Never Sleep With Strangers (16 page)

N
ever, in fact or fiction had Sabrina ever heard such a shriek. Following Jon into the house, she nearly jumped a mile at the sound.

It was Anna Lee, standing in the entry, her beautiful eyes huge as she stared at Brett, unconscious in Jon's arms. Clearly she thought Brett was dead.

“He's alive!” Jon announced quickly. “He's alive.”

And at that, Brett stirred slightly. His eyes opened. He groaned. Then he looked up at Jon, the friend who was carrying him, and tried to smile. “Jon, we've got to stop meeting like this. Rumors will begin to fly.”

“I think he's going to be all right,” Jon said dryly, striding toward the library.

By then Reggie, Tom and Joe had rushed into the foyer from the library, and V.J., Dianne, Thayer, Susan and Camy had made an appearance, running down the stairs. Sabrina felt Joshua crash into her from behind.

“What happened?” Camy demanded.

“A riding accident,” Sabrina explained quickly.

“Stupid horse threw me,” Brett said, grimacing. “Right onto a rock! I'm in pain, ladies. Be kind to me!”

Jon groaned wryly, seeing that his patient was coming to in good form. He called over his shoulder, “Someone get a cloth and cold water, please.”

Camy rushed to do his bidding. Brett was soon ensconced on a sofa in the library, and among them all they determined that his only injury was the blow to his head that had knocked him out. Brett was lording it over them all nicely, wincing, playing on their sympathies, insisting that Sabrina be the one to bathe his wound and press cold cloths to his head. Dianne Dorsey produced some painkillers to relieve the pain and swelling, and Brett gave a dramatic rendition of how his wild steed had suddenly reared, sending him flying into the snow. Listening to him, Sabrina found herself newly curious about what Joshua had been looking for out there, and she turned to glance at him. He stood in the shadows by the fire, alone and watching.

“Electricity is gone?” Jon asked, looking up at Thayer.

“We lost power awhile ago. Actually, while—”

“Right after I was viciously assaulted!” Susan declared.

Jon, accepting a drink from Anna Lee, arched a brow at Susan. “Assaulted?”

“I was sent to the chamber of horrors, while everyone else was involved in that silly séance in the crypt. I was locked in, and Jack the Ripper attacked me!” Susan cried.

Joshua made a strange, choking sound.

“Jack the Ripper came to life?” Brett said politely, laughter just behind the words.

“Susan wasn't locked in,” Thayer said firmly.

“The door had jammed,” Joe explained.

“So they say,” Susan stormed. “But I think
she
did it!” Very dramatically, she pointed at Camy.

Brett let loose with a snort of derision. Camy softly started to cry. Joshua pushed away from the fireplace, as if to come to Camy's defense.

“Camy?” Jon said very softly.

“I don't know what she's talking about, I swear to you!” Camy cried.

“Since it seems that no one really knows anything, I suggest we not point fingers at one another—unless it's in the fun of the game,” Jon said firmly.

“Jon Stuart, you're not going to ignore me!” Susan declared. “I'm not crazy, and I assure you that—”

“That what?” Jon demanded grimly.

“Your guests are a pack of liars with plenty of secrets to hide,” she said, staring at them, one by one. As she did so, she added furiously, “And I warn you all, I will not be ignored. Someone will pay.”

“Susan, if you know something—” Jon began.

“Oh, I know everything!” she snapped. “But I'm not out to tell tales about anyone—yet.”

“Susan, if you're afraid you're in danger,” Dianne said, twirling a strand of black hair, “maybe you should stop threatening people.”

“Yeah,” Thayer added.

Sabrina thought that they all sounded and were acting like a group of children, finally ganging up against the neighborhood bully.

“Maybe you all—every one of you—should take a look at your nice little lives and think about the pathetic, hypocritical lies you're living!” Susan retorted.

Jon sighed deeply. “Susan, for the love of God, if you'd quit playing games—”

“Oh, but we came here to play a game, didn't we?” she demanded.

Jon shook his head, clearly leashing his anger and aggravation. “If you're really scared, then the stakes have gotten too high. Maybe we should call a halt to the whole blasted week.”

“Oh, no. The game is going to be played, all right—or we're going to expose whoever it is who wants to play outside the rules,” she said. “And Jon, I expect you to—”

“I'll take a look at the doors in the chamber of horrors, Susan,” Jon said. “But I imagine it is possible that you only thought you were locked in.”

“The mind can play very mysterious tricks,” Anna Lee said in a soft, sultry voice.

“My mind doesn't play tricks,” Susan said flatly. “And again, I promise, someone will pay.”

“Susan, I'll do my best to find out what happened,” Jon repeated. “But I'm afraid we're in a rather sorry situation. I warned you that a storm was coming, and God knows how long we'll be snowbound. Now we've lost the electricity as well, and though we've got generators and batteries, I'm afraid we can't keep this place as well lit as I would like. There's only so much we're going to be able to see, and only so much we're going to be able to do.”

“But we do have a nice buffet set up in the great hall,” Reggie said. “I think we should all get something to eat, and we'll feel better, and we won't be so prone to wild hysterics.”

“I wasn't hysterical!” Susan snapped.

“Oh, Susan, you're always hysterical,” Brett complained. “And you're stealing my thunder here. I need all the attention I can get, people flocking around me with wonderful concern. So get a grip.
I
am supposed to be the patient here,” he reminded her petulantly.

“I hit my head falling, too,” Susan said.

“Yes, but rock against rock…” Dianne murmured.

“I heard that!” Susan snapped at her.

