Aurora didn't want to think about Coop or what he might have discovered about the stalker. Not tonight. Tonight she wanted only happy thoughts.
Duncan interrupted her thoughts. "I thought you liked doing the show."
"I do. I just thought that Marsha might have changed her mind."
"Marsha can be stubborn," Duncan went on.
The waiter brought their drinks and he toasted her. Warmth poured into her face. She was glad the restaurant was dark, or he might see the rosy glow that changed the tone of her dark brown skin.
Dinner was easy and satisfying. Aurora couldn't think of a time when she'd felt this carefree. Certainly not since she'd come to the studio. Before that she'd had the strain of maintaining her mother in the nursing home. Her sisters and brother were in no position to help her. Linda works in retail. She owns a small boutique in New Orleans. She was just getting on her feet when Hurricane Katrina struck. Claudia, the youngest, worked in Hawaii, living hand-to-mouth. Adrienne, the oldest, had three small children and was married to a high school science teacher. She couldn't afford to support their mother. Their brother, Eric, had only just decided to do something with his life. He'd bummed around doing one odd job after another until he was thirty, then decided to go to law school. He'd graduate next year. And Nora, Eric's twin—Nora the nomad, the family called her— was in Montana living on a ranch. She sent money regularly, but she was the only one. It was a small amount, not nearly enough. The others sent money when they could spare it, but Aurora bore the bulk of the financial burden.
Over dessert and coffee she and Duncan talked easily, and leaving the restaurant she felt like Cinderella getting into her gilded carriage and riding through the streets on her way back to her castle.
Then the fairy tale ended. As Duncan turned onto a deserted road leading back to the studio, something bumped the back of the small car.
"What the—" He looked into the rearview mirror. Behind them was a dark van. He couldn't see anyone inside. Fear kicked in and he knew instinctively that the driver was the same person who'd stalked Aurora. Pushing the accelerator, he moved the speed up a notch. The van kept pace with them.
Princeton streets were small and narrow. In the borough at this later hour, cars were parked on both sides of the street. In the township, trees, gullies, or landscape rocks dotted the curbless roadside. Beside him Aurora held her breath and said nothing. She looked over her shoulder constantly at the approaching van.
Duncan swung the car into a sharp right turn, barreling down an unknown alley. The van wasn't as agile. Duncan thought they'd lost it. He came out of the alley at high speed and missed the van by inches. He swerved the car. His position was no better than it had been. The van stood on his tail like a shadow, moving closer and closer. It bumped the car, making them pitch forward.
"Where are the cops?" Aurora asked.
Duncan knew he wasn't going to be able to count on cops. They were in this alone. The van pulled alongside them, inching closer and closer, trying to push the small car off the road. Duncan moved to the right. Ahead he saw a boulder coming up fast. Quickly he hit the brake.
The car left rubber on the dry road as friction created smoke, and an acrid odor penetrated the car. Duncan swung the car around and headed in the opposite direction.
Before the van could execute the same move he swung the car onto a nearby road. He'd hoped for another side road to take so the van wouldn't see the taillights when it made the same turn, but he was out of luck. The road went straight up. He kept ahead of the van, negotiating the sharp twists and turns that area of central Jersey was known for. Then he saw the blinking red light ahead.
The van gained on him. There was no way he could take the turn at the speed he was going. He'd kill them both. Sure that was the goal of the driver behind them, Duncan had to settle for sailing through the light. Trees lined the road on both sides, preventing him from seeing any oncoming traffic.
"Damn," he cursed. There was a car stopping at the light. The car started up. Duncan checked the mirror. The van was practically in his backseat. Aurora held onto the dash in front of her, a position that would surely break her arms if he slammed into the car in front of him.
He had to make a decision. The car was in the intersection. Bright lights flicked up in the direction behind the car. He knew another was approaching. He had no choice but to swerve to miss it. It was going to be tight— if they made it at all.
