No One But You

by Maureen Smith

  She was counting on it.

  Because if Claire somehow survived this ordeal and made her way back home, Suzette would be ruined. And she couldn’t let that happen.

  She would do whatever it took to keep her dark secret buried in the past.

  Even if it meant selling her soul to the devil.

  Wednesday, October 8

  Day 6

  Althea was in a dark room illuminated by candles. They were everywhere, glowing softly, casting unearthly shadows on the walls. She was lying on an unfamiliar bed, her arms stretched taut above her head, her wrists tied to the center bedpost. She was naked, exposed. Vulnerable. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t escape. But she didn’t feel fear. She felt anticipation. Desire.

  Damien was kneeling between her legs. He lowered his dark head to her breast, licking her nipple before dragging his mouth lower, moving slowly and sensually across her belly. She moaned and arched her body toward him, swept away on the racing tide of her pulse. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t escape. And she didn’t want to.

  His tongue snaked out, touching her clitoris. Heat shot through her veins. Her mouth opened on a silent cry.

  Then his head lifted, and she stared into the cruelly smiling face of James Odem.

  Althea jerked awake, gasping and choking.

  The sheets were tangled around her legs. She kicked out at them, struggling to free herself. The T-shirt she’d worn to bed was soaked through with sweat. She sat up quickly, nausea churning in her stomach.

  Heart pounding, she checked the alarm clock. The glowing numbers burned into her retina: 4:20.

  Same as yesterday.

  She shuddered.

  Dragging herself out of bed, she stumbled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, over and over again, trying to wash the vivid images out of her memory. All of them.

  Leaving the bathroom, she peeled off the soaked T-shirt and tossed it in the hamper. She quickly pulled on her workout clothes and went down the hall to her office, which doubled as her exercise room.

  As she went through her warm-up and stretching routine, she thought about the dream. She’d gone to sleep last night thinking about Damien, mentally replaying that embarrassing moment when she’d walked him to the door and he leaned down to kiss her. She’d opened her mouth to refuse him, but no words would come forth, because she realized that she wanted him to kiss her. Against her will, against her better judgment. She’d closed her eyes, anticipating the warmth of his soft, sensuous lips. But when he planted a brotherly kiss on her forehead, she was mortified to realize that was all he had ever intended to do. When she saw the knowing gleam in his eyes, she had prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

  She was still berating herself when she went to bed two hours later. But gradually the recriminations had evolved into what ifs. What if Damien had kissed her the way she’d wanted to be kissed? What if he’d backed her against the door and thrust his tongue into her mouth? Would she have eventually stopped him? Or would she have begged him to carry her into the bedroom and make love to her?

  She’d drifted off to sleep with those questions swirling in her mind, her body humming with arousal. What should have been nothing more than a steamy, perfectly harmless dream had ended in a nightmare.

  But this time, instead of the face of her captor, she had seen James Odem.

  What did that mean?

  You watched his interrogation at the police station, and ever since then you’ve been thinking about him, trying to determine if he’s responsible for abducting Claire. It’s only natural that he’d work his way into your subconscious.

  Grimacing, Althea hooked her feet into the straps on the incline board and started her sit-ups. She did seventy-five every day, morning or evening, whether or not she felt like it. Back in Seattle she’d also run three miles a day four times a week, a schedule she knew she would have to resume as soon as possible. The workout was necessary if she expected to compete in the male-dominated world of law enforcement, where her gender was still viewed by many as a liability. But being a woman was one thing. Being a weakling was another. Althea had survived sixteen grueling weeks of physical training at the Academy because she’d learned—not a moment too soon—that no one was going to give her a pass just because she was a member of the “weaker sex.” She had been taunted, bullied and singled out by tyrannical instructors determined to wash out female applicants from the program. It was pure hell, and some days she’d questioned the wisdom of her decision to drop out of medical school, which, in comparison to the Academy, had seemed like a cakewalk. But she’d survived, proving she was no featherweight.

  More than anything, Althea knew that being in top physical shape might one day save her life. Which was also why she regularly practiced her shooting at the firing range. She had to be prepared for anything.

  She counted off her last sit-up and climbed off the incline board, every muscle in her abdomen burning. Time to hit the jogging trail.

  But as she was about to leave the room, her gaze was drawn to the tall cherry bookcase in the corner. At the very bottom, on the last shelf, was an empty space where a book had been.

  Althea froze, the sweat turning cold on her skin.

  Fine hairs rising on the back of her neck, she slowly walked over to the bookcase and crouched down.

  A book was missing.

  But how was that possible?

  She scanned the other titles in the bookcase. Her reading collection encompassed everything from popular African-American fiction to medical tomes she’d kept just in case she ever decided to return to medical school. In Seattle the books had been alphabetically arranged by category, but her aunt and her friends wouldn’t have known that. Reorganizing the bookcase was one of the projects Althea had been meaning to tackle but hadn’t gotten around to yet. As a result, it was hard for her to tell which title was missing.

  Maybe her aunt had borrowed the book and forgot to mention it to her. Why not? They shared the same taste in literature and used to swap books all the time. Aunt Bobbi probably came across a novel that interested her and decided to check it out. All Althea had to do was call her and ask.

