by Anne Stuart
“I told Carlos to get you some,” Jake said, watching her from his position by the doorway.
“Did you?” She opened the package of Mallomars. “The last meal for the condemned prisoner?” She bit into the cookie, and chocolate bliss swept over her body. Things had come to a pretty pass, she thought ruefully, when Tab and Mallomars stiffened her backbone.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
She met his gaze fearlessly. “You’re going to kill me.”
If his face had been remote before, it became positively glacial. “I am?”
“Don’t lie to me, Jake. I heard you and Carlos talking. You have no choice in the matter. Even if I knew where the map was and gave it to you, even if I promised never to say anything, you can’t take that risk. I know as well as you do that Carlos went off so you could finish me off. I expect you’re supposed to bury me before he gets back. I could suggest several places. The dirt’s pretty loose up by the big rock.”
Jake was standing very still. Then he spoke. “Thanks for being so helpful,” he said in an ironic tone that had Maddy suddenly wondering whether she was imagining the whole thing. “Do you happen to have a shovel, while we’re at it?”
“I had one, but I don’t remember where I put it. I think I took it back to L.A. with me. You may have to dig my grave with your hands.” She was on her fifth Mallomar by now, and getting reckless.
Jake shrugged. “It’ll have to be a shallow one, then. I hope you don’t have a problem with coyotes up here.”
Maddy found she could shrug too. “We may. I don’t think I’ll be in any condition to notice.” She drained the warm Tab and started on her sixth Mallomar.
He merely looked at her. “No, I suppose not.” He went into the kitchen, returning a moment later with another can of Tab and a can of warm beer for himself.
It had grown hot during the day, and his denim shirt was open halfway down his chest. The silver ring glinted around his neck, and Maddy’s eyes clung to it with a sudden surge of emotion that was almost impossible to control.
“You might bury the ring with me,” she suggested calmly. “It would be a nicely ironic touch, don’t you think?”
“Still trying to get the ring back from me, Maddy?” he queried, tilting his head back and pouring the warm beer down his throat. “Forget it. This ring is my good-luck charm.”
She shouldn’t have succumbed to her curiosity, but she was feeling braver and angrier by the minute. “Is it? Why?”
Jake’s long fingers touched the silver at his neck, and unbidden the memory of those long fingers on her skin came soaring back. “There was a time when holding on to this ring was the only thing that kept me alive. I’ve become very fond of it.”
She wasn’t going to ask him any more, she thought. If he wanted to be cryptic, that was his choice. She wouldn’t believe anything he told her, anyway.
Once more she shrugged, diving into the Mallomar package again. They were making her sick, but what the hell. She’d need the sugared energy if she was going to make it down that trail in the dark that was beginning to close around them. She had no idea how long she’d spent in that tomb of a closet.
“How long did you leave me in the closet?” she asked.
“Half an hour.”
It had seemed an eternity before she fell asleep. “Who got me out, you or Carlos?”
“If it had been Carlos you wouldn’t have been placed so neatly and carefully on the bed, mi amor.”
“Don’t call me that!” she snapped.
Jake smiled, a sinister smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t think you are in any position to give orders, mi amor.”
Maddy set the almost-empty cookie package on the floor beside her. “You don’t even need the matches and ice, do you?”
Jake’s mouth tightened, almost imperceptibly, but it was the first sign of emotion she’d been able to elicit from him, and it was a small triumph. Her triumph was short-lived however, when Jake leaned back against the sofa opposite her and fixed that too-bright gaze on her. “How would you like me to do it, Maddy?” he asked in a conversational tone of voice. “Since you’ve decided I’m going to kill you, you may as well pick how I do it. Would you like me to strangle you with my bare hands? Or I could always use a scarf or a rope.”
“Charming,” she said, ignoring the icy fingers of fear that ran down her spine.
“I suppose I could use a knife,” he mused, taking another swig of his beer. “But I’m not nearly as good as Carlos. I’m afraid it might … take some time. And hurt quite a bit.
