The Masked Man

by B. J Daniels

  She shuddered at the first touch of his naked skin against hers, heard his soft groan as he dragged her down to the floor, their lovemaking as wild and frenzied as the storm outside.

  He took her higher than she’d ever been, a rarefied place depleted of oxygen, where stars blinded her vision and each breath seemed her last until the final crescendo of storm and passion and release, sending her reeling into a dark, infinite universe of pleasure.

  She felt tears come to her eyes as he curled her to him on the floor, spooning her into his warmth, spent and seemingly as awed as she.

  She snuggled close, content for the first time in her life. She knew there was no going back. She’d just committed to this man in a way more binding than any engagement ring or pronouncement of love. She’d been so wrong about him. So wrong about them.

  She closed her eyes, her skin still tingling, her heart still hammering like the rain on the roof. She didn’t hear the door open.

  A chill wind blew in, rippling over her skin. At the same moment she opened her eyes, a flash of lightning lit the outside world, illuminating the driving rain—and the dark figure silhouetted in the doorway.

  So content, so sated, so happy was Jill that it took her a moment to recognize the familiar silhouette in the doorway. The hat, the hair, the hoop skirt. Another Scarlett. It took even longer for the words the other Scarlett spoke to register. “Trevor, darling, I’m sorry I’m late but I—”

  In that instant Jill saw the other Scarlett take in the hurriedly discarded costumes on the floor, her head coming up to look where Jill lay on the floor in Trevor’s arms in that instant before the lightning flash blinked out, pitching everything back into blackness.

  “You bastard!” the woman shrieked. “You lousy—” A boom of thunder drowned out the rest as she whirled away.

  For just an instant Jill didn’t move. Then the truth hit her. A cry caught in her throat as she jerked free of Trevor’s arms, recoiling in shame. She stumbled to her feet and grabbed at the pile of clothing she’d seen in that flash of light, that flash of understanding—Trevor had thought he was making love to someone else! The other Scarlett. No wonder it had been so passionate! So amazingly tender and loving and filled with desire!

  Behind her, he still hadn’t said a word. But she could feel him watching her. Wasn’t he even going to bother to try to talk himself out of this?

  It was too dark inside the cottage to find her skimpy underwear. With her back to him, she dressed with only one thing in mind—getting out of there as quickly as possible. She pulled on the hoop, frantically tied it and slipped the damp dress over her head, then felt around for her shoes in the dark, wanting nothing more than to flee before he tried to apologize, which would make it all so much worse.

  On the way to the door she tripped on her hat, which she then swept up from the floor. Fighting tears of humiliation and anger, she tugged off the engagement ring.

  She was grateful for the darkness in the cottage. From the doorway she didn’t have to see his face, only the dark shape of him on the floor. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t said a word. But then, what could he say?

  “You are a lousy bastard, Trevor Forester,” she said, and flung the engagement ring at him before rushing out.

  Fool that she was, she expected to hear him call after her. She thought she heard him groan, but it could have been the wind.

  She lifted the wet velvet hem of the dress and, her shoes still in her hand, ran up the hillside, avoiding the main house, afraid to look back for fear she would see Trevor standing in the doorway of the cottage—and feel something other than hatred for him.

  She didn’t let herself cry until she was in her van driving back to her apartment over the bakery. Tears scalded her eyes, blurring her vision as the windshield wipers clacked back and forth against the pounding rain.

  She could still smell him on her, still feel his touch as if it was imprinted on her skin, still taste his kisses. Damn Trevor Forester. Damn him to hell.

  Rain fell in a torrent. Jill barely recognized the little red Saturn sedan that almost ran her off the road as it came up from behind and whizzed past, going too fast for the narrow, winding road along the lakeshore. But in her headlights she read the personalized license plate: JILLS. It was her car, the car Trevor had borrowed the last time she’d seen him, saying his Audi Quatro sports car was in the shop. Since then, Jill had been driving her bakery delivery van with The Best Buns In Town painted on the side.

