by Jean Barrett
She went into her office, closing the door behind her. He stood there for a few seconds, and then a warning went off inside his head. Why had she taken her purse with her? Why had she shut the door? Danger!
He crossed the parlor as swiftly as his game leg would permit, bursting into the office. He found her standing behind her desk, the phone in one hand and her other hand poised to dial. She shot him a startled look that told him she knew he knew the truth about them.
He was at the desk in a flash, snatching the phone out of her hand before her finger could punch the buttons. Slapping the receiver back into the cradle, he faced her accusingly.
“You were calling the cops, weren’t you?” He couldn’t let her turn him in to the police. Couldn’t end up being held. Although he realized now the urgency that had driven him to her door last night was all wrong, he was still convinced there was something he must do, someone he had to reach.
“I was returning a client’s call.”
She was lying. He could see it in her eyes, along with her fear. “We’re not husband and wife, are we?” he challenged her. “You don’t even know my name. You never once called me by name. You don’t know any more about me than I do.”
She didn’t answer him. She looked increasingly nervous, and that’s when he saw it. On the desk in front of her was a small key, which explained why she had taken her purse into the office with her. She must have removed the key from her purse to unlock—what?
Yes, the top drawer in the desk. It was still slightly ajar, as though she had closed it hastily with his sudden entrance. She’d noticed the direction of his gaze. Her hand swooped to the drawer, yanking it open, reaching for what was inside.
Something kicked in, old instincts and skills that had him sensing he’d handled this kind of thing before. Whatever it was, it served him well in this instance. He shoved against her, throwing her off balance. Before she could recover herself, he had taken possession of the semiautomatic in the drawer. The pistol felt familiar in his grasp.
He had to admire her. As frightened as she had to be, she faced him defiantly. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Yeah, I trusted you. That was my mistake. What I can’t figure out is why you didn’t call the cops last night when I stumbled in here. Why is that?”
She didn’t answer him.
“What is it you’re after?”
“Look, give me the gun, and we’ll talk about it.”
Until he knew differently, he had to assume she was his enemy. But she was an enemy from whom he needed answers. “Oh, we’re going to talk.”
“Not until you lock the gun back in the drawer, and if it makes you feel better you can hang on to the key. At least do that much.”
He had no intention of surrendering the pistol. He might need it. “Be quiet,” he ordered her roughly. “Let me think.”
He wanted answers all right, but this was a dangerous place to try to get them. They were in the city with cops close by and neighbors all around. Neighbors like that guy out in the garden. He needed somewhere that was safe, removed from the threat of people while he figured out what to do. Where? That’s when he remembered the painting above the fireplace.
He knew now what he was going to do. He was getting out of here, going to that isolated houseboat on the river, and he was taking her with him.
Chapter Three
She had a full bottom lip that made her mouth sultry. Had the circumstances been otherwise, he would have been tempted to explore that inviting mouth with his own. But right now his only interest in her lower lip was how it trembled with emotion as those wide blue eyes of hers stared at him in disbelief. He had just informed her of his intention.
“You can’t,” she objected.
“This says I can.” He waved the pistol in front of her nose.
“You don’t want to do this,” she attempted to reason with him. “Aside from the fact that forcing me to go with you constitutes kidnapping, there’s nothing for you to gain by taking me along.”
“What do I want to do instead, Eden? Borrow that car of yours out in the alley, have you cheerfully promise me you won’t call the cops while I run for it? Assuming, that is, I have a reason to run.”
Her silence told him she realized any further argument in that direction would be useless. They both knew he couldn’t leave her behind, couldn’t trust her now out of his sight.
“It’s a houseboat, isn’t it, Eden? Well, you and I are going to play house on it while you tell me everything I want to know, and maybe before we’re through I’ll be able to decide just what the hell is going on. Oh, don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen to you. Providing,” he added, his voice slow and raspy as he leaned in close to her, “you behave yourself.”
“Look, I can help you if you let me. I will help you, but not this way, not—”
She got no further. They were interrupted by a male voice calling out to her from the direction of the parlor where she had left the door open to the piazza.
“Eden, you in there?”
“It’s Skip Davis from next door,” she whispered.
“Answer him. Tell him you’ll be there in a minute.”
“I’ll be out in just a second, Skip.” She lowered her voice again. “Now what?”
“Get rid of him. Whatever he wants, tell him you’re busy and you’ll talk to him later.”
“And what if he caught a glimpse of you and wants to know who you are?”
“Tell him your long-lost husband is back from the dead,” he said, unable to keep the sharp edge of sarcasm out of his voice. “You ought to be able to convince him of a little lie like that. You had me believing one.”
There was more than just fear in those blue eyes now. There was also healthy anger.
“Get going,” he ordered her before she could express that anger. “Make it good. And, Eden?” She paused on her way to the connecting door, looking back at him reluctantly. “Be careful. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
She nodded, understanding him, knowing he had the pistol and that he would be listening and watching from behind the office door. Leaving the office, she crossed the parlor, greeting her neighbor who waited in the open doorway.
