Tempted by the Night (2 page)

Luke gave her a weak smile, looking at her warily as if she were a coiled snake or a hissing wildcat. “I guess five years hasn't changed your opinion of me much, hm?” His voice sounded strained.

“Not much. What are you doing here, anyway?” Marisa had no idea where he'd been or what he'd been doing since he left River Vale. “Lainey's married now, you know. She moved to Flat Rock, and she wouldn't take you ba—”

“I need your help.”

She gaped at him. “You need my help. Really. And what on earth makes you think I'd—”

He stiffened and held up a sharp hand, tilting his head as if to listen. In the distance was the unmistakable sound of voices and the rumble of engines. The MITs.

“They're here already. Damn.” His words were barely audible as his attention darted around. “I need to—I need…”

All at once, he slid to the floor.

And that was when Marisa saw the blood.

Chapter Two

 

“Luke!” Marisa knelt next
to him, frantically feeling around to find out where he was wounded.

He opened his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered, and tried to stand. “Lost a little blood today.”

“So I see.” She looped an arm around his shoulders and, as he braced himself against the wall, helped him come upright. By now, she'd discovered the source of the injury—at the back of his head. His shirt was soaked all down his spine in a wide swath of red, but other than that, he seemed to have no other injury.

“Come on,” she muttered, helping him inch down the hall toward her living quarters. Her glasses kept slipping whenever she bumped against him, and pieces of hair were falling from her ponytail.

When he realized her destination, he stopped. “No. Not there.”

“Cripes, Luke, beggars can't be choosers. You're about to faint again.”

“You have to hide me. Please.”

“Hide you?” She froze. “From whom?” Yet she immediately suspected she knew the answer. Apparently it wasn't coincidence that the MITs had arrived, and here was Luke Desmond, bleeding all over her.

“There's no time—Marisa, please.
Hide me
.” He looked at her with those crystal-clear blue eyes. They were frosted with pain and wary with hope. “
Please.
”

And damn it if she wasn't going to fall into them if she didn't look away. She spewed out a long breath and adjusted her glasses. “Can you walk at all?”

“Yes. Just…give me a little support. I'll be fine.”

Though filled with misgivings—after all, no one had ever gone into the Special Collection room besides Marisa, Grandma Nell, and Dad—she knew it was the only place to hide anyone. Or anything.

Carefully, step by step, she guided him through the large, high-ceilinged room that housed the books which didn't need to be protected. High, short windows lined the outside walls and kept the space bright and cheerful. Row upon row of shelves made a labyrinthine pattern in the space, but in the back there was a narrow hallway. When they reached the dark wooden door that led into the hall, as well as her living quarters, Marisa hesitated.

No one knew about the hidden room, or the Secret Collection. In fifty years, only five people were aware of its existence—let alone its location.

And now, just because Luke Desmond showed up looking all hot and golden and injured, Marisa was about to blow the biggest and most important secret of River Vale to a pair of blue eyes and a teenage crush. To a guy who'd hurt and betrayed her sister.

She looked up at him, debating—fully aware that as he was bleeding everywhere (oh crap, she was going to have to clean all that up before anyone saw it) and the MITs were doing whatever they were doing in River Vale, time was ticking on.

“I'm going to have to blindfold you. You can't see where we're going,” she said finally. Reluctantly.

His eyes widened, but he apparently decided it was prudent not to speak. Instead, he gave a short nod.

Her decision to blindfold him presented another problem, however: the wound at the back of his head would be just about where she'd have to tie the blindfold, and she dared not cause him any more pain or injury. If only she had a hood or something she could throw over his head…

Time was wasting. Tension skittered through her too, though Marisa was uncomfortably aware it surely had more to do with Luke's proximity than that of the MITs. Which was damned foolish on her part, but what could she do?

“Let me see your shirt,” she said. It was the only thing that seemed to make sense.

Before he could respond, she was dragging the blood-soaked t-shirt up and over his head to cover his eyes. Oh boy.
That
was not smart.

