Eight Classic Nora Roberts Romantic Suspense Novels

by Nora Roberts

  “You haven’t been to bed at all.”

  He drank again, burning his already raw mouth. “What are you doing here?”

  “I sent Angie down to make tea and snuck out. She and Jean-Paul would make great wardens. I figured if I called you, you’d put me off. This way it’ll be tougher.”

  “She came around. She’s a little vague on what happened, but she knew her name, the year, and her address.”

  “You said you’d call.”

  “I figured you were still asleep.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Clare paced to his desk, then to the window while she struggled with her temper. It was a lost cause. “Damn it, Cam, official business or not, I have a right to know.”

  “And I’m telling you,” he said evenly.

  “I’m going to see her.” She turned to the door.

  “Hold it.”

  “Fuck that.” She whirled around again, ready to fight. “I not only have a right to see her, I have an obligation.”

  “You’re not responsible. What happened to her happened in the woods.”

  “Whether she was hurt before or after I ran into her, I was there.”

  “You didn’t run into her,” he corrected. “Your car doesn’t have a mark on it. She may have bumped into you, but that’s as far as it goes.”

  Her temper sizzled in spite of her relief. “Damn it, I was there. And let’s get something straight,” she continued before he could get in a word. “I don’t need or want to be coddled or patronized or protected. If I’ve given you that impression, well, too bad. I’ve been running my life for too long to let you tell me what I should or shouldn’t do now.”

  Because he figured it was safer for both of them, Cam stayed where he was. “You get a hell of a lot across in a short time, Slim.” He set down his coffee, very carefully. “I thought you’d like to know that I contacted Lisa’s brother. He’s on his way to the hospital, and when Bud gets back to take over here, so am I.”

  “Fine.” She felt stupid, angry, and guilty but couldn’t let it stop her. “I’ll see you there.” She slammed the door on her way out. She’d only taken two steps when she ran into Jean-Paul. “Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I thought you might be here.”

  “Listen, I appreciate your concern, but I’m in a hurry. I’m going up to the hospital to see Lisa MacDonald.”

  He knew her too well to argue, and only took her arm. “Then we’ll go by the house first so Angie can stop tearing out her beautiful hair, and I’ll drive you.”

  Pacing the hospital corridor for the better part of an hour had Clare’s resentment rising all over again. Lisa MacDonald’s room was off-limits except to immediate family and hospital staff. Sheriff’s orders. So she would wait, Clare decided. If he thought she would go quietly to twiddle her thumbs at home, he obviously didn’t know whom he was dealing with.

  And maybe that was the problem. They really didn’t know each other.

  “I brought you some tea.” Jean-Paul gave her a plastic cup. “To calm your nerves.”

  “Thanks, but it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than tea.”

  “They didn’t have vodka in the concession machine.”

  She gave a half laugh and sipped to please him. “Why won’t he let me go in and see her? What does he think he’s doing, Jean-Paul?”

  “His job, chèrie.”

  A long breath hissed out between her teeth. “Don’t go logical on me now.”

  She spotted Cam the moment he stepped off the elevator. There was a woman beside him carrying a briefcase. Clare pushed the cup back into Jean-Paul’s hand and marched toward Cam. “What the hell’s the idea, Rafferty? I have a right to see her.”

  Cam had just spent twenty minutes waiting for the attending physician to give him the go-ahead to take Lisa’s statement. “Lisa MacDonald has rights,” he said shortly. “If she wants to see you after I’ve talked to her, that’s fine.” He kept walking as he spoke, then, signaling to a nurse, went into Lisa’s room and shut the door.

  The tall, pale-haired man sitting beside Lisa’s bed rose immediately. Roy MacDonald leaned over to murmur something to his sister, then crossed to Cam. He was about twenty-five, Cam judged, his serious face composed of finely drawn features. There were lines of strain around his eyes and mouth, and the hand he offered to Cam was cold but steady.

  “You’re Sheriff Rafferty.”

