But for as much as he wanted to protect her, he understood Megan’s private battle to be free of Gordon Fortran—to be free of the threat and torment that doggedly pursued her for the past year.
It had to end tonight. Now.
“Hard to tell,” she whispered. “I have to go upstairs. He won’t know his way around here, but I—” Control returned to what had before been a breathless sound. “I can move around unheard. I know where to step without the floorboards squeaking. He would never know that I was right behind him. You’re right, Jake. I have the advantage.” Verbalizing that statement seemed to spur on Megan’s confidence. She bent down and hauled off her boots, the flashlight revealing thick woolen socks.
“Hell,” she said, “I can trace him—be his shadow. I can be a specter—his own personal ghost.”
“Damn, woman.” He shook his head.
“But—”
“But what?”
“You’re going to have to stay here.”
His hand fell. “Like hell I am.”
“I’m serious, Jake. I only say this because I want you safe.”
Megan must have sensed his intake of breath because she rushed to add, “To keep us safe. Listen to me, if you move, he’ll hear you. I can find the Jones boy, or Gordon, or whoever’s up there, and make it back down here—”
“No.” It wasn’t the notion of remaining in this wretched black dungeon alone that inspired his response. It was the thought of Megan fighting this battle unaided with a man whom he dared not underestimate. “It’s not negotiable. You’ll just have to show me where to walk.”
“But—”
“By touch—any silent command you can think of, but I’m with you.” His hand found hers. “I’m with you. Do you understand?”
Jake waited out the silence with his breath held, and then he felt her fingers link with his. “Yes,” she said softly, “I understand.”
Megan’s hand tugged on his in silent invitation. Jake fell in behind her and, for the first time in his life, felt a sheer loss of control.
Megan held the gun. She held the knowledge. She held the instinct.
What on earth could he possibly offer?
“No matter what happens,” she whispered from the dark, “I intend to continue our conversation later—in bed.”
Fortran was history if he dared touch this woman.
It was a deep breath, but not enough to sustain her for the flight of stairs. Regardless, Megan felt she was allowed one last remark before she stopped talking—before she ceased breathing and simply relied on intuition.
“Second step from the bottom—skip it.”
“Got it,” Jake muttered, his hand a warm source of contact at the base of her spine.
She climbed slowly, her feet hugging the corner of each step where the framework was sturdiest. The steps were cold against her wool-clad toes, but adrenaline made it a minor discomfort. An emphatic tap of her hand on Jake’s thigh kept him in line with her. His warmth so nearby spurred her on. Instinct to protect and shield the man she loved infused her with strength. It was odd, she thought. For a year she had set about training herself for this very moment. First learning to negotiate the house in the dark, then her target practice on the cans outside, and the research, to be armed with a mental advantage, as well. Know your enemy. Know what you’re up against.
And yet, just moments ago when the time was at hand—it had all crumbled. When that alarm went off, all intentions to face the inevitable battle waned and panic of epic proportions set in.
But the firm grip around her waist was a silent signal that she was not alone. Fear, which had nearly debilitated her, was waylaid by the powerful adrenaline that love packed.
They reached the cellar door. It swung outward, into the foyer, and Megan knew that if it was forced open fast enough, it didn’t have time to squeal. If she opened it gradually however, it would shriek like a banshee. She pressed her ear to the cold wood and listened for any hint of movement on the other side, but the peal of the alarm obscured any such sound.
If Gordon was out there, then she was about to plunge headlong into disaster.
The steel barrel of the gun stung her hand. With the dimpled tip of her pointer finger she toyed with the trigger. Absurdly, the gesture felt reassuring. Jake was right, she was a freak, but someday she would be normal again—if she could just live through this.
Using her free hand, Megan reached back and pressed her palm against Jake’s stomach, prompting him flat against the wall. She could feel the rugged ladder of muscles spasm with effort.
Please, Jake, she pleaded silently. Please don’t do anything reckless.
Every ripple of strength in Jake was honed for attack, but he remained at her side, the urgent brush of his palm about her waist a silent command to watch out.
I won’t be a victim, she whispered silently and thrust the cellar door open.
First to attack her was the shrill assault of the alarm. Was the device an ally or foe? Did it cloak her tread, or prove only to mask her predator’s progress?
Megan’s fingers flexed and briefly tugged on Jake’s sleeve. She spread her legs to hurdle the oriental runner, knowing full well that beneath the textile, the wooden floor sagged and groaned under pressure. To her vast pride, she felt Jake mimic the motion.
There was little relief from darkness on this level. The front door and its flanking windows stood mere feet away, yet the heavy brocade drapes were drawn shut, and beyond them was a night void of moonlight.
Megan inched toward the foot of the stairs and went so far as to incline her head up the staircase, though there was nothing for her to see. What she saw was simply ingrained from memory. The broad landing at the foot of the staircase, followed by fifteen steps adorned with a floral carpet runner that had worn in the middle to a shade of mud. Images from every Creature Feature film she had watched as a child flooded her head, but even those films couldn’t match this true horror.
