Never Sleep With Strangers (22 page)

“You said she'd be unconscious.”

“She is. She isn't moving.”

“But her eyes…”

“Do it! Or do I have to do everything myself?”

A cry of impatience.

She tried to scream. Couldn't.

And so she stared into her own eyes, her own face. She saw the horror and the anguish.

She saw her own blood.

Watched her own death.

Powerless.

Couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't cry.

But then, at last, she made a noise. It was a terrible, gasping, choking sound….

S
abrina was furious.

Brett wasn't there. She was prowling around in the darkness, scaring herself half to death, and the little shit wasn't there. The mound on his bed was just a pile of sheets and blankets. Brett's door was open because he'd left his room.

In the middle of the night.

“Where the hell did you go?” she whispered, ripping back the sheets angrily, even though she knew he couldn't be hiding in some little ball at the bottom of the bed.

“Last time I worry about you,” she muttered aloud. She ducked down, looking under the bed. Foolish. She rose and looked around the room, the bath, making absolutely certain that he wasn't there.

There were no closets in the room, but there was a huge wardrobe in the corner. She stared at it for a long moment. Almost floor to ceiling, it was enormous.

It could easily hold a few bodies, she found herself thinking.

She forced herself to walk to the wardrobe, telling herself how silly she was being all the while. When she reached it, she suddenly wanted to turn around. But she was standing right in front of it. Again she told herself that she was being an absolute idiot. Every time she watched a horror movie, she grew irritated because the foolish would-be victim was walking around some dark and shadowed and lonely place alone. When help could have been summoned so easily.

That was the way it was done, of course. It was a dark and stormy night….

She was being ridiculous. It hadn't been dark or stormy when Cassandra Stuart had died. It had been broad daylight. And probably she had simply fallen. In light of what they all did for a living, they had
made
a mystery out of it.

But Jon had been haunted all these years by what had happened. And he wasn't prone to exaggeration or hysteria. He still wanted to know what had happened.

Unless, of course, he'd been involved?

There was no one in the wardrobe, she told herself. No living person ready to leap out at her. No cold, mutilated bodies.

So open it, she commanded herself. She had no logical reason to assume that anything was amiss at all, she told herself.

She reached for the wardrobe door.

But before she could open it, a hand descended firmly upon her shoulder.

She started to scream in sheer terror, but a second hand fell over her mouth.

“Hey, Sabrina! Shh! What's the matter with you? Want to wake the dead? Or the whole household, at the very least? It's me! You're in my room, remember? I'm the one who should be screaming. Maybe with pure delight. Because you finally realized that you can't live without me. My God, what irony! You finally come to my bed—and I'm not in it! But I'm here now. Ready, willing and able. You did come to sleep with me, I hope?”

His hair was mussed; his eyes had never seemed more lazily sensual.

Her heart was still thundering faster than the speed of light.

She wrenched his hand from her mouth. “You scared me half to death!”

“How?” he inquired innocently. “You were in my room.”

“I was worried about you!”

“That's so nice.”

“I'm serious!”

“So am I. It's great that you care and I do appreciate it. But as you can see, I'm fine.”

“What are you doing, skulking around the castle in the middle of the night?” she asked him.

“I went down to the great hall to see if there was any food around.” His eyes narrowed. “What are
you
doing, skulking around the castle in the middle of the night?”

“I was looking for you.”

He smiled again. “Honey, I'm here now.” He reached for her, drawing her into his arms.

“Brett, let go.”

“Sabrina!” he protested, hurt. “You just said you were worried about me. And you came to me in the middle of the night.”

“Yes, and you seem to be just fine!” she told him.

He grinned. “So do you. You feel great.”

“Quit feeling me. Let me be, Brett, please.”

He finally did so, though a bit sulkily. “What were you doing up?” he asked her.

“I—I'm not sure. I just woke up…cold.”

Brett turned away from her. “You were sleeping with him, I bet,” he said gruffly. “And he left you in the middle of the night.”

“Brett, don't. I want to be friends, I think we can be friends, but don't meddle in my personal life. I came just now because I was honestly worried about you and—”

He spun around. “
I
wouldn't have left you in the middle of the night.”

“You don't know that anyone did.”

Brett shook his head. “He's moving around the castle, too, you know.” He shook his head. “Strange night. You can tell that everyone is skulking around, and yet no one sees anyone else. Bizarre.”

“How do you know?” she demanded.

“I have my ways,” he said, jiggling an eyebrow.

She sighed with impatience. “Brett, what's going on? Who else is up? And how do you know they are if you didn't see anyone?”

He shrugged. “I was lonely, looking for company for a midnight snack. I tried Tom's door—no answer. I tried Joe's door—no answer. Thayer—no answer. I even went so far as to tap on Susan's door. No answer there, either.”

“You tried Susan's door?” she inquired wryly.

He made an apologetic grimace. “I was desperate for companionship.” He shrugged again, casual and handsome in a long velvet robe.

“So you ran around in the middle of the night, tapping on doors seeking company to raid the great hall for food?” she asked skeptically. “Why didn't you tap on my door?”

He looked at her, his face suddenly taut. “I did.”

“I didn't hear you.”

“Of course not. It was awhile ago. And you were making too much noise to hear me. I almost burst in on you, afraid you were being hurt. Then, of course, I felt like an idiot, because I, of all people, should surely know the difference between pain and your little cries of pleasure.”

