by Alice Sharpe
He asked if anyone had left a message for him at the front desk and got a negative.
“I was supposed to meet a woman here.” The clerk produced a lecherous smile that Cole ignored. “I can’t seem to find her. She’s a blonde with some blue in her hair. Anyone fitting that description catch your attention?”
“I have only been on duty a little while, sir,” the man said. “I have not seen her.”
Cole thought for a moment. “How about directions to the museum, then?”
“I’m afraid the museum has been closed for almost an hour.”
“Are there any displays of fabrics or garments in the museum?”
“Yes, sir, but as I said, it’s closed.”
“She has a way about her. Maybe she sweet-talked the docent into letting her stay a little longer.”
The man looked entirely unmoved by this suggestion. Cole got the terrible feeling he was grasping at straws, that Skylar had left the castle, either alone or with someone else. But where did that leave him? How could he drive away from here without at least making sure she wasn’t waiting for him somewhere?
“There is a gift shop on the lower floor,” the man added as an afterthought. “They have textiles, too, and these are for sale.”
“Is it still open?”
The man glanced at the clock. “For another twenty minutes.”
Cole followed directions to the lower level, which was filled with various shops and a café. Though it was well lit, the original rough stone walls and lingering aura of the place suggested it was entirely possible he might run into the Count of Monte Cristo at any moment.
The gift shop itself was bright and cheerful and empty except for a single clerk who appeared to be closing up shop. Hoping she spoke English, Cole asked her about Skylar. “About this tall,” he said, holding his hand right around his pectoral muscle. “Light hair, blue streak right about here.” With that, he touched his head behind his left ear.
“Oh, yes, I remember. Pretty lady. Very young?”
“That’s the one. When was she here?”
“Hours ago. Maybe three,” she said.
That was soon after he’d dropped her off at the hotel. His initial reaction of excitement faded.
The saleswoman wrinkled her middle-aged forehead as she added, “She buy blue coat, you know, with fur around face. Not real fur. You know.”
“I see. Well, thanks for your help.”
He searched each of the other businesses that were open with no luck, then climbed the stairs and exited the hotel, zipping his jacket against the sudden drop in temperature. On his way to the museum, he passed a pier that jutted out above the lake. He continued on, winding his way along the walk until it stopped at a locked door. The place was vaguely lit from within but was obviously empty.
It was still snowing but not as heavily as before, and in the better light, he could make out the imprint of footsteps besides his own on the walkway. He followed them back the way he’d come, unsure what to do next. His gut told him Skylar was still here somewhere, but he couldn’t make sense out of her not answering her phone. Unless she’d lost or broken it, she had to have it with her.
This time he stopped at the pier because that’s where the other footsteps stopped. For a second, he stood there staring toward the distant lights of Slovo, then he caught the glint of gold in the snow. Bending, he retrieved a gold tube that turned out to hold a stick of lipstick.
The color was a shade of red, but whether it was the shade Skylar wore or not, he couldn’t be certain. Heaven knows he’d stared at her lips enough today—you’d think he could remember. He was pretty sure the tube itself hadn’t been outside lying around for long, and he pocketed it.
Was the snow more disturbed here? Yes, but so what? Maybe kids had come out to play—who knew? He leaned down again to brush some of the newer snow aside, but other than the fact that the lower layer had been compressed, there was nothing to find.
He stood up and turned around, and as he did so, the theme song for Raiders of the Lost Ark drifted to his ears. It was so out of place here. Could that possibly be the ring tone for a cell phone, and if it was, could it possibly be hers?
Very unlikely. Why would she choose that music?
Where was it coming from? Grabbing the rail, he leaned over and looked toward the lake, then walked farther out on the pier, trying not to make too much noise lest he miss hearing it again. The lights didn’t reveal much down on the shore, but with the coming of the music once again, he was almost positive that’s where it came from.
Looking around, he found a set of stairs leading down. A chain closed them off for the winter. He ducked under the barrier and started down the stairs, straining to hear that familiar melody. He did, but by now he was having to feel his way along in the dark as not even ambient light could make its way down under the structure.
He kept waiting for another ring, but it didn’t come. The stairs ended abruptly in a deep drift of snow, and though he could see nothing that confirmed Skylar was down here, he called out her name, stopped moving and listened.
His eyes finally adjusted enough that gray became discernable from black. If she’d fallen off the pier somehow, it figured she would have landed near one of the perimeters. Of course, this could be the spot where her uncle’s underling caught up with her and she might have lost her phone in a struggle, which would mean Cole was searching for something the size of a pack of cigarettes and for no good reason.
“Skylar,” he called, about ready to go back to the hotel and demand the management organize a search party. He could beg, borrow or steal a flashlight and come back and search himself. Even as these thoughts ran through his head, he knew Luca Futura would catch wind very quickly of any trouble, and that would add yet another level of complication and danger.
First things first. Make sure she isn’t down here.
And that’s when he stepped down on something that felt different than snow and just about caused him to lose his footing. He scrambled back and felt around with his hands, standing again with a large piece of what felt like wool. He kept gathering it. A blanket, not wet, just semi-frozen. It didn’t feel as though it had been down here long enough to deteriorate.
Because of his injury, his days of falling to his knees were behind him, but he could kneel if he did it carefully, and he did that now, feeling with his hands, extending his reach until he stood up to stretch the damn left leg.
Wait...if she fell she probably survived because of the snow, but that would mean her body’s impact would make a hole of sorts. He should be looking for the darkest of the dark spots. He scanned the area closest to where he’d found the tube of lipstick up above, and that’s when he finally saw a depression.
Scrambling to the spot, the blanket left behind, he carefully knelt and waved a hand into what felt like a three-foