by Adrianne Lee
“I--”
Craig’s face dipped toward hers, cutting off her words, her thoughts. And then he was feathering his lips over hers, tentatively, cautiously, as if he needed proof she was really alive, as if she were so fragile she'd break at his touch. Ripples of desire flowed through her and she felt herself being pressed back into the pillow with a tender passion that cried of restraint.
Craig pulled away. Breathless. His eyes steadied on hers. “I don't understand what's happening between us, but I think we need to explore it.”
“Now?” she asked breathlessly, all her reservations about this man forgotten in the need that flowed through her.
Oh, yes. He wanted to act on his need for her so badly he ached. But that wasn’t why he'd brought her here. She was too vulnerable, too fragile at the moment. “No. Not tonight.” He started to stand. “But soon.”
“Craig.” She caught his wrist. “No one can get in?”
“Don’t worry. The security is great. That’s why I brought you here.”
“The Purity?”
“It’s safe too…like it was in Fort Knox. Look, we’ll talk about all that tomorrow. When you're feeling better.”
“Okay.” She nodded, then winced in pain. “Oh, one more thing. The faux.” Even knowing she might be pushing his generosity over the limit, she asked, “You’ll let me make another…for Grandy?”
He sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
He split the next few hours between checking on Lyssa and considering her request to make another faux. By bringing the necklace to her grandmother's deathbed in Arizona, he’d meant to help, but as it turned out, he’d only put Lyssa between a rock and a hard spot.
He didn’t like the idea of another faux; the one she’d already made had served only to put the real Purity in jeopardy. On the other hand, he couldn’t get the picture out of his head of Idella DeHaviland, her ocean blue eyes aglow as they gazed at the necklace, her pain ravaged features softened as she thought of the happiness she expected the wedding necklace to bring to her granddaughter.
After one last check on Lyssa, he settled for the night on his living room sofa and closed his eyes, wishing he could come up with some solution that would satisfy them both.
Saturday
Lyssa was up before Craig. She made coffee, showered, and dressed in the same suit she’d worn yesterday, the teal fabric smudged with dirt and spattered with dark stains. Blood, most likely. But she looked better, felt stronger, and could speak like her old self.
Even the pain in her head and her ankle was tolerable. As Craig joined her in the kitchen, she said, “I have to be at the hotel in half an hour.”
He yawned and stretched. “I thought maybe you’d want to skip that.”
“I can’t. Oh, I could get out of the speech, but that’s not the point. If I run now, I’ll always be looking over my shoulder, always living in fear, always behind locked doors. Like a caged animal. I can’t let someone do that to me.”
“If we just knew who.”
“But we don’t.”
Craig washed down the lump in his throat with a swallow of coffee. He hadn’t mentioned his suspicions about David and Stacey to her, but David had left a message on his answering machine yesterday, and as soon as Lyssa was at the convention, Craig intended to get some answers from both his cousin and David Lundeen.
She touched his whisker-bristled cheek and smiled softly. “Don’t worry about me. I promise, I’ll take precautions.”
He didn’t like it, but if he were in her position he knew he’d carry on with his plans, too. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
Craig showered, shaved, and dressed in jeans and a white dress shirt. When he returned to the kitchen, Lyssa was standing where he’d left her, holding a cup of coffee and staring out at his view of the Space Needle.
She wheeled around, an anxious expression on her face. “I just called Grandy. Are you going to let me make another faux?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” He had made a decision, but he would tell her about it only after he’d ascertained the plan he had in mind was feasible and he’d worked out all the glitches. No sense getting her hopes up for nothing. “I’ll let you know later today. How is your grandmother?”
“She’s having a bad day.” Lyssa snapped, frustrated, angry at whoever had her faux. Grandy’s will to live was so fragile. The Purity had made her fight. The thought of attending Lyssa’s wedding had given her something to live for. But without the Purity…She pressed her lips together. At least Craig hadn’t said no. But even if he agreed, could she make another faux in time for Grandy?
Neither spoke on the drive to the Four Seasons. For all the reassurances she’d given Craig about not wanting to live in fear, Lyssa found herself glancing askance at every car, at every pedestrian. Craig went up to her room with her, made certain no one was hiding anywhere, then prepared to leave, kissing her gently. “What time will you be done today?”
“Around five, I think.”
“I’ll be here at six. If I get delayed, I’ll leave you a message at the front desk.”
By four-thirty Lyssa was at the front desk checking for messages. The clerk said, “You have one from a Mr. C. Rival. Came in about half an hour ago.”
Lyssa moved away from the counter and read the message. Lyssa. I've found the faux. Meet me at Windance. Take all precautions. Don't tell anyone. Make sure no one follows. Craig.
Her heart was pumping like a piston by the time she got to her room. Could it be? Could it really be? Would she have the faux to take home to Grandy tomorrow night? Hope was straining at the bit inside her. She read the note again. The words Take all precautions seemed to leap out at her. Was this message really from Craig? Lord, what should she do?
She called Craig’s condo and got the answering machine. Hanging up, she phoned his office, then Windance. Nothing. He must already be on his way. She dialed his car phone number. After three rings she got another answering machine. Anxious frustration tightened her fingers on the receiver. He was probably in the car, and the car was in an area unreachable by phone.
Maybe he’d call one of his machines. Decided, she left a message that she was on her way and to expect her at Windance around six-thirty or seven. She called Craig’s condo again and left the same message.
Twenty minutes later, she was climbing into a rental car, her blond hair hidden beneath a soft hat and her eyes behind large sunglasses. She paid particular attention to the rearview mirror. No one followed.
Traveling the North Shore Road alone gave Lyssa a few hesitations, but by dusk she arrived at Windance unscathed. The gate was open. Lights were on inside the house. Lyssa spotted Craig’s Lexus and breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God. Craig was here. By tomorrow night she’d be on a plane, headed home with the faux. Finally, something was going right.
She hurried up the porch. But when she knocked, he didn't answer. She tried the door. It was unlocked. “Craig?”
She stepped into the foyer and locked the door. “Craig!”
The scent of fresh coffee drew her into the kitchen. There, she found a note and a mug next to the coffee maker. Gone next door. Be back before you finish the cup. Smiling, Lyssa filled the mug, then carried it to the table, settled her coat over a chair, and started to sit.
The phone rang.
It startled her, and she realized she was not all that comfortable being alone in this house. She snatched up the receiver on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Lyssa, thank God!”
“Craig?”
“Are you all right?”
“Of course.”
“Why did you go to Windance?”
A shiver tracked her spine and Lyssa frowned. “Your message. You said you found the faux.”
“I didn’t send you any message.”
“What?” Cold fear flooded her stomach as Lyssa stared out the window at Craig's Lexus. “Where are you?”
“In Seattle. Someone stole my car.”
&nb
sp; CHAPTER TWELVE
“It’s here,” Lyssa whispered, terror gripping her so fiercely she felt as if she were strangling. “The Lexus is here.”
“Get out of there!” Craig shouted.
Lyssa dropped the receiver and ran to her coat, digging in the pocket for the key to her car. Footsteps. Coming from the living room. Panic shot through her. She spun toward the doorway leading to the foyer. Shadows fell across the walls. She couldn’t breathe.
The beach. It was her only hope. She wheeled around and sped out the kitchen door and across the deck. The slivered moon cast eerie pools of light on the dark waters of the canal. She ran for the sea wall stairs and stepped down. Icy water saturated her foot, her pant leg. The tide was in. She was trapped.
Footsteps sounded on the deck behind her. Lyssa pulled her foot from the water and whirled around.
Out of the shadows near the gaping door, a dark blur raced at her.
Shrieking, Lyssa reared back, lost her balance and landed hard on her fanny, knocking the wind from her.
