by Judi Lind
But she’d never forget the blurred figure hovering in the shadows.
A figure who could be anyone. Even this man who’d seemingly saved her from drowning. Could his apparent kindness cover a hidden agenda?
But all that was over now; she had to go forward. But no matter how often she told herself she was safe, cleated footprints of fear continued to scale her spine. And she couldn’t shake that ever-present sense of being followed. Watched. The horror of that night never retreated far from her consciousness. But was her unseen watcher real or imaginary? She couldn’t risk finding out.
“I want you to take me to my cabin,” she said slowly, hoping he wouldn’t hear the edge of fear in her voice.
“I told you, it’s all boarded up by now.”
Elisa turned and gratefully saw her bike nestled in the rear. “Stop and let me out. I’ll take my bicycle back.”
“The wind would blow you halfway to Hatteras,” he said with a dry laugh.
Her alarm rapidly building, she felt panic welling up inside her. “If you don’t turn around right now, I’m going to jump out.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll kill yourself.”
Maybe so, she acknowledged, but it might be better than whatever he was planning for her. She put her hand on the door handle. “I mean it. My death will be on your hands. It’s up to you, but on the count of three, I’m jumping. One…”
He set his jaw and continued driving.
“Two…”
Even in profile, Elisa could see his eyes narrowing in determination. She twisted the door handle, and the Jeep’s door swung open—almost pulling her out with its wake. “Three—”
“All right! Close the damned door, I’ll take you back to an empty cabin. Hell, for that matter, I’ll take your skinny rear end back to the beach and you can go sit on that rock until you’re swept into the Bermuda Triangle. If you’re so determined to kill yourself, pick your own method. Why should I care?”
She slammed the door.
He slowed down, and executed a U-turn. Glowering ferociously, he continued his harangue. “I nearly drowned trying to save your scrawny hide, and what thanks do I get? None. Not that I need your undying gratitude, but…Ah, what’s the use?”
Elisa clutched her blanket and turned away, staring out the open side. The biting rain was easier to bear than the accusation in his eyes.
She leaned back against the seat, waiting for his tirade to end. And somehow she knew his anger would soon taper off. After a few moments, his grip on the wheel eased. The color returned to his white knuckles. His fury was finally spent.
Her dark gaze raked over his profile again, itemizing and detailing every plane, every line. She might need to identify him for the authorities, she rationalized. But even after she’d committed a crystalline imprint of his face to her memory, she couldn’t seem to look away from him.
He certainly didn’t fit her stereotypical image of a skulking criminal. Actually, with the wind tousling his napelength chestnut hair, his two-day growth of beard and the crinkly sun lines at the edges of his eyes, he reminded her of a world-weary philosopher. A man who’d spent his life studying humanity and found it lacking.
He turned his head and caught her watching him. For just an instant, humor glimmered in his eyes, hiding the scowl he normally wore.
Chagrined at having been caught so blatantly staring at him, she whipped around and gazed out through the driving rain. Determined to forget the enigmatic man at her side, she concentrated on the weather. A hurricane was coming, he’d said. What did she know about them? The same scant basics that everyone who watched television knew. High winds. Rain. Floods.
Were they really in extreme danger, or had he been using the storm as a ruse to get her to accompany him?
But as the floating terror began to subside, and her usual common sense began to work its way to the forefront of her mind, Elisa found herself seriously doubting that this man could be her watcher. It wasn’t logical; that incident had happened hundreds of miles away. Besides, why would he have pulled her from the ocean if he meant to kill her?
But something about him had awakened her mindless fears and dormant memories.
She twisted her head and studied him surreptitiously, as if she could find the answer in his profile. Once more she found herself focusing on his expressions, his emotions. Did he really think she was skinny? She looked down at her body. It was tuned like a machine, for peak performance. Everyone in the company was slender—what did he know?
She swiped the rain from her eyes and scrutinized him more closely. Grudgingly she admired the way his hand held the steering wheel with a firm, sure grip. The way his tanned chest heaved with exertion as he expertly guided them around fallen branches, downed power lines.