“So you did,” Dianne said smoothly, her eyes venomous as they met Susan's.

“Susan, we've generators for hot water,” Jon said. “We need to use the water a little sparingly, but right now I think that a drink and a long hot bath might make you feel better.”

Susan looked mollified at Jon's words. “Yes, a hot bath, a drink. A strong one. Make me something, darling, will you? And will you stay with me while I bathe? Stand guard? I'm so very nervous now.”

“Susan, I'm going to take a look around below, search the chamber of horrors, the chapel, the crypt,” Jon said. “You'll be all right. Someone else can—”

“I'll stand guard at Susan's door,” Thayer volunteered.

“No,” Jon told the ex-cop, “I'd like you to come downstairs with me.”

“I'll watch over her,” Sabrina heard herself say.

“No!” Brett protested, capturing her hand where it lay on the cold towel pressed to his head. “You can't desert me now. Please, Sabrina.” He winced as if in great pain. Looking down at him, she had to admit that he did have a nasty gash, and she was glad that he was alive.

“I'll stand sentinel at Susan's door,” Tom Heart offered.

Sabrina looked up and saw that Jon was staring at her. She felt as if his eyes were piercing through her. There she sat on the arm of the sofa, her hand on Brett's head, his hand now upon hers, as well. It must make a cozy, intimate picture.

“Help me up to my room, sweetheart, will you?” Brett asked then. “Please, I don't think I could manage alone. You could bring me a small lunch, make sure I don't have convulsions or anything.”

By then, Jon had turned away. And, followed by Thayer, he was soon gone.

“Well, let's eat. I'm famished,” Reggie said.

“Two people hurt, and you're famished?” Susan protested.

“Two silly, careless people, and yes, I'm famished. Susan, you're a mess. Go take your bath. Sabrina, go ahead and get that randy little rooster upstairs and come back and have some late lunch with us. It's going to be a long day!”

 

It would be a long day. Sabrina knew that right after she helped Brett upstairs.

His clothing was soaked, and naturally, he insisted that she help him out of it, thanking her as she dispatched his boots, his jacket and his shirt. She drew the line at his pants, however.

“Oh, come on, Sabrina, it's not as if it isn't familiar territory,” he told her. He looked at her pathetically. “Sabrina, I swear, I haven't an ounce of strength. Help me.”

“All right,” she conceded. “Lie down, and I'll drag off your pants. And you'd better be wearing underwear.”

He laughed.

“Just because you were hurt doesn't mean that you didn't behave like a slimy bastard, you know,” she reminded him as she wrestled with the sodden trousers, which now seemed plastered to his legs.

Naturally, just as she fell against the bedpost, his pants in her hands, Jon came striding into the room, while Joshua and Thayer lingered in the hall.

“I decided I should come by to see if you needed any help, McGraff,” Jon said dryly. “But you seem to be doing all right.”

“Of course. Sabrina does know how to take my clothes off,” Brett said.

Jon stared at her, arching a brow, then strode from the room.

Sabrina threw Brett's pants to the floor.

Brett caught her hand. “I wish I could figure out when you slept with him,” he grumbled.

“Brett, stop, now.”

Amazingly, he did. He looked up at her and smiled. “You're a great nurse, Sabrina. Now how would you like to help me out of my underwear?”

“Your only saving grace at the moment, Brett McGraff, is that you're
wearing
underwear!” Sabrina scolded him.

“Please, show some mercy, will you? Would you put that cold towel on my head again?”

She was angry, feeling that Jon condemned her, convinced she was sleeping with Brett because of her ex-husband's seemingly endless ploy to seduce her or, at the very least, to land her in compromising positions. But what could she do about it now? Nothing. She sighed. “Get under the covers and behave.”

He did so. He closed his eyes and winced, and she realized that he really must have one pounding headache.

Angry with Jon, too, for leaping so easily to the wrong conclusions, she fussed over Brett a bit. But she refused to be drawn into another of his traps. “Don't you ever give up?” she asked him, plumping up a pillow and refusing his outrageous request for a drink. “Not with that knot on your head,” she told him. “Don't drink, and don't go to sleep. Just rest, and if you get blurry vision—”

“We'll call the doctor, Nurse Sabrina?” he said, amused.

“I think you're going to be all right,” she told him.

“Nothing a good whiskey wouldn't cure,” he said wistfully.

“No alcohol today. You could have died, you know.”

“Stupid horse! I wonder why it reared like that?” he complained. Then he sighed. “Stupid me, for not being a better rider.”

“Hey, things happen,” Sabrina said gently.

“Too many things happen around here,” Brett said dully. He paused. “So what do you think happened with Susan?”

“How would I know? I wasn't here.”

“Everyone hates her,” Brett mused. “Any one of us might want her dead.”

“But she's not dead, is she? And normally, just because people hate someone, they don't become homicidal.”

“Ah, but think about murder. You have your psychopaths, and then you have your people who commit the crime in the heat of passion, your opportunists engaged in other felonies—the list goes on and on.”

“Well,” she mused, “I don't think Susan is the type to scare
herself
to death.”

“Those wax figures are awfully scary, though, don't you think?”

Sabrina agreed wholeheartedly.

“God, I'm suddenly famished,” Brett said. “Want to go down and see if there are some grapes you can feed me?”

“I'm not going to feed you grapes, but I'll bring you up some lunch,” Sabrina said. “Rest now, and I'll be right back.” Slipping from Brett's room, she started down the hallway toward the stairs.

Behind her, she heard a door close quietly. She looked around. She didn't know which door had closed, or indeed, if she had only imagined the sound.