  “Yes. I’ve just spoken with Dr. Su, Mr. MacDonald. He’s given me the nod to take a statement from your sister. This is Mrs. Lomax, the stenographer.”

  “I’ll stay.”

  “I think that would be best.” Cam gave a nod for the stenographer to set up. “This will probably be hard for her. And for you.”

  “Whatever it takes to find out who did this to her.” Roy MacDonald’s hands clenched and unclenched. “The doctor said she wasn’t raped.”

  “No, there was no indication of sexual assault.”

  “One small blessing,” Roy murmured. “Her leg.” He had to swallow and made certain he kept his voice low. “There’s some artery damage—and the knee. She’s a dancer.” He glanced back at his sister while helplessness and rage battled. “She was a dancer.”

  “I can tell you that they got her into surgery very quickly and that the surgical staff here is as respected as any in the state.”

  “I’m holding on to that.” He gave himself a moment, afraid, as he had been afraid since the sheriff’s call that morning, that he would break down and do Lisa more harm than good. “She doesn’t know that it’s—that she probably won’t dance again. Once she starts thinking …”

  “I’ll try to make it easy on her.”

  Roy went back to his sister, took her hand. When she spoke, her voice was a shaky croak. “Is it Mom and Dad?”

  “No, not yet. They’ll be here soon, Lisa. It’s the sheriff. He wants to ask you some questions.”

  “I don’t know.” Her fingers curled tight around his. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” He pulled his chair closer to the bed and sat. “You don’t have to do anything.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She felt the tears burn her throat, but they wouldn’t come. “It doesn’t matter,” she repeated in the same raw whisper.

  “Miss MacDonald.” Cam stood on the other side of the bed and waited for her to turn her head and focus her good eye on him. “I’m Sheriff Rafferty, from Emmitsboro. If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to ask you some questions. The stenographer will take everything down. We can go as slowly as you like and stop whenever you want.”

  There was pain, a grinding pain in her leg that played a merciless tug-of-war with the drugs they’d given her. She was afraid it would go on. She was afraid it would stop. Roy was wrong; she already knew she would never dance Dulcinea. “All right.”

  Cam glanced at Mrs. Lomax, who nodded, her hands poised over the keys. “Why don’t you start by telling me as much as you remember about what happened?”

  “I don’t remember.” The fingers in her brother’s hand began to flex and flutter.

  “Your car broke down?” Cam prompted.

  “Yes. I was driving down from Philadelphia to see Roy. I wanted to …” But she couldn’t speak of the ballet, of the company, of her dreams coming true. “I got lost, made a wrong turn.” She sent Roy a wan smile. “Some things don’t change.”

  Afraid he would weep, he squeezed her hand tighter but said nothing.

  “I looked at the map and figured out that I was only a couple of miles from Emmits—Emmits—”

  “Emmitsboro,” Cam supplied.

  “Yes. Emmitsboro. I thought I would start walking, maybe I would come to a house. I was walking …” She could see herself turning pirouettes in the center of the road.

  “What happened then, Miss MacDonald?”

  She shook her head. There was a black curtain between herself and her memory. Thin but opaque. “A car.” She cl
osed her eyes, shook her head. “A car,” she repeated, but couldn’t quite grasp it. “There was a woman.” She could hear a voice in her head, frightened, shaking. Gentle fingers on her face. “I needed her to help me.”

  “Why?”

  “I was afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  Lisa shook her head again. “I only remember being afraid. She helped me into the car. We have to hurry. We have to get away.”

  “From what?”

  Her eyes filled, and the salt burned the injured one. “I don’t know. Was there a woman? Did I imagine it?”

  “No, there was a woman.” There were times he had to trust his instincts. “Hold on a minute,” he said, then went to the door. “Clare?”

  Clare whipped around quickly and started toward him. “Are you going to let me see her?”

  “I want you to be prepared for two things. One, she’s in bad shape. Two, everything that’s said in that room is on the record.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t have to go in.” He continued to block her way. “You can get a lawyer before you say anything.”

