The Great Escape (12 page)

it was Mike, and she was so close to them both she could have

reached out a hand to touch either of their legs.

A pale gleam of moonlight struck light blond hair on the man fighting

closest to her, and she smiled a wicked smile as she realised that the

man in front of her was not Mike. And it was never a good thing to

turn one's back to Dee.

Both hands went down to the pavement, her crouching body drew

into itself tightly, and then, with all of the speed and the force that she

could impel into her right, powerful leg, she swung out and knocked

out both of the man's legs right out from under him, felling him like a

tree. Both of them cried out in pain, for he fell awkwardly, badly,

heavily, and Dee bruised herself painfully from the force of her blow

connecting with hard shin.

Mike's powerful body blurred with movement and the fallen attacker

doubled up on himself, moaning. Then Dee cried out and pointed

behind him where the first man was heaving himself to his feet. He

didn't remain standing for long.

Mike stepped over the prone figure between himself and Dee,

bending to the ground and picking her up as carefully and as tenderly

as if she'd been made of fragile blown glass.

That gentleness, in comparison with his earlier deadly violence,

completely shattered what was left of her composure. She crossed her

arms tremblingly around his neck, bent at the middle, and started to

cry painful, racking, hoarse sobs that tore through her body with the

ferocity of a tropical storm. She was barely aware of Mike lifting her

up and carrying her over the two sprawling figures. She sensed the

passage from open night to the darkness of the inside building, and

Mike laid her carefully down on one of the beds. He vanished briefly

into blackness and in a few moments light was flooding throughout

the room, making her close her eyes tightly. Thus she didn't see the

look of profound, intense shock that quivered over Mike's already

white features as he looked at her. She was doubled up on the bed,

arms crossed around her middle, instinctively protective, and her

blonde hair was tangled and smeared with blood. One side of her face

was already swollen from the blow she had sustained, and there were

dark, ugly welts appearing on her slender neck. Her mouth and lower

face were streaked with blood that had spurted when she had bitten

her attacker. He stood stick, rigid still for a moment, like stone, and

then he ran swiftly to the bathroom, emerging scant moments later

with a cold wet hand towel. He knelt by the bed and touched her

gently, making her start violently, and then he was wiping very

carefully at her face, checking all the while for some deep cut or

abrasion The towel was regulation motel issue, basic white, and it

was soon covered with bright red, making him swallow at the sight.

She sighed with pleasure at the cold wet cloth passing over her

heated, hurting face and neck. She closed her eyes and turned her face

to his gentle fingers. She hurt so, all over her body. It was very

strange, because she didn't remember being knocked in some of the

places where she ached.

'Dee,' he said lowly, and the sound of it was urgent. She looked at him

questioningly. 'Where are you bleeding?'

'What?' she asked him blankly. It must be shock, she decided, this

deadened feeling. She had meant to ask Mike what he had meant, but

nothing had come from her mouth. Her tongue came out to moisten

her bruised lips and then she tried again. This time it was she who was

profoundly shocked at the hoarse croak that issued from her vocal

cords. It hurt, and she put up a hand to massage her neck, fleetingly

surprised at the sensation of violent tremors from her unsteady

fingers brushing her neck. She tried again, 'What do you mean? I'm

not bleeding.'

'Sweetheart,' he said gently, holding the bloodied towel in front of her

face, 'look at this. This is blood, from you. Can you tell me if you hurt

anywhere?' One hand came up under her hair and probed her skull

carefully.

it's not mine,' she whispered painfully. 'I bit one of those fellows and

wouldn't let go. That's why the other one was choking me. It tasted

horrible!' She shuddered at the memory.

The blank look on his face would have been ludicrous to see, had she

noticed, but she was busy looking at the dark purple mark on his

jawline and the harsh abrasion on his neck. She took the towel from

him and wiped at the cut. He didn't even appear to notice. His eyes

were trained on her face, then he rose abruptly to stride over to the

door and open it to look out. A wry look passed over his face, and he

disappeared a moment to come back with her purse, shutting the door

and locking it.

'They're gone, of course. We certainly gave them enough time for it! I

should have called the police right away, but the sight of the blood on

your face— distracted me a bit.'

'Well!' she croaked emphatically. 'I'm glad I distracted you, then. The

last thing we need right now is the police and all those questions . . .

you aren't still thinking of calling them, are you?' Her throat hurt so,

and she longed for a drink.

He ran a keen look down her swiftly. 'I can't really see the point, now.

And you're right, the last thing we need is uncomfortable questions.'

He came over to sit down beside her and the bed creaked under his

weight. 'Let me see your poor face . . . you're going to have quite a

collection of bruises, I'm sorry to say. How's your throat?'His

kindness and his gentle touch just about destroyed her newly won,

precarious control again, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

'It's okay,' she whispered brokenly. 'I'm lying, it hurts like hell. I need

a drink of water.' He rose immediately and unwrapped a clean glass

from the tray provided by the motel, fetching fresh water for her.