Her belly fluttered wildly as she saw exactly what those five years had done to the smooth, golden torso she'd admired from afar while Luke was draped over Lainey, and Lainey was draped over Luke.

Marisa could hardly swallow, her mouth was so dry; her knees were weak, and her brain seemed to slowly disengage…because she realized she was going to have to have him drape all over
her
right now in order to get him to a safe hiding place.

That strong, sleek, and powerful body was going to be pressed up against her as they made their way down the hall—

“I can't see anything, Marisa.” As if to prove the point, Luke pressed his free hand against the shirt covering his eyes. “You can take me now…wherever you're taking me. But let's
go. Hurry.
”

“Okay. Okay.” She swallowed hard and slid her arm around him just below his shoulder blades. Warm. Smooth. Taut.

Oh boy.

She blocked out the sensation, the smell of him, the feel of his muscles shifting as they edged along the corridor. All the while, the sound of voices in the distance was like an impending toll of doom, urging her to hurry, hurry, hurry…

Yet she didn't really know why exactly she was hurrying.

She eased him through a narrow wooden door at the end of a short corridor, checking occasionally to make sure the t-shirt was covering his eyes and he couldn't see the floor from any gap around his nose. She opened the door to reveal a slender corridor that ended abruptly at a collapsed wall. A large beam and pile of old, dusty bricks and rubble blocked the way. Behind it, there appeared to be nothing but a wall. On either side, the walls were cracked and the paint was peeling.

“Can you stand here for a sec?” Marisa said, directing him against the wall for support.

“Yes,” he grunted.

Glancing at him to make sure he was all right, and that he wasn't looking, she stood so he couldn't see her as she pulled the cover off an old light switch. Behind it was a small pad of numbers that had been repurposed from an old garage door opener—or at least, that was what Theo Waxnicki had told her father when he wired it in place.

Marisa typed in the code, pushed enter, then replaced the light switch cover as things began to move.

She'd seen it many times, but she never tired of watching the James Bond-like way the hidden door was revealed: the entire pile of bricks and rubble rolled to the side on a mechanized slab of floor, the large beam tilted slowly and carefully to the right, and the wall behind opened. Everything happened silently and smoothly, for Marisa had been taught to keep the machinery well oiled.

“This way,” she said, easing Luke from the wall and helping him through the narrow space created by the mechanisms. Once they were on the other side, she pushed the button that caused everything to ease back into place.

Now she could remove Luke's blindfold, for there was nothing for him to see but the plain walls of the secret chamber—and the treasures hidden within.

But Marisa also made him take a few steps from the door, and shifted him around so he wouldn't know from what direction they'd come. She didn't want him figuring out how to leave the room…because once he left, he might be able to get back in.

So when she whipped the dark t-shirt from his face, Luke was standing in the center of the room, and the entrance through which they'd come was to his right, and hidden behind a bookshelf.

He blinked and looked around. She saw him take in the details of the windowless space: the shelves of books, computers, and other metal and electronic objects. A sofa, a table, several desks, and, in the corner, a small bed. There was also a tiny kitchenette—a stovetop, small fridge, and bucket-sized sink—tucked behind one of the columns in the corner, in the event one needed to “hole up” in here, as Dad used to say. And of course, also discreetly hidden, access to a toilet.

“Wow,” said Luke, turning in a slow circle. “What is this place?” He walked over and brushed a computer keyboard on one of the desks.

Marisa had decided to play it innocent. “It's a storage room. You asked me to hide you, so I did. No one ever comes down here. No one will find you.”

She narrowed her eyes. He seemed awfully stable all of a sudden, standing there in the middle of the room without support. A little pinch of worry cramped her belly. Had she made a mistake bringing him here? Her insides churned and she actually felt sweat spring to her palms and at the back of her neck.

What did she really know about Luke Desmond anymore?

