by Nora Roberts
back until I ached to get my hands on it.” His voice was deep and strangely raw. Autumn couldn’t speak at all. “I often wondered if you did it on purpose, just to drive me mad.” As he studied her face, he frowned, then lifted the coffee to his lips. “But, of course you didn’t. I’ve never known anyone else who could arouse with such innocence.”
“What are you doing here?” The trembling in her voice took some of the power out of the demand.
“Remembering.”
Turning, she began to juggle bottles, jumbling them out of their carefully organized state. “You always were clever with words, Lucas.” Cooler now that she wasn’t facing him, she meticulously studied a bottle of stop bath. “I suppose you have to be in your profession.”
“I’m not writing at the moment.”
It was easier to deliberately misunderstand him. “Your book still giving trouble?” Turning, Autumn again noticed the signs of strain and fatigue on his face. Sympathy and love flared up, and she struggled to bank them down. His eyes were much too keen. “You might have more success if you’d get a good night’s sleep.” She gestured toward the cup in his hands. “Coffee’s not going to help.”
“Perhaps not.” He drained the cup. “But it’s wiser than bourbon.”
“Sleep’s better than both.” She shrugged her shoulders carelessly. Lucas’s habits were no longer her concern. “I’m going up.” Autumn walked toward him, but he stayed where he was, barring the door. She pulled up sharply. They were alone. The ground floor was empty but for them and the sound of rain.
“Lucas.” She sighed sharply, wanting him to think her impatient rather than vulnerable. “I’m tired. Don’t be troublesome.”
His eyes smoldered at her tone. Though Autumn remained calm, she could feel her knees turning to water. The dull, throbbing ache was back in her head. When he moved aside, she switched off the lights, then brushed past him. Swiftly, he took her arm, preventing what she had thought was going to be an easy exit.
“There’ll come a time, Cat,” he murmured, “when you won’t walk away so easily.”
“Don’t threaten me with your overactive masculinity.” Her temper rose and she forgot caution. “I’m immune now.”
She was jerked against him. All she could see was his fury. “I’ve had enough of this.”
His mouth took hers roughly; she could taste the infuriated desire. When she struggled, he pinned her back against the wall, holding her arms to her sides and battering at her will with his mouth alone. She could feel herself going under and hating herself for it as much, she told herself, as she hated him. His lips didn’t soften, even when her struggles ceased. He took and took as the anger vibrated between them.
Her heart was thudding wildly, and she could feel the mad pace of his as they pressed together. Passion was all-encompassing, and her back was to the wall. There’s no escape, she thought dimly. There’s never been any escape from him. No place to run. No place to hide. She began to tremble with fear and desire.
Abruptly he pulled away. His eyes were so dark, she saw nothing but her own reflection. I’m lost in him, she thought. I’ve always been lost in him. Then he was shaking her, shocking a gasp out of her.
“Watch how far you push,” he told her roughly. “Damn it, you’d better remember I haven’t any scruples. I know how to deal with people who pick fights with me.” He stopped, but his fingers still dug into her skin. “I’ll take you, Cat, take you kicking and screaming if you push me much further.”
Too frightened by the rage she saw in his face to think of pride, she twisted away. She flew down the hall and up the stairs.
Chapter 6
Autumn reached her door, out of breath and fighting tears. He shouldn’t be allowed to do this to her. She couldn’t allow it. Why had he barged back into her life this way? Just when she was beginning to get over him. Liar. The voice was clear as crystal inside her head. You’ve never gotten over him. Never. But I will. She balled her hands into fists as she stood outside her door and caught her breath. I will get over him.
Hearing the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, she fumbled with the doorknob. She didn’t want to deal with him again tonight. Tomorrow was soon enough.
Something was wrong. Autumn knew it the moment she opened her door and stumbled into the dark. The scent of perfume was so strong, her head whirled with it. She groped for the light and when it flashed on, she gave a small sound of despair.
The drawers and closet had been turned out and her clothes were tossed and scattered across the room. Some were ripped and torn, others merely lay in heaps. Her jewelry had been dumped from its box and tossed indiscriminately over the mounds of clothes. Bottles of cologne and powder had been emptied out and flung everywhere. Everything—every small object or personal possession—had been abused or destroyed.
She stood frozen in shock and disbelief. The wrong room, she told herself dumbly. This had to be the wrong room. But the lawn print blouse with its sleeve torn at the shoulder had been a Christmas gift from Will. The sandals, flung into a corner and slashed, she had bought herself in a small shop off Fifth Avenue the summer before.
“No.” She shook her head as if that would make it all go away. “It’s not possible.”
“Good God!” Lucas’s voice came from behind her. Autumn turned to see him staring into her room.
“I don’t understand.” The words were foolish, but they were all she had. Slowly, Lucas shifted his attention to her face. She made a helpless gesture. “Why?”
He came to her, and with his thumb brushed a tear from her cheek. “I don’t know, Cat. First we have to find out who.”
