by Gayle Wilson
Maybe the hotel staff used the open window for ventilation, his rational mind suggested. Seeing it, however, whatever instinct had carried him this far tightened his stomach and sent the same icy finger he’d felt in Griff’s office racing down his spine. Something was terribly wrong about that open window.
Having reached that decision, he quickened his pace. Although there was more light here because there was no grimed glass between the corridor and the sky, in his rush he stumbled over something.
Off balance, he staggered forward, careening into the wall before he could right himself. With a grunt of pain at the force of his landing, he turned, trying to see what had tripped him.
In the moonlight a spill of black lay against the paler gray of the concrete floor. For a fraction of a second, Ethan thought it might be blood.
But of course, whatever had caught the toe of his shoe and sent him staggering hadn’t been liquid. It had been something solid. Something tangible.
Fabric? Black fabric?
Using the hand he’d flattened against the wall to break his fall, he pushed away from it, literally forcing himself to take the few steps that would bring him back to that pool of black.
He bent, fingers reaching forward. Without making contact, they hesitated in midair, reluctant to touch the object on the dusty floor. Stomach churning, he had to force his hand to close over it.
When it did, he realized it was cloth, just as he’d feared. He started to lift it and knew, even before he had held it up to the dim outside light, that it wasn’t what he had feared it might be.
The fabric was smooth under his fingers. Not lace, he acknowledged, closing his eyes in relief as he finally remembered to take a breath.
No lingering scent of the woman who had worn that sophisticated black dress clung to the material he held. Whatever this was smelled slightly of mildew.
He had a strong inclination to drop it. To leave it lying where he’d found it. Instead, acting on the instinct that had guided him this far, he held it up before the moonlit window.
At first it seemed shapeless, nothing more than a piece of cloth. Suddenly, with a chill of understanding, he realized what he held.
A long, black cape with an attached collar. And there was a drawstring by which it could be fastened around the wearer’s neck.
Once he’d determined the basic structure of the garment, Ethan turned it so that he held it up by the shoulders, which were heavily padded. To disguise the size or shape of whoever put it on?
One of the costumes off the rack? Or a prop? Whatever it was, he decided, it had nothing to do with Raine. Or with her disappearance.
He turned, carelessly tossing the garment over the sill of the open window as he leaned through it to peer at the scene below. Streetlights marched in perfect order toward the Potomac. Despite the hour, traffic was fairly heavy, its familiar sounds clear in the still night air.
Both hands on the sill, he had already begun to push his body back out of the window when out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of something that shouldn’t be there.
Each of the windows had a small outside balcony, which extended no more than a foot or perhaps eighteen inches from the wall. It was surrounded by concrete balustrades topped by a flat rail of the same material. Hardly wide enough for a man to stand on comfortably, the space was obviously intended for decorative purposes only.
Between the pseudo-balcony of the window he was leaning out and the next was a gradually curving ledge, perhaps half the width of the space that was included in each narrow enclosure. And on the ledge to his right was a shape.
He tried to tell himself that what he was seeing was part of the architecture. A statue or ornamentation.
In an attempt to verify that, he glanced to his left and found only smooth wall stretching above the curving ledge. Slowly he turned back to his right.
With a thrill of horror, he realized that what he was seeing was not a part of the building. It was instead the woman who had been the object of his search. And she was standing on a ledge no wider than his foot, more than a hundred feet above the ground.
Chapter Ten
She first became aware of the humid night air against her face. And then the sound of traffic far below. She hadn’t dared look down, afraid of what she might see. Instead, she had pressed her body against the wall behind her, knowing instinctively that it represented safety.
She had realized almost instantly where she was. Not the location, of course, but the situation. And she found she had no idea how she’d gotten here.
Like the unexplained passage of time when she’d seen the vision of the pond, there seemed to be a gap in her memory. The last thing she remembered was standing in the ballroom, looking at the stairs that led to the balcony.
She closed her eyes, but somehow the interior darkness was worse than the other. She opened them again to look out on the panorama of the night sky spread out before her.
Had she had another vision? Or was there a different explanation for this missing time? Whatever its cause, she had apparently been brought or forced outside, to a place high above the traffic in the streets, whose sounds she could hear below.
Keeping the base of her spine against the wall, she slowly moved her hands, sliding her palms over the rough-textured stonework behind her until she felt her position was as stable as she could make it. Then, by careful degrees, she lowered her head until she was looking down.
She’d paid no attention to the number Ethan had punched on the elevator they’d taken to the ballroom. The taillights of the cars below were small enough, however, that she knew she must be at least a dozen stories up.
Without moving her head, she cut her eyes to the right. In her peripheral vision she could see the wall she was leaning against curving away from her. Along it ran the narrow ledge she was apparently standing on, and it was no wider than the length of her foot.