The person was on her in an instant, clamping a gloved hand over her mouth and shoving her head toward the water. Terror roared through her veins, and Lyssa fought like a wild woman. But too much had happened to her in the past few days and within seconds, her strength was spent. She felt as weak as a baby. The attacker plunged her head under the water.
The pressure on Lyssa’s face felt like the weight of death. She flailed her fists impotently against her attacker’s arms. Her skull pounded with pain. Her lungs burned. Horrified, Lyssa realized she would soon give into her craving for breath.
And die.
Craig’s heart was in his throat. He abandoned his rental car before it came to a complete stop and sprinted through the gate at Windance. Had the police arrived too late? He ran up the drive, past patrol cars and one car he didn’t recognize--probably Lyssa’s rental. He took the porch steps two at a time and skidded into the foyer.
Voices sounded in the kitchen. Every breath hurt as he plunged head long into the room. Then he spotted her, sitting at the table, talking quietly to Officer Kaslow. Craig almost collapsed with relief. “Lyssa.”
“Craig?” Her head jerked up and she leaped from the chair and into his open arms. She clung to him as she had that first day, her arms wrapped around his waist, her head burrowed against his chest, her hair hung loose, smelling as if she’d recently showered. She trembled like a frightened bird, and he had an awful sense of deja vu. This nightmare was far from over.
“We figure our sirens scared him off,” Officer Kaslow said, rising from the table.
“It was a man, then?”
The police woman shrugged and left the room.
Lyssa peered up at him. “I don't know. I couldn't tell. It was dark and I…”
“It's all right. I understand.” Craig led her back to the table, and soon handed her a brandy-laced cup of coffee. He sat next to her and Lyssa grasped his hand, then apprized him of her ordeal.
Craig listened with impotent rage, only glancing away from her when his old friend Sergeant Bob Archer entered the room. Bob, a born-again-bachelor as he liked to call himself since his divorce five years earlier, was the handsomest man Craig knew. He wore his ash blond hair cropped close, favored a trim moustache and short sideburns, and sported a perpetual tan. They exchanged greetings.
Bob said, “We found the Lexus three doors up. But no trace of the perp. We’re doing a house by house.”
Craig pressed his lips in a flat line and nodded grimly.
Bob joined them at the table. “I don’t have the manpower to guard you two. I think you should get the hell out of here. Head back to Seattle.”
Lyssa’s eyes were wide with fear at the suggestion. “Will I be any safer there?”
At Bob's querulous expression, Craig filled him in on all that had been happening, including their theories about the Purity and the faux, and about the hit-and-run accident and their fear that Lyssa had been the actual target.
“Yeah, I’m not a believer in coincident.” Bob tilted his head toward Lyssa. “You have any theories as to why this person wants you dead?”
She glanced uneasily at Craig, then back at Bob. “Craig believes whoever it is thinks I’ve figured out their identity.”
Bob considered that a minute. “Yeah, but that doesn’t explain the first attack on you.”
He had a point, Craig realized, and it concurred with something he’d wondered about before. “Could there be two people after her?”
“Seems unlikely, but stranger things have happened. You have any likely suspects?”
Craig knew he should tell Bob about David and Stacey, but he wanted first to tell Lyssa. “Not really.”
“Well, if you think of someone let me know. I’m going to check my radio. See if we're making any progress.” He shoved back his chair and strode into the foyer.
“You do suspect someone,” Lyssa said the second Craig and she were alone. “Who?”
He watched her sip from the cup, could see that the brandy was taking the edge off her shock. “I have no proof, but where the faux and the Purity are concerned, I have to admit that you’re right about Stacey and David both having had the opportunity to take the necklaces from here, and to return the Purity to the office vault in Seattle. Plus David is the most likely Lundeen to have drawn up your agreement with Wayne. After all, he's done all of Rival’s business since his third year out of law school. And Stacey and he seem to have gotten close while I was in Europe. ‘Course they both deny it.”
“You actually accused them?” The coffee cup wobbled in her hand.