“But it’s—it’s so spiteful.” She wandered through the rubble of her things, still thinking she must be dreaming. “No one here would have any reason to do this to me. You’d have to hate someone to do this, wouldn’t you? No one here has any reason to hate me. No one even knew me before last night.”
“Except me.”
“This isn’t your style.” She pressed her fingers to her temple and struggled to understand. “You’d find a more direct way of hurting me.”
“Thanks.”
Autumn looked over at him and frowned, hardly aware of what was being said. His expression was brooding as he studied her face. She turned away. She wasn’t up to discussing Lucas McLean. Then she saw it.
“Oh, no!”
Scrambling on all fours, Autumn worked her way over the mangled clothes and began pushing at the tangled sheets of her bed. Her hands shook as she reached for her camera. The lens was shattered, with spiderweb cracks spreading over the surface. The back was broken, hanging drunkenly on one hinge. The film streamed out like the tail of a kite. Exposed. Ruined. The mirror was crushed. With a moan, she cradled it in her hands and began to weep.
Her clothes and trinkets meant nothing, but the Nikon was more to her than a single-reflex camera. It was as much a part of her as her hands. With it, she had taken her first professional picture. Its mutilation was rape.
Her face was suddenly buried against a hard chest. She made no protest as Lucas’s arms came around her, but wept bitterly. He said nothing, offered no comforting words, but his hands were unexpectedly gentle, his arms strong.
“Oh, Lucas.” She drew away from him with a sigh. “It’s so senseless.”
“There’s sense to it somewhere, Cat. There always is.”
She looked back up at him. “Is there?” His eyes were keeping their secrets so she dropped her own back to her mangled camera. “Well, if someone wanted to hurt me, this was the right way.”
Her fingers clenched on the camera. She was suddenly, fiercely angry; it pushed despair and tears out of her mind. Her body flooded with it. She wasn’t going to sit and weep any longer. She was going to do something. Pushing her camera into Lucas’s hands, Autumn scrambled to her feet.
“Wait a minute.” He grabbed her hand before she could rush from the room. “Where are you going?”
“To drag everyone out of
bed,” she snapped at him, jerking her hand. “And then I’m going to break someone’s neck.”
He didn’t have an easy time subduing her. Ultimately, he pinned her by wrapping his arms around her and holding her against him. “You probably could.” There was a touch of surprised admiration in his tone, but it brought her no pleasure.
“Watch me,” she challenged.
“Calm down first.” He tightened his grip as she squirmed against him.
“I want—”
“I know what you want, Cat, and I don’t blame you. But you have to think before you rush in.”
“I don’t have anything to think about,” she tossed back. “Someone’s going to pay for this.”
“All right, fair enough. Who?”
His logic annoyed her, but succeeded in taking her temper from boil to simmer. “I don’t know yet.” With an effort, she managed to take a deep breath.
“That’s better.” He smiled and kissed her lightly. “Though your eyes are still lethal enough.” He loosened his grip, but kept a hold on her arm. “Just keep your claws sheathed, Cat, until we find out what’s going on. Let’s go knock on a few doors.”
Julia’s room adjoined hers, so Autumn steered there first. Her rage was now packed in ice. Systematic, she told herself, aware of Lucas’s grip. All right, we’ll be systematic until we find out who did it. And then . . .
She knocked sharply on Julia’s door. After the second knock, Julia answered with a soft, husky slur.
“Get up, Julia,” Autumn demanded. “I want to talk to you.”
“Autumn, darling.” Her voice evoked a picture of Julia snuggling into her pillows. “Even I require beauty sleep. Go away like a good girl.”
“Up, Julia,” Autumn repeated, barely restraining herself from shouting. “Now.”
“Goodness, aren’t we grumpy. I’m the one who’s being dragged from my bed.”
She opened the door, a vision in a white lace negligee, her hair a tousled halo around her face, her eyes dark and heavy with sleep.
“Well, I’m up.” Julia gave Lucas a slow, sensual smile and ran a hand through her hair. “Are we going to have a party?”
“Someone tore my room apart,” Autumn stated bluntly. She watched Julia’s attention switch from the silent flirtation with Lucas to her.
“What?” The catlike expression had melted into a frown of concentration. An actress, Autumn reminded herself. She’s an actress and don’t forget it.
“My clothes were pulled out and ripped, tossed around the room. My camera’s broken.” She swallowed on this. It was the most difficult to accept.
“That’s crazy.” Julia was no longer leaning provocatively against the door, but standing straight. “Let me see.” She brushed past them and hurried down the hall. Stopping in the doorway of Autumn’s room, she stared. Her eyes, when they turned back, were wide with shock. “Autumn, how awful!” She came back and slipped an arm around Autumn’s waist. “How perfectly awful. I’m so sorry.”
Sincerity, sympathy, shock. They were all there. Autumn wanted badly to believe them.
“Who would have done that?” she demanded of Lucas. Autumn saw that Julia’s eyes were angry now. She was again the tough lady Autumn had glimpsed briefly that afternoon.