Frightened by the reality of her situation, she raised her chin too quickly, bumping her head against the wall behind her. Immediately she overcompensated for that error by leaning forward. As she did, her right hand came away from the wall.
Feeling as if she were on the verge of losing her balance, she spread her fingers like talons, trying to get a grip on the stone. When she had, she closed her eyes again, forcing herself to concentrate on taking the next breath. Breathe in. And out. In and out.
The deep inhalations didn’t ease her sense of panic. All they did was make her light-headed.
She closed her mouth, trying to focus on anything but where she was. Her mind seized on the mystery of who had forced her out here and why. Had he intended her to fall? Had he arranged this so that her death would appear to be a suicide or an accident?
If so, this seemed a ridiculously convoluted way to go about it. Why not shove her under a bus? Or pay someone to run her down in the street? Why arrange this kind of elaborate charade?
Suddenly there was some noise to her left. She fought the instinct to turn her head too quickly, having learned what the slightest miscalculation might lead to. Instead, she held her breath, listening for whatever she’d heard to be repeated.
Was the person who had forced her onto this ledge still there? Was he planning to startle her in an attempt to make her fall? Could anyone be that diabolical?
But of course they could. This was no game. She had felt the strength of their hatred. And it had been personal. Very personal.
Someone she knew? Someone who knew her? From the first time she had been in Washington all those years ago?
Or was this her father’s enemy, seeking to hurt him by hurting her. After all, someone had already attacked him. Maybe since they had failed at that—
Again she heard the unidentified noise on her left. Was he waiting there, watching her, like some fat, evil spider?
The analogy worked on so many levels that she forced herself to concentrate on it. Something to think about other than what he might be doing.
She had been caught
in his web. Like some foolish moth attracted to a flame, she had been drawn to him by the hostility he’d deliberately projected. Her action in leaving the ballroom to seek him out was something she could neither explain nor justify. She had put herself into the hands of the enemy, and now he was toying with her.
Another noise, this one more subtle. Nothing but a brush of movement against the stones. Was he inching his way along the ledge toward her?
If so, there would be nothing she could do to resist. No movement that would not send her plunging to the ground below.
“Raine.”
Instantly she knew the voice that had spoken her name. And she almost responded to it. Almost turned toward the sound. Just in time she resisted the impulse, leaning back against the wall behind her as her knees went weak with relief.
“Ethan?” She breathed his name, hardly daring to move her lips.
“I’m here. You’re okay. All you have to do is—”
“I can’t. Whatever you’re going to say, I can’t. I’m terrified of heights. I always have been.”
He didn’t say anything for so long that she had begun to fear he’d left her. And why shouldn’t he? She was too much of a coward to save her own life.
She had almost given up hope when Ethan spoke again, his voice still soothing. “Raine, I’m coming out there. I’ll speak to you before I touch you. Then I’ll take your hand and lead you back to the window.”
He sounded as if he were talking to a child. And in this situation, she was. She had reverted to the mindless, unreasoning fears of childhood. She had just told him that she’d rather try to cling to the wall behind her than to take the few short steps that would bring her to safety.
“All you’ll have to do is hold on to my hand and move sideways with me. Can you do that?”
If he was coming for her, she could. All she had to do was wait for him. And not do anything stupid.
“Yes,” she said, forcing agreement through stiff lips. And then her mouth opened again to add, “But hurry, Ethan. Please hurry.”
Even as she implored him, she could hear him moving along the ledge. If it was wide enough for him to maneuver, then she could manage it. Obviously she’d done it once, which meant she could do it again. The promise of safety and Ethan’s arms holding her were surely incentive enough.
She didn’t even question the fact that she wanted him to hold her. That had been the only thing she had known for certain would happen tonight.
She had known she would end up in Ethan Snow’s arms before the evening was over. She had thought it would be when they were back in the suite, a far more intimate encounter than this one would be—
“Raine?”
He was so near she could feel his breath against her cheek, just as when he’d leaned close to her at dinner to check out the table behind them. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the urge to turn into his arms.
After they were safe. After they were off the ledge.
“I’m going to put my hand on your arm now.” His voice was amazingly calm, still reassuring, as his fingers fastened around her wrist. “Okay?”
“Yes.”
The word was barely above a whisper. She concentrated on the warmth of his fingers against the coldness of her skin. Just as when he’d taken her hand at dinner tonight and she’d felt the seductive movement of his thumb across the back of it.
“I’ve got you now. We’re going to ease along the ledge. You do exactly what you did before.”
Except she couldn’t remember what she’d done before. She couldn’t remember doing this before. Not any part of it.
“I’m not going to let you fall,” he went on, his voice still soothing. “Don’t even think about it. Just think about taking one step at a time.”
One step at a time. Almost before she had time to register the instructions, there was a slight pressure on the arm he held.
In response, she moved her left foot, sliding it along the ledge until she encountered his. For some reason, despite his nearness, she hadn’t expected that. She jumped, causing a reflexive tightening of his fingers.