Studying his face was like looking into a mirror, she thought with a start. His outside looked the way she felt inside. Lost, confused, exhausted. Only in his eyes, those dazzling emerald eyes, was there still a glimmer of light and laughter.
She was jerked from her musing by the Jeep’s brakes squealing on the wet pavement as they turned off the main road. Ahead was Windjammer Point. Out of the corner of her eye she could see their cabin, Sunny Haven, stolidly awaiting her return. Relief washed over her like a suddenly clear sky.
She was safe. Safe from the blinding rain and the shrieking wind. Safe from nerves that jangled like those downed power lines. Most of all, safe from this stranger—and her frightening response to him.
Quickly, before he even had time to set the parking brake, she jumped to the ground, still wrapped in the cocoon of his beach blanket.
“Oomph,” she groaned when she landed on her bad ankle. She reached down and rubbed the angry scar. Would she never remember to be more careful?
Before she could straighten up, he was beside her. “Here, let me help you.”
“No! I’m okay.” She yanked away from his touch and took a step toward the front door. Fire raced through her ankle and shot up her leg. She stopped, tears forming in her eyes.
She didn’t argue when he slipped an arm around her waist and draped her own forearm across his wide, bare shoulders. Leaning against him, she hopped up the walk.
“Why don’t you let me carry you?” he shouted over the roaring wind.
Stubbornly she shook her head.
When they reached the six steps leading to the bungalow’s wide front porch, she gripped the back of his neck, then hopped, one step at a time, until they reached the top.
Perspiration mixed with the sheets of rain sliding down her face. Her lower lip trembled with emotion. For so many years, ballet had been her entire life. It had been hard enough adjusting to the loss of her livelihood, and her continued nagging fear of something or someone unknown. But the most difficult change of all to accept was her weakened physical condition.
Elisa was a dancer. An athlete. She could run for miles without being winded. Stand for hours at the barre practicing intricate maneuvers. Fly across the stage in an elaborate ronde de jambe relevé. At least the person she used to be could do all those things. But she wouldn’t dance again. Wouldn’t see her name flashing on the marquee. Her life-her real life—was over.
Eager to escape her scattered memories, and the silent man at her side, she wiggled free and hobbled across the porch. She twisted the doorknob, which was pebbled with rust from the salt air, but the door wouldn’t open.
On the peaceful little island, they’d never felt the need to lock the cabin. Probably the change in air pressure had warped the door.
She pounded on the wooden panel with her fist.
His hand touched her arm.
His voice, at once soothing and concerned, shouted at her. “It’s locked! Come on, we have to…” Whatever suggestion he was going to offer was drowned by the storm’s fury.
She knocked again. And again. When there was no response, she moved around to the window. It was covered with a plywood panel. Moving back to the door, she hammered once more.
Only the howling wind answered.
Chapter Three
“Come on, let’s try the back!” Storm tugged at her hand until she relinquished her death grip on the doorknob.
Nodding mutely, she allowed him to half lead, half carry her around the rambling wooden structure. Fighting the ferocious wind, they hugged the building, holding up their hands as shields against the biting rain. Suddenly a strong gust of wind forced Elisa off the flagstone path. “Damn!”
Storm turned at the sound of her voice. Glancing down, he immediately saw her dilemma. She was ankle-deep in thick, oozing mud. Wrapped in his ratty old blanket, moisture glimmering in her ink-dark hair and a stricken expression on her face, she looked tiny, yielding, and heartbreakingly fragile.
Kneeling in the mud in front of her, he tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s-carry stance and eased her feet from the thick muck. He ignored her indignant cries and flailing fists, trotting around the building until they reached the relative calmness of the rear of the cabin.
Fortunately, the back door wasn’t locked. He propped the screen open with his foot while he carried her into the deserted kitchen.
“Put me down! I’m not a child, I can walk!”
