Judith McNaught (23 page)

clenched into a fake smile designed to fool the truck driver. Panting, Julie jerked her head aside to scream, just as he smashed a handful of wet snow onto her face. Choking and blinded, she heard his savage whisper as he caught her wrists and yanked them above her head. "I'll kill him if he comes any closer," he bit out, tightening his grip on her hands.

"Damn you, is that what you want! Does someone have to die for you?"

Julie whimpered, unable to speak, and shook her head, her eyes clenched shut, unable to bear the sight of her captor, unable to endure knowing she'd come within a few feet of freedom, and all for nothing, for this—to end up on her back in the snow with his body crushing her, her hip throbbing from her deliberate

fall from the Blazer. She heard his swift intake of breath, the furious urgency. "He's walking over here.

Kiss me and make it look good, or he's dead!"

Before she could react, his mouth crushed down on hers. Julie's eyes flew open, her gaze riveting on the truck driver who was cautiously walking toward them, frowning as he tried to peer at their faces.

"Goddammit, put your arms around me!"

His mouth was imprisoning hers, the gun in his pocket was jabbing into her stomach, but her wrists were

free now. She could struggle, and very possibly, the truck driver with the jovial face beneath a black cap that said PETE on it would see that something was very wrong and come to her rescue.

And he would die.

Benedict had ordered her to put her arms around him and "make it look good." Like a puppet, Julie moved her leaden wrists from the snow and let them drop limply onto his shoulders, but she could not make herself do more than that.

* * *

that she was trying to gather her strength for the next moment when she, with the help of three truck drivers, would put an end to his brief freedom and his life. From the corner of his eye, he saw the driver slow down, but he was still coming toward them, and his expression was growing increasingly cautious

and skeptical. All this and more raced through Zack's mind in the space of the three seconds they lay there, pretending—unconvincingly—to kiss.

In a last helpless effort to stop the inevitable from happening to him, Zack dragged his mouth to her ear and whispered a single word he hadn't let himself use in years:

"Please!"Tightening his arms around the rigid woman, he said it again with a groaning urgency he couldn't

suppress.
"Please,
Julie…"

Feeling as if the world had suddenly gone insane, Julie heard the plea wrench from her captor as if it were torn from his chest a moment before his lips seized hers and he said in a tormented whisper, "I didn't kill anyone, I swear it." The pleading and desperation she'd heard in his voice were eloquently alive

in this kiss, and it accomplished what his threats and anger could not: It made Julie hesitate and waver; it made her believe that what she heard in his voice was truth.

Dazed by the confusing messages racing through her brain, she sacrificed her immediate future for the safety of a truck driver. Driven by the need to spare the man's life and by something less sensible and
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completely inexplicable, Julie blinked back tears of futility, slid her hands tentatively over Zachary Benedict's shoulders, and yielded to his kiss. The moment she did, he sensed her capitulation; a shudder

ran through him and his lips gentled. Unaware of the footsteps crunching to a stop in the snow, Julie let him part her lips and of their own volition, her fingers curved around his neck, sliding into the soft, thick

hair at his nape. She felt his swift, indrawn breath when she tentatively returned the kiss, and suddenly everything began to change. He was kissing her in earnest now, his hands shifting, sliding over her shoulders, and then burying in her wet hair, lifting her face closer to his hungry, searching mouth.

Somewhere far above her, a man's bewildered Texas drawl called out, "Lady, you need help or not?"

Julie heard him, and she tried to shake her head, but the mouth that was slanting fiercely over hers now had robbed her of the ability to speak. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was only a performance for the driver's benefit; she knew it as clearly as she knew she had no choice but to participate in the performance. But if that was true, then why couldn't she at least shake her head or open her eyes.

