by Cassie Miles
He saw her. His upper lip curled. His gun hand raised. Calmly, he took aim.
Kate froze. Terror overwhelmed her. The gun was in her hand. She needed to pull the trigger. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Time stood still. In that moment, she knew she was going to die.
Liam lashed out with his bat.
But the dark intruder had sensed the attack and sidestepped. He pivoted.
Liam charged and swung again.
She heard the clank of the aluminum bat striking the metal of the gun. There was a huffing noise and a pop as a bullet buried itself in her hardwood floor. The intruder retreated, heading back toward the kitchen.
Liam followed. Was he crazy? With a baseball bat, he was going up against a professional assassin. If anything happened to this wonderful, brave, idiotic man, she’d never forgive herself.
Belatedly, she raced down the staircase and ran toward the living room.
Liam caught her around the waist and pulled her against his chest. His back was to the wall. “I told you to stay upstairs.”
“I’m here now.”
“Damn it, Kate.”
They heard the back door crash open.
“Hurry,” she said. “He’s getting away.”
“Let him go,” Liam said.
“Why?”
“I’d guarantee that he’s a better shot than you or I. If it came to a showdown, he’d win.”
In response to the back door being open, her security alarm screeched. At the same time, police sirens echoed from the street. The dog next door set up a howl.
Only minutes ago, she’d been sleeping. Now, Kate stood in the midst of a nightmare. The discordant noises crashed against her eardrums and ricocheted inside her head. Her nerves were strung tight as piano wire; one more twist and she would surely snap.
Liam’s arms closed protectively around her, and she leaned her back against his chest.
“He’s gone,” Liam said. “You’re safe.”
“I should have shot him.” She shivered in his arms. Only the thin fabric of her nightshirt separated his flesh from hers. “He was standing right there. I missed my chance.”
“The important thing is that you’re all right.”
“And you.” With her left hand, she stroked the crisp hair on his forearm. For one brief instant, the connection between them was something more than friendship. She was utterly aware of their intimacy, and she wanted it to be more. She wanted him to be aware of her as a woman, as desirable.
Clearly, this wasn’t the right time. The police were banging at the front door, and the alarm continued to scream.
Liam gave her a squeeze, then released her. “You’ve got to turn off that damn alarm.”
She stumbled toward the keypad and plugged in the code as Liam went to answer the front door. For a moment, she was distracted by his near-naked body, perfectly proportioned from his shoulders to his heels. His back tapered to a lean torso and a tight butt. When he excused himself to go upstairs to put on clothes, she decided that it was a terrible shame to cover that body.
Two uniformed cops—a man and a woman—came toward her. Kate led them into the kitchen, where she found a month-old container of coffee and made a pot. Before it had brewed, Liam was back downstairs, fully clad.
Another patrol car arrived. More policemen were in her house. Though there were only five of them, they seemed like a crowd of huge, armed people in uniforms, all of whom were asking questions.
Yes, she told them, there were several other people who had keys to her house. Her mother, obviously. Her cleaning lady. Her ex-husband.
Yes, these people also knew the codes to the alarm system.
No, she didn’t recognize the intruder.
No, she didn’t know why an armed assassin would be after her. She only knew it was true. Someone wanted her dead.
The questions continued. The police roamed through her house, peering into corners. She didn’t want them here. She wanted to be left alone.
Liam slipped his arm around her waist. “That’s enough,” he told the cops. “I’m taking her upstairs to bed.”
Over their objections, he whisked her up the staircase and into her bedroom, where he closed the door.
Crossing the room, she turned on the bedside lamp. Compared to downstairs, it was quiet here—creating the impression of a peaceful, safe haven. But it was only an illusion, a pipe dream. “I won’t be able to sleep.”
“Have you got a suitcase?”
“Of course.”
“Throw some clothes in it. We’re getting out of here.”
She perched on the edge of her unmade bed. “Can we do that?”
He sat beside her and crossed his legs. His right ankle rested on his left knee. He was barefoot. His long, narrow foot was pale and perfect, like a da Vinci sketch of the human anatomy.
“This is what’s happening,” he said. “That guy who came into your house was a pro.”
She nodded agreement. “A hired killer.”
“And he didn’t break in. He had a key. And he knew the code to disarm the security system. That means he was sent by someone in your family.”
With a mental thud, the pieces fell into place. Her suspicions about her family were confirmed. And she couldn’t keep it a secret much longer. Detective Clauson would surely come to the same conclusion as Liam had.
The situation was about to get very uncomfortable.
Liam continued. “As long as they know where you are, it’s not safe.”
“Where will we go?”
“There’s a guy in town who owes me a favor from when I was with the D.A.’s office. He runs a little motel. Nothing fancy. But I figure that works to our advantage. Nobody will look for Kate Carradine, the RMS heiress, at a plain little mom-and-pop motel.”
She grabbed the jeans that belonged to his nephew and slipped into them. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t you need other clothes?”
She plucked at the baggy folds of her nightshirt. “Everything I own is two or three sizes too big.”
“Got a sweatshirt with a hood?”
“No prob.”
