“I feel sorry for you, you poor SOB,” Zach muttered, pouring himself another drink. “Even if the romantics will accuse you of having lost sight of your moral values.”
What Kane hadn’t counted on was Brett herself. In a matter of days she’d effortlessly become his only link with his conscience, his lifeline to whatever shards that were left of his soul. And against his will she was regenerating it. Him.
He needed to sever the link between them if he wanted to continue, if he wanted to fulfill his goal for revenge. It meant tumbling even faster into the salivating jaws of madness, but he wanted that, too. There was nothing left for him in this world. Jade and her puppet had stained everything for him through their twisted perversions and greed.
“Write it,” Zach ordered himself, settling his fingers over the keyboard. “After all, it’s only fiction. This is where fact and fantasy separates, remember?”
Kane waited for the elevator to bring her up to him. He watched her through the filigree cage as she released the latch and slid aside the door. The bloodred rose was in her hand. It was stark against her white—
Zach swore. He’d intended to put her in red, but his subconscious, allied by the memory of his provocative conversation with Willa only days ago, had made him type in her preference instead. Fantasy, he reminded himself again. His fantasy. Grimly, he backspaced five times and typed in his choice.
—wine-red lace dress. Cut off the shoulders and narrow, it gloved her sleek form, and made his body stir with almost forgotten cravings.
“You couldn’t stay away, could you?” The question was unnecessary, but he wanted her to say what he already knew, for the sake of hearing her voice one more time.
“If you’d wanted me to, then you shouldn’t have sent this.”
She stroked his cheek with the velvet petals. Oddly, they felt cold, like the finger of a corpse. Shivering, he tried to brush it away. A thorn caught his thumb.
When she noticed the droplet of blood, Brett slipped to her knees before him. “Let me,” she whispered, and pressed her mouth to the wound.
Like warm, wet silk, her tongue glided over and around his flesh, triggering something primal and shockingly frantic in him. Driven by it, he closed his fingers around a fistful of her gold-and-silver hair and drew her upward until he could lock his mouth to hers. She gasped in surprise and pain, and he thrust his tongue deep, stealing the sweetness he found there, driven…driven by the wild, too-long-denied emotions churning within him.
With his free hand he sought and kneaded her breast, lifted it. Then, yielding to another wave of feral passion, he ducked his head and opened his mouth over the generous curve swelling above the edge of lace.
She moaned and pressed herself to his searching mouth. Her willingness, eagerness only incited him.
“Closer,” he demanded, easily lifting her over his lap.
She moved like grace itself and straddled the despised chair…but most shocking, she didn’t seem repelled or disgusted. Humbled, grateful, he yielded to the joy that spawned a pleasure no passion ever had.
His touch reverential, he again traced the curves and hollows of her delectable body, this time drawing down lace, then suckling on first one, then the other taut breast he’d bared to his sight and his mouth. But no matter how much he tried to sate his unleashed hunger, it only made him want more of her. He wanted everything, release, the ecstasy only she could bring. To live a lifetime through a few moments in Brett’s arms. Afterward, he would be able to bear anything.
Intent on slipping the dress completely off her, claiming all she was offering, he raised his head. Only then did he see the blood, terrible and everywhere. Where had it come from? Not from his wound. It wasn’t possible.
Her mocking laughter filled him with dread. Looking up, he saw what he told himself wasn’t possible. Judith, covered in blood and barely draped in what was left of Willa’s dress.
“Did you think I’d let you have even one night with her, darling?” she taunted, wiping her bloodied hands on his shirt.
He tried to push her off him, but suddenly she was as strong as two men, her fingers digging sharply, painfully, into his flesh.
“Where is she?” he screamed. “What have you done with her? Willa!”
“Gone, sweetie. I gave her to him when I was through—”
Unnerved, Zach slammed the keyboard drawer into the desk and frantically pushed away from the computer. But he kept staring at the screen.
It was blank. He’d been typing, damn it, but somewhere along the way he must have…
How could it be blank?
How could everything become so twisted and confused, and sick.
Feeling like he’d been suckered by some hypnotist’s crystal, he hyperventilated, trying to get air into his lungs, and get out whatever had affected him. Every breath was an agony. Sweat poured off him as though he were a sieve, and the salt stung his eyes. But he didn’t care a bit about any of that. All he wanted to know was how this was possible.
The scene hadn’t gone as planned. As if suddenly possessed, something else had controlled the direction of his thoughts. He hadn’t even been aware of what was happening until he wrote—or thought he’d written—Judith’s name. Willa’s.
He raked his hands through his hair. He’d experienced bad moments before, and why not? As far as he was concerned, if a writer couldn’t spook himself, what good was he? But he’d never terrified himself. Never nauseated himself.
He needed air…and space. It was safe, it had to be. Another minute locked in this place and he would lose his mind completely.
Desperate, he wheeled himself from the room and down the hall. Frantic, he jerked the elevator-cage door open and rolled himself inside.
Once downstairs he paused at a foyer closet beneath the stairs to grope in the near-total darkness for a pair of canes. Then he headed for the back door, and beyond it, the garage.
Willa hadn’t been completely asleep. Between brooding over Starla’s behavior and stunned by Zach’s invitation, the sleep had eluded her. Not even a shower had helped. But she’d finally felt the welcome pull of slumber—only to be jarred awake by a metallic thump outside.
What was it? Was someone breaking into her van? Trying to steal it? No, it seemed to be coming more from the back. Could someone be trying to get into the house? During the past few days, she’d grown rather comfortable with the idea of having Zach awake all hours of the night. She figured the privacy-loving man was better than any watchdog.
Hoping he’d heard the noise, too, she jumped out of bed and went to the window. She knew better than to draw attention to herself by lifting the blinds. Shifting to the left side of the nearest window, she eased the blind back and snuck a peek. What she saw had her reeling.
Zach! He was walking!
The steps weren’t ballet graceful let alone sidewalk normal; in fact he moved like the sweet old men who collected in the mall’s center court to reminisce about better times and watch pretty girls. But thanks to the moonlight, she recognized the powerful build, and the Denton uniform of sleeveless sweatshirt and jeans. It was him, and he was doing what everyone, what she, thought was impossible.
Why had he kept this a secret? she wondered, as he shuffled toward the garage. And where was he going?
As if he felt her concentrated gaze, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. Willa knew the wisteria hid her fairly well, but she drew back for a moment just in case. When she looked again, he had the garage doors open.
Flabbergasted, she watched him back the dark blue or black van from the wood building and ease it down the driveway. The purr of the well-tuned engine also explained why he dared be this bold. She could barely hear it; if he’d been a few minutes later, she might never have been roused. It made her wonder how many times he’d done this since she’d moved in.
Willa sunk down to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees, shaken to her core. She needed a minute to take this in. What’s more, she truly meant to be h
appy for him—imagine, to be able to walk after what he’d been through!—but how did she keep from remembering his deceit? He’d lied to her. He’d let her—everyone for that matter—think he was trapped in his wheelchair. Why?
Willa frowned as she thought of something else. Did Ger Sacks know? He was Zach’s trainer, for heaven’s sake; how could Zach have kept it a secret? What about Judith? His ex-wife had said something about the van, but what? And what could this mean to Detective Pruitt and the investigation?
Had she been completely duped by the man? Was Judith right about him being an integral part of what had happened to Nancy Porter?
“No!” She rubbed at the goose bumps forming on her bare arms.
The mere possibility filled her with dread and hurt. It would mean she’d been more wrong about him than she’d ever been about anyone in her life. She couldn’t accept it. He’d held her life in his hands…kissed her. He’d asked to make love with her.
Did she now have to wonder if the invitation had been something else? What if she’d said yes? Would she be alive right now?
