Deadlier than the Male

by Sharon Sala

  “Forget it,” he said sharply. “I’ll find out what’s going on myself. But no matter what, you can count on one thing. My daughter’s absolutely not going to be in another teacher’s class tomorrow. I’ll pull her out of your school before I allow it.”

  “Shall I have the paperwork drawn up?” Mrs. Rhodes asked lightly.

  Too angry to answer without saying something he would likely regret later, Adam slammed down the receiver and grabbed the local phone book. Because one way or another, he was going to get answers.

  Sound drilled through Mara’s thoughts. A sound that had her reaching for her cell phone before its ringing registered. But rather than grabbing it to answer, her clumsy movement sent it spinning off the coffee table and landing out of reach.

  She meant to sit up. Meant to reach down to pick it up. But the first movement of her head slammed her with pain that started at her right eye and arced over her skull. Pain of a migraine so intense that bile rose to meet it. Why hadn’t her medicine worked this time?

  By going still, she managed to keep from vomiting, but it was a near thing, an exhausting effort. By that time the phone had stopped its ringing, the torturous noise that drilled into her head. She wished she could turn off the angry hiss of the rain, too, the snare-drum beat of drops driven like nails into her brain.

  Just sleep it off, she thought. Sleep would set this pain right. And on some level, as she drifted, she dared imagine it would solve her other problems, too.

  With Enrique assuring him that Mara’s car was parked where it belonged, Adam was sure she had to be there. Probably too upset to answer his call, or maybe she’d decided he had already caused her enough trouble.

  Sipping at his hot chocolate, he weighed that possibility against the idea that she might need him. Weighed his “tendency toward overprotectiveness,” which the family counselor had called an understandable reaction to Christine’s death, against the knowledge that Mara wasn’t his to care for.

  Not unless I make her mine, some misbegotten instinct whispered.

  And that was never going to happen if he let Jillian Rhodes and Barbara Fairmont run Mara out of Red Bluff. His mind made up, he went to tell Mrs. Somers he had to drive to town.

  “In this?” Worry in her gray eyes, she gestured toward the kitchen window. Though she was no more than fifteen years his senior, there were times when she acted much like the mother he had lost. “Why would you risk—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take the four-wheel drive,” he said, referring to the black Mercedes SUV parked beside his Jaguar in the garage. Christine had insisted they buy it for those few days each winter when ice glazed the steep roads.

  Since she’d mainly been the one to drive it, he’d barely touched it since her death. Mrs. Somers, too, avoided it, preferring her stalwart old Volvo.

  “Are you going to see Mrs. Rhodes?” Rebecca came into the room, her eyes red and swollen. Anxiety thinned her voice as she asked, “Are you going to make sure I stay in the right class?”

  Don’t promise, he warned himself, hating the thought that he might disappoint her. But the hope and faith in her expression broke down his defenses, and he hugged her tight against him, a wild plan forming in his mind. A plan that would keep Rebecca happy and Mara safe, if only he could talk her into it.

  “Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of everything,” he swore.

  By the time he reached town, the deluge had slackened enough that he didn’t even bother grabbing an umbrella as he pulled in to the driveway behind Mara’s car. Feeling anxious, since she hadn’t answered two more attempts to call her, he leaped out of the Mercedes and passed through the unlocked gate.

  With the generator humming outside and a light visible from within, he decided he’d guessed right about her being home. But she didn’t answer, no matter how hard he pounded at her door.

  “Mara!” he called. “I’m not leaving until we talk.”

  The only answer was a faint mewling. Looking around, he spotted Mara’s kitten shivering beneath a concrete bench. Sodden to the bone, the gray-and-white creature looked miserable as Adam bent to scoop him up.

  “How’d you get out, little fellow?” As fond as Mara was of the kitten, it seemed inconceivable that she would intentionally leave him out in such a storm. Adam zipped the sodden, half-frozen animal inside his jacket to warm him, then pounded at the door again.