“I think the gun will be the best bet,” he continued idly. “It would be fast. A bit noisy, perhaps, but you won’t mind that. And it would be much neater. They taught me quite well, years ago, when I was in basic training. I know how to kill very quickly and efficiently and you wouldn’t bleed much. If someone came up to the cabin they’d probably never find any trace of what went on. That is, if we can count on the coyotes to leave you alone.”
The Mallomars were rising swiftly, but Maddy was damned if she was going to throw up twice in twenty-four hours. Bravely she swallowed, fixing a cold, furious gaze on Jake’s bland expression. “You can do it any damned way you please,” she said. “Just spare me the details.”
“But, Maddy,” he protested in a gentle voice, “that’s half of the fun.”
The Mallomars would no longer listen to reason. Maddy lurched to her feet. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, and ran for the door.
Not that the outhouse was the most appetizing place to vomit. The wave of nausea had passed, but she still made convincing noises in her throat as she headed toward the back of the cabin. If she made a run for it now, when it was almost dark, it might take him a moment or two to realize …
An iron hand clamped down on her shoulder. “Not that I think there’s any danger of your getting away, mi amor,” Jake said, “but I’ve had a long twenty-four hours, and I don’t fancy hunting you down like a frightened doe. Come back inside.”
“But I—I have to …”
“For mercy sake, Maddy, don’t be so damned coy!” Finally he was angry. “If you have to use the outhouse, tell me.”
“I have to use the outhouse!” Now that she thought of it she did, and quite badly. The Tab had washed right through her.
“Well, go ahead,” he snapped.
“I’ll be back inside in a minute.” It was worth a try.
“No, you won’t. I’ll wait right here for you just in case you get lost in the dark. We both know there’s nothing around here for almost twenty miles, but I’m not into taking chances.”
That little piece of information was enough to cheer her. “All right,” she said pertly. “But you’ll have a long wait.” She slammed the wooden door of the homemade convenience as loudly as she could.
At least he didn’t know about the highway that ran so close to the cabin. And there was a half moon, bright in the sky that night. It would give her more than enough light to find her way down there. If she could just immobilize him long enough …
“Come out, Maddy.” Jake’s voice filtered through the door. “Or I’ll come in and get you.”
She stomped out, slamming the door behind her. “Someday, Jake Murphy, I will pay you back for this,” she said fiercely.
Jake only smiled. “How will you do that if I’m going to murder you, mi amor?”
She was momentarily nonplussed. “I’ll haunt you,” she said finally.
Jake’s smile grew, and there was an unexpected flash of tenderness in it. “You already do,” he said. “Inside, Maddy.”
Still trying to decipher that sudden softening, she went.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Damn her, he thought savagely. How could she believe such a thing? How could she have loved him, as she swore she had, for fourteen long years, how could she have lain in his arms and looked up at him as if he were the best thing that had ever happened to her in her entire life, and then believe it? She was a miserable
, self-centered, cold-hearted bitch without an ounce of trust, love, or loyalty in her tall, skinny, unbearably gorgeous body.
Of course, she had reason to be scared, he added with an effort at fairness. She was sitting across the room from him right now, trying not to watch as he downed glass after glass of whiskey, trying to look interested in the three-year-old copy of Time magazine that was scarcely readable in the dim kerosene lamp light, trying not to let her panic show. She was tough, with more heart in her than anyone he’d ever met, but she’d been through too damned much.
She had reason enough not to trust him. He’d never been honest with her; scratch that, he thought, taking another drink. He’d never been straightforward or frank with her. He’d always been honest.
But he’d brought her up there, with her believing it was refuge from Carlos, and instead delivered her into Carlos’s hands. How was she to know that Carlos was the least of her worries? And he’d let her go on thinking he was working for Ortega, and she knew almost as well as he did how ruthless the leader of the Gray Shirts really was.