  She sent him a long, searching look. “I don’t need a lawyer.” Impatient, she moved past him, then hesitated when the man in Lisa MacDonald’s room turned and looked hard at her.

  Ray MacDonald knew. The moment he saw her he knew. This was the woman who had run his sister down. He rose quickly and came to the door.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? I don’t want her anywhere near my sister.”

  “Mr. MacDonald—”

  “I want her out.” He cut Cam off with a hostile look. “Isn’t it enough that she put my sister in that bed?”

  “Mr. MacDonald, your sister was already hurt, running out of the woods, before the accident with Miss Kimball. Don’t you want to know why?”

  Roy reined in his temper, which was three quarters fear, and nodded grimly before he looked at Clare. “You say one thing, just one, to upset her, and I’ll throw you out personally.”

  Sensing Cam’s reaction, Clare put a hand on his arm. “You’re entitled.”

  She’d wanted to see Lisa. Had insisted on it. But she hadn’t known that crossing that tile floor to the hospital bed would be so difficult. Would be so frightening. The woman in the bed was almost as colorless as the bandages on her face and arms. Her one eye was covered with gauze, and her leg was surrounded by what looked to Clare like an erector set.

  “Lisa.” Clare pressed her lips together and gripped the bed guard. “I’m Clare Kimball.”

  As she stared at her, Lisa’s breath began to come quickly. She shifted, tried to sit up further. Her brother was there to soothe and support her with pillows. “Don’t worry, sweetie, no one’s going to hurt you. She’s going now.”

  “No.” Lisa groped until her hand closed over Clare’s. “I remember you.”

  “I’m sorry. So sorry.” Sobs clogged in Clare’s throat as she made a helpless gesture. “I know there’s nothing I can do to make this up to you, to make it right. But I want you to know that anything you want, everything you want …”

  “The lawyers will deal with that,” Roy said. “This isn’t the time to clear your conscience.”

  “No, it’s not.” Clare steadied herself. “Lisa—”

  “I remember you,” Lisa repeated. “You saved my life.” Because her hand began to shake, she gripped Clare’s harder. “You were there, on the road. They were going to kill me, those men. In the woods. Did you see them?”

  Clare only shook her head.

  “How did you get in the woods, Lisa?” Cam asked quietly.

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember. I was running. I lost my light, my flashlight.” Her hand jumped. “I hit him with it, and I ran. They’d rape me, I thought. They’d rape me, and so I ran. It was so dark in the woods. I couldn’t see. From behind me—I fell. He was on top of me. Oh, God, my leg. My knee. It hurt. Roy …”

  “Right here, baby.”

  “It hurt. I smelled blood. My blood. I saw his eyes. He was going to kill me. He was singing, and he was going to kill me. He was choking me, and I couldn’t breathe. I was dying. But I got away. There were more of them coming, and I ran. My leg hurt so bad. I knew I couldn’t run much farther and they’d catch up to me. Find me. There was a light. I had to get to the light. Someone was screaming. Your car.” She looked back at Clare.

  “My headlights,” Clare told her. “I hit you with my car.”

  “No, I ran to the car. I was afraid you’d drive away, and they were coming after me. So I ran in front of it to stop you. It knocked me down. You got me into your car. You got me away.”

  “Lisa.” Cam kept his voice very low. “Did you see the man who attacked you?”

  “Black.”

  “A black man?”

  “No, I don’t—I don’t think so. He wore black. Long black robe and a hood. His eyes. I saw his eyes.”

  “Anything else? The color of his hair, the shape of his face, his voice?”

  “Just his eyes. I thought I was looking into hell.” She began to weep then, covering her unbandaged eye.

  “We’ll leave it at that for now.” Cam had already overrun the time the doctor had given him. “I’ll come back tomorrow. If you remember anything else, anything at all, you just have to call me.”

  “Please.” She tightened her grip on Clare’s hand. “I want to thank you. I’ll always remember looking up and seeing your face. It’s going to help me. Will you come back?” Sure.