“I can’t let myself think that way.”
And yet something had made him leave the sanctuary of his own four walls.
Willa buried her face in her hands. No way could she go back to bed now. Too many questions were racing through her mind, tying her stomach in knots; and more knots formed when she thought about how long he might be gone. She would go crazy waiting. She had to know what was going on.
Her insides rebelled as she pushed herself to her feet. Her fingers trembled as she snatched up her short cobalt-blue kimono and slipped it over the white teddy she’d worn to bed. But even when she pushed into her sneakers, she didn’t let her nervousness affect her decision. Maybe this was reminiscent of the foolish, crazy, and most of all, dumb moves that had always turned her off of spooky movies. But she didn’t see that she had a great number of options.
Fumbling for the flashlight she kept in her night-table drawer, she hurried downstairs. After checking the front and side windows to make sure he had definitely gone, she let herself out the back.
The light he’d left on up in his office helped guide her way, as did the moon, and Willa sprinted across his driveway to the back of his house. Her heart thumped when she saw the camera, but she reminded herself that in all probability he hadn’t turned it on. Hoping she had the same luck with any alarms he might have set, she tested the doorknob, not surprised to find it locked.
“Okay, wise guy, now what?”
She would have to be an acrobat to reach the window beside the door, and although she thought it a reasonable guess, she didn’t find a key hidden under the door-mat, on top of the frame or secured beneath a rung of the wrought-iron railings.
She sighed because she’d reached the limit of her nerve. It would be one thing to take advantage of a discovered key, but she had to draw the line on breaking and entering. As it was, if her mother ever found out she’d been skulking around a neighbor’s house at night when a crazy person was on the loose, the sweet sheltered soul would have a stroke.
Wondering what Zach’s reaction would be if she stayed here and waited for him, Willa walked back down the ramp and looked up at the house. There was something to the direct approach; only, she couldn’t quite picture him inviting her in. And if he had been hiding more than his ability to walk…
The only other thing she could think to do was check all the first-floor windows. Everything looked tightly secured, but this was an old house. Maybe one of the locks was loose.
She started on the driveway side because it kept her closer to her place which, silly or not, made her feel more secure. By the time she was on the front porch, though, she’d regained some confidence and moved quickly. Only when she reached the far end of the house did she decide she’d had enough. As much as she loved the woods by day, at night just the thought of who or what might be lurking in there, or in the tall grass, gave her the creeps.
Then why did you bother coming out at all?
Another good point. She had to finish what she’d started, or be prepared to live with the doubts.
Less than a minute later, she realized how close she’d come to missing an incredible opportunity when she discovered the first window’s lock was completely disengaged.
This had to be a trap. Every old cliché raced through her mind as she shoved up the heavy glass and drew aside the brocade draperies to peer inside, and she agreed with them all: there were no free lunches…she was concerned about getting what she’d asked for…she believed that if you wanted to play, you had to pay. This was simply too bizarre. Zachary Denton forgetting to lock a window?
Willa tried to forget all that as she hoisted herself up and over the ledge. It proved harder than expected, thanks to her earlier workout that now had every muscle in her body protesting. Easing one leg between the drapes, she tested the area for any furniture. Finding nothing, she set her foot on the hardwood floor and crab walked her way inside.
The beam of her flashlight picked up dark paneling like that in the foyer, and equally dramatic paintings. Willa wished there was time to linger and study Zach’s collection, but settled for a brief, longing look at a huge one of a lighthouse under the siege of a stormy sea before checking out the rest of the room. This had to be the study. Between most of the paintings were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and all were jammed with everything from hardcovers to paperbacks to magazines. She could tell Zach had no need of Vilary’s public library; he’d amassed an inventory that put the town’s to shame.