“If you say so.” With an unceremonious plop, Storm deposited his unruly burden on a kitchen chair.
“Ouch! Don’t be so rough,” she grumbled, surreptitiously rubbing her backside.
“I’m so sorry, Your Highness. Next time I’ll just leave you sitting on your keister in the mud.”
“Sorry.” The glower on her face gave the lie to the apology.
“Yeah.”
“Look, Mr.—Good grief! I don’t even know your name.”
Storm rolled his eyes. “And after all we’ve meant to each other.”
“I said I was sorry. Get over it, will you?”
He grabbed a dishtowel from a rack next to the stove and stalked over to the sink. He’d had about all he wanted of the mystery woman. When he watched her riding her bike around the village, he’d dreamed up a number of romantic fantasies about her: She was hiding from the mob, or running from a broken love affair, or even wasting away from consumption. In all his daydreams, she’d been sweet, gentle, and unfailingly kind to animals and small children.
Reality, however, gave him a new perspective on the mystery woman. Based on what he’d seen so far, she was abrasive, touchy and oversensitive. And she ticked him off with every third word she uttered.
He paused while the water heated and reflected on how easily she pushed his buttons. Now that was surprising. For over two years, Storm hadn’t felt much of anything. Not anger, fear, love, kindness, or even lust. He’d been a shell of nonemotion, and he liked it that way.
But when he saw this sea nymph bobbing helplessly in the water, some peculiar emotion he’d thought long dead had resurfaced. He didn’t want to examine that errant emotion, but he did wonder why he was so irritated by her every word.
That was a crock.
He knew perfectly well why this woman annoyed him beyond reason. Obviously, she was unstable to a certain degree. She was also frightened—that much was painfully clear. Though he still possessed a medical licence, it didn’t take one to determine that she was confused, tormented and in desperate need of psychological help. And Storm needed to be needed.
He slapped his palm on the Formica counter. He was retired, dammit. Permanently. And he resented being hauled back into the profession he’d so gladly abandoned.
Now that the water was steaming, he doused the towel beneath the faucet. After wringing out the excess, he returned to the table and began wiping the mud from her bare legs and feet.
She pulled away. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. With my luck, you’ll slip and break the other leg. I don’t want to even imagine what that would do to your sunny disposition.”
“Oh.” Elisa kept quiet as he gently wiped the muck from her bare feet. Then he carefully palpated the bones in her injured ankle.
She looked up, pinning him with her curious gaze. “What are you, a doctor or something?”
“Retired,” was his offhand reply. Satisfied that her ankle had suffered no further injury, he returned to the double stainless-steel sink and washed out the dirty dishtowel.
As if caught off guard by his ministrations, Elisa asked meekly, “So what is your name?”
“Storm. Storm Delaney.”
“Storm? Odd, but I like it.”
“I’m glad to know Your Highness is pleased. And you?”
“Elisa. Elisa Montoya.”
His eyes widened. “The ballet star?”
She blinked in obvious surprise. “You mean you’ve heard of me? I didn’t think you were the type. I mean…”
He shot her a sideways glance. “You mean you didn’t think us good ol’ boys could be interested in anything that didn’t take place in a sports arena?”
She laughed in good-natured chagrin. “Either that or it would have to involve hunting, fishing, wrestling grizzlies, that kind of thing.”
“I’m surprised at you, Princess. Perpetuating a stereotype.” He wiped his hands on the pockets of his tightfitting, damp jeans.
Their repartee was interrupted when the outside door opened and a tall, leggy redhead almost fell into the room. She pushed the door closed and leaned against it. “Whew! That’s one hell of a storm out there. And where have you been, Elisa? I’ve been up and down the beach looking for you.”
“I’m sorry if you were worried, Heather, but I—”
“You didn’t have another…episode, did you? I mean, you were gone so long I was afraid you might’ve freaked out again.”