But still. Despite all the logic in the world telling her otherwise, she should have trusted him. That she could even begin to think he would ever hurt her, much less kill her, was a breach of faith far more devastating than anything he’d ever done to her. He still couldn’t quite believe she’d think he was capable of doing such a thing. But that furtive, defiant look in her wide brown eyes told him she thought just that.
He drained the whiskey glass, rising on perfectly steady feet and heading for a refill. The damned stuff must be watered down. He hadn’t yet begun to feel the numbness he was seeking. He wanted to drink himself into a stupor, be so blind drunk that she no longer had the ability to twist his gut into a knot, to turn him almost crazy with wanting. He didn’t care if she ran out when he was too drunk to do anything about it. He almost hoped she would. Then at least she might not hate him quite so much, if she were able to salvage some of her self-respect from this whole wretched mess.
She looked up then, her face perfectly composed, and if he didn’t know her so well he would have thought she hadn’t a care in the world. But the doomed anger played around the corners of her mouth, and her hands were restless on the ancient magazine.
“Having another drink?” she inquired in a deceptively pleasant tone of voice.
Jake responded with a savage grin. “Of course. Any objections?”
“I wouldn’t want your aim to be off because of too much liquor,” she said tranquilly. “I would prefer a fast, clean death.”
He almost threw the glass at her. His long fingers tightened around the glass, and it took all his self-control to meet that calmness with a cool distance of his own. “I never miss,” he said.
Maddy nodded, bending down to peruse the magazine again, and he could see her tender, fragile nape beneath the tousled dark-brown curls. Her nape had always done strange things to him. He remembered when she was seventeen and he’d done everything he could to keep his hands off her, from telling himself he was a dirty old man to having her mother arrange a date with the boy of her dreams. But her nape when she wore her hair in braids had always had the power to unman him or just the opposite.
He wanted to set the drink down, cross the room, and press his mouth against that vulnerable skin. He wanted to shake her until she cried, until she told him she knew he could never hurt her. He wanted to hold her in his arms and lose the nightmare of revenge and justice that was destroying everything he’d ever wanted. He didn’t move, just stood there, watching her with a hunger that she couldn’t even recognize.
She looked up again, her eyes blandly curious. “Did you ever sleep with my mother?”
Hell, where had that come from? He did set the drink down, keeping his face carefully neutral. “No. Why do you ask?”
“Because you slept with my stepmother. I knew that loyalty to Sam wouldn’t stop you, and I remember my mother was particularly passionate in her dislike of you. It seemed a logical assumption.”
“And you’re very logical.” It was a statement, not a question. Logic had told her that he was going to kill her, and emotion, love, and other euphemisms wouldn’t sway that belief.
Maddy smiled, a remote smile. “When all else fails logic has its uses. You’re sure you didn’t sleep with Helen?”
“I’m sure.”
“Did you try?” She probed further. How did she know he was holding something back? He thought he’d learned how to school his features and voice to betray nothing.
“No.”
“You hesitated before you answered,” she observed. “That means you aren’t telling me the whole truth.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“But there’s something else, isn’t there, Jake? You may as well tell me. We both know it won’t have a chance of getting any farther than this room.”
“I did not try to sleep with your mother, Maddy,” he said.
Her smile broadened. “But she tried to sleep with you?” she guessed.
There was no way out of it. “Yes.”
“And you turned her down?”
“Yes.”
Maddy leaned back with a triumphant smile. “That explains a very great deal. No wonder she hated you so much. How very noble of you, Jake. My mother was a very attractive woman fourteen years ago. She’s still an attractive woman, for that matter, and you turned down her importunate advances. I’m glad you had that much loyalty to my father.” Her voice was cool and biting, and suddenly Jake wanted to wipe that distant smile from her face.
“I didn’t have that much loyalty to your father. He wouldn’t have given a damn if I’d slept with Helen. I told her no because of you.”