She paused at the table in the center of the room, drawn by the marble chess set. She knew virtually nothing about the game, save the name of a few pieces and the general goal, but it looked to her as if Zach was in the middle of a contest. Pausing beside the table she considered the white queen who appeared dangerously threatened by the black queen along with—was that a bishop? Something about the challenging positions, the odds, made her reach up to her throat. Without understanding strategy, she knew the poor white queen was in trouble. Why wasn’t her king moving from behind his army to protect her?
Deep in concentration, the abrupt ringing of a phone somewhere behind her and out in the foyer—not to mention the hint of a few others upstairs—sent her lurching into the table. A few pieces tipped over. Several more wobbled precariously.
“Oh, damn…damn!” Horrified, she tried to steady what she could, but when they stopped teetering, she bit her lower lip at the damage. What on earth was she supposed to do? All three of the center pieces were on their sides. Had the black queen been two or three spaces ahead of the first line of combatants? Had her bishop been one space behind her or one over to her right? She had to choose carefully; Zach would be able to tell if she guessed incorrectly.
“You’d think he would own an answering machine,” she muttered under her breath as she reset the pieces.
Just when she thought the house would never be silent again, the ringing stopped, and although she was ready to call the whole thing off, she forced herself to head out to the foyer. She suspected that any answers about Zach would be found upstairs in his office and it would be wise to get moving.
The stairs creaked more than she remembered from last time, and she didn’t dare hold on to the banister on the way up. Her palms were sweating so badly, the police wouldn’t need to bother bringing in a fingerprinter to ID her. Not that Zach was apt to invite the police in here.
His office was another dark, book-packed room, but far messier than downstairs, which made Willa wonder for the first time who cleaned up for him? Of course, from the condition of the place she figured no one did. The wastebasket looked as if it had begun overflowing around Wednesday, and a near-empty bottle of Scotch would soon join the mess, sending a new wave of paper and wrappers scattering across the floor. The walls were punctured and scarred from all the pictures and maps that had been taped and tacked up over the years. She supposed he used the visuals as a reference and for inspiration. Right now
he seemed to be focusing on photos of chessboards. Then there was a mysterious photo involving leather and chains she didn’t want to look at too closely, and one of the universe featuring what she thought was a black hole. But what really caught her attention, was the magazine ad of the blond nude photographed through a window.
Willa turned to look out his window toward her place. There was no ignoring the parallels that came to mind. But had he chosen to hang a picture because it reminded him of her or, like the stalker, did he possess a predilection for blondes? Inevitably, she remembered Judith and decided this wasn’t the best time emotionally to dwell on that.
Turning her back on the scene, she circled the desk to peek at the computer screen. She was disappointed to find it blank, and she didn’t know enough about computers to try to retrieve his directory let alone look into any file. Just as well, she told herself; she wasn’t here to peek at his latest bestseller anyway. What she wanted were the notes from the stalker.
She flipped through the loose-leaf notebook on Zach’s desk, tempted to smile when she noticed his atrocious penmanship. But his doodles sobered her. He drew too many depressing symbols, hangman’s nooses, daggers and tombstones with RIP written on them.
Shaking her head, she shifted her focus to the desk drawers, difficult to open because they, too, were filled to overflowing. She sifted through inch after inch of receipts, catalogs, rubber bands, paper-clip chains, wrinkled and ripped magazine clippings of his reviews, crushed granola and chocolate bars, and assorted notebooks filled with more doodles and notes.
Lulled to near complacency, finding the handgun in the top drawer was a blow. It was silly, really, since not only A.J. had owned one, but so did her father. And to be fair, she could understand Zach wanting the protection. She just wished she hadn’t found it.
The important thing is that he hadn’t taken it with him.
Heartened by that thought, she continued her hunt. She learned a good deal about Zach from snooping. He didn’t smoke, but he had a weakness for junk food. He clearly drank too much, though she’d never noticed it in his voice or behavior. The unfilled prescriptions she found moments later in the back of the drawer suggested part of the reason was to avoid taking the pain pills, and wise or not, her heart went out to him again.
Watching for Willa Page 12