  But why hadn’t she noticed the empty space on the shelf before?

  You’ve only spent a few hours in this room since you moved in. You haven’t given the bookcase more than a passing glance.

  But she would have noticed the missing book before now. She definitely would have noticed it last night after she completed her sit-ups, just as she had now.

  Wouldn’t she?

  Althea shivered as a chilling idea struck her. Someone had been inside her apartment. Sometime in the middle of the night. While she was sleeping.

  Impossible. She wasn’t a deep sleeper, never had been. She would have heard an intruder sneaking into her apartment. Because that was the very thing she feared, she slept with one eye open and a 9mm tucked beneath her pillow.

  But why would someone break into your apartment to steal a book?

  The line from the note whispered through her mind. When the music changes, so does the dance.

  Was there a connection between the missing book and the kidnapper’s eerie message? She didn’t have a book of African proverbs, but maybe the quote had appeared in one of her novels.

  Suddenly Althea sensed a tickle of cold breath against her skin, as if she weren’t alone in the room. She looked over her shoulder but saw nothing. She swallowed hard, then slowly straightened from her crouching position and turned toward the open doorway.

  Her muscles were rigid. She held her breath, listening.

  And then she heard it. A faint noise down the hallway. A whisper of sound in the utter stillness of the apartment.

  Her diaphragm slammed hard against her lungs.

  Galvanized into action, she raced across the room and shoved the door closed, turning the lock in place. Next she ran to the desk and yanked open the bottom drawer, half afraid to find it empty.

  Her knees almost
buckled with relief when she saw the .32 caliber she’d stashed there when she moved in. She grabbed the pistol, cocked the hammer, and silently approached the door. She flattened herself against the wall beside it, heart thudding in her chest. Her breathing was shallow as she strained to hear if someone was on the other side.

  Whomever it was would be in for a rude awakening if he tried to break into the room, she vowed. She had a fistful of firepower and she wasn’t afraid to use it.

  She thought about her cell phone on the nightstand in her bedroom, and wished like hell she’d had the foresight to install a phone in her office.

  She waited, air stalled painfully in her lungs, ears straining to pick up the slightest sound from the other side of the door.

  But there was nothing but silence.

  Options raced through her mind. She couldn’t hide in the room forever. She and Damien were supposed to attend the task force meeting at eight-thirty A.M. If she didn’t show up, he would get worried and come looking for her. But that was three hours from now, and suddenly, the idea of being trapped like a prisoner in her own home pissed her off. Damn it, she’d done enough running and hiding over the last eight years.

  Enough is enough!

  It was time to confront the intruder.

  Decision made, Althea counted to five, quietly unlocked the door, then threw it open.

  The hallway was empty.

  Leading with her pistol, she stepped carefully from the room, sweeping right, then left.

  No intruder jumped out at her.

  Pulse hammering, she checked the powder room, the kitchen, and the living room. The front door was locked, the deadbolt secure. None of the windows had been tampered with.

  She crept down the corridor to her bedroom. She looked under the bed, inside the walk-in closet and the bathroom.

  Only then did she let out the breath she had been holding.

  The apartment was empty.

  Maybe you were imagining things, she told herself. Maybe what you heard was a rush of wind against the windows, or the heat kicking on. Just because you heard a noise doesn’t mean someone was inside your apartment.

  But there was still the matter of the missing book. She definitely hadn’t imagined the empty space on the bookcase.

  Althea glanced at the alarm clock. It was five-thirty, too early to call her aunt to ask about the book. She’d have to wait a few more hours.

  In the meantime, her nerves were too shattered to go back to sleep, and the idea of removing her clothes and taking a shower suddenly evoked images of the famous shower scene in Psycho.

  She shuddered. She’d have to get dressed somewhere else.

  Damien’s house.

  Instead of meeting him at the old fire hall, as planned, she could head over to his place now, and they could ride to the task force meeting together. She hoped he wouldn’t mind her showing up on his doorstep at six o’clock in the morning.

  Plan set, Althea crossed to the dresser and snatched a fistful of clean underwear before hurrying to the closet and grabbing a pair of jeans and a sweater.

  As she left the apartment a few minutes later, she couldn’t dismiss the sense of foreboding that whispered across her skin, invading her senses like icy fingers of dread.

  She hoped to God her aunt had borrowed the missing book.

  The alternative was too chilling to contemplate.

  Chapter 20

  Damien was having the most intensely erotic dream.

  Althea was lying beneath him, her dark hair fanned out across his pillow, her head flung back and her eyes closed as he stroked deep inside her. Her long legs were locked around his thrusting hips, her nails raking his back. Her desperate cries and moans swarmed in his blood, urging him harder and faster until a thick sheen of sweat covered their bodies and dripped from his forehead, into his eyes. She felt incredible, sublime. He couldn’t get enough of her.

  But something was wrong.

  It pulled at the edges of his mind, dragging him toward consciousness. He groaned, resenting the intrusion, wanting to stay buried in Althea’s exquisite heat for as long as he could.

  But something wasn’t right, and as he slowly came awake, he realized with a jolt what it was.