The inside of her walk-in closet clearly showed the two sides of her personality. An array of sweatshirts, team jerseys, ski clothes and hiking gear covered one wall. The other was business suits, respectable dresses and formal gowns in dry cleaner’s bags. She grabbed a hooded maroon sweatshirt and slipped her feet into running shoes.
Liam had followed her. He pulled out a clear plastic bag containing a long, scarlet sheath. “Pretty.”
“RMS sponsors a lot of charity events.” Kate didn’t know why she should feel defensive, but she did. “It’s my job to attend them.”
The weight of the red fabric slipped through his fin gers. “Something like this would look good with a diamond necklace.”
“But I don’t own one.”
“Your mother might let you wear hers. The one Peter made a copy of.” Liam crossed the small space, trapping her against her clothes. “You know something about that necklace, don’t you?”
Kate said nothing. She needed to tell him about the jewels and cash she’d found in the backpack. But not now. Not while the downstairs of her house swarmed with cops. “It’s complicated. My memories are all jumbled up.”
“No more secrets, Kate. It’s too dangerous.”
The attack by the professional assassin had made it clear to Liam that they needed to find answers. Fast. Whoever was after Kate wasn’t wasting time. The only way to keep her safe was to find the truth buried in her shaky memory.
Tension pinched her forehead. “I want to get away from here.”
He tried to make sense of her reluctance. “Are you protecting someone? Your mother?”
“My mother has nothing to do with this,” she snapped. “She’s been through enough. The death of my father nearly destroyed her.”
Kate walked out of the closet and went to the bedroom door. “Please, let’s get away from here so I can think.�
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AFTER CLAUSON ARRIVED, Liam negotiated a quick getaway. The police would stay at Kate’s house, working up the forensics in case the gloved intruder had left behind any clues—fibers, footprints, any trace of his identity.
Liam would take Kate to an undisclosed location, and he promised to stay in touch via cell phone. When they drove away from her house, dawn colored the sky with pink and yellow streaks. The weather report on the car radio promised another warm, clear August day along the front range.
Before they went to the motel, he drove to a diner on Colfax. Liam zipped into the parking lot and parked between two trucks. “You’ll like this place,” he promised. “Best Denver omelet in town.”
She hopped out of the car before he had a chance to open the door for her. “Is it safe? Should we just waltz into a restaurant?”
“This isn’t the kind of place where anybody would expect to find Kate Carradine.”
“I don’t know why you keep saying things like that. When you first saw me, I looked like Granny Clampett. I hadn’t bathed or washed my hair in a month. My pants were held up with twine.”
And he’d thought she was beautiful. Like a wood nymph, she was natural, unaffected. The essence of that feral woman who called herself Rain still beckoned to him.
But the woman who sat in the leatherette booth across from him was Kate Carradine. Her net worth was in the millions. In her closet, she had ball gowns with shoes dyed to match. He would never be a part of that world. He didn’t want to apply for membership in that country club.
After they both ordered the Denver omelet, her gaze focused on the television perched on a high stand in the corner of the diner. The sound was on low as the morning news team gave a traffic report. Kate watched, mesmerized. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen television. It’s kind of magical.”
He watched the flickering change of expressions across her face. Her tanned skin pulled tight across her high cheekbones. The dark hollows beneath her eyes showed a need for sleep and nourishment. It was obvious to him that she needed rest, and it wouldn’t do him any good to push her for answers. Not right at this moment. “I’ll never understand you, Kate.”
“Why?”
“You’re a walking contradiction. One minute, you’re excited by a television set. The next, you’re talking about the need to attend charity balls.”
“My family’s rich,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I’m a snob.”
“The family mansion threw me off. And your mother’s live-in cook. Your own weekly maid service. And wasn’t that a brand new Beemer I saw parked inside your garage?”
“It’s nice to have beautiful things. Even nicer when my money can make a difference.”
“How so?”
“As soon as this is over, I’m going to concentrate on that mountain camp for disadvantaged kids. With my real-life foraging experience, I can teach them an important lesson.”
Her eyes brightened. As she talked about her plans for the mountain camp, he saw the better side of Kate. “And what’s the most important lesson?”
“Living off the land,” she said. “You don’t need money. You don’t need cars or fancy clothes. Everything you need is right there in front of your eyes. The natural resources. Use what you have.”
He nodded, sharing her opinion. “I like the way you think.”
She gave him an almost carefree grin. “I might be an heiress, but I’m also a typical woman. A lot of those things Mickey said about me were true.”
“I don’t trust that little weasel,” Liam said. “I wasn’t really paying attention to what he said.”
“I’ll remind you. Pop psychology. Mickey said my judgment in men is lousy. And he was right on target. I always fall for the wrong guy. From Jonathan the jerk to Wayne the…”
“The missing?” he said.
Her blue eyes turned dark. He’d noticed that when she was upset or worried, her jaw tightened as though she were clenching her teeth. “If only I could remember. Why did I agree to go away with him for the weekend?”
“For kicks?”
