Cherry Adair - T-flac 03 (25 page)

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Although the confined space smelled stuffy, it was surprisingly cool. And clean. A narrow bed, covered by a red satin spread, stood across from a small propane stove on a museum-quality antique table. He lay Delanie down on the comforter, propping her head on a satin-covered pillow with a ruffled sham, and crouched down beside her.

"Hey, gorgeous…" His thumb stroked the soft paleness of her lips. She didn't stir. Glancing at his watch, he saw he'd been gone almost half an hour. Enough time to dispose of a body.

He let his gaze run over her face. Unconscious, she looked very young and far too vulnerable. Trailing his fingertips across her cheek, he felt the unnatural chill on her skin. He closed his eyes. When she'd stumbled over that chair, her eyes wide with feigned surprise and horror, it had been too damn realistic.

He glanced down to find her eyes open and staring up at him groggily.

" 'm I dead?"

"Alive and well." Kyle casually held her wrist. "How do you feel?" Her pulse throbbed, weak and thready.

"Like I was shot." She sounded as if she'd been on a four-day bender. He gingerly unbuttoned the shirt and tugged off the Kevlar vest underneath. The small glassine bags, filled with boar blood, came off with it.

"Jesus."

Delanie struggled to glance down at her chest, then let her head flop back on the pillow, obviously not completely with it yet. "Jus' a bruise." She licked dry lips. "Doesn't hurt too badly."

Yeah, right.

He poured a cup of bottled water, holding her head up so she could drink. It dribbled from her numb lips.

"You said 'hangover.' " The words lost resolution. Her eyes were still unfocused. "I never had one—"

she had to lick her lips "—before. Don' like it."

"That bad, huh?" Amused, he would've bet the ranch on the fact she'd never lost control enough to get plastered. Too bad; she made a cute drunk. She seemed softer, less prickly with her defenses down like this. He wasn't surprised she didn't like the feeling.

He'd had to resort to using the stuff once. The sensation of "coming alive" was similar to the day after a three-week bender. His finger dipped and rose over the swell of her breasts, tracing the livid marks the blanks had left. "Think of it like an anesthetic, you've had an anesthetic, right? It wears off in a couple of—"

Without warning tears filled her eyes. He saw a lifetime of pain there before she squeezed her eyes shut and limply turned her head to the wall.

"Damn," he said softly, and carefully gathered her in his arms. "Don't cry, sweetheart, it's just the drug.

It's like being hung over. It'll dissipate soon, and you'll be back to your normal feisty self. I promise. Shh now, you'll feel better soon."

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He felt her soundless, hot wet tears soaking his neck and the collar of his shirt. He rubbed her back, trying to reassure her. "I scared the shit out of myself shooting you like that. Must have scared you even more. Shh, now. You're okay." He lay down on the bed beside her, holding her in his arms, wishing he could hang around until the effect of the drug had time to wear off. "Don't fight it."

"I'm sorry," she said thickly, her face pressed against his throat, "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry about what?"

"Forgive me… didn't mean it." The rest of her words blurred together. Her arms tightened around his waist, and a lump formed in his throat.

He had no idea what the hell she was talking about. Half the words were so slurred as to be unrecognizable. From somewhere deep inside her, a hurt she'd buried had come to the surface.

She cried without a sound, which made her pain more profound, more intolerable. Tears ran in an unrelenting stream down her temples into her hair. He'd take the tears she'd shed when she was uncontrollably furious over this silent outpouring of grief.

He held her until she'd tumbled into exhausted unconsciousness.

Her defenses were down, inhibitions temporarily gone. He considered waking her just enough to find out what the hell tormented her.

Smoothing her damp hair away from her face, Kyle watched her in the half dark. He couldn't delay his return without causing speculation.

He rose, careful not to jar her, and stripped her pants and shirt off her lax body. In this heat they'd be dry by tomorrow. Placing two fingers beneath her ear, he checked her pulse again.

She'd be fine. Feel like crap, but fine.

His eyes raked her face; he had no choice but to leave her here.