  The driver went by so fast that Jill hadn’t seen who was behind the wheel. Trevor? Or had he loaned her car to his girlfriend? Or were they both in the car?

  And Jill thought she was angry with Trevor before!

  She pushed the van’s gas pedal of the van to the floor, trying to close the distance between her and the red Saturn. Was Trevor hoping to beat her back to her apartment? Beg her forgiveness? Or trying to get away? He had to have recognized the van. It was darned hard to miss.

  Jill kept the Saturn’s taillights in sight as she raced after it, the van forced to take the curves more slowly. The narrow road was cut into the side of the mountain. In some places, the land beneath the road dropped in rocky cliffs to the water. In others, cherry orchards clung to the steep hillside for miles, broken only by tall dense pines and rock.

  On the outskirts of Bigfork, Montana, the Saturn turned right into a new complex, where Trevor had rented a condo until he and Jill were married. At least that had been the plan. He had said he was going to buy her a house on the lake. He didn’t want them living in some dinky condo.

  As Jill parked the van behind her car in front of the condo, she told herself she should just take the car and leave. As angry as she was, this wouldn’t be a good time for a confrontation—with Trevor or his girlfriend.

  But then, how would she get the van back to the bakery? She’d need it early in the morning to make deliveries.

  Also, she would never know who’d been driving her car. And suddenly she had a whole lot she wanted to say to Trevor. Or his girlfriend. Or both.

  She got out of the van in the cumbersome costume. The front door of the condo stood open, a faint light on inside. Whoever had gone in must have been in a big hurry.

  It was dark inside the condo. She could hear what sounded like someone rummaging around in the bedroom. The only light spilled from the partially opened bedroom doorway. From this angle, Jill could see nothing but shadowed movement on one wall and the flicker of what had to be a flashlight beam.

  Her heart caught in her throat. Why hadn’t the person in the bedroom turned on the lights? And why would Trevor be searching for something in his own bedroom in the dark?

  The other Scarlett?

  Jill moved through the dark living room following the path of light coming from the bedroom and caught the scent of the woman’s perfume. She realized she’d smelled it earlier—that moment when the other Scarlett had been framed in the lake cottage doorway. A heavy, cloying scent that made her sick to her stomach.

  Trevor had never been much of a housekeeper, but this place looked as if it had been ransacked. As she tried to step around the mess on the floor, the hem of her dress caught on a pile of books dumped on the floor. One of the books tumbled off the top of the heap and thumped to the floor.

  The sound of rummaging in the bedroom stopped. The flashlight beam blinked out.

  In the blinding darkness, Jill felt on the wall for the light switch and flipped it on. Nothing happened. Had Trevor forgotten to pay his light bill or—

  A figure came barreling out of the bedroom. Jill tried to get out of the way, hearing the movement rather than seeing the person in the dark. She felt an object strike her hard on the head. Her knees buckled.

  As she dropped to the floor, she heard the retreating footfalls, then the sound of her car engine and the squeal of rubber tires on the wet pavement.

  Dazed, she stumbled to her feet and moved to the open doorway. Her car was gone. So was the driver. She turned toward the bedroom and the
scent of the woman’s perfume that still hung in the air.

  What had the woman been looking for? And had she found it?

  Jill felt her way in the dark to the bedroom door, remembering the candle she’d bought Trevor as a housewarming present. She stumbled through the mess on the floor to the nightstand beside his bed and felt around for the candle. The light from an outside yard lamp shone through the thin bedroom curtains. She could make out something large and looming on the bed.

  She found the candle and matches. Striking a match, she touched it to the wick. The light flickered, illuminating the small room.

  An open suitcase lay on the bed, piled high with Trevor’s clothing. The closet doors stood open, the hangers empty. The same with the dresser drawers.

  Like the living room, the bedroom appeared to have been ransacked. Or Trevor had obviously packed in a hurry. His clothes in the suitcase were a jumble. It was obvious that the other Scarlet had been looking for something in the suitcase.