“It’s possible, but he sounds like a total sleazeball—mistreating his secretary, demanding freebies from the RMS outlet. Maybe I was going out with him to tick off my mother.” She groaned. “God, that sounds like a spoiled little rich girl.”
“Another contradiction.”
As she gazed across the table at him, her eyebrow lifted. She seemed to be assessing him. “I’m kind of attracted to you, Liam. And you seem normal. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Like the dancing squirrels at my cabin,” he said, teasing. “Every full moon, they do a chorus line. ‘Puttin’ on the Ritz.’”
The look she gave him was uncertain. “Not really.”
“And then, there was the time I got abducted by aliens. Long-necked chameleon people who could shape-shift.”
“Stop it.”
“They’re here among us.” He looked directly at her and crossed his eyes. “George Washington was actually from planet Nebulus.”
“Idiot!”
It was good to see her laugh. He actually felt a warmth growing inside his chest. Heartwarming? Liam had always thought that was only a metaphor.
As quick as her chuckle, Kate’s hand flew to cover her mouth. Looking alarmed, she stared up at the corner television.
He turned his head. On the screen was her stepfather, Peter Rowe, standing outside the Carradine mansion and speaking into a microphone.
Liam rose and turned up the audio.
“…and so, her mother and I are very grateful,” Peter said. “Kate’s resting, but I’m sure she’ll be happy to give a statement when she’s able. Her health appears to be good, but we will have her examined by a doctor and a psychiatrist.”
“A shrink?” Kate said under her breath. “Does he think I’m crazy?”
As if responding to her question, Peter elaborated for the news reporter. “Kate isn’t emotionally disturbed, unless you count her legendary temper.” He put on his charming, Robert Wagner smile. “But she seems to be suffering from some sort of paranoid delusion.”
“Delusion?” she said angrily.
“However,” Peter said, “we’re certain that she’ll be fine. Her mother and I are happy to have our daughter home.”
The photograph of Kate with her pearl necklace flashed on the screen behind the news anchor, who concluded, “We will provide updates on the rescue of Kate Carradine, who was missing in the mountains for twenty-eight days.”
Liam adjusted the sound and returned to the table as the omelets arrived.
“This is just swell,” Kate hissed. “Peachy! My stepfather is telling the whole world that I’m a candidate for the loony bin.”
Liam took a bite of his omelet.
She continued. “A paranoid delusion? Were those thugs who shot up your plane a delusion? And the professional assassin last night?”
“Peter’s a jerk. You’re not the only one in your family with bad judgment about men.”
“You’re so right. Mom never should have married him.”
He nodded toward the fluffy eggs with ham, cheese and green peppers. “Eat before it gets cold.”
“Right.” She dug in with her fork. “I want to be at full strength when I strangle Peter Rowe.”
Chapter Nine
The more Kate thought about Peter Rowe, the angrier she got. Her temper simmered all the way through breakfast, during the drive along Colfax Avenue and after they had checked into the no-frills motel that belonged to Liam’s friend.
While Liam went to park his car behind the motel so it wouldn’t be seen, she stalked around the small room, which was simple and clean with a TV, a dresser and side-by-side double beds. It was definitely not the sort of five-star hotel where she usually stayed. Room service was probably the burger joint across the parking lot. But the lack of amenities had nothing to do with her anger.
Nothing about this situation was fair. She’d been attacked twice and
driven from her home. The final straw was being slandered by her stepfather on the morning news.
Pacing the worn path in the carpet, her outrage spiked higher. She knew, rationally, that tantrums didn’t solve anything. They were selfish, and she always felt guilty after a blowup. It was preferable to remain in control. But how?
Her fingers clenched around the top of the low wood chair in front of the desk, and she held on tight, wishing for the depth and clarity of purpose she’d had when she was Rain.
In the mountains, her priority had been clear: survival. Nothing else had mattered. In the mountains, when she’d felt rage, she’d expressed herself with a burst of wild, uncontrolled sobbing or a primal scream that sent the jays and sparrows soaring into the skies like darts.
Here, in civilization, those natural responses would surely get her committed to an insane asylum.
Liam returned to the room. When he glanced toward her, she saw a hint of antipathy; he was irritated with her mood. And wasn’t that just too damn bad!
Without a word, he pulled the drapes closed, nearly blocking out the morning light, and adjusted the air-conditioning, causing the fan to emit an annoying rattle. Then he turned down the garishly patterned bedspread and patted the pillow. “Here you go,” he said. “Time to catch up on your sleep.”
“I’m not tired,” she snapped.
“You got less than six hours last night,” he said.
“What are you? My mother?” She hated the sound of her own voice—cranky, annoyed and more than a little bitchy.
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond to her snit. His attitude remained calm. Excessively calm. “You’ve put your body through a lot in the past month. You need to rest, to prepare for the coming stress.”
“What stress?”
“When you go public, all hell will break loose.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should,” he said.
“Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do.” Though she didn’t want to lash out at him, the pressure was building. Her fingers tightened into fists. “I’m sick of hiding, Liam. I hate being so helpless, waiting around for the next attack. I want to do something. Anything! Isn’t there some kind of action we can take?”