The Wall (13 page)

She shook her head slowly. 'No. All the cash I had is still here, and

my identification. See, even my lip gloss . . . no, everything is

untouched.' She held the things in both hands and looked up with

eyes that didn't see him. 'What do you suppose he wanted?'

'Your car is still in the garage. I think we'd better drive it over to my

place just in case.' Beowulf came panting up and bumped Greg's

knee, and he reached down to rub the dog's head absently. 'There's

room in my garage.' His gaze sharpened on her. 'Stop it, Sara! He

didn't really have time to steal anything. We got here too quickly for

that; in fact, we probably scared him away. Sara?' Her eyes focussed

on him. 'You're safe, I promise. Okay?' At her nod, he said bracingly,

'Good girl. Are you packed?'

'I need my things from the bathroom,' she replied tiredly. 'I'll go and

put them in my handbag.' Greg was trying to make her feel better, but

all the same, she would have felt a little better if the unknown

intruder had at least taken her handbag. He had taken the time to rip

her room apart, surely he could have taken the time to look into

cupboards if he had been a thief. Her handbag had not been hidden,

merely put away. But she knew deep down that the intruder had not

been a thief. He had known that she was homeland it would not be

hard to find out that she lived alone. No thief would want to take the

chance of getting caught by the house's occupants; they would wait

until the occupants were gone before attempting to rob a place. That

was what scared her, and Greg knew it.

She had given him her car keys before going into the bathroom and

getting her toothbrush, cleansing cream and cosmetics, stuffing them

haphazardly into the recesses of her handbag. Then she went back

into the living room and sat quietly on the couch until Greg came

back into the house. He passed by her, however, and soon emerged

from her bedroom with a leather jacket in his hands.

'You'll need this. It's getting cold.' She stood and he helped her into it

and then, turning out all of the lights and whistling for Beowulf, he

led her out of the house. Sara saw a quick sharp glance from him, in

the light of the car's headlights. 'Do you mind if I drive?'

At that she grimaced at him. 'I'd prefer it, the way I feel now. I feel

just like a zombie!'

A guiding hand helped her into the passenger seat as he said quietly,

'You've just about had it, I think. It's been an unsettling day for such a

little girl.'

She chuckled at the gentle mocking tone. At the moment she felt like

a small child being helped by an older brother, and the feeling was

safe and pleasant. She leaned back in the bucket seat and drowsily

perused the profile of the man beside her. He was so hard and yet so

gentle. With a flash of perception she realised that he was probably

acting like an older brother on purpose. He had sensed that she was

close to the end of her tether.

Beowulf panted heavily in the small back seat, sprawled all over her

suitcase and handbag. She glanced back, grinning at his wicked white

smile and long tongue. A faint whine and wag of the tail was his

response.

They were very soon pulling into the long winding drive that cut into

Greg's property, and when he smoothly pulled the car to a stop and

got out, Sara slid across the seat to sit in the driver's position. Greg

went on into the house to open the garage door. Beowulf waited

patiently in the back of the car. A few moments passed and then the

long rectangular garage door slid silently up to reveal an empty

parking place beside an expensive model sports car.

She changed gears and quickly pulled her car into the parking

position and switched off the engine. Greg was there before the purr

of the car's motor had ceased, opening the door and helping her out.

He reached in the back and hauled out her suitcase after Beowulf had

bounded out.

Sara was reeling on her feet from exhaustion. She guessed fuzzily

that it must be around five in the morning or so, and a wave of weary

anger shook through her when she thought of the unknown intruder

who had disrupted her placid life and had caused her so much

personal anguish. 'Damn him!' she muttered half- tearfully. 'Damn

him to hell!'

A guiding hand propelled her forward, into the adjoining house, and

she was vaguely aware of the dark brown hues of the den passing by,

the stairs negotiated with considerable help from Greg, and then at

some indeterminate distance down the second storey hallway a

bedroom with a soft warm bed. That was all she noticed. As soon as

Greg had turned on the light, she headed for that bed. Without a

murmur she sank on to the bedspread and was out as soon as her head

hit the downy pillow. She never felt the gentle hands that undressed

her as- if she were a baby, pulling a loose nightgown over her

unconscious head and tucking her underneath the covers as lovingly

as any mother. She never realised the care with which her head was

arranged on the pillow, and she never felt the hand that stroked her

dark cloudy mane of hair before Greg removed himself and turned

out the light. He left the door open and Beowulf snoozed at the foot

of the bed.

Sara moaned and rolled over in bed. Her eyes flew open as she felt

how extraordinarily sore she was in certain areas, and her misty gaze

travelled wonderingly over strange walls and furniture. A puzzled

smile touched her lips as she vaguely wondered if she was still

dreaming, and then the events of last night came tumbling back into

her consciousness and she bolted up in bed like a rabbit breaking

from cover. Beowulf raised his black head and thumped his stump at

her. Funny, she thought, frowning, I don't remember undressing. She

put up a hand and scratched at her ribcage at a slight discomfort and

found that she was still wearing her bra. She never wore a bra to bed

and rarely wore one when she took a nap, it was so uncomfortable.

But then, she acknowledged wryly, she never ran down a beach in a

nightgown and got a man out of bed at three in the morning before,

either. She dismissed the whole train of thought as being

unimportant, since she didn't remember entering this strange

bedroom last night anyway. Actually, it was early this morning, but

who was counting?

She gingerly edged her feet off the bed and stood, wincing at the pain

from her feet. A quick inspection showed them to be lacerated and

bruised. A black mark was on her left ankle. A quick exploration of

the room revealed a small bath off to the left, and she went into it

with an anticipatory gleam in her eye. She was prevented from

shutting the door behind her, however, by a quick powerful shove

from a waist-high canine head. Beowulf watched her with velvet

eyes.

'Oh, all right!' she told him laughingly, and let him in to plop on the

tiled floor. 'I'll have you know, young man, that you're the first male

that I've ever let into my bathroom!' He looked duly appreciative of

that fact, then rolled over on to his side with a snort. He was still

there when she emerged from the shower stall some time later. She

had found several more bruises all over her body and whenever she

moved unwarily she felt painful twinges that warned her to be

careful. It had hurt, standing in the shower and having the warm

soapy water lap at her feet, but she knew that at least it had cleaned

out the cuts.

She dressed for comfort in the pair of jeans that she had donned

around four in the morning, and a red long-sleeved blouse. It helped

hide her bruises. Then she brushed her long black hair with the hand

dryer that she'd packed until her hair was moderately dry. Makeup? It

was out of the question; she felt strangely exhausted at the effort that

she had expended already. All she managed to do to her feet was pull

a thick pair of cushiony socks on. She had tried shoes and found they

hurt too much.

Beowulf accompanied her every move, even to sitting with his great

head on her knee as she blow-dried her hair. He was comic and

adorable, and by the time she had finished with her laborious toilet,

she had fallen into the habit of talking aloud to him. It was uncanny

how he managed to respond appropriately to various spoken

statements.

Sara was soon heading out of her bedroom door and attempting to

limp down the stairs when Greg appeared with a coffee mug in hand

and several papers in the other. He immediately put them on a side

table and jumped up the stairs when he took in her involuntary

winces of pain. He reached out, and she felt his hands take hold of

her in a firm grip, then the world swung around as he hauled her up

in his arms to carry her down the rest of the stairs.

She felt shy and awkward. All of the reactions from last night that

she normally would have felt but had been too upset to bother with

came rushing up. She remembered Greg's bare muscular body as he

had angrily shrugged into his jeans and sweater from last night, and

her face burned. She felt the natural embarrassment for putting

someone out, someone that she hardly knew. It coloured her voice.

'Good morning,' she began, but was cut short.

'Honey child, it's hardly morning,' he told her, amusement threading

his voice. 'In fact it's well into the afternoon.'

Her face, already flushed, turned even more red. 'I'm sorry -'

Greg stopped in the middle of the hall, with Beowulf behind him,

half on and half off the bottom of the stairs. His dark gaze caressed

her. 'Don't start that again, Sara. I've had enough humility and

contrite embarrassment to last me a long time!'

Her eyes twinkled tentatively. 'All right.' Greg resumed walking

down the hall and Beowulf was able to finish coming down the stairs.

Neither had noticed him.

She was asked, 'Are you feeling hungry?' to which she responded

with a nod. 'Good! How about keeping me company in the kitchen

while I fix us something to gobble?'

'Please.' He put her down on a bar stool beside a butcher block table

and she soon had a steaming cup of coffee in front of her to nurse

while he moved efficiently around the kitchen. Sara swung from side

to side in an effort to see the stove clock, but with Greg moving

around so much she couldn't see the time.

He caught her movement out of the corner of one eye and turned to

contemplate her sardonically. 'Practising to become a pendulum some

day?'

She chuckled. 'I'm trying to see what time it is. I have this very

nagging desire to see how much of the day I've missed.' He

obligingly moved out of the way, and she yelped. It was two-thirty

in. the afternoon.

'Want to lay odds on whether you'll be sleepy or not around ten this

evening?' Greg asked her with a crooked smile.

She hesitated. 'N-no. It was hard enough to get out of bed just now. I

think I'll be only too ready for bed tonight.'

He reached out for her cheek in a quick caress. It was an

absentminded gesture, but it still sent a thrill through her. 'You went

through a lot last night.' Her eyes slid away from his and she watched

tiny motes of dust dance along a yellow sunbeam that peeped through

a curtained window. 'Hey,' he said, 'cut it out. Don't think about it

now, d'you hear?'

'Okay.' It was an empty promise, though, and they both knew it.

'What do you want to eat?' Greg was perusing the contents of his

refrigerator, head cocked and foot tapping slowly.

'What have you got?' Sara's stomach was beginning to make sharp

demands and she rubbed it unobtrusively.

'Does an onion and mushroom omelette sound good to you?'

'It sounds wonderful,' she sighed. 'Can we eat it now and cook it later,

to save time?' His dark eyes laughed at her as he juggled items to the

table. She watched while he chopped the mushrooms and laughed

when her eyes watered as he peeled the onion. The aroma of eggs

nicely browning in butter made her mouth salivate. When he slid a

steaming plate of food her way, she tucked in with a neat concise

eagerness that made him smile to himself. He sat across from her.

After they had finished their meal, he stood and fed Beowulf, who

swiftly gobbled his portion of dog food with an avidness that made