Killjoy (22 page)

“Hell, no,” he argued. “I was going to find a safe place for you to hide until I got back, someplace Monk would never find you.”

“In other words, you’ll drop me off in the middle of nowhere and take off.” She didn’t give him time to think about it. “You’re not dropping me off anywhere, unless you plan to go back to Aspen.”

“You’re nuts, you know that? You’re just plain nuts.”

“I gather that’s a no?”

He didn’t respond to her sarcasm.

She brushed her hair away from her face with her fingers and laid her hands on top of her head. “I wish we could get out of this car. I need a quiet place to think.”

“You can’t think in a car?”

She knew he wouldn’t understand. When she was in her cubicle at work, she felt the same way she felt when she was doing yoga. She’d perfected the technique of clearing her mind and then slowly entering data one clue at a time while her hands worked the keyboard. No, he couldn’t possibly understand, and she couldn’t explain.

“So who looks like you?”

“I’m sorry. What did you ask?”

“Back at the store,” he said. “Chrystal said the woman looked like you. So I’ve gotta ask if you happen to have any crazy relatives trying to kill you.”

“No. There’s only my aunt Carrie and her husband, Tony. No other relatives.”

“Parents dead?”

She turned in her seat and stared at his profile when she answered. “I don’t know who my father was. I don’t think the woman who had me knew who he was either,” she said.

She watched him closely to see if she had shocked him. His expression didn’t change.

“She died in a car crash quite a few years ago. There isn’t anyone else.”

“Chrystal said—”

“I heard what she said, John Paul. Do you know how many women her description fits?”

He glanced at her and asked, “So is it real?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your hair. Is it real?”

She blinked. “Are you asking me if I wear a wig?”

“No, I’m asking about the color. Are you a real blonde, or did you get that from a bottle?”

“Why do you care about the color of my hair?”

“I don’t care,” he said, growing irritated now. “But the woman looked like you, so I gotta wonder if you—”

“No, I don’t color my hair.”

He was surprised and didn’t hide his reaction. “Yeah? What about your eyes?”

“What about them?”

“Colored contacts?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“No kidding.”

“Are you deliberately trying to be a jerk?”

“Look, I’m just trying to put it together, okay? Kenny said the woman was beautiful. A real knockout.”

“And?” she pressed.

He shrugged. “Have you looked at yourself lately? You’ve got to know . . .”

“Know what?” she pressed when he didn’t continue.

He frowned at her. “Hell, woman. You’re pretty, damn it.”

It was the most hostile, backhanded compliment she’d ever received, and the odd thing was, it didn’t upset her. For the first time ever, she didn’t feel the need to launch into her favorite lecture about how appearances weren’t the least bit important.

She forced herself to consider the problem at hand. “The data isn’t sufficient to form a conclusion.”

“Jeez, you sound like a computer. A lot of things aren’t adding up.”

She agreed with a nod. Her stomach was hurting. She felt as though she had a hot coal lodged in her esophagus. She picked up her backpack, found her antacid, a bottle of water, and two energy bars. She opened the bottle, popped the pills, and swallowed. Then she handed the bottle to John Paul and opened one of the energy bars for him.

“Thanks,” he said after he took a long swallow of the water. He took a bite of the bar and washed it down with another gulp. “It tastes like cardboard.”

“You’re welcome.”

His smile lasted for half a second, but she still saw it and reacted. She surprised herself. She couldn’t stand the man an hour ago, but now she didn’t think he was so awful. He had a beautiful profile . . . and was sexy as hell. No reason for her to pretend she didn’t notice, even though she wasn’t going to do anything about it.

He was also protective. The way he tried to boss her around in the store when she went running to the back office. He acted . . . worried. Worried about her safety. Nice, she thought. He wasn’t such a cold duck after all.

“It’s gonna rain,” he remarked.

“Rain will slow us down.”

“It’s still coming. The sun’s going to be setting soon,” he said. “I’m going to plant the watch about a mile or two from here. Then we’ll go on for as long as we can.”

He parked the car and picked up the watch. “What’d you do with that gun we took?”

“It’s in the sack on the floor.”

“Get it out and keep it on your lap. Have you done any target practice?”

“No.”

He gave her a disgruntled sigh. “Keep the safety on.” He got the gun for her. “I won’t be long.”

He disappeared before she could tell him to be careful. A fine drizzle began to fall, covering the windshield. It seemed an hour had passed before he came sprinting down the hill toward the car. When he opened the door, a blast of cold air filled the interior.

The second he turned the motor on, she flipped on the heater. “Where did you leave the watch?”

“I hooked it to a tree branch by a crossroad to the west. If he’s tracking us now, I’m hoping he’ll think we took the other road.”