  Holding the candle up for better illumination, Jill took a step toward the suitcase. Her shoe kicked a balled-up sheet of paper on the floor at her feet. She bent down and picked it up. Smoothing the paper, she held it to the candlelight. It was an eviction notice. Trevor was four months behind in his rent? How was that possible? Even if he’d put all his money into the island development, his parents were wealthy. She realized that if he hadn’t paid his rent, he probably hadn’t paid his electricity bill, either.

  Head aching, she looked into the suitcase, still wondering what the woman had been searching for. Jill picked up one of Trevor’s shirts. An airline-ticket folder fell to the bed.

  She lifted it carefully, afraid of what she was going to find. Inside was Trevor’s passport and a one-way ticket on a flight out of Kalispell tonight, final destination: Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

  Brazil? Trevor hadn’t just been planning to run out on his rent and his electricity bill. He’d been running out on her, as well. When had he planned to tell her? At the party? And what about the other Scarlett?

  Jill leafed through the folder until she found the receipt from the travel agent. Her hand began to tremble. Trevor had purchased two tickets on a credit card. One for himself. The other for his wife. The name on the other ticket was Rachel Forester.

  The other Scarlett? Is that what she’d taken from the suitcase—her ticket?

  Jill leaned against the bed frame, feeling dizzy and sick. Trevor had been planning to marry someone named Rachel tonight and run off with her to Brazil? It was unbelievable. She thought she couldn’t despise him more than she already did. She was wrong.

  As she started to put the ticket back into the suitcase, she noticed the credit-card number on the receipt for the tickets. “Trevor, you really are a lousy bastard.” He’d used Jill’s credit card to buy the tickets for himself and his secret new bride.

  Reeling, Jill stumbled out of the condo. Her head throbbed, and when she touched the bump on her forehead, her fingers came away sticky with blood.

  All she wanted to do was go home and forget this day had ever happened. Forget Trevor. Too bad she couldn’t forget what had happened between them in the cottage—before the other Scarlett had shown up.

  As she drove downtown to her apartment over the bakery she owned, she told herself this night couldn’t get any worse. But as she passed the bakery, she saw the sheriff’s deputy car parked across the street. Two deputies got out as she parked the van out front rather than continue on around to the back entrance to the upstairs apartment.

  She stood paralyzed with worry on the sidewalk as they approached, afraid it had something to do with her father. Gary Lawson hadn’t been well enough to attend the party tonight. He’d said it was only the flu—

  “Jill Lawson?” the taller of the deputies asked, the one whose name tag read James Samuelson. “Sorry to bother you so late. May we come in and have a word with you?”

  She nodded dumbly and swallowed, her throat constricting, as she shakily unlocked the door to the bakery and let them in.

  “We’re here about Trevor Forester,” the shorter, stouter of the two said. He introduced himself as Rex Duncan. He took out a small notebook and pen.

  She stared at the deputy. “Is Trevor in some kind of trouble?” Understatement of the year.

  She could feel Samuelson studying her face. Past him, she caught her reflection in the front window. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and the bump on her forehead was now bruised and caked with blood around the small cut where she’d been hit.

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Samuelson asked.

  “Tonight. At the party.” She saw the deputies exchange a look.

  “Tonight? What time was that?” Duncan asked.

  “About eight-fifteen.”

  “You’re sure you saw him?” Samuelson said.

  “I was with him until about…nine-thirty, then I left. Has something happened?”

  The deputies exchanged another look.

  “Please tell me what this is about,” she said. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Ms. Lawson, you couldn’t have been with Trevor Forester tonight at the party,” Samuelson said. “Mr. Forester was murdered during the time you say you were with him at another location. I think you’d better tell us why you’d make up such a story.”

  Chapter Two

  As the woman stormed out of the lake cottage, Mackenzie Cooper pushed himself up from the floor on one elbow and groaned.

  “Who the hell was that?” he asked the darkness, still stunned by what had happened between them.