The alarm had been tripped. Jones must have gone up into that black void in search of her. Megan’s fingers wrapped tighter around the cold barrel of the gun and touched the banister for balance. Jake read her intentions. She could feel the resistance in his touch—steel strength that denied her call to move. Mutely she gave an emphatic nod, but of course he could not see it.
Just as she was about to take that first step, Megan felt the air shift behind her. The alarm fell silent, and before she could even react, the gun was wrested from her hand. Within the malevolent stillness of Wakefield House her swift whimper of despair barely registered.
“Now listen to me.” Jake’s mouth was against her ear, his breath warm, and his whisper insistent. “Don’t even think for a minute I’m going to let you walk up these stairs into God knows what type of trap. I’m taking the lead. It’s not up for debate.”
With his head pressed to hers, the subdued inflection was no more audible than that of a scurrying mouse, but the tone was adamant.
Megan opened her mouth to say but, and then tipped her head back so that her lips could brush against his earlobe.
“Don’t do this,” she pleaded quietly into his ear.
Jake jerked back and placed his mouth against her hair. This time she swore he actually kissed her before he spoke.
“You know this house, and you probably know that gun better than I do, but I’m not going to stand behind you and watch this unfold.”
Edgy, Megan sliced her gaze up the staircase waiting for Jones or Gordon himself to come thundering down after the alarm fell silent, but Wakefield House still clutched her secrets in its colossal fist. And Gordon, well, he wasn’t the type to come thundering.
Still, nothing could be determined from the ominous stillness on the second floor.
“Now is not the time to get all macho on me. You’ll get us killed if you take the lead,” she breathed against Jake’s angular cheekbone.
This time he did kiss her. A swift consumption of her mouth, followed by a soft whisper in her ear.
“Too late.”
With no words, only the gentle touch of Megan’s hand and the subtle guidance of her body molded to his, Megan guided Jake up the staircase. Their nimble ascent and the ensuing silence made it feel as if they floated. At the top, night’s curtain dropped with a finality that hinted there was no beginning or end to this hall. For all Jake could tell, they might as well have soared to the edge of the universe, where no stars were left. The air itself felt full of echoes as if he stood rooted at the center of an empty amphitheater.
This hallway—this darkness did not scare him. The obscurity evoked memories of the silky curves of Megan’s body as she clung to him. He welcomed the dark, and began to understand how it could become her ally. In this black world, she was a creature of the night, sheathed in an armor of assurance and passion, and right now that shield stiffened in fear. He sensed that she heard something.
No matter how hard he strained to listen, there was nothing but the faint sound of her labored breath, and even that was only perceived by her heaving breasts pressed against his back. Megan’s fingers slipped around from behind to wrap about his arm. She raised his hand, gun and all, and shifted his aim to the left.
Jake felt an unsettling sense of menace rise from the absolute dark before him. He knew the layout well enough to identify that she was pointing toward the room in which he had slept.
In the subtle way he flexed his muscles, he tried to deflect Megan. His biceps jerked under her touch, a silent command for her to retreat. Megan ignored the warning, and instead, her hand slipped to tap his right thigh.
Right step first.
Jake took the step cautiously. When his weight settled, there was no piercing shriek to reveal him. Megan’s left hand swept across his thigh. The dusting motion meant something. She wanted him to shift his leg in the same direction. He took a step to his left instead of forward. The brief squeeze of her hand was his reward for guessing correctly.
In this manner they progressed soundlessly to the doorframe. Jake gripped the gun even tighter, his pointer on the trigger, his thumb crooked for precision, but what ensued left no opportunity to shoot. In the span of a heartbeat, he felt the vacuum of cold air as the door was sucked open.
From the blackest chasm, a form charged forward.
In the chaos brought on by this surging entity, Jake lost track of Megan’s presence. There was no way he could chance a shot and risk hurting her. He nearly called her name, but a rigid shoulder crashed into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs.
Instinct prompted him to haul his fist down in a violent rush. With the gun still in his hand he felt the impact of steel against cranium. A foreign male grunt sounded from the darkness, and then a discordant thud ricocheted around the vaulted ceiling.
Jake braced himself, ready for another attack, but the weight at his feet did not budge. Cautious, he nudged the figure with his toe. Nothing. He repeated the gesture with more conviction.
“Jake?” Megan called from the dark.
“Find a light, Meg. I don’t trust it was that simple.”
A quick snap and then a small circle of light ensnared the scene. Jake blinked to acclimate.
“Be careful,” Megan warned. “You’re right. Don’t trust him.”
The recognizable frame of Jones in a black trenchcoat was slumped in an ungainly pile at Jake’s feet. He was alive. The ray of light revealed the rise and fall of his back. His collar was turned up so that only a small portion of his blond cap of hair could be distinguished. There was no blood, but the impact of the gun had been hard enough to render the man unconscious.
“We’ve got to be sure he’s really out,” Jake cautioned, “and if he is, do you have something around here to secure him?”
“Handcuffs, you mean?”
His eyes snapped up. “You have handcuffs?”
“No.” Megan smiled edgily. “But you mean something like that, right?”
As she crouched down for a closer inspection of Jones, Jake warned, “Easy, not so close.”
“I want to see him,” she demanded.
“I understand, but I don’t want you within arm’s length.”
Her shoulders fell.
“I’m going to flip him over,” he asserted.
“Give me the gun then.”
Jake wanted to pretend he didn’t hear her, even though what Megan suggested had merit.
“For one second.” He acquiesced only because he needed both hands. “Just long enough for me to turn him over, and then hand it back. If he moves, shoot an arm, a leg—”
“Preferably one of his?”
Jake found this witty side of Megan remarkable considering the circumstances, but even the dull glow of the flashlight could not conceal nerves pushed to their extreme. She shook from head to toe, and her lips still quivered until she bit down on the bottom one. The quips were just another form of defense.
At his feet the figure moaned. He was coming around. Jake had to move fast. He stooped down, reaching for the beefy set of shoulders and flipped the man onto his back.
Megan stared down at the flat nose and broad forehead of the Jones boy. He was no boy, though. He was a man capable of inflicting great physical harm with his size alone. Though he was still unconscious, his eyes beneath sallow, vein-laced eyelids moved back and forth. He was coming around and his fresh moan confirmed it. Her finger wrapped tightly around the trigger and her other hand came up to brace her wrist for maximum control.
“What do you have that we can tie him up with?” Jake’s voice broke in, but her eyes did not waver from their target.
“I have something downstairs.”
When she came back, she found Jake crouched, his muscular thighs, tight and powerful and honed for an attack should Jones move. Tiger eyes sliced the shadows and met hers, and he looked like he had no problem seeing in the dark, like he was born with an innate advantage.
“Will this do?” Megan held out the balled-up string of speaker wire.
Her jungle creature smiled.
“Yeah.” He nodded his approval. “Yeah, that’ll do just fine.”
Considering the length of Jones’s legs, they nearly ran out of wire, but by the time they were through, Jones looked like a spool of thread. His legs and arms were wrapped and when he came to, he thrashed about like an insect caught in a web. Spouting Russian curses, his icy eyes glared, but Jake sat back on his heels, unimpressed.
“Did he speak English when you saw him?” Jake raised his voice to be heard over Jones’s protests.
“I’m not sure. Everyone just sort of stopped when I walked in the room.”
“Yeah, I imagine you have that sort of effect,” he said and shifted his attention back to the writhing behemoth below.
“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt—” he spoke to the man, “—and guess that you were hired by Fortran to come here and that you didn’t do so by your own design. I’ll report that to the police, but if you want to offer up any additional defense, you’re going to need to speak in English right now.”
“Bakapor,” Jones seethed through thick lips.
“Alrighty then.” Jake removed one of Jones’s leather gloves from a hand that was rendered useless by its wrist bindings. He moved to shove the garment into the Russian’s mouth.
“Wait!” Jones shouted with a thick accent. “I speak.”
“Okay then. You speak.”
Jones’s cerulean eyes sliced over toward Megan and she could sense the keen frenzy of fear in them.
“Do not call the police,” he pleaded. “My—my father. He will not be safe then.”
A sickening feeling struck Megan as her knees slowly buckled enough to bring her down to Jones’s level. The Russian was no longer concerned with Jake, he was staring at her.
“Gordon,” she whispered.
Jones’s head nodded in earnest. “Yes. Yes. Mr. Fortran will kill him. He told me to come here. To hurt you. I have never hurt anyone before. I have never hurt a woman—”
/> “What’s your name?” Megan asked.
“Serge. Serge Baskov.”
“Serge, tell us. Tell us why you are here. What power does Gordon Fortran have over you?”
Serge’s head tipped back against the floor and a torrent of Russian words spilled out as his head shook back and forth and his eyes stared straight up at the ceiling.
“We don’t know you, and honestly my first inclination is to punch you in the face.” Jake leaned forward till he caught Serge’s eye. “But if you have the opportunity to help your father, and help Miss Megan here, I think a few words in English aren’t a lot to ask.”
Serge raised his head and had to use his stomach muscles to keep it up as his elbows were useless. His gaze shot from Megan to Jake and back again. He frowned. “What sport do you play?”
“What sport—?” Megan’s eyes widened. “No sport. I witnessed a murder. I saw Gordon murder a man in his office, and I have been on the run since then.”
“Oh.”
Uneasy, Megan didn’t know if oh meant he was unimpressed that she did not play a sport, or that Gordon murdered men in his office every day.
“I play basketball,” Serge said, slumping backward again.
“No sh—”
“Jake.” Megan cut him off with raised eyebrows. She inched forward so that she could look at Serge while his head was still reclined. “You play basketball. Is that how you and your father met Gordon?”
Blue eyes lolled backward into his head and then returned to focus on her. “I remember you now,” he said. “You came into the office the first time we were there. I thought you were pretty, but Mr. Fortran was so mad. He slammed the door after you left and told us we were never to speak to the staff. That our business was too conf-conf-confidential. He said that we were never to discuss the scholarship with anyone other than him or we would get shipped back to Uglich.”
There was no satisfaction in hearing that her theory was correct. Megan met Jake’s eyes and he offered a slight nod.
“My father, he talked about you,” Serge said, looking at Megan. “He knew about you because he knew who that man was that was murdered.”
Endless Night Page 20