"Move your arms!" he shouted. At the same time, he pulled the steering wheel into a wide right turn. The oncoming car braked and swerved. He went into the embankment, across the field, and plowed through a wooden fence.
Aurora screamed.
Two air bags popped out and pushed them back. The car continued its slide across the field, plowing up dirt and creating parallel scars on the black earth. The abrupt stop against a tree made Duncan's head snap back against the headrest.
He tried to call Aurora. His voice was too low. Nothing came out. Looking at her, he wanted to know if she was all right. Pain clouded his eyes. She lay limply against the door. Muffled voices penetrated his brain, people screaming a long way off. In the mirror he saw the van. Then the darkness took him.
Chapter 9
"Hey, Buddy, what happened to all those lessons in defensive driving I taught you?"
Duncan lay on the hospital emergency room bed and tried to smile as Coop came through the curtain. He knew Coop was concerned, and this was as close to admitting it as the six-foot-seven cop would ever get.
"From what I'm told by the witnesses at the scene you did some pretty fancy work getting into that field. You want to give me your version?"
"What about Aurora?" Duncan asked. "Is she all right? She had her hands on the console. I was sure she'd break her arms."
"She's fine. A few cuts and bruises, nothing a little makeup can't fix. Her X-rays and lab tests had just come back and the doctors were releasing her. She had a big smile on her face when I saw her."
Just as Duncan began to wonder about his own tests the doctor came in and released him. "You can dress," he said. "You'll be sore for a few days but over-the-counter pain-killers should be sufficient. I suggest you see your own doctor for a full checkup."
With that he wrote something on a clipboard and left the curtained room. Coop went to find Aurora while Duncan found his pants.
Daylight was four hours away when they left the hospital in Coop's police car. Aurora sat quietly next to Duncan in the backseat. She looked tired and shaken. He slipped his arm around her and pulled her close. She didn't resist. Her head fell on his shoulder and he cradled her there for the drive back to the studio.
Aurora wanted out. She didn't like being chased down streets by some unknown van. She didn't like having to leave her home and have guards patrolling for her safety. She didn't like the fact that she'd agreed to this program and plunged herself into a danger that was too deep to get out of. The killer was fixated on her, now. Marsha Chambers sat comfortably safe in some unknown location while she, Aurora, stood at the forefront of danger.
She snuggled closer to Duncan. His arm tightened around her. For a moment she imagined they were lovers traveling through the streets in a horse drawn carriage. All too soon Coop pulled the car onto the compound, and the duty guard checked the car before passing them through. She wasn't in a horse drawn carriage and Duncan wasn't her lover. They were just two people who'd been caught up in someone's evil scheme.
And there was no getting out.
***
Aurora went on that afternoon. She did the recording with enough makeup to add another layer of skin to her face. It hid her bruises. Long sleeves covered the cuts on her arms. Duncan arranged the set so that she wouldn't have to move much. She was grateful for his thoughtfulness.
In the ensuing days nothing out of the ordinary occurred. The show fell into a routine. She attacked the subject of deadbeat Dads, had fun with "Whatever Happened To ..." stars from old television programs, and showcased some l
ocal talent trying to make it in today's entertainment world. She'd become used to the show—the cameras, the motion that went on around the set. Her injuries faded and she began to relax a little.
Cooper Dean grilled her on possible enemies. Suppose the man pursuing her wasn't looking for Marsha, but really had his sights on her? Who could it be? She'd made enemies in Social Services—pulling women away from Johns and pimps didn't always make her best friend material—but she had no reputation for being the master destroyer of the nightlife system. When she walked away no one missed her. Certainly no one who would wait three years to begin a campaign to kill her.
She was sure that he was after Marsha, and she had unknowingly, stepped in the line of fire. As Aurora was the official Marsha look-alike, she had to do something about her position.
Aurora tried hard to make the mansion less of a prison. She became used to the guard patrolling day and night. She'd had food brought to stock the refrigerator and cupboards. Most days she cooked her own meals although the studio was prepared to supply them or hire a cook. Aurora was used to living alone and taking care of her own needs, and she didn't want another personality in the house.
