeny. He'll get the job done.”

“For Jason. And for you.”

The corners of his mouth tightened involuntarily. “You said you wanted to know the truth.”

“I still do,” she said, squinting against the sunlight. “Correct me if I'm wrong, okay? Sweeny's working for the family, right? He's digging around, trying to prove that I'm a fraud. So he might not tell me—or the family might not feel the need to inform me—if he found proof positive that I'm London. Only if I'm not.” She dusted her hands on her jeans. “So I think I'd better start looking for a few guys on my team. Good guys in white hats.”

He dug in the dirt with the toe of his boot. “From what I hear, you can't afford much.”

She'd been expecting that, but not from Zach. From the others, of course, but not Zach, and she couldn't stop the little stab of pain that reminded her that he'd found out things about her and hadn't confided in her—that he'd shared them only with the inner circle of the Danvers family. The chosen few. Her throat caught. She'd always considered him an outsider, but, as painful as it was, the truth of the matter was that she, and she alone, was the outsider. Obviously there were secrets Zach kept from her and she wondered how much he and the rest of his family discussed her behind her back. Had he told them the secrets she'd confided to him about her home in Montana, had he laughed when he'd discovered she was flat broke, had his eyes lighted with an evil little fire when he'd hinted that she'd nearly made love with him?

Being around Zachary Danvers was like walking a fraying tightrope strung taut across a steep canyon. One false step in either direction and she would pitch down the sharp emotional cliffs. Too much tension and the rope would give way. She wasn't fool enough to believe that he'd be there to catch her. “What is it you want from me?”

He hesitated, his eyes searching hers, and she felt as if he could stare straight into her soul. “I just want to keep you safe.”

“So that your family can prove me to be a liar.” She felt the air shift between them. “You can't keep me here, not against my will.”

“Is that what I'm doing?”

She licked her lips. “I think so. Yes.”

His eyes were the color of flint, his brows pulled together in frustration, though she didn't know if his vexation was with her, himself, his family, or the world in general. They were close enough to touch yet he moved closer, advancing upon her, his expression turned hard and suddenly cruel. As his shadow fell across her face, his fingers curled in the lapels of her old leather jacket. “Do you remember that someone tried to kill you?” he demanded in a harsh whisper. “Less than forty-eight hours ago?”

“I can't run scared.” But her breathing was shallow and fast. The scents of coffee and leather and musky male cologne swirled around her.

He gave her a little shake and his eyes sparked with anger. “Can you recall what it felt like to nearly have your brains bashed in?”

She blanched. “Of course.”

“Who do you think did it?”

“I—I don't know.”

“Neither do I, but he's still out there, darlin', and my guess is that he doesn't give up easily.”

“I don't, either.”

“Okay,” he said, pressing his face close enough that she saw the striations of green in his gray eyes. “Let's talk about the sheets—the ones on your bed in the motel. Did you get a good look at them?”

She swallowed with difficulty but refused to give in to the urge to step backward.

His fingers clenched more tightly. “They'd been ripped to ribbons, as if some enraged animal with six-inch teeth as sharp as razors had worked himself up to a maniacal frenzy and started shredding and just couldn't stop.”

He yanked her closer, lifting her off her feet, drawing her nose-to-broken-nose. “While we're at it, did you happen to see the message on the mirror, the one meant for you? What did it say?”

“It doesn't mat—”

“What did it say?” he repeated more loudly.

“Something about—”

“Not
something about
—it said
Death to the bitch
. Fairly specific, I'd say. In fact, crystal fucking clear. Do you know what kind of psychotic it takes to do something like that and let's not forget your shredded panties. What if your attacker had used that razor on you instead?”

“I—I really don't want to think about it.”

“Well neither do I, but I force myself because it's not over yet.”

She managed to notch up her chin and stare into eyes that glittered with determination. “I just can't run away from this, Zachary. I started it and I've got to finish it.”

“Or wait until it finishes you,” he snarled and looked at her mouth in a way that made her insides turn to jelly. As quickly as he'd grabbed her, he let go and she nearly fell as her heels hit the ground again.

Disappointment settled in her heart when he stepped away from her.

“The way I see it, you've got no choice but to lay low for a while, wait until the police nail this guy or until the story dies down. Right now you're a target, not only for the psychopath who attacked you, but for any other copy-cat prankster looking for a way to get his jollies and his name in the press. These aren't nice people you're dealing with, Adria. So just stay put.” He glared at her for a few silent, tense seconds, then swore loudly and stalked to the stables.

Heart thudding, she ran, catching up to him and following on his heels. She tamped down the fear that he'd managed to bring right to the surface of her mind and told herself to ignore the erotic message that had seemed to radiate from his eyes. “I'm not going to let anyone—not you and certainly not someone who runs around ripping bedsheets—intimidate me,” she insisted.