Storm cocked an appraising eyebrow at Heather’s rather crude words. Elisa didn’t seem bothered by her friend’s insensitivity, however. She smiled wanly and apologized again. “I really didn’t mean to worry you. I fell asleep and kind of got washed to sea.”
“What!”
Elisa nodded toward Storm. “Where I was handily rescued by Dr. Storm Delaney. Storm, my roomie, Heather Gellis.”
She pushed away from the door and sauntered across the room to cradle his extended hand in both of hers. “I guess we owe you a debt of gratitude, Dr. Delaney.” She continued to hold on to his hand, slowly rubbing her fingertip along the edge of his thumb.
He was trying to think of a way to delicately extricate his hand when Heather leaned forward until her full mouth was only inches from his. “There must be something I can do to repay you?”
Her blatant sexual innuendo was so unexpected, Storm felt a hot blush climb up his neck. He hadn’t blushed since he was twelve and Suzie Walters caught him staring down her blouse during science lab and doinked him with her workbook. Suzie hadn’t liked being sexual prey, and now Storm discovered he didn’t much care for the feeling, either.
He managed to free himself and walked around the table until he was standing behind Elisa’s chair. “No repayment necessary, Ms. Gellis. Right now, though, we need to get over to the hotel. It’s the safest building on the islandeven has a fully stocked storm cellar, if the hurricane comes ashore.”
Heather clasped her hands against her impressive bosom. “A hurricane—how exciting! So the sheriff was right?”
Storm nodded. “Most of the island’s already been evacuated to the mainland. I’m surprised the sheriff didn’t put you on the last ferry.”
Shoving her mass of red hair away from her face, Heather smiled coyly. “He did try to convince me to go.”
Elisa looked up, surprise evident in her dark eyes. “For heaven’s sake, why didn’t you?”
“Leave without knowing what had happened to you? Don’t be silly.” She patted Elisa’s blanket-wrapped shoulder. “What kind of friend would that be?”
Elisa turned and smiled up at Storm. “See why I couldn’t go to the hotel without Heather? She’s been like a…sister to me since…”
Her lower lip trembled, and Storm realized that her scant reserve of strengt
h was about to melt away. He glanced again at her ankle, and the angry red welt of recent surgery. Although he wasn’t an osteopath, he recognized the telltale surgical markings of a compound fracture. Probably a stainless-steel pin or two held her slender ankle together.
It was obvious that whatever trauma she’d recently sustained had taken its toll on her emotional equilibrium. Which might explain her lapse in character judgment, he thought with a covert glance at Heather. The two women seemed oddly discordant to have formed such a close bond.
He shrugged. Who understood women, anyway? Even after years of psychiatric training and experience, he felt he had only a nominal perception of the female psyche.
He did understand hurricanes, though. And this one was racing toward them, if the gusts of screaming wind were any indication. It was time to head for safety.
“Okay, ladies, listen up.” He glanced at his watch. “You’ve got exactly ten minutes to gather up whatever essentials you’ll need for the next three or four days.”
“Four days! Surely we won’t be stranded that long.” Heather tossed her wild red hair.
“Probably not,” he concurred. “But it’s always best to prepare for the worst scenario.”
“But—”
“Heather, don’t argue,” Elisa said, interrupting her, as she rose to her feet. “Dr. Delaney has kindly offered to take us to the hotel, and I know he still needs to secure his own place. So let’s get a move on and stop wasting his time.”
She drew the blanket closer around her shoulders and hurried out of the kitchen. Storm blinked at Elisa’s sudden surge of spirit. The forlorn waif was gone, replaced by a no-nonsense leader. Hmm. Seemed he’d underestimated the mystery woman. A mistake he wasn’t likely to make a second time.
TEN MINUTES LATER, Storm had just shut off the gas and was unplugging the remaining electrical appliances when the women returned to the kitchen. Elisa had exchanged her bikini for a well-worn sweat suit and a pair of Reeboks. She was certainly better outfitted for the weather, but he had grown kind of attached to that skimpy swimsuit.