Today's taping had proved long and it was well past dark when Aurora arrived at the mansion. Removing the stage makeup and changing into a knee-length, gold sweater and stirrup pants, she was about to sit down to eat when someone knocked on the kitchen door. Looking up she saw Duncan and her heart pounded.
"That's not your dinner, is it?" he said, coming into the kitchen and seeing the tea and toast she'd set on the counter.
"Would you like to join me?" She didn't like heavy meals late at night. Duncan slipped out of his overcoat and jacket, then grabbed the loaf of bread from the counter and popped two slices in the toaster. Aurora sat down and watched him. They hadn't been alone since the accident. If he had any bruises, they were hidden. She had no physical problems, and had been allowed to resume all activities by the studio physician, Marvin Taylor. Aurora was glad of that. The next day’s show involved the national gymnastics team, and she was prepared to go through the motions with them—or at least try.
"How are you?" she asked, meaning his injuries. "Any lasting effects from the accident?"
He shook his head. "I saw Marv yesterday."
Aurora didn't need a doctor to tell her he was in good condition. He looked like a recruitment ad for the marines. Dress whites couldn't have made him look taller, leaner, or more delicious. Taking a sip of her tea, she let the electrical impulses that seemed to jump from him to her skim over her skin. She'd thought she'd get used to the sensation. She hadn't. It grew more pleasurable each time they were together.
"Did you hear from Coop?"
"Not a word. I did hear from Marsha."
Just a small quirk flipped in her stomach. Aurora's eyebrows rose. Duncan took the seat before her and poured his own cup of tea.
"Is she coming back?"
"Not yet. She didn't even mention the show." Aurora couldn't account for the elation that ran through her. "Isn't that a little unusual?" He shook his head. "With Marsha, you never know."
As October blended into November, the trees in the landscaped yard had lost most of their leaves. A few of them dotted the walkway. The majority had been swept away by the groundskeeper.
"So I get to keep this gig for one more week," she tried to joke.
Duncan looked at her over his mug. His face was serious. "You're doing a wonderful job," he said.
She bowed her head. "Thank you, kind sir."
"I mean that. You're a natural out there, and you get involved. Audiences like that. Tomorrow the first show airs. I'm sure the public will find you just as lovable—" He stopped mid-sentence. She wondered what he was about to say. "You can probably expect calls to come in offering you a test, or your own show."
Aurora laughed.
"I mean it," he said. "I just thought I'd warn you."
She didn't know what to say. He had to be wrong.
She did like doing the show. She couldn't deny that It was fun. The audience, the staff, and the guests— everyone made her job easy. Especially the man in front of her.
Aurora stood up. She didn't want him to see what was in her eyes. She didn't know what was there. She knew that whenever he looked at her she felt as if the world tilted a fraction.
Life had been simpler before she stopped reminding him of Marsha, Duncan thought. He couldn't remember when it had happened, maybe during one of the program recordings, maybe when he felt her hurt and vulnerable in his arms as they came back from the hospital. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment but it had happened and there was nothing he could do about it.
Duncan couldn't pull his gaze away from her. Wherever she moved he followed her. When had this happened to him? She stopped in front of him. Did she say something? He couldn't hear. Blood rushed through his ears, making a hollow sound like a seashell.
He didn't know the moment when it registered in his brain that he was going to kiss her, but it was there involuntarily, as if he couldn't go on breathing if he didn't follow his instinct. He stood up. She faced the living room, her gaze not focused on anything. She was probably thinking about what he'd said.
Walking up behind her, he circled her waist and pulled her back against him. She didn't resist, didn't protest. She was soft to his touch, warm and sweet-smelling.
He turned her around. His left arm circled her waist and his right slipped under her hair and drew her toward him.
She resisted slightly. He continued to close the small distance until his lips hovered above hers. He smelled the scent of her, the rush going straight to his head, tasted her sweet tea-breath, getting dizzy as if it were a powerful drug.