  More worried than ever by the lack of a response, he headed for the front window and cupped his hands to look inside. It was tough seeing past the blinds, but he made out something…. Was that Mara’s foot there on the sofa, so still she might be…?

  No! Breath freezing, he rapped hard at the glass—sucking in a lungful of air when her foot twitched at the noise. Beyond that, neither his shouting nor his pounding moved her, alarming him enough to try the door. Finding it locked, he grabbed a fist-sized rock from the garden and smashed it through the window glass.

  As he reached through the hole to unlatch the window, he felt the kitten’s needle-sharp claws dig into his skin. Heedless of the pain—and the jagged glass that bit deep into his wrist—he raised the window, his blood splattering the sill as he climbed inside the guesthouse.

  In spite of the noise, Mara barely stirred. Kneeling by the sofa, Adam scanned her for injuries. Seeing none, he shook her, saying, “Mara, time to wake up.”

  She didn’t respond.

  His head started pounding, his vision swimming out of focus, as he pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1. After giving the address, he said, “Unconscious woman in the back, in the casita, and I’m…”

  He fumbled, dropping his phone to land not far from Mara’s….

  And suddenly, he knew. What had happened to her was happening to him, too. And it would kill them both if he didn’t get them out into the fresh air.

  With no time for finesse, he grabbed Mara and slung her over his shoulder. Though normally he would have had no problem carrying her light frame, he staggered, the door seeming to pull away from his approach.

  The room dimmed, and the horizon tilted. But the frightened kitten inside his jacket squirmed, its needle-sharp claws rousing Adam long enough to fling open the casita’s door and lurch through it into the misting rain.

  He barely made it another two steps before he went down hard on his knees, dropping Mara as he joined her in unconsciousness.

  Chapter 8

  B right, Mara realized dimly. Everything here was bright white.

  Must be dreaming, she thought. Dreaming she was floating inside a cloud.

  But in dreams, her mouth had never felt so dry, her stomach quite so queasy. And that noise…that wasn’t the rain—or the generator, either.

  Turning her head, she felt…something. Reaching up, she touched hard plastic banded to her face, and her eyes shot open.

  “Hang on.”

  The voice was male and familiar, though she couldn’t place it, and her vision refused to focus.

  “Don’t pull that off.” He caught her hand in his and squeezed it. “You need the oxygen.”

  Adam… Even more than his voice, his touch gave him away.

  “Oxygen?” Her question came out muffled, little more than a low moan.

  “Mara.” He squeezed her hand. “You could have—you nearly died in there.”

  His face came into focus, worry lining his forehead. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to her temple, a touch of warmth that somehow made her shiver.

  She didn’t understand. How had she gotten here, in what had to be a hospital, with the beeping monitor beside her, the hissing oxygen and monochromatic walls?

  “I have to tell the nurse you’re awake so she can page the doctor,” he said.

  Before she could respond, he rushed out, only to return a minute later. “Someone’ll be right in.”

  “What happened?” Mara asked.

  “Carbon monoxide from the generator. Small as your place is, it built up fast.”

  She tapped her own wrist, then looked pointe
dly at the bandages on his.

  “Oh, that? A little cut from breaking in to get you. It’s fine.”

  She saw a small adhesive bandage on his forehead, too, but when she pointed to it, he shook his head and added, “Forget me. How are you?” Confused, mostly, she thought. “How did you know…? I was at home, right?” She reached for the mask again.

  “Leave that alone. I understood you. I got a call from Mrs. Rhodes. When she said you wouldn’t be teaching—” He shook his head in disgust. “I didn’t get the details, but I knew I had to check on you. And when I found your kitten out in the rain…”

  “Jasper?” How could he have gotten outside? Unless Adam hadn’t been her first visitor that day?

  “I banged on the door, but you didn’t answer, and then I saw you lying on the sofa, so still I thought—” Distress passed like a black cloud behind his eyes. “That’s when I broke in. When I was nearly overcome myself, I figured it out.”

  Sickened, she could do no more than stare as the door opened to the nurse, who came over to check her vitals.