"I guess you don't," the Texas drawl said on a lewd chuckle. "How 'bout you, mister? You need any help with what you're doin'? I could spell you for a bit down there…"

Zack's head lifted just enough to break contact with her mouth, his words husky and soft. "Find your own woman," he joked with the driver. "This one is mine." The last word was breathed against Julie's lips

before his mouth touched hers, his arms sweeping around her, his tongue sliding tentatively across her lips, urging them to part, his hips hard and demanding against hers. With a silent moan of surrender, Julie

gave herself up to what became the hottest, sexiest, most insistent kiss she'd ever tasted.

Fifty yards away, a truck door opened and a new male voice called, "Hey, Pete, what's goin' on over yonder in the snow?"

"Hell, man, what does it look like? A couple of grown-ups is playin' at bein' kids, having snowball fights

and neckin' in the snow."

"Looks to me like they're goin' to be
makin'
a kid if they don't slow down."

Perhaps it was the new male voice or the sudden realization that her captor was becoming physically aroused that snapped Julie into reality or perhaps it was the slamming of the truck door followed by the roar of an engine as the big semi began to pull away from the rest area. Whatever the cause, she put her hands against his shoulders and exerted pressure, but it took an unnatural effort for her to move, and her shove was puny at best. Panicked by her

inexplicable lethargy, Julie shoved harder. "Stop it!"

she cried

softly. "Stop it. He's gone!"

Stunned by the sound of tears in her voice, Zack lifted his head, staring at her dewy skin and soft mouth

with a hunger that he was finding difficult to control.

The exquisite sweetness of her surrender, the way she felt in his arms, and the gentleness of her touch almost made the notion of making love in the snow at

dawn seem plausible. Slowly, he looked around at where they were and reluctantly levered himself up off

her. He didn't completely understand why she'd decided not to warn the truck driver, but whatever her

reasons, he owed her more than an attempted rape in the snow as repayment. Silently, he held his hand out to her, suppressing a smile when the same woman who'd melted in his arms a moment ago rallied her

defenses, pointedly ignored his gesture, and shoved herself up and out of the snow. "I'm soaking wet,"

she complained, scrupulously avoiding his gaze and swatting at her hair, "and covered with snow."

Automatically, Zack reached out to brush the snow off her, but she jumped out of his reach, avoiding his
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touch as she brushed off her arms and the back of her jeans.

"Don't think you can touch me just because of what happened just now!" she warned him, but Zack was preoccupied with admiration for the results of their kiss: Her huge, dark-lashed eyes were lustrous, her porcelain skin tinted with roses at the high cheekbones. When flustered and a little aroused, as she was

now, Julie Mathison was absolutely breathtaking.

She was also courageous and very kind, for although he'd not been able to subdue her with threats or cruelty, she'd somehow responded to the desperation in

his plea.

"The only reason I let you kiss me was because I realized you were right—there's no need for anyone to

get killed just because I'm scared. Now, let's get going and get this ordeal over with."

Zack sighed. "I gather from that sour tone of yours that we're adversaries again, Ms. Mathison?"

"Of course we are," she replied. "I'll take you wherever you're going without any more tricks, but let's

get one thing straight: As soon as I get you there, I'll be free to leave, right?"

"Right," Zack lied.

"Then let's get moving."

Brushing snow off the sleeves of his jacket, Zack followed along behind her, watching her hair tossing in

the wind and the graceful sway of her slim hips as she stalked toward their car. Judging from her words and the rigid set of her shoulders, there was no doubt she was determined to avoid any further romantic confrontations between them.

In that, as in everything else, Zack was now firmly committed to accomplishing a goal that was in diametric opposition to her own: He had tasted her lips and felt their response to him. His starved senses wanted to feast on the entire banquet.

One part of his mind warned that any sexual involvement with his captive was insane. It would complicate everything, and he didn't need any more complications.

The other part of his mind listened to the clamor of his aroused body and argued—very compellingly and

very conveniently—that it was clever. After all, contented captives became almost like accomplices.

They were also much more delightful company.

Zack decided to try to seduce her, but not because she

had endearing qualities that intrigued and appealed to him or because he was very attracted to her or because he harbored any sort of budding tenderness for her.