“Easy,” he said. “Slide your left foot, then bring the right to meet it. There’s no hurry.”
As obedient as the child she seemed to have become, she slid her right foot beside her left. He moved again, drawing her with him. Slowly, each step deliberate and precise, he brought her closer and closer to safety.
After an eternity of inching carefully along, her back still pressed against the wall, he said, “We’re at the balustrade around the window. Almost there.”
Balustrade? She had no idea what he meant. She had no recollection of a balustrade. Of course, she had no recollection of how she had gotten out of the window, either.
“I don’t understand.”
For a few seconds he didn’t answer her. And when he did, her heart sank. “I’m going to leave you while I climb over the rail. All you have to do is stand right here and not move.”
“Don’t.”
She hated the pleading note in her voice, but she couldn’t seem to be able to help it. The thought of the loss of contact between them was devastating.
“Ten seconds. Maybe less. I’ll climb over and then I’ll take your arm again and help you over. All you have to do is not move until I tell you to. Don’t breathe. Don’t do anything.”
He didn’t give her time to refuse. Coward that she was, she might have tried to cling to him if he had. The compulsion to try to keep him beside her was almost unbearable.
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip instead and again closed her eyes so she couldn’t look down. She listened to the brush of his clothing against stone and then the thud as he jumped down on the other side of the railing apparently now separating them.
“Ready?”
She had no idea what he was going to ask her to do, but whatever it was, it was preferable to spending another second out here alone. A car horn blared somewhere below, reminding her of the alternative to clearing this last hurdle.
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
This time his hand took her arm and put it around his neck. “Hold on,” he said.
Her fingers gripped the fabric of his tuxedo jacket. He leaned forward so that his cheek was against her hair, his chest pressing hers, as he slipped his arm between the small of her back and the wall. From the angle of his body she knew his torso was extended over the railing she would have to climb across.
“When I tell you,” he said, his warm breath feathering over the cold skin of her throat, “lift your other arm and put it around my neck. Once you have a firm hold, turn toward me and find the edge of the balcony with your right foot. There’s a lip on the outside of the balustrade that’s at least three inches wide. All you have to do is get a toehold on that, and I’ll pull you over.”
Not daring to look down, she tried to visualize the balcony and the lip he’d described. She couldn’t believe that she remembered nothing about either, despite the fact that she must have navigated them to get out on the ledge.
“Okay, put your arm around my neck.”
She wasn’t sure she would have been able to do that without the security of his arm around her back. She could feel its muscles tense in preparation for receiving her weight. He must have taken hold of some part of the balcony with his left hand so that he wouldn’t overbalance when he tried to lift her, causing them both to fall.
She stretched out her right arm and put it over his shoulder, grasping him as tightly as she could. His neck was in the crook of her other elbow, her cheek pressed against his.
All she had to do was complete the half turn she’d already begun and find the toehold he’d told her about with her right foot. She tried to pivot on her left foot but the high-heeled sandal she wore refused to budge. Its narrow heel had gotten caught between two of the stones from which the ledge was constructed.
Although the shoe wouldn’t give, it was impossible to stop her body’s momentum. The strap broke under the strain,
letting her foot slide off the sole of the sandal.
She managed to tighten her hold around Ethan’s neck as her body swung away from the wall. Frantically she tried to find the toehold he’d told her about with her right foot.
The toe of her other shoe hit something and then slipped off before she could get any traction. There was a heart-stopping, stomach-clenching drop. It couldn’t have been more than inches, but it felt like miles while it was happening.
With a grunt of effort, Ethan held on as the full weight of her body dangled a dozen stories off the ground. She had no idea how long he could support her with only one arm and the muscles of his neck and shoulders.
With her feet below the edge of the balcony, she could do little to help. Despite her terror, she knew that now if she swung her legs in an effort to encounter some outcropping, she might unbalance him.
Slowly, with an effort that was communicated through every taut, straining muscle in his arm and torso, Ethan began to pull her up. Inch by brutal inch, he dragged her up, the delicate lace bodice of her dress ripped by the rough concrete of the balustrade.
“Railing,” Ethan gasped into her ear.
Despite the restriction of her skirt, she lifted her knee high enough to locate the flat top of the balustrade. When she did, in a matter of seconds Ethan had pulled her across it.
Despite the fact that she was safe, she clung to him, both arms around his neck, her face pressed into his shoulder. They were both trembling, for different reasons, of course.
She could feel his heart thudding against hers. His raced with the exertion; hers with sheer, unmitigated terror.
His arms seemed to be holding as tightly as she was clinging to his neck. After a moment he began to lower her until her toes made contact with the concrete balcony.
She had been relatively unaware of the intimacy of their position until then. In those few seconds, during which her body had slid downward along the length of his, their relationship had crossed some invisible line.