Then his mouth touched hers and all his pleasure senses leapt into overdrive. He buried his hand in her hair, pulling her closer, leaning into her as passion's magnum force overtook him.
He felt the exact moment when Aurora's resistance evaporated. She arched her back, curving into him, her arms moving up his back. Her head fell back. His mouth touched hers. Her lips parted. His tongue rushed inside as if an abyss had been created and needed filling. He was there to fill it, and he could think of nothing other than the intoxicating aura that surrounded him, that drove him on, over the edge of sanity and into the region where individuals abandon the physical and defy gravity as they float toward another plane, another dimension.
Her body was a boneless concoction, warm and oozing against his heated skin. Duncan thought nothing could rival this moment. He wanted her and wanted her now. Lowering his hands to her hips, he pulled her hard against the agonizing juncture of his legs. He nearly shouted at the pleasure that drove through him. He had to stop. If he didn't he'd rip her clothes off in this kitchen and give new meaning to the term gourmet meal.
"Rory," he groaned, forcing himself to push back. She made a sound in her throat that nearly undid him. "Rory," he called again. It came so naturally to his lips, like a special name that only a lover could understand. He wanted to keep calling her that. In the dark hours of the morning he wanted to turn to her and call her Rory.
"I didn't come here for this," he said. Her eyes focused on him. A second later she stepped back out of his arms. He let her go.
"Why did you come?"
He couldn't answer. He couldn't remember. She looked too sexy for him to think of anything other than his hands mussing her hair, his mouth abusing hers. He wanted her body against his, keeping it warm, holding off the November cold and sending him into crazy delight.
Aurora took a step forward, abandoning everything except the fact that she wanted him. She reached for the suspenders. Today's were black, stretchy with gold clasps. She didn't know why they fascinated her. They did. She'd wanted to touch them, touch him, ever since they'd first met. Now she was going to.
Her eyes remained on his. Her hands opened the clasps. Keeping them from snapping upward, she slid her hands over his shoulders and let the suspenders fall down his back. His
eyes seemed dark, a hot liquid that melted her in his gaze. She ran her hand over his chest and down to take both his hands. Hers were small inside his; long and slender matched with sure and confident. A soft smile curved her lips and she stepped back, tugging at him. He followed her up the curved staircase that led to the second floor and to the master suite with its huge bed. Anticipation made her mouth dry, sent a live wire dancing through her belly, and made her familiar with every nerve ending in her body. She could almost name them as they screamed at her.
Near the bed he stopped her and slid his arms around her small waist as slowly as clock hands moving toward the hour. As his arms met over the shock waves ricocheting inside her she leaned back. She heard his tortured groan. His mouth seared her neck until she was sure he'd branded her skin. She didn't want him to stop. Sensation washed over her like an oil fire—slick, fast, hot.
"Duncan," she called, her voice hoarse, lower than its normal pitch. "Duncan, this is driving me crazy."
"I've already passed crazy," he whispered, passion full-bodied in his sex-lined voice.
Quickly he turned her around, his mouth finding hers like a heat-seeking missile. The kiss burned her, sealing her mouth to his as his tongue swept inside, taking possession of her with a need that was deep with longing. Aurora had never felt so possessed, so willing to be possessed. Suddenly she wanted skin. She wanted to know the feel of his skin, merging, flowing, joining with hers. She wanted to see the color contrast, know the texture, learn her way around his body the way she'd learned editing, and the stage.
Groping for buttons, she loosened them, pushing each one through the holes until her fingers brushed the fire beneath the fabric. Could a man hold that much heat and not incinerate? Could she contain it, or would he liquefy her?
Duncan's fingers gathered the sweater until they reached the hem. His hands slipped under it, speaking the sweet, passionate language of arousal as they found her, caressed her, massaged the pliant flesh that understood the tongue. The dialect was not foreign. She'd learned it the moment he looked at her. His eyes had spoken it and she'd understood.
Mirror Image (Capitol Chronicles Book 4) Page 12