He drove on, thanking God he had a four-wheel drive. He zigzagged up the side of the mountain, slowly weaving in and out of the trees. When the terrain became too dense to go any farther, he maneuvered the car into a cluster of thick pines, turned it around, and then backed in until he was assured the car couldn’t be seen from the road below.

Night rushed in on them, closing them in together. The drizzle had turned into rain. A booming clap of thunder sounded. She flinched.

“You’ve got a weapon just in case, food and water.”

“What do you mean I’ve got food and water? You think you’re going to leave me here?”

He reached for the door.

Chapter 16

B
Y THE TIME
C
ARRIE PLOPPED DOWN ON THE LIVING ROOM
sofa, she felt doomed. Jilly and Monk had thought of every possible way out. Oh, yes, they’d wired every window . . . except, perhaps, one. She looked up at the skylight that loomed over the spiral staircase. The bubbled rectangle was over thirty feet above them. She shook her head. Even if they stacked table upon table upon wardrobes, they still wouldn’t be able to hack their way through.

Anne had prepared a dinner from the contents of the pantry, and the three women ate in dejected silence. The sun had gone down and the house was dimly lit by the candles Anne had found. None of them wanted to turn on the lights, fearing Jilly and Monk were watching, and there weren’t any drapes to cover the massive windows. Sara had brought up the possibility that Monk had hooked up a video camera to observe them. That so freaked out Carrie, she once again scoured the house, this time looking for a camera.

Anne was reclining on the sofa, and Sara sat in an easy chair waiting for her when she came back downstairs.

“I couldn’t find anything,” Carrie said. “I looked everywhere. I even searched the light sockets, the ones I could reach,” she added. “I don’t think anyone’s watching us.”

“What difference does it make if they can see or hear us?” Anne asked.

Carrie thought the question was stupid but didn’t say so. “Because if we’re digging our way out of the basement and they can see us, they’ll push the button and kill us right then and there.”

Digging through the basement was, of course, out of the question. The door to it was locked, and there was a big sign taped to it. One word, but quite enough to keep the three women from trying to break the lock. “Boom.”

Exhausted and frightened, Sara and Carrie sat in silence as they stared out the windows at the deepening shadows on the beautiful landscape.

Anne struggled to sit up. Carrie noticed a stack of papers on the sofa next to her.

“What’s all that?” she asked.

“Newspaper clippings I found in the chest in the foyer. One of the owners of the house must have saved them. Here they are,” she said, handing Carrie a picture of a bride and groom on their wedding day.

“They look happy.”

“I imagine they were,” Anne said. “But now they’re getting divorced and fighting over this house. Here, take all of the articles,” she said, thrusting them at Carrie. “It’s quite sordid. Is anyone ready for dessert?”

She sounded like a hostess of a party. Carrie found the question hilarious and laughed until tears came into her eyes. Sara was also tickled. She began to giggle.

“Oh, I don’t know if I have room for dessert,” Sara said. “After that gourmet dinner of baked beans and canned beets, I’m quite full.”

“Don’t forget the creamed corn,” Anne reminded. “I worked hard to get just the right amount of pepper mixed in.”

“It was very tasty,” Sara said.

“I’ve taken inventory of the pantry,” Anne said. “I thought we could have canned peaches for dessert. Shall we eat in the kitchen by candlelight? I’ve closed the blinds so no one can see in from the driveway.”

Anne was sounding so chipper that Carrie became alarmed. Her own burst of laughter had been due to near hysteria, but Anne wasn’t hysterical. She was acting as though she were having a lovely time getting together with old friends.

“After dessert, I have a surprise for you,” Anne said. Her wry smile reminded Carrie of the cat who’d just eaten the canary.

“You aren’t going to try to open the door to the garage, are you? That one is wired too,” Sara said. “I checked it myself.”

“In other words, you read the sign on the door?” Carrie said.

“Well, yes,” Sara answered sheepishly.

Carrie put her hand out and helped pull Sara up from the easy chair.

“I’m a little stiff,” Sara said.

Anne had already gone into the kitchen. They could hear her singing. Carrie, picturing Anne climbing up on the granite counter to open the window above the sink, rushed ahead of Sara. Blessedly, the image wasn’t real. Anne was opening the can of peaches.

Carrie couldn’t stop worrying. The woman had yet to grasp the futility of their situation. “Anne, you’re not getting loopy on us again, are you?”

Anne laughed. It was a high-pitched noise, like china breaking. “I don’t think so. Now sit down and relax.”

At this point, Carrie knew she would have done anything Anne or Sara told her to do. She was feeling so beaten down. She was sick with worry for Avery, and though she was loath to admit it, she missed Tony.

“I miss my husband.” She was surprised she’d said the thought out loud. “I guess I do love him.”

“You don’t know?” Anne asked. She placed the fluted ice cream bowls on the table and scooped peaches into each one.