  Silently he cursed himself. When she’d come into the cottage while he was spying on the boat just off the shore, he’d kissed her, only planning to shut her up and keep her from giving him away. But one thing had led to another so quickly…

  Damn. What had he been thinking? That was just it. He hadn’t been thinking.

  He felt dazed as he checked his watch. Nine-forty. He’d completely lost track of the time. Completely lost track of everything. Especially his senses.

  He quickly dressed, changing enough of the costume so that he wouldn’t be recognized as Rhett Butler. The last thing he wanted to do was run into either of the Scarlett O’Haras again tonight. In the mood they were in it could be dangerous. Another reason to hightail it out of here as fast as possible.

  It was obvious the man he was supposed to meet here had stood him up. Which, all things considered, was just as well.

  But first, Mac had to know what the woman had thrown at him. Using the penlight he’d brought with him, he shone it around on the floor.

  Something in the corner glittered in the light and he bent to pick it up. A diamond ring. The stone was a nice size, the setting obviously old. He pocketed the ring and started to leave, but spotted something else on the floor in the beam of the penlight.

  It appeared to be a scrap of black fabric. He picked up the skimpy, sexy panties. Silk. Her scent filled his nostrils, momentarily paralyzing him with total recall of the woman he’d had in his arms tonight.

  Suddenly he wished he could have seen her in these. But his tactile memory flashed on an image of her that was now branded on his mouth, his hands, his body and his brain.

  It seemed the woman had thought he was Trevor Forester—her fiancé. At least he had been her fiancé until the other Scarlett O’Hara had shown up.

  He swore again, realizing the magnitude of what he’d done. He’d just made love to the last woman on earth he should have!

  Not wanting to leave any evidence, he pocketed the panties along with the ring, then moved to the cottage door to make sure the coast was clear. It was time to get out of here. He’d gotten more than he’d come for. And then some.

  TREVOR DEAD? Murdered? Jill staggered, her legs suddenly unable to hold her.

  Deputy Rex Duncan pulled out a chair for her at one of the small round serving tables at the front of her bakery and helped her into it. He then drew up seats across from her for him and Samuelson
, who pulled a small tape recorder from his pocket, set it on the table, and clicked it on.

  “There must be some mistake,” she said, looking from one to the other of them.

  “There is no mistake,” Samuelson said. “That’s why we’re confused. Why would you say you were with Trevor Forester tonight at the party? Unless for some reason you think you need an alibi.”

  She stared at him, stunned. “An alibi? I was with Trevor in the lake cottage during the time I told you.” She looked from Samuelson to Duncan.

  Duncan shook his head.

  She felt the blood leave her head. If she hadn’t been in the cottage with Trevor… Oh, my God.

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Duncan suggested as he handed her a napkin from the dispenser on the table. “You arrived at the party at what time?”

  She took the napkin and wiped her eyes, panic making her hands shake. “About seven-thirty.”

  “Alone?” Duncan asked.

  She nodded. “I thought Trevor would meet me at the party since he was running so late.”

  “Trevor Forester was your fiancé?” Deputy Samuelson asked.

  She nodded, then glanced down at her ringless finger, the white mark on her lightly tanned skin where the diamond engagement ring had been. The deputies followed her gaze. She quickly covered her hand.

  “I think you’d better tell us what happened tonight,” Samuelson said. “It’s obvious you’ve been crying. How did you get that bump on your head?”

  She looked up at him, then at Deputy Duncan, and fought to swallow back the dam of tears that threatened to break loose. Trevor dead. Murdered. And the man in the cottage who’d been dressed like Rhett Butler…?

  “The truth, Ms. Lawson. You weren’t with Trevor Forester tonight at the party. So where were you?” Samuelson asked impatiently.

  “I thought I was with Trevor,” she cried, and saw them exchange another look. “I know this will sound crazy…”

  “Believe me, we’ve heard it all,” Duncan said, not unkindly. “Just tell us what happened.”