Sabrina was glad it was dark; she was blushing furiously. “Brett…”

“Sabrina, it's late. If you're not going to sleep with me, just go away.”

“Brett…” she began again.

“Please. I'm fine. I appreciate your concern. I'm glad to be your friend. But I do love you and it's hard to—”

“Oh, Brett, we've been through all this. You love every woman!”

He shrugged. “Maybe I discovered how much I wanted you too late. But you don't want me, so go back to bed now, huh?”

She turned around, feeling strangely sad, wishing she could make him feel better.

“Sabrina?” he said suddenly.

She looked back. He was seated on the edge of his bed, examining a fingertip, then sucking on it.

“What?” she asked.

“You did know him before, right? Before we were married. I was always convinced of it.”

“Brett—”

“Come on, Sabrina, just answer me. You met Jon somewhere and had an affair with him. I never really had a chance. I felt it all along. I resented him for it, you know.”

“Brett, I married you, remember?”

“But you didn't love me.”

“I did. I still do.”

He shook his head slowly. “Not the way you loved him. Not the way you love him now. Even when you barely know him. When you've barely seen him for years. When you can't even be certain that he didn't kill his own wife.”

“He didn't kill his wife,” she said automatically.

He shrugged. “It's okay. I just wanted the truth from you. I always knew it, somehow.”

“Good night, Brett,” she told him softly. He nodded and returned to sucking on his finger.

She walked to her own room, locked and bolted the door and started to take off her robe. She realized there was a small dark stain on one sleeve. Frowning, she stared at it, remembering how Brett had gripped her arms.

She threw the robe back on and rushed back to his room, entering without even knocking.

He was still sitting on the bed.

“Brett, you're hurt. You're bleeding,” she told him.

He arched a brow at her and smiled. “Bad night,” he told her. He lifted the finger he'd been sucking. “Cut myself on a knife while coring an apple.”

“Let me see it,” she said worriedly.

“Oh, don't go turning into Florence Nightingale on me,” he said impatiently. “You're far too tempting when you play nurse. It's just a little cut. I'm sorry if I got blood on your robe.”

“Brett, let me see it.”

“Out!” he commanded. “Seriously, you either hop into this bed instantly, or you get out of my room!”

He rose, came to her and ushered her out his door and into the hallway. Accompanying her to her room, he said, “Look around, quick! No ghosts. No people. Empty. Kind of like one big tomb, eh? Too bad the great and mighty master of the castle isn't around right now. Maybe he'd think I got in a shot when he was done.”

“Brett, I swear—” Sabrina began furiously.

“Sorry! Just teasing you. Now get into your room and lock your door.”

“Why are you suddenly so worried about my locking my door?”

“Maybe I'm afraid of creatures who prowl in the night.”

“You're prowling around in the night,” she reminded him.

His eyes were suddenly hard on hers. “And maybe you should be afraid of me!” he said softly.

He pressed her back into her room and pulled her door shut.

“Good night, my love!” he said firmly. “Lock your bolt.”

She did so, and she heard him walk away, enter his room, close and bolt his own door.

“Great. I was only gone an hour, and you go running off to him!”

Stunned by the sound of Jon's voice, Sabrina spun around. He was in his robe, arms crossed over his chest, standing in the rear of the room by the secret passage.

“Damn you!” she told him vehemently.

“Me?” he demanded, brow arching, clearly angry to have seen her with Brett.

She strode across the room to him, pointing a finger. “You walked out on me in the middle of the night.”

“So you went running next door to be with your ex-husband?” he asked furiously.

“You must have heard what he said.”

“No, I didn't. And I can't imagine what he could have said that would make this look any better.”

“I wouldn't sleep with him, so he threw me out. He wasn't even in there when I went—”

“But you did go to him,” Jon stated angrily.

“Stop it! Yes, I went over to make sure he was all right. Because I was suddenly scared—”

“Why?”

“I don't know. Why not?” she demanded.

“But he wasn't there?”

“No,” she said quietly, suddenly disturbed by the tension in his voice. “Why?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I sent my guests warnings that, just to be on the safe side, they should all lock themselves in. And instead, the castle is suddenly busier than a beehive. So Brett—injured, poor baby—wasn't in his room when you went to check on him?”

She shook her head.

“Where had he been?”

“Just down to find something to eat.”

“So he says.”

“Where do you think he went?”

“I don't know.”

“And why do you say the castle is so busy?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I saw shadows on the stairs.”

“Did you look?”

“Of course.”

“Well?”

“I walked around. I didn't see anyone.”

“Maybe you imagined the shadows.”

The gaze he cast down upon her was withering. “I don't imagine things,” he told her.

“No, of course not,” she murmured. “So where else did you go?”

“Just back to my room. For clothes. For tomorrow morning.”

He was telling the truth about that, at least. A neat pile of his clothing lay on the chair by the bed. “I wasn't gone that long. It never occurred to me that you'd go out prowling around in my absence.”

“I didn't prowl around.”

“No, you didn't. You went straight to Brett's room.”

“He was injured today.”

“Yes, the poor fellow. And you're such an angel, despite the divorce, letting bygones be bygones. You're such a wonderful, gentle nurse.”