Instead, he told himself, he was going to seduce Julie Mathison because it was practical. And, of course,

extremely pleasurable.

With a gallantry that had been absent before their kiss and which Julie felt was entirely ludicrous—and even alarming in their present, altered circumstances

—he escorted her around to the driver's seat, but he didn't have to open the door for her, it was still open from her aborted attempt to escape. He closed the car door and walked around the front of the vehicle, but as he slid into the seat beside her, he noticed that she winced and gasped when she shifted her position. "What's wrong?"

"I hurt my hip and leg when I jumped out of the car and when you tackled me," Julie retorted bitterly, angry with herself for having actually enjoyed that kiss. "Does that fill you with concern and remorse?"

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He said quietly, "Yes, it does."

She jerked her eyes from his somber smile, unable and adamantly unwilling to be charmed into believing

such an implausible lie. He was a convicted murderer, and she must not, dared not, forget that ever again.

"I'm hungry," she announced, because it was the first thing she could think of to say. She knew it was the wrong thing the moment his gaze fastened on her lips. "So am I."

She stuck her nose in the air and turned on the ignition.

His answer was a soft chuckle.

"
W
here in hell can she be?" Carl Mathison paced across the small cubicle that his brother occupied in the Keaton Sheriff's Office, then he stopped and glowered at the silver shield on Ted's gray uniform shirt.

"You're a cop and she's a missing person, so do something, damn it."

"She's not officially missing until she's been gone for at least twenty-four hours," Ted replied, but his blue eyes were troubled as he added, "I can't do anything through official channels until then, you know that."

"And
you
know," Carl countered angrily, "that it's not like Julie to suddenly change her plans; you know

how methodical she is. And if she absolutely had to change her plans, she'd telephone one of us. Besides, she knew I needed my car back this morning."

"You're right." Ted walked over to the windows.

With his hand resting on the butt of the 9-millimeter semiautomatic he wore at his side, he stared absently at the cars parked in the town square while their owners browsed in the local stores or hunted for bargains in what had become a haven for antique hunters. When he spoke again, his voice was hesitant as if he feared to voice his thoughts aloud. "Zachary Benedict escaped from Amarillo yesterday. He'd been made a trustee and he skipped out after driving the warden into Amarillo."

"I heard it on the news. So what?"

"Benedict, or at least a man answering Benedict's general description, was last seen at a restaurant near the interstate.

Very slowly, very carefully, Carl laid down the paperweight he'd been rolling between his hands and stared hard at his younger brother. "What are you getting at?"

"Benedict was seen near a vehicle that sounds like your Blazer. The cashier in the restaurant thinks she saw him get into the Blazer with a woman who'd stopped there for a sandwich and coffee." Ted turned away from the window and reluctantly raised his gaze to his brother's face. "I talked to the cashier—unofficially, of course—five minutes ago.

The description she gave me of the woman who drove

away with Benedict in the Blazer sounds exactly like Julie."

"Oh, my God!"

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The clerk at the desk, a middle-aged woman with wiry gray hair and the face of an irate bulldog, had been listening to the Mathisons' conversation about Julie while simultaneously filling out an arrest warrant

and watching for an assistant deputy to arrive in a black and white patrol car. Now, she glanced up and her gaze riveted on a shiny red BMW convertible that pulled up beside Ted's patrol car across the street.

When a beautiful blond woman of about twenty-five stepped out of the car, Rita's eyes narrowed to slits and she swung around on her chair to the two men in the office. "It never rains, but it pours," she warned Ted, and when both men glanced at her, she tipped her head toward the window and explained. "Look who's back in town—Miss Rich Bitch herself."

Despite his effort to feel and show no reaction to the sight of his ex-wife, Ted Mathison's face tightened.

"Europe must be boring this time of year," he said as his gaze ran insolently over the blonde's perfect curves and long, graceful legs. She disappeared into the seamstress shop across the square as Rita added, "I hear that Flossie and Ada Eldridge are going to make her wedding dress. The silk and lace and