If he’d hoped to jar her he failed. That smile stayed firmly in place as she nodded knowingly. “That explains why she slapped me the night of my birthday. Outflanked by her own daughter. It’s little wonder she resented me.”
“She slapped you the night of your birthday?” Why would a tiny incident of fourteen years ago suddenly send him into a rage? he wondered absently. Maybe it was easier to think of the past than this hideous coil of the present.
She was looking at him curiously now, and for a moment he wondered whether common sense had gotten past that damnable logic of hers. But then she clearly dismissed the possibility. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Jake,” she said. “Nothing does.”
Jake stomped out to the kitchen. One of the many bones of contention between Carlos and himself had been Carlos’s penchant for beating up his women. For the first time in his life Jake could understand the temptation. The last thing in the world he was going to do was kill Maddy Lambert, but he’d sure as hell like to crack her across the chops one time.
Maddy watched him go. He’d only be out in the kitchen for a moment, hardly long enough for her to make it to the pathway. She looked down at the magazine in her lap, at the angry face of the Ayatollah Khomeini glaring at the western world, and contemplated her cowardice.
She wasn’t going to give him what he wanted. She wasn’t going to beg, or plead, or cry, or cower. She was going to look him squarely in the eyes when he shot her, and she wasn’t going to flinch. Pray God she wasn’t going to flinch.
But she wasn’t going to run away either. She didn’t want him hunting her down in the moonlight like a fox chasing a rabbit. She didn’t want to end up rolling down a hillside with a bullet in her back, and she didn’t even want to escape. A world where Jake Murphy could calmly, cold-bloodedly kill the woman who loved him was no place she wanted to be. It was all that simple.
She could tell him, of course. Tell him she loved him, even though he was going to kill her. It might make it a little harder for him. Then again, it might make it easier. He seemed to have spent his life pushing love away. Killing her might make some strange sort of sense to him in the end.
He had been very cool and distant as he sat across from her all evening, drinking a really astounding amount of whiskey without showing it. She
could feel his eyes on her, assessing her, and she told herself he was checking out a suitable target. Whenever she’d meet his gaze his eyes would suddenly go blank. But not before she’d surprised a hungry sort of expression that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, understand.
She’d lost count of the drinks, and so, probably, had he. “Is that going to be your last one?” she questioned sharply when he reappeared, determined to goad him.
“Why?” He didn’t take his seat again, he moved closer to her chair, and his tall, lean body towered over her.
She looked up at him objectively for a moment. It was beyond her comprehension how she could still find him attractive, but she obviously could. That old masochistic streak acting up again, she told herself with an attempt at wryness. Those faded jeans hugged his long legs, hanging low on his hips in a way that any other time would have had her foaming at the mouth. The pearl snaps on the denim shirt were open partway down, exposing his San Pablo-tanned chest, and the silver ring gleamed in contrast against the dark skin. He’d somehow found time to shave that day, but his face was lean and shadowed with exhaustion, his mouth grim, his forehead and cheeks creased with lines. The eyes that looked down at her were opaque and unreadable. The eyes of a murderer? Or an executioner? She still hadn’t told him what he needed to know. If he believed she held something back he’d keep her alive. If he started to believe she was telling the truth there’d be no reason not to kill her and get it done with.
His hair was darker, not as sun-streaked, and it curled around his collar. “I’m sorry you cut your hair,” she found herself saying. It amazed her almost as much as it amazed him, and he ran a hand through it almost absently.
“The Gray Shirts have rules,” he said.
“I’m sure they do. Are you going back to them?”
“I would think my cover’s been blown.”
She put the magazine down, for the first time giving him her full attention. “Why did you do it, Jake? Why did you turn to the Gray Shirts, betray my father? Why … ?”
“What makes you think I betrayed your father? At the time I had little choice. The only way I could salvage any hope of peace for the people of San Pablo was to find out what I could from Ortega. And the only way I could do that was to pretend to take their offer of amnesty when I woke up in that hospital bed.”