Alone.

With tears on her face.

Groggy and disorientated, Delanie opened her eyes to candlelight. Not romantic by any stretch of the imagination, although the white vanilla-scented candle was in an ornate silver candelabra. Bless you, Kyle!

She closed her eyes again, trying to ignore the massive ache in her chest. Everything about the day was a blur. She'd slipped the pill he'd given her under her tongue just before she'd walked into the dining room.

He hadn't been sure how long it would take to act. She could tell him. A minute or less. She'd actually felt the capsule dissolve at the same time it leeched the strength from her muscles and bones and made the rhythm of her heart falter in her chest.

She remembered almost falling to her knees. Too soon. Holding onto a chair back. Kyle. And his eyes.

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One thing she would never forget as long as she lived was the look in his ice-floe-green eyes when he'd pulled that trigger.

There had been no hesitation. No emotion. No remorse.

And she'd thought, in the split second before he'd fired, that he
could
kill her after all.
After
she'd mindlessly, and conveniently, accepted and taken a drug he'd given her.

Lord but this heat was making her stupid, she thought, swinging her legs cautiously over the side of the bed. It hurt to draw in a deep breath because of her bruised ribs.

She snagged her purse off the bedside table and removed the change of clothes she'd brought with her.

Dizzy, she held onto the wall as she dragged on khaki-colored cotton slacks and a fresh, long-sleeved dark green T-shirt. The blood-soaked white one she stuffed to the bottom of her bag.

She felt like hell. Sore and stiff. But grateful.

And thirsty.

She dug in the purse for the orange she'd tossed in at the last minute. Finding a paring knife on the table—she hated pith under her nails, especially when she couldn't wash her hands afterward—she used the knife to peel the fruit and dropped the peel into her bag. Tossing the knife back on the table, she glanced around as she savored the sweet, tart fruit.

Pretty ritzy bomb shelter. Red satin and antiques. Trust Montero. Delanie sat on the side of the bed.

What was going on up at the house? Had Kyle made her death look convincing?

Lord, she'd been awake for all of ten minutes and she was already stir-crazy. How on earth would she make it down here in the bowels of the earth for three whole days?

She emptied her purse on the bed beside her and rummaged through the odd contents. Ate two M & Ms she found at the bottom. Sipped some of the water Kyle had left for her. Poked at the candy bar—she'd eat that later—and inspected the bookmark in her book. Halfway done. That should last her a while.

She took as long as she could to finish the orange. When she was done, she used the last of the wet wipes in her purse to freshen her face and clean her hands.

Boy, she was going to be a basket case at this ra—"Oh, geez, this is all I need right now!"

A fist-size iridescent beetle scurried across the floor from beneath the bed. She lifted her feet out of the way automatically as it disappeared beneath the bedside table.

Nothing like a challenge, Delanie thought wryly.

Very careful where she put her feet, she rose, and started looking for something to catch the beetle in.

There was no way on God's green earth she was staying in the tiny room with that thing. "One of us has gotta go, bug. I choose you."

She found a crystal candy dish, empty of course, with a lid, and took it back to the bed with her. Sitting
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cross-legged, she replaced everything, except the paperback, in her purse. The thing weighed three tons.

She waited out the bug, but it was happy under the table. At least for now.

She decided she'd read two chapters, try again to catch her roommate, then take a little nap. Stretching it out that way she could probably manage to make the book last at least until sometime tomorrow.

Maybe.

Without thinking she dropped the purse on the floor beside the bed so she could stretch out.

The smell was immediate and overpowering, causing her eyes to water profusely. "Shit!" She'd smashed the damn beetle with her gargantuan purse!

Hand over her nose, she leapt off the bed and cautiously lifted the bag. Yep. Dead bug.

"Oh, man. This is not a good thing." She coughed as tears ran down her face.

Think. Think
. The bug carcass had to go and the bomb shelter had to be aired out.

Grabbing the satin pillow sham, Delanie went up the steep and narrow stairs. She'd clean the bug guts off the canvas, wash it as best she could with a little of her water, and leave the door open for as long as she dared to air the place out. How long could that take? An hour?