  The doctor appeared next, an older man with kind eyes who checked her neurological responses and blood oxygen level before removing her mask and shutting off the machines.

  “You’re one very lucky young woman to be alive, and with all your cognitive functions intact,” he said. “Carbon monoxide’s a silent killer. People don’t smell or feel it—they just lose consciousness and die.”

  Once the doctor left, Mara reached for the glass of water by her bedside, and Adam bent the straw and helped her drink.

  Gentle as he was with her, anger rumbled through his voice. “I sent my best men out to set up that generator. Guys I’d trust with my life. There’s no way they would’ve made an amateur mistake like accidentally venting the exhaust indoors.”

  The door swung open, and Sheriff Rayburn came in, his hat in hand and his expression grave. “Well somebody did,” he said, “and there was no ‘accidentally’ about it. Someone clearly wanted this young lady dead.”

  “Who?” Adam demanded.

  Rayburn gave him a sharp look. “We’re working round the clock on this one. So there’s no need to send in your damned private detectives to muck up my investigation.”

  “You do your job and find this person,” Adam warned him, “and I won’t have to do it for you.”

  “I’m not kidding, Adam.” As she sat beside him in the Mercedes later, Mara’s cheeks flamed and her green eyes narrowed. “This is a really bad idea.”

  He shook his head and took the turn leading to the outer rim of the mesa, where he had built his home. “Please, Mara, stop. I spoke with your brother, and we both agreed that staying in my guest quarters is the safest option.”

  “What is this, the Middle Ages? You honestly think you two can decide to lock me in your castle keep like some witless damsel?”

  He couldn’t help smiling at the picture she had painted. “It’s hardly a castle, and no one’s calling anybody witless. But the doctor said you needed to be watched for problems with your memory and your motor skills, and—”

  “I’m fine, and you know it. Or you ought to. You’ve been watching me like a hawk.”

  “You think that might have something to do with, oh, I don’t know, someone trying to murder you?” He reminded himself it wasn’t Mara who had angered him and added, “Trying to hurt you because of me. I know about the phone call, Mara. Finally dragged it out of that jackass, Rayburn. Why was it I had to hear it from him?”

  “What’s your problem with the sheriff, anyway?” she asked. “Every time the two of you are anywhere near each other, clouds of testosterone fill the air. Which, in the course of history, has killed more brain cells than carbon monoxide ever dreamed of.”

  Ignoring her attempt to distract him, Adam scowled. “Why didn’t you tell me what the caller said about Christine’s death?”

  Mara looked down at her folded hands. “I’m sorry. I just—I couldn’t. It was so…so shocking, so ugly, I thought it had to be a lie. I figured the caller was just some mean, spiteful sicko who takes pleasure from inflicting pain.”

  She didn’t mention the moment’s doubt of Adam she’d felt, doubt of the man who’d since risked his safety and even his life saving hers.

  He pulled to the side of the steep road, which overlooked a trio of rock formations that shone bloodred in the crisp sunshine. Keeping his gaze locked on them, he put the SUV in Park. “You wanted to protect me?”

  “I did,” she admitted. “And I thought I did the right thing, turning it over to the sheriff. Are you angry with me?”

  “No, of course not.” He reached for her hand, brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips to it. Throat tightening, he turned toward her. “But if there’s any chance this incident could be connected to my wife’s death, then Ronnie Rayburn’s the last person I’d trust to investigate.”

  “Why is that? Help me understand.”

  Adam told her all of it, from Christine’s depression, the buildup of dissatisfaction after they had moved here—a decision she’d initially supported—and her crushing guilt when she’d admitted she’d broken her marriage vows. “With Rayburn, I heard later, and he’s never once denied it.”

  “I’m so sorry. That can’t have been an easy thing to hear.”

  He shook his head, hating the memory, the pain that struck sledgehammer hard. “Water under the bridge now. But maybe you can understand why I hired my own investigators to look into her death. Something the sheriff took as a personal insult. Not to mention the fact that I organized a fundraiser for his political opponent. He lost in the primaries last spring, but I can tell you, Rayburn won’t forget I helped the guy. Not in a million years.”