  Someone was on top of him, straddling him through the comforter. Kissing his neck, his jaw. Moving toward his mouth.

  His eyes flew open, and he found himself staring into Angelique’s innocently smiling face. His muscles went rigid with shock. Rage swept through him.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  She giggled naughtily, clamping her hand over his mouth. “Shhh! India will hear you.”

  Damien slapped her hand away and bolted upright, violently dislodging her from his lap. She sprawled on the other side of the bed and started laughing.

  He reached across the nightstand and angrily snapped on the lamp, then turned to glare at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Instead of answering, Angelique folded her hands behind her head and closed her eyes with a soft, contented purr. “Mmm. I had forgotten how good it feels to lie in the same bed with you.”

  Damien was sorely tempted to shove her out of his bed, but his mother had always taught him and his brothers never to lay a hand on a woman. Especially not now, when he was feeling decidedly violent.

  Angelique opened her eyes and looked at him. “You must have forgotten that I’m going to a conference in Orlando this week and you’re supposed to be keeping India. My flight leaves in two hours.”

  “Bullshit,” Damien growled. “I wouldn’t have forgotten something like that. And you didn’t say a damn thing yesterday morning when I saw you.”

  Angelique made a sour face. “Oh, yes, at the café. You were snuggled up with little what’s-her-name. The Kerry Washington look-alike.” Turning onto her side, she pinned him with a direct look. “Are you screwing her, Damien?”

  “None of your damn business.” He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed before remembering that he was buck naked. Damn it. He was so exhausted by the time he came home last night that he’d taken a quick shower and crawled into bed without bothering to put on shorts. He rarely slept in the nude, because he always wanted to be prepared for an emergency. Which also explained the presence of the Glock beneath his pillow. Angelique was so damn lucky he hadn’t mistaken her for an intruder when he first woke up.

  Not that any sane intruder would have taken the time to crawl into bed with you, he thought darkly.

  He scowled at Angelique over his shoulder. “What happened? Your parents pull another one of their disappearing acts?”

  She huffed out an indignant breath. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

  “Did they or did they not back out of keeping India this week?”

  “Yes,” she snapped. “They were supposed to keep her for me, but they called last night and told me they wouldn’t be able to.”

  “Of course,” Damien said caustically. “What else is new?”

  “Don’t you dare start on my parents,” Angelique warned. “They love our daughter just as much as your family does!”

  He snorted rudely. “They sure as hell have a funny way of showing it.”

  “All right! Fine! They couldn’t watch India for me. We’ve already established that. But what’s the problem, Damien? She’s your child! You’re supposed to keep her if I’m unable to. But now I’m getting the feeling that you don’t want her here.” Her tone turned coldly mocking. “What’s the matter, baby? Afraid your eleven-year-old daughter is gonna put a cramp in your lifestyle? Afraid you won’t be able to invite little what’s-her-name over for late-night booty calls?”

  Damien whirled on her, his eyes blazing with lethal fury. “Don’t even try it! You know damn well I’ve never had a problem keeping my daughter. If it were up to me, she would stay here permanently!”

  Angelique glared at him but said nothing.

  “And by the way,” he growled, “
I don’t appreciate waking up in the middle of the damn night to find my ex-wife lying on top of me. What part of ‘Stay the hell out of my bedroom’ are you having a problem understanding?”

  She sniffed haughtily, tossing her dark hair over one shoulder. “It’s not my fault you never turn on your alarm. And it’s certainly not my fault you’ve become such a heavy sleeper you didn’t even hear me and India coming into the house.” She smirked, deliberately lowering her gaze to the covers bunched around his waist. “That must have been one helluva dream you were having. You were hard as a rock when I climbed on top of you.” She paused, a malicious gleam filling her eyes. “Or maybe that was after I climbed on top of you.”

  Damien raked her with a contemptuous look. “Don’t flatter yourself. Believe me, any hard-on I had went south the moment I realized you were in bed with me. Jumping into a frozen lake couldn’t have done the trick faster.”

  Her cheeks flamed with humiliation. Recovering her composure, she sneered, “If you’re having to settle for pathetic adolescent wet dreams, you must not be getting any.”

  Damien barked out a mirthless laugh. “And if you’re having to settle for humping unconscious men, you must not be getting any.”

  Her face contorted with rage. “Fuck you, Damien!” she shrieked.

  “No, thanks. Eight years were more than enough for me.”

  Angelique grabbed one of his pillows, but before she could launch it at him, the doorbell rang downstairs. He glanced at the alarm clock. It was barely six A.M.

  A few moments later, India called, “Daddy! There’s a lady here to see you!”

  A lady . . . ?

  Althea. It had to be.

  Shit!

  “Well, well, well,” Angelique drawled. “So much for late-night booty calls.”

  Ignoring her, Damien lurched from the bed and strode across the room to the closet, feeling the heat of her hungry gaze on his bare ass. This time he didn’t give a damn.

  He stepped into the closet and quickly tugged on a pair of jeans. When he emerged, Angelique was standing beside the bed, hurriedly combing her fingers through her hair and straightening her clothes.