“I thought he was cheating on me. He said he wasn’t, but I didn’t believe him. Some woman was calling at all hours of the night. The phone’s on my side of the bed, and I always answered. She’d ask for Tony, but when he’d take the phone, he told me she hung up. What if it was Jilly calling?”

“You didn’t trust your husband.”

“No, I didn’t.”

The three women ate in silence while Carrie continued to wallow in self-pity. “You know what I hope?”

“What’s that?” Sara asked.

“When it happens, I hope we’re all sound asleep so we don’t know it.”

“That’s grim,” Sara said.

“Will the sound of the explosion wake us up before the pain of being incinerated—”

“Stop it, Carrie,” Sara demanded. “We don’t have time for such negative thoughts.”

“Listen, if I want to—”

“Ladies, please,” Anne interrupted. “Are you ready for my surprise?”

“You are loopy,” Carrie muttered. “You found some Froot Loops?”

Anne didn’t acknowledge her ridicule. “I’ve built two houses in the last ten years. The second one was over three thousand square feet. Cedar siding,” she added. She nervously laughed as she qualified. “I hired a contractor, of course, but I was there every single day making sure everything was done the way I wanted it done. I drove the builder crazy.”

“I’ll bet you did,” Carrie said.

“Why are you telling us this?” Sara wanted to know.

“I was leading up to my surprise,” Anne said. She took a breath and then whispered, “I found it.”

“Found what?” Carrie demanded.

Anne beamed with self-satisfaction. “A way out.”

Chapter 17

Y
OU
’
LL BE OKAY HERE,
” J
OHN
P
AUL TOLD
A
VERY.

“What do you mean, I’ll be okay? You’re thinking about hiking to Coward’s Crossing now? In the dark . . . in a rainstorm? Are you nuts?”

“Avery,” he began.

She grabbed his arm. “Okay, if your mind’s made up, I’m going with you.”

She knew he’d argue, and he did exactly that. He was almost civil as he told her she would slow him down, and he didn’t want or need to have to worry about her out there. When that didn’t work, he tried intimidation, even going so far as to threaten to tie her to the steering wheel.

She let him go on and on as she climbed into the backseat, found her black jogging jacket, and put it on, and then dug through her bag until she located her baseball cap.

Scooping her hair up under the black-and-orange Orioles cap, she adjusted the brim, sat back, and kicked off her tennis shoes. Her goal was to try to blend in with the night, and white tennis shoes would be seen.

Thank God she’d decided to bring her hiking shoes. She knew he was watching her every move as she carefully repacked her duffel bag.

“I think it’s crazy to hike in the dark . . . only an idiot would try it, but if that’s what you want to do, then I’m right behind you,” she said.

“You’re staying here,” he said between gritted teeth.

She pretended she hadn’t heard him. “We won’t get far, and one of us might break an ankle or something walking into a hole we can’t see. If I were making the decisions,” she added as she carefully placed her tennis shoes, soles up, on top of her clothes and rezipped the bag, “I’d say we should stay in the car until dawn. Then we hike at a fast clip.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not making the decisions. I am.”

She pushed the duffel bag to the floor, stacked her hands on the headrest, and leaned forward until she was just inches from his face. “Why?”

He couldn’t hold on to his glare or his bad mood when she smiled. Hell, she even batted those big baby blue eyes at him.

“Are all the typists at the Bureau smart-asses like you?”

He was trying to put her on the defensive so she’d stop arguing with him and let him do what he was trained to do. It was a great plan, he thought, but unfortunately she was having none of it.

“Are all burnouts as obnoxious and stubborn as you are?”

He caught himself before he smiled. “Probably,” he allowed.

“Are we going or not? Time’s a-wasting, John Paul.”

“We’re going to wait until dawn,” he said. “Don’t give me that smug look, sugar. I had already decided to wait.”

“Uh-huh.”

He was smart enough to know it was time to stop arguing. Honest to God, she was more stubborn than he was, and in truth, that impressed the socks off him. She wasn’t going to let him win this round, but he already had another plan in mind. He’d sneak away a little before dawn. When she woke up, she’d have to stay in the car and wait for him to come back.

And if he didn’t make it back . . .

“I’m gonna leave the keys in the car.”

“Okay.”

“Get in the front seat so I can fold down the back. I’ve got a sleeping bag,” he added. “You can use it.”

“We’ll both use it.”

“Yeah?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get any fancy ideas, Renard.”

“Fancy?” He laughed.

Avery had already found the latches and unhooked the seat backs. When they were flat, she spread out the sleeping bag. She tucked her hiking shoes under the seat, removed her jacket, and tossed it on the floor. John Paul stretched out on his back with his feet against the dashboard. He looked comfortable, his hands stacked on his chest, his eyes closed.

Shivering from the cold, she had to climb over his legs to get to the other side. Her teeth were chattering as she stretched out beside him. She couldn’t reach her jacket. It was under the seat below him. A gentleman would have put his arms around her to warm the shivers away. He wasn’t a gentleman, she decided, when he completely ignored her.