Without waiting for her to sit up, he slid a strong arm underneath her

shoulders to ease her up into a position comfortable for drinking, and

she grasped the glass greedily. When it was drained, she relaxed back

on his arm, grateful for its support. And suddenly she broke up

completely, her face crumpling and hands fluttering tentatively out to

him as she sobbed, 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Oh God, I didn't mean to—I

didn't know——'

'Dear heaven,' whispered Mike, closing his eyes. Then, pulling her up

so sharply that she cried out an involuntary protest, he hauled her

quivering body into his arms and buried his face into her hair. A

shudder hit his strong, powerful frame, and then he was steady again,

like a rock, and he was stroking her hair tenderly, rocking her back

and forth. 'You, apologising to me! I'm the one who should be on my

knees apologising to you! I was awake the whole time, and I knew

you'd try to get away if you could. But I was going to let you get

outside and then I was going to follow you, to see what you did. I

waited until you got outside and then got dressed, taking my time.

Taking my time, dammit!'

He was holding her so tightly, and soothing her, and stroking her, and

she clung to him. 'He was k-killing me!' she sobbed. 'I was never so

afraid in my life! I couldn't breathe! I --' She gave up trying to talk and

just buried her head into his neck and howled. After a few minutes,

however, she pushed at his shoulders until she was able to sit up,

away from him. She wiped her eyes, grinned a little shakily, and tried

to run her fingers through her tangled hair. 'Got a bit out of control

there, for a moment.' With huge, deep breaths she was striving to get a

grip on her emotions.

He watched her, eyes dark—strangely not green at all, she

thought—and a muscle bunched in his tightly clenched jaw. 'It's

allowable, you know.'

Her eyes managed to smile at him. 'I know. But I don't like it, all the

same. Whenever I cry my eyelids get puffy and I get headaches.'

This made him laugh, reluctantly. 'I've said it once, and I'll say it

again, sweetheart, you're something special!' He paused, and a look

of what seemed to be pain flitted across his face. 'Promise me

something?'

Dee was so tired, too tired. Her head felt as if it weighed ten tons, and

her eyelids drooped in spite of herself. She was simply too tired, and

sore, and discouraged to fight him any more, and she nodded silently.

That made him shake his head ruefully.

'You don't even know what I'm going to ask you.'

'Yes, I do,' she said, sounding like a frog, and she just couldn't help

herself as she felt for the pillow behind her and put her head down on

it, closing her eyes, so very weary. 'You're going to ask me not to run

away until morning. Okay, I won't—too sore and sleepy. Gonna nap

first.'

He watched her eyes flutter shut, and when her breathing deepened,

he stood to ease her jeans and socks and shoes off, and the sight of her

long nightshirt underneath the trim black sweater had him smiling

again, but it spoke more of pain than amusement. Then he pulled the

covers up and tucked them carefully around her curled-up figure. He

sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair for some time, looking

down at her sleeping, vulnerable, bruised face.

'It wasn't what I was going to ask you,' he whispered quietly. 'But it's

good enough for now. It's more than good enough for now.'

A SHAFT of sunlight mottled Dee's pillow with a puddle of gold, and

she turned her head away in protest. But though she didn't want to,

she had already begun to wake up, and she opened her eyes

reluctantly to look around her. It was hard to get them open, and with

a flash of remembrance, she ruefully realised that she was paying the

price for crying last night. Her eyes sought out the other bed and

found Mike reading a paperback novel, fully dressed, with his back

propped against the headboard and his long legs stretched

comfortably out. The bed was made neatly.

Feeling her eyes on him, he turned his head to smile at her. 'Good

morning—finally. How are you feeling?' She moved experimentally

and winced.

'Sore,' she croaked hoarsely, and put her hand up to her throat in

embarrassment. She had forgotten about her bruised larynx. Mike slid

off his bed and came over to look at her slim throat carefully, one of

his big hands resting casually against the side of her head. Staring up,

she saw the dark blue bruise on his cheekbone where he had sustained

a blow, and the sudden unexpected terror of last night flooded back

with an overwhelming power that made her body quiver. His hand

tightened briefly.

'I think that after you use your voice a while, the hoarseness will

dissipate,' he said, and his voice and face were so calm and

matter-of-fact that she found herself back in control, and grateful for

it.

'Oh, probably, but in the meantime I shall sound like a frog croaking,'

she whispered, and grinned slightly when he laughed. He continued

to laugh, though, without stopping when she would have considered

it appropriate to. It had been, she thought, puzzled, a very mild joke.

Her eyes narrowed on him as she crossed her legs and looked like a

small sprite perched on the huge bed. 'I take it you have a fondness for

frogs?' she asked dryly.

Mike sat on the edge of the bed and the springs creaked with his

weight. His expression was light, amused . . . admiring? Dee

wondered at her own perception at that, doubting her own conclusion.

His hand was still resting on her, now on her slim shoulder. 'Remind

me never to get into a fight with you,' he told her, still chuckling. 'I've

taken self-defence courses and consider myself fairly well equipped

for whatever might occur, but you! Well, you're something that just

isn't in the books. Where did you learn to kick like you did last night?

That man went down like a ton of bricks, and he didn't even know

what had hit him!'

She chuckled, and it was a dry, painful sound. 'Watching you, I guess.

You knocked my feet right out from under me, if my memory serves

me right. I don't know, if I'd thought about it, I probably wouldn't

have done anything but sit on the ground and have hysterics!'

But he was shaking his head at that, saying, 'No, you wouldn't—you

aren't the type to have hysterics. You'd have looked around for

something to hit him with. And I'll bet you scarred the other one for

life, by the amount of blood you had on you.'

'I certainly hope so,' she said, totally without remorse. She looked

down at herself and shuddered with disgust at the dried blood on her