Through the crack, he could just make out the heavy figure of the retired naval officer, hear him as he asked Eden to join him and his wife for lunch. There was a pause after the invitation was issued. He tightened his grip on the pistol and tensely wondered if she would do or say anything to alert her visitor.
But to his satisfaction, she was too smart to make this kind of mistake. She probably figured he was so desperate he wouldn’t hesitate to use the pistol at the first sign of a threat to him. Let her go on thinking just that. He would be safer that way, and so would she.
“I’m sorry, Skip. I wish I could, but I have to work. I’m afraid Sundays are no exception when clients come to me with troubles that won’t wait.”
He had to give her credit. She couldn’t be anything but nervous, and yet she sounded cool and without a concern. She also managed to convey in that simple reply an explanation for him, should her neighbor have detected his presence, as well as a reason for her later absence.
He was relieved when her neighbor accepted her excuse and departed, and she closed the door after him. But he was far from ready to relax. The sudden appearance of the navy man justified his decision, making it more imperative than ever that he remove them from the scene.
He waited to make certain Eden came directly back to the office before he turned his attention to her purse on the desk.
“What are you doing?” she challenged him sharply, as he appropriated the purse and began to investigate its contents.
“Looking for a breath mint. You never know, I might get lucky later on. Man and wife, remember?”
“That’s low.”
“Is it?” He lifted his gaze, coldly meeting her angry eyes. “So, just how virtuous were you being, sweetheart, when you didn’t correct me? When you let me go on beli
eving we were married?”
“That was wrong of me, I know, and I apologize for it. But I had a vital reason, and if you’ll just let me explain—”
“Later,” he cut her off. “Right now I have some vital business of my own.”
He found no weapons in the purse, nothing that she could turn against him. There was a cell phone, and this he removed and tucked into his pocket. Making sure that her wallet held an adequate supply of cash and that the purse contained her keys, he handed the bag to her.
“Now what?” she demanded, hugging the bag to her breasts.
He didn’t answer her. His mind was busy with a mental list, checking off the preparations for this flight to her houseboat. Once again, he was aware of old skills. Training from his unknown past that urged him to be thorough, to cover all the necessities before he went into action. He didn’t understand this instinct, but he was grateful for it.
“This friend of yours upstairs—Tia. She have an answering machine?” He remembered Eden telling him Tia was out for the day.
“Yes.”
“Call it. Leave a message for her. Tell her you’re going to be gone for a couple of days on a case. That everything is fine, including the patient, and she isn’t to worry about you. You’ll explain everything when you get back.” It wasn’t the most brilliant of remedies to a potential problem, but it would have to do. He just hoped her friend would be satisfied by it. “No details, Eden, and make it convincing.”
He handed her the receiver and stood close beside her as she dialed, ready to grab the phone away from her if she tried to communicate any warnings. But again she was wise enough to do just as she’d been told. In a calm voice, she delivered the concise message he had instructed.
Of course, she wasn’t calm at all underneath that composed exterior. Her lower lip continued to betray her. It was still quivering when she hung up and faced him. He didn’t blame her. He’d be shaken himself if someone was holding a gun on him. Well, he had no choice about it.
Damn, but she had one sweet mouth, as appealing as those pure blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. Were the lashes real? he wondered.
“Do you have to stand so close?” she complained. Her voice was low and breathless, as if his nearness was robbing her of air. As if she was suddenly and unwillingly as aware of him as he was of her.
But his awareness of her on any sensual level was a mistake. He reminded himself that her blue eyes were not guileless and that her sweet mouth had lied to him. He stepped back away from her, forcing himself to be practical again.
“You keep any personal essentials at this houseboat? Some extra clothes for yourself, that kind of thing?”
“Yes.”
“Then we don’t need to waste time while you pack a bag.”
He was anxious to get out of here without understanding why. What was he running from? The police? Did the cops want him for something so bad that his mind, unable to deal with it, had shut down on him? The possibility worried him.
Or was it a much darker enemy that had his insides in knots? Someone he had to elude at all costs? An enemy for whom Eden Hawke might be working? Having her business card and the photograph of the boy, both of which had been a link that had brought him to her, didn’t make her a friend. He realized that now. Understood that she could be as treacherous as that generously endowed body of hers.
“Let’s go,” he ordered her gruffly, gesturing with the pistol in the direction of the parlor.
She preceded him from the office carrying her purse.
“Where’s the jacket I was wearing last night?”
“There,” she said, indicating a coatrack near the door.
“Get it.”
She snagged his jacket from the hook and a light coat for herself, draping them both over her free arm as she led the way through the kitchen to the back door that opened onto the alley.
“Wait,” he said, when she’d unlocked and opened the door.
He moved in front of her to check the alley in both directions. It was empty except for a dark green Toyota.
“Car keys,” he commanded.