“We intend to find out. We’re going to wake the others.” Something passed between them. Autumn saw it flash briefly, then it was gone.
“All right,” Julia said. “Then let’s do it.” She pushed her hair impatiently behind her ears. “I’ll get the Spicers, you get Jacques and Steve. You,” she continued to Autumn, “wake up Helen.”
Her tone carried enough authority that Autumn found herself turning down the hall to Helen’s room. She could hear the pounding, the answering stirs and murmurs from behind her. Reaching Helen’s door, Autumn banged against it. This, at least, she thought, was progress. Lucas was right. We need a trial before we can hang someone.
Her knock went unanswered. Annoyed, Autumn rapped again. She wasn’t in the mood to be ignored. Now there was more activity behind her as people came out of their rooms to stare at the disaster in hers.
“Helen!” She knocked again with fraying patience. “Come out here.” She pushed the door open. It would give her some satisfaction to drag at least one person from bed. Ruthlessly, she switched on the light. “Helen, I—”
Helen wasn’t in bed. Autumn stared at her, too shocked to feel horror. She was on the floor, but she wasn’t sleeping. She was done with sleeping. Was that blood? Autumn thought in dumb fascination. She took a step forward before the reality struck her.
Horror gripped her throat, denying her the release of screaming. Slowly, she backed away. It was a nightmare. Starting with her room, it was all a nightmare. None of it was real. Lucas’s careless voice played back in her head. Murder. Autumn shook her head as she backed into a wall. No, that was only a game. She heard a voice shouting in terror for Lucas, not even aware it was her own. Then blessedly, her hands came up to cover her eyes.
“Get her out of here.” Lucas’s rough command floated through Autumn’s brain. She was trapped in a fog of dizziness. Arms came round her and led her from the room.
“Oh my God.” Steve’s voice was unsteady. When Autumn found the strength to look up at him, his face was ashen. She struggled against the faintness and buried her face in his chest. When was she going to wake up?
Confusion reigned around her. She heard disembodied voices as she drifted from horror to shock. There were Julia’s smoky tones, Jane’s gravelly voice and Jacques’s rapid French-English mixture. Then Lucas’s voice joined in—calm, cool, like a splash of cold water.
“She’s dead. Stabbed. The phone’s out so I’m going into the village to get the police.”
“Murdered? She was murdered? Oh God!” Jane’s voice rose, then became muffled. Raising her head, Autumn saw Jane being held tightly against her husband.
“I think, as a precaution, Lucas, no one should leave the inn alone.” Robert took a deep breath as he cradled his wife. “We have to face the implications.”
“I’ll go with him.” Steve’s voice was strained and uneven. “I could use the fresh air.”
With a curt nod, Lucas focused on Autumn. His eyes never left hers as he spoke to Robert. “Have you got something to put her out? She can double up with Julia tonight.”
“I’m fine.” Autumn managed to speak as she drew back from Steve’s chest. “I don’t want anything.” It wasn’t a dream, but real, and she had to face it. “Don’t worry about me, it’s not me. I’m all right.” Hysteria was bubbling, and she bit down on her lip to cut it off.
“Come on, darling.” Julia’s arm replaced Steve’s. “We’ll go downstairs and sit down for a while. She’ll be all right.”
“I want—”
“I said she’ll be all right,” Julia cut off Lucas’s protest sharply. “I’ll see to her. Do what you have to do.” Before he could speak again, she led Autumn down the staircase.
“Sit down,” she ordered, nudging Autumn onto the sofa. “You could use a drink.”
Looking up, Autumn saw Julia’s face hovering over hers. “You’re pale,” she said stupidly before the brandy burned her throat and brought the world into focus with a jolt.
“I’m not surprised,” Julia murmured and sank down on the low table in front of Autumn. “Better?” she asked when Autumn lifted the snifter again.
“Yes, I think so.” She took a deep breath and focused on Julia’s eyes. “It’s really happening, isn’t it? She’s really lying up there.”
“It’s happening.” Julia drained her own brandy. Color seeped gradually into her cheeks. “The bitch finally pushed someone too far.”
Stunned by the hardness of Julia’s voice, Autumn could only stare. Calmly, Julia set down her glass.
“Listen.” Her tone softened, but her eyes were still cold. “You’re a strong lady, Autumn. You’ve had a shock, a bad one, but you won’t fall apart.”
“No.” Autumn tried to b
elieve it, then said with more strength, “No, I won’t fall apart.”
“This is a mess, and you have to face it.” Julia paused, then leaned closer. “One of us killed her.”
Part of her had known it, but the rest had fought against the knowledge, blocking it out. Now that it had been said in cool, simple terms, there was no escape from it. Autumn nodded again and swallowed the remaining brandy in one gulp.
“She got what she deserved.”
“Julia!” Jacques strode into the room. His face was covered with horror and disapproval.
“Oh, Jacques, thank God. Give me one of those horrible French cigarettes. Give one to Autumn, too. She could use it.”