  Clare’s legs were watery as she walked out. She paused on the other side of the door to press her hands to her face and steady herself.

  “Come on, Slim, let me get you a chair.”

  “I’m all right. Can you tell me how she is, physically?”

  “Her cornea’s scratched. They don’t think there’ll be any permanent damage, but it’s a little early to say. Couple of ribs are bruised and her throat. It’s going to be painful for her to talk over the next few days.”

  “Her leg.” She noted that he was avoiding speaking of it. “How bad?”

  “They don’t know.”

  “Are you going to give me any trouble about seeing her?”

  “That’ll be for the doctor to say.”

  “Excuse me.” Roy closed the door at his back. “Miss Kimball … I owe you an apology.”

  “No, you don’t. I have a brother. Under similar circum stances, I think he’d react the same way. I’d like to leave my number at the nurses’ station. You can call whenever she’d like to see me.”

  “Thank you.” He turned to Cam. “I want to know every step of what you’re doing, Sheriff. I want to know that whoever did this to my sister is going to pay.” He stepped back into the room and closed the door.

  “I have some things to tie up.” Cam resisted the urge to rub at the headache that pounded in his temple. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I may need to talk to you again. Officially.”

  She nodded. “You know where to find me. Sheriff.” She walked away, leaving him standing alone.

  Chapter 17

  Sally Simmons pulled into the Amoco station, but she wasn’t really interested in a fill-up and oil check. She was interested in Ernie Butts. It was an interest that often left her ashamed and confused. And excited.

  In all the weeks that she had gone with Josh, she had only allowed him to touch her above the waist. Though she had let him take her shirt all the way off, even permitted him to close his hot, fumbling mouth over her breasts, she had cut things off each and every time his hands had wandered below the snap of her jeans.

  It wasn’t that she was a nerd or anything, and she knew that many of the other girls on the cheerleading squad had already done the big deed. But she was romantic, like the novels she read, and had always pictured herself falling wildly and uncontrollably in love with someone exciting, rebellious, and probably unsuitable.

  Ernie filled all the requirement
s.

  He was even sort of spookily good-looking and brooding, the way Sally had always pictured Heathcliff, her favorite tragic hero. The fact that she sensed a mean streak in him only added to the mystique. It had been a simple matter to convince herself she was in love with him. And he with her.

  Her mother had talked to her very frankly about sex, birth control, responsibilities, consequences. The specters of AIDS, of unwanted pregnancies, of abortion, combined with her fevered desire to go to college and study journalism had been more than enough deterrent to make her keep her head with Josh.

  Ernie Butts was a different matter.

  When he had taken her into his room, all thoughts of responsibility, the future, her mother’s caring and practical words faded.

  He’d lit dark candles, had put on music that burned in her blood. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t joked or fumbled like Josh. He’d been rough, and that frightened her at first. Then he had done things, things that her mother never told her about. Things that had made her cry out and sob and scream. And hunger.

  Even thinking of it now had her wet and throbbing.

  She had gone back to him, night after night, with the excuse of a chemistry project she no longer cared about. Mixed with the blind, terrible need she had for him was fear. She knew, as women do, that he was cooling toward her, that he was sometimes thinking of someone else when he buried himself inside her.

  She wanted reassurance. Craved it.

  She parked at the pump and got out, knowing she looked her best in the skimpy shorts and tank top. Sally was justifiably proud of her legs—the longest and shapeliest in the cheerleading squad. She’d dipped into her mother’s hoarded cache of White Shoulders and spent an hour wrapping her hair in Benders to turn it into a mass of spiraling curls.

  She felt very mature and sophisticated.

  When Ernie strolled out, she leaned against the car door and smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi. Need some gas?”

  “Yeah.” She tried not to be disappointed that he didn’t kiss her. After all, he wouldn’t even hold her hand in school. “I’m sure glad it’s Friday.” She watched him fit the nozzle into the tank, looking at his hands, his long, bony fingers, and remembering. “One more week, and we graduate.”