Sure, they'd been friends before. He hung around the library even when Lainey wasn't there, talking to Dad and reading books about carpentry and electrical skills…and he'd even conned Marisa into going fishing with him a few times (she didn't like the baiting-of-the-hook part), and they both liked to play Scrabble and chess. But it had been five years. She didn't know where Luke had been or what he'd been doing…

What if he had joined the bounty hunters, the MITs? What if he worked for the Strangers? What if this was all a ruse to—to—

To what? No one alive knew about this room and its contents. No one…except Marisa and the two Waxnicki brothers.

“So who are you hiding from, and what happened? To your head?” she asked, keeping her eyes averted from that sleek, golden torso. She yanked up the shirt from the floor and flung it at him. “Here.”

Luke caught it easily and, with an odd glance at her, pulled it back on. But when he started to speak, a grimace tightened his face and he wobbled a little. “I think I'd better…sit down,” he said, and staggered a bit as he sank onto the sofa. “Maybe you have something to sop up the blood? I don't want to mess up your place.”

Marisa's mouth tightened as guilt thrust at her. Damn. The guy had fainted, and was unsteady on his feet from loss of blood and who knew what else—and here she was interrogating him.

No, wait, she had the perfect right to interrogate him—but she
could
get him a bandage first. Maybe some cold water…something to press against the wound.

“Sure. I'll be…I'll get something.” She didn't want to leave him alone in the room, so she went to the small kitchenette area and found a clean towel.

When she turned back, she saw that he'd collapsed onto his side on the sofa, head pillowed in his arms in a poor attempt to keep from soaking the upholstery with blood. His breathing was unsteady, and his eyes were closed. She didn't think he'd passed out again, but she wasn't sure.

How bad was the wound at the back of his head? Did he need a doctor?

As she approached, his eyes fluttered. “Thanks. I'm sorry, Marisa. I'm sorry to do this to you. I know I…owe you an explanation.”

“Let me look at your injury. You might need a doctor—”

“No, I'm…sure it's fine. Maybe stitches. Probably just a…something to stop the bleeding. You know what they say about head wounds. How much they…bleed.”

By now she had edged next to the sofa, perching on its arm so she could examine his head. His blond hair, though matted with blood, was soft and thick, curling in complete circles at the tips. Despite the rusty smell of blood and an underlying tinge of perspiration, there was also the scent of pine and some other aroma that made Marisa think,
This is a man.

Oh, indeed. Luke Desmond was all man.

Crap.

She gritted her teeth, ordered her fingers to stop trembling and her belly to stop fluttering, dammit, and gingerly pulled the hair away so she could see his scalp. It was split in a jagged line at the base of where his skull jutted out a little in the back—precisely where one would land if one fell. It didn't appear too deep, and he clearly knew who he was, where he was, and what he wanted…so she doubted there was anything like a concussion going on.

There was crusty blood around the wound and the dark blood was already starting to congeal. A little pressure and some rest, and he should be—

Marisa and Luke both tensed at the same time. Loud voices outside—just outside the brick wall of the building.

“Every building. Every resident. Search them all!” came a loud, tight voice that became indistinct as the speaker moved away. “We…find…before…”

She stumbled away as Luke twisted in his position on the sofa. “Are they looking for you?” she demanded. “Is that it? They're here looking for you?”

Dammit.

His blue eyes were steady. “No one knows I'm here. You've hidden me well, right, Marisa? No one can find this place…right?”

“Right. I'll…I'll just go out there and let them search. They won't find you.” She was already stumbling toward the door—the entrance she'd tried to keep hidden from him for some silly reason. “And when I get back, you'll tell me what the
hell
is going on. And then I might not kill you.”

Chapter Three

 

The minute the so-called
hidden door closed behind Marisa, Luke spewed out a long sigh of relief.

Tinged with guilt.

Laced with consternation.

Damn, he was in one
hell
of a pickle.

If Ian Marck and his bounty-hunter crew didn't kill him, Marisa Bengotti was sure as hell going to do the honors…unless Luke somehow snagged a miracle.