“Not accused, exactly. I spoke to David first. Then drove to Stacey’s. They both took exception to my questions and were both adamant they knew nothing of the faux. It was while I was at Stacey’s in West Seattle that the Lexus was stolen. David could have taken it. He knew I’d be at Stacey’s, and he knows where I keep a hide-a-key.”
Lyssa could see the torment that thinking along these lines caused him. She’d had a few unpleasant thoughts of her own. “What about my cousin Ginger?”
Craig frowned. “What about her?”
“She was awfully upset at Wayne’s funeral and if you were sincere about your uncle’s taste in women, she certainly fits the bill. Suppose she cozied up to Wayne, and he told her about the faux? There’s certainly no love lost between us. She could have had the opportunity to take the necklaces.” Not to mention motive galore, if she was still involved with Kevin. He was always embroiled in some get-rich-quick scheme or another.
A wayward thought struck Craig. “Or C.J. Temple.”
“C.J.?”
“Yesterday, she offered me a king’s ransom for the Purity.”
This news stunned Lyssa. Why hadn’t Teri told her? Maybe Teri wasn’t as good a friend as she’d once been. “Why would C.J. offer to buy the necklace, if she planned on stealing it?”
“To cast suspicion elsewhere?”
“I hate thinking someone I know is trying to kill me.” Lyssa took a long swallow of spiked coffee. But what if misplaced loyalty resulted in her death? She shuddered. Something Sergeant Archer had said came back to her. There had to be a reason for all the attacks on her, even the first one. Had she inadvertently seen something that somehow threatened the stalker? Did she know something she didn't know she knew, something the killer was afraid she would recall? She lifted her head, straightening. Of course. That had to be it.
She told Craig. “Now if I could figure out whatever it is…” She closed her eyes and racked her brain, but nothing popped to mind.
“You’ll remember.” Craig encouraged, tracing her cheek with his hand.
But would she live long enough to remember? Lyssa wondered, nuzzling his warm palm.
It was near eleven when Bob Archer returned. He shook his head at Craig's unasked question, and sighed. “You two look pretty done in. Mind if I make a suggestion?”
Craig said, “What?”
“I don’t think an
y of the local motels are going to inspire you with feelings of security, and there are a lot of back roads between here and I-5 that aren't particularly safe this time of night.” Bob combed his moustache with the edge of his index finger. “Why don’t you stay the night at my place. Always a bottle of wine and a couple of thawed steaks in the fridge. I’ll bunk with a lady friend in town and no one will be the wiser.”
Craig looked at Lyssa. “What do you think?”
She nodded. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
“You’re welcome. Meanwhile, I’m taking the Lexus into the lab for a thorough going over. Should be ready in the morning.”
They devised a plan to get them out of Windance as anonymously as possible, then as Lyssa carried her cup to the sink, Craig followed Bob into the foyer, exchanging house and car keys.
“I don't expect the car will yield much, a few fibers, maybe a hair if we’re lucky.”
Craig filled him in on their list of suspects.
Bob said, “I’ll call someone I know on the Seattle PD and pass this on to him. He’ll be in touch.”
“I owe you big time.”
“No problem.” Bob started past him, then stopped. “Oh incidentally--Cannibal is loose.”
Cloak and dagger had always sounded like fun. Reality left a lot to be desired, Lyssa reflected, stretched prone on the back seat of Bob Archer's unmarked Ford, wishing her heart would soothe its erratic beat. She gripped the handle of her purse, reassured by the gun inside it that Craig had insisted she borrow for protection.
As much as she disliked these precautions, she believed they were necessary. Believed that Officer Kaslow leaving in her car, dressed in her clothes, with the braid she favored brushed loose in a simulation of her hairstyle was necessary. The stalker could be anywhere. Cold sweat broke over her body.
Bob Archer would be the last to leave Windance. Half an hour from now, dressed like Craig, he would lock the gates and drive the Lexus into town to the police lab.