It had always been a point of pride with her never to complain. She was usually quite good at suffering minor and major ailments in silence. But John Paul brought out the worst in her. She really wanted to whine now, and she was more disgusted with herself than with him. He couldn’t help being a jerk. She could.

Suck it up, she told herself. Then a minute later, when she was sure her toes were frostbitten, she whispered, “Screw this.”

“What?”

“I said it was cold.”

“Huh.”

“Huh, what?”

“I could have sworn I heard you say, ‘Screw this.’ ”

He really liked being rude, she supposed, and no wonder, he was so very good at it. She smiled in spite of her misery. “Don’t you think it’s cold?”

“No.”

Ignoring his answer, she said, “We should share our body heat.” He didn’t move a muscle. “Put your damn arms around me, Renard. I’m freezing. For God’s sake, be a gentleman.”

He still didn’t move. She was half on top of him now, trying to steal some of the warmth his body generated. The man was like an electric blanket.

“Move it.” She grimaced after giving the order. She sounded like a drill sergeant.

He was trying hard not to laugh at her. “If I put my arms around you, sugar, I might not remain a gentleman.”

Oh, brother. “I’ll take my chances,
sugar,
” she drawled back.

She leaned up so he could put his arm out, and the second he did, she cuddled up against his side. John Paul rolled over and enveloped her with his arms.

He felt as if he were hugging an ice cube. The bottom of his chin rubbed the top of her head. Damn, she smelled good. Like peppermint, maybe, he thought as he began to rub her back.

“You’re one big goose bump.”

She didn’t have the energy to talk. His warmth was so comforting, she closed her eyes and let him caress her. Her T-shirt had ridden up above her navel, and too late, she felt his hands slip under the fabric. His fingers splayed wide across her back.

She lurched upward at the same instant he felt the scar tissue, her head slamming into his chin.

“Damn,” he muttered as he dropped back. “What the hell did you do that for?” he asked, rubbing his jaw.

Avery frantically pulled her shirt down and rolled away from him. “Go to sleep.”

She’d closed up on him quicker than he could snap his fingers. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. What in God’s name had happened to her back? He knew what he’d touched was scar tissue. Who had done that to her?

“Leave me the hell alone,” Avery whispered.

She was coiled for a fight. She waited tensely for the questions to start, holding her breath. She expelled it loudly. Why was he silent? Why wasn’t he asking questions?

She told herself she had nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about, but very few men had ever seen or touched her back, and she had memorized their reactions. The look of shock, and in one instance, disgust. Mostly she remembered how one man she had actually believed wasn’t superficial had visibly shuddered. Then, of course, the sympathy and the questions came . . . the hundreds of questions.

John Paul wasn’t talking, though. She couldn’t stand his silence long. She rolled toward him, propped herself up with her elbow, and glared down at him. The jerk’s eyes were closed, and he looked as if he were sleeping. She knew better.

“Open your eyes, damn it.”

“My name’s John Paul, not Damn It.”

What the hell was the matter with him? Why wasn’t he asking her questions . . . or flinching? She knew he’d felt the knotted scars. “Well?”

He sighed. “Well, what?”

She was getting angrier and angrier by the second. “What are you thinking?”

“Trust me, sugar, you don’t want to know.”

“Oh, yes, I do. Tell me.”

“You sure?”

“Answer me,” she demanded. “I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“Okay. I’m thinking that you’re a real pain in the ass.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. I said you’re a real pain in the ass. You damn near broke my jaw when you jerked up. One second you’re letting me warm you, and the next you’re trying to kill me.”

“I was not trying to kill you.”

He rubbed his jaw. “I could have chipped a tooth.”

Oh, brother. “Look . . . I’m sorry, okay? I was just startled, and I . . . Wait a minute. Why am I apologizing?”

He flashed a devilish grin. Her heartbeat immediately quickened. “’Cause you should,” he drawled in his seductive southern accent.

The big jerk was so aloof and impassive, so why were her senses going berserk now? With the bursts of lightning, she could see his face clearly. The day’s growth of whiskers should have made him look scruffy, but it didn’t. She had to resist the urge to touch his cheek. His wonderful scent was driving her to distraction too. He smelled like wintergreen and musk and fresh wood shavings. And when he had held her in his arms to warm her, his body had felt like a smooth block of sculptor’s marble. Everything about him was sexy, damn it. He was so masculine, so . . . Get a grip, she told herself. Remember, you’re in charge.

Yeah, right. She put her forefinger and her thumb up in front of his eyes about a half-inch apart and said, “I’m this close to really hating you.”

She’d used just the right amount of anger in her voice. She nodded too, just to let him know she meant every word.

He wasn’t impressed or intimidated. He simply closed his eyes and lazily said, “I can live with that.”