“Then you're not as smart as I gave you credit for.” He opened the door and strode inside. The door would've banged shut behind him, but she caught it and, clenching her fists in determination, followed him into the musty interior.

Several horses nickered. His boots rang on the old floorboards and the scents of horseflesh and dung, oil and leather, hay and dust mingled and assailed her nostrils, reminding her of the farm she'd left behind to follow this quest here, this damned quest! She touched a rough fir post supporting the hayloft where an old kerosene lantern, tarnished, rusted, and covered with cobwebs, still hung neglected.

Zach strode the length of the building and shouldered open a door at the far end. Old hinges creaked as he disappeared inside. She considered following him, but thought better of it and stayed near the horses, petting each curious, velvet-soft nose that was thrust in her direction, feeling the hot jets of breath against her palm.

What was she doing here? What was she trying to prove? She should go back to the house and leave Zach and his lousy mood. Better yet, she should steal his damned truck and return to Portland where the answers to her life lay hidden.

Still she lingered, using the excuse of her injuries as reason to stay out here, away from civilization, alone with the one man who had touched her heart. For years she'd sheltered herself and her emotions, but with Zachary she'd let down her guard, willingly come to care for…oh, God…

His footsteps echoed through the old building and she glanced up sharply. With only a cursory look in her direction, he hauled out a saddle, bridle, and blanket and kicked open the gate of the first stall, where a rangy buckskin gelding was tethered. The horse snorted and tossed his great head, but Zach managed to slip the bit between the buckskin's teeth and strap the bridle on. His will was iron-clad and he won the battle between man and beast.

Adria suspected he was used to winning—a man who discovered what he wanted in life and ruthlessly went after it. Not unlike Witt Danvers. His father.
Her
father.

Zach spread a blanket over the gelding's back, slid the saddle into place, and pulled the cinch tight. He was intent on his work, as if he'd forgotten her. The silence, aside from the restlessness of the horses in their stalls, was deafening.

“You're going for a ride?”

“What's it look like?” he said.

“Where?” The question fell off her lips. He glanced over his shoulder and their gazes caught in the dim light of the stables. His eyes were dark and still glinted with a silent, pulsing fury. For several breathless seconds he held her stare and she found it hard to breathe.

“Why?”

She lifted a shoulder, then didn't move. He was staring at her so intently she could barely breathe and she felt as if, with that harsh gaze, he was mentally stripping her—one piece of clothing at a time. She couldn't swallow and her heart was drumming wildly.

His eyes lowered to the base of her throat where her pulse was throbbing erratically. When his gaze touched hers again it was pure seduction. “Do you want to come?” he drawled in a voice so low it could barely be heard over the shifting of the horses' hooves and rustle of straw.

Oh, God!
Barely able to breathe, she fingered a rope that had been left wound around a post. Her heart thundered. She stared into his intense, hot eyes and felt her joints go slack.

“Pardon?”

“Do you want to come?” he repeated slowly, the double entendre hanging heavy in the air between them.

She couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

“Well?” he demanded. “Are you up for it? Or still too sore from the attack?”

No attacker was going to stop her from what she wanted to do. She nodded, staring into his smokey eyes. He was staring at her so hard, she could barely breathe. She licked her suddenly dry lips and heard the rush of wind whistle through the old rafters. “I think so.” Her voice was so breathless she hardly recognized it as her own.

“You're sure?” One dark brow cocked dubiously and he hooked a thumb in his belt loop, his fingers riding low against his fly. “Could be a rough ride.”

Her knees suddenly felt as if they were made of rubber and she leaned her hips against the stall for support. “I know.”

“Could be dangerous.”

She swallowed with difficulty and felt a tiny spot of sweat bead between her breasts. “I'm not afraid,” she said, as though to convince herself. Her heart was racing, her mind spinning into wildly erotic images.

“Then you are a fool, Adria,” he said and swore beneath his breath. Clucking his tongue, he led the gelding out of his stall and through the back door of the stables.

Adria, feeling as if she'd had the wind knocked out of her, stalked after him. He'd been playing with her, was only teasing her, and she felt a new, white-hot rage sear through her blood. “Wait a minute!” she cried as he swung into the saddle.

He ignored her and kicked his horse hard in the flanks. The buckskin took off, breaking into a gallop.

“Wait! Zach, please—” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

He yanked back on the reins. The horse reared and whirled. Zach's eyes flashed like lightning sizzling through a night-dark sky and his lips thinned in anger. A rugged cowboy, determined to have his way. “You don't want this,” he said, his nostrils flaring, his face set in stone.

“You don't know what I want!”

“Sure I do. All you want—all you've ever wanted was a way to get your hands on the family's money. Well, it won't happen through me.”

The wind was beginning to rise, to whip her hair in front of her face and brush her cheeks. “That's not what this is all about, and you know it. Why don't you tell me what you're afraid of?”

“Afraid of?”

“That's right, Zach. You're running scared and it has nothing to do with what happened in the motel the other night.”