  “Are you saying you think the sheriff has something to do with all this?”

  Adam heard her skepticism, her reluctance to believe the worst of others, in spite of how badly she’d been hurt by her own fiancé’s deception. But he was grateful she retained even a little of her innocence. Otherwise, she might suspect him of his wife’s death, as so many others still did.

  “I can’t be sure of anything,” he said, “except that I can’t stand the thought of losing another woman that I’ve come to care for. I won’t, Mara.”

  She leaned toward him, and when he bridged the distance, she kissed him. So softly and sweetly, the tension knotted in him eased.

  “You aren’t going to lose me.” She touched his cheek to assure him. “Not unless you hold on so tight I can’t breathe.”

  An image flashed through his mind, a raw vision of himself lying prone atop the bluff and holding Christine’s wrist to keep her from falling. He wished uselessly he really had been with her, that he had held on to both the woman and their troubled marriage with every ounce of his strength.

  “I can’t take the risk.” As he looked into Mara’s face, he fought to control the sharpness in his own voice. “We both know you can’t go back to your casita.”

  “Pippa’s offered me a sofa till I can resolve this situation with Mrs. Rhodes and look for a new place.”

  “A sofa? You’ll have a well-furnished private suite at my house, for as long as you need it.”

  “I appreciate the thought,” she said carefully, “but if I move in with you, in the middle of the school year, it’s going to look to everyone as if we’re—”

  “The guest suite is basically its own apartment inside the house,” he said. “It’s totally self-contained.”

  “You can’t seriously think that’s going to stop the Barbara Fairmonts of this town from talking, or the school board from—”

  “Forget them. Work for me, Mara, not the district. Teach the way you want to, the way that’s working so well for Rebecca. Because I’ll be damned if I’ll let anybody take away the best thing that’s happened to my daughter in…”

  Ever, he wanted to say, thinking of Christine’s pervasive sadness, her frequent tears and self-recrimination. Long before she’d died, she’d stopped being not only the
wife he yearned for but the mother Rebecca needed. The mother his sweet and blameless child deserved.

  “That’s very generous of you, Adam. But I’m a teacher, not some rich man’s governess. And it especially wouldn’t be appropriate when I—when both of us have feelings…”

  Her lips pursed, making him want to kiss her hard. To take her home and to bed, banishing her every objection.

  Which probably wouldn’t be the best way to convince her that he wasn’t making the offer out of lust or even a need to protect her, but for Rebecca’s sake. To prevent himself from touching her, he put the SUV into gear and pulled back onto the road.

  “We can keep this strictly professional,” he assured her.

  She smiled and shook her head. “No matter what Mrs. Rhodes says, I’m going to keep my job at Red Bluff. Rebecca can be in my class then. Now turn around, please, and take me to Pippa’s.”

  “At least come and say hello to Rebecca. She’s been terribly worried—”

  “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

  “I explained you had a small accident,” Adam said, “but it was hard to hide my worry from her.”

  “She’s very sensitive, very intuitive about others’ feelings. I’ve seen that in the classroom.”

  “She’s also been very diligent about taking care of Jasper.”

  “Thank you for that, Adam, and yes, I’ll go with you to thank her and let her see for herself that I’m okay. But don’t even think of using that little girl to maneuver me into staying. Because I’m absolutely, positively, not going to be the live-in help.”

  Minutes later, Mara sucked in a deep breath as they rounded a curve that revealed the grand home high above them, an adobe masterpiece whose color blended into the stark red bluffs around it. Save for the sharp-edged shadows and the sun’s gleam off the windows, her eye might have passed over it completely.

  But when the automatic gates slid open to allow them entrance, the mansion’s size and simple grandeur fully hit her. “You built this…” she breathed, understanding at once why he’d once told her that he remained an architect at heart, though the scope of his business had gone far beyond that.