It would have to do. She couldn't stay out there indefinitely, and she couldn't stay inside with the pungent and overpowering smell.

A small penlight retrieved from her stinky purse helped her climb the stairs. The heavy door opened with surprising ease, letting in murky predawn light, and the welcome fragrance of loamy earth and wet soil.

Racing outside, she dropped her hand from her face and took several deep, cleansing breaths.

The door slammed shut behind her with a dull thunk.

She took her time cleaning off her bag, using the red satin pillow sham dipped in a bit of the water and dirt as an abrasive, and a bit of mouthwash to dilute the smell. It still stunk to high heaven, but it was the best she could do.

It didn't take Delanie long to figure out that she couldn't get the door open again. Not without a key.

Kyle would be back to check on her. When he could.
If he
could.

In the meantime she was outside and unprotected. She looked around. Now what the hell was she going to do?

Find Lauren
, a little voice urged. She was for all intents and purposes dead. Invisible, if she kept her wits about her.

Not a good idea. She had no idea how far away the compound might be. Or how close. For all she knew she was in spitting distance from where the action would take place on Saturday.

Three days, though… but what if Kyle returned to find her gone?

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It was unlikely, Delanie decided. Kyle had enough on his plate in the next few days. He knew she was resourceful and could take care of herself.

If she kept her wits about her, and the fence of the compound in visual range, she could check the buildings she hadn't checked before, without getting lost. She'd come back here in the early evenings before it got dark and use the wall of the small structure as protection against the elements and the critters.

It didn't sound particularly smart to leave, she admitted. But she wasn't going to stand here all day with nothing to do, and nowhere to be. At least she could do
something
constructive.

And when she found Lauren they could both return here to wait for Kyle.

Making sure the foliage around the entrance appeared undisturbed, she slipped into a wall of green, going a little deeper into the jungle before veering off when she saw a glimpse of the fence glinting in the thin stream of yellow from her flashlight.

Now all she had to do was keep parallel to the fence, and she wouldn't get lost. Senses alert, her eyes adjusted to the dimness. Even this early, the jungle was alive with the raucous sounds of life. But it didn't appear as if anyone in the compound had stirred. Yet.

The fecund smell of rotting undergrowth blended with the sharp scent of climbing orchids and rich black topsoil. The oppressive wet heat seemed alive as her clothing immediately clung to her skin. Pushing aside a fern frond, she paused a second to get her bearings. The enervating heat sapped her energy as she wiped dripping perspiration off her neck and throat. She hadn't even been out an hour, was only a quarter way round the compound, and was already wilting.

She pushed farther. Walked faster. Prayed harder.

And decided she'd make only one circuit before heading back to the dubious protection of Montero's little bomb shelter. Daylight came slowly. The texture of the light changed, easing from olive-black to blue-green, then emerald and citrine. Delanie'd had enough of green, hot, and wet to last a lifetime.

Pushing aside a sawtooth leaf twice as tall as she was, she forged ahead. It wouldn't be hard at all to get turned around and end up miles from civilization with no way out. And although she had never been afraid of dying, she would prefer it to be
quick
.

She had to make sure her death didn't become a reality. Yesterday had been a near thing. She had no intention of getting caught now. There were several more unexplored buildings yet to go. The sky was lightening, giving her more chance of detection. She passed around the back of three small buildings she'd checked the other day. The fourth, fifth, and sixth were no more than tiny metal storage sheds. There were no windows in the corrugated iron walls, and the heat would be asphyxiating. If anyone were hidden in any of them, they'd be dead by now. A quick reconnoiter revealed none of the sheds were locked. She checked inside just to be sure.

Dark and odoriferous, the first held fertilizer and insecticides. The second, tools. She flashed her penlight into the third only to see shelves of paints and folded drop cloths. Nobody and nothing hiding inside. She turned off the flashlight as she exited, peeling herself away from the incinerating heat of the prefab. The sky between the trees was now a pale milky blue.