She fished the keys out of her purse and passed them to him. He unlocked the Toyota, saw her settled behind the wheel, and rounded the sedan to install himself in the passenger seat. Only then did he return the keys to her.
“All right,” he said, buckling his belt, “let’s roll. And, Eden?”
“What now?” she asked, starting the engine.
“Don’t surprise me. Make sure it’s your houseboat that’s our destination. And if for any reason we get stopped, I’m your husband, remember. Your loving husband.”
She glared at him, but she offered no objection. Not when he reminded her of the consequences if she tried to trick him by patting the hard lump that was the pistol hidden beneath the jacket slung across his lap.
The houseboat, he thought as they swung out of the alley onto a side street. Only that wasn’t where he needed to go. It was somewhere far more important than that. This was what had driven him last night, the conviction it was urgent for him to reach something or someone. If he could remember just who or what it was…
WATER AND church steeples. They were what came first to Eden’s mind whenever she thought of historic Charleston.
The water was everywhere in the shapes of the broad harbor, countless inlets, tidal marshes and the Ashley and Cooper Rivers flowing on either side of the peninsula that embraced the original city. Clustered within its core, with their soaring spires, were Charleston’s famous churches, majestic Georgian structures outside whose doors basket makers offered their wares to passing tourists.
Radiating from this nucleus was a maze of lanes that boasted a wealth of traditional architecture with a strong West Indian influence. Narrow streets like Eden’s, where the air was scented with camellias and an exchange of Gullah could be heard by the strolling vendors from the sea islands.
It was a rich, wonderful culture, and Eden was never immune to it. Until this morning. She was far too angry to be aware of sights, sounds or smells as she navigated the Toyota through the Sunday traffic. Her current anger was directed not at her silent companion but at herself.
How could she have been so overconfident, so naive to totally misjudge this man? She was a private investigator. That meant she was supposed to be able to read people accurately, tell the good from the bad. She hadn’t. Not this time, not even when Tia had cautioned her against permitting her emotions to get in the way.
Nor had she been resourceful enough to manage any warnings for either Skip Davis or Tia. She had messed up all around and deserved to be angry with herself.
Trapped. Trapped with a man who plainly regarded her as his enemy. What now?
Stopped at a traffic light, she stole a glimpse at his profile. His features were rigid, uncompromising. And dangerous.
He turned his head and looked at her. Something tugged at her insides. She wanted to believe it was nothing but fear and was worried it might be more than that.
“The light’s green,” was all he said.
It’s not too late, she told herself as they proceeded through the intersection. You can start being the P.I. you’re supposed to be. Convince him you’re not his enemy. Your survival could depend on it.
“Will you let me explain now?” she asked him, making her voice as persuasively pleasant as she could.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“But—”
“I said no. Why should I believe you? Why should I believe anything you tell me? Just be quiet and let me think.”
It was no use. He was not going to listen to her. Not, anyway, until they reached the houseboat. But if there was any way to prevent it, she couldn’t let him take her there. The houseboat was isolated. She would be all alone with him in a lonely place. Anything could happen.
Help. She needed to seek help, but she had to be careful how she managed it. Trying something reckless, like alerting a passing police cruiser of her plight, was out
of the question. Not when he had that gun in his lap.
But her situation wasn’t entirely hopeless. She did have one promising means of rescue, providing she could make the opportunity to use it. Not yet, though. A glance at the fuel gauge told her she would have to wait a bit. Until then, she tried to forget the desperation of the man seated beside her, tried to remember instead that he was still a link to Nathanial.
Charleston was also a city of bridges, and they crossed one of its major spans over the Ashley River a few minutes later. Then, with the peninsula behind them, came the slow crawl through the urban sprawl of the modern city.
Reaching the river road, they traveled inland, following the winding Ashley River through a region of ancient live oak, groves of palmetto, and all the other less familiar vegetation of the lush low country. As the miles passed, Eden kept her eye on the fuel gauge.
Now, she thought.
“We need to stop for gas,” she informed her companion.
He leaned over to check the gauge for himself, breaking his long silence. “How far is it to the houseboat from here?”
“Far enough that we’d arrive on empty. Anyway, if you plan on us staying there long enough to eat, then we need a few essentials. Milk, bread, that kind of thing. We can get them, along with the gas, at a convenience store just up the road here.”
“All right,” he agreed.
There was a tricky, tense moment when they arrived at the convenience store and pulled up in front of a pump. He insisted on taking the keys from her again before either of them got out of the car, then challenged her when she started to open the back door on her side.
“What are you doing?”
“I want my coat. I’m cold.”
“Feels like summer to me.”
“It’s February, and I don’t care what the temperature is. I’m still cold. I imagine being scared has something to do with that,” she said sarcastically.
“Have it your way. Just hurry up.”
Eden breathed with relief and removed her coat from the back seat, where he had allowed her to place it before leaving Charleston. His own jacket was still with him. It hung over one of his arms, where it continued to hide the pistol under its folds. He stood beside the pump and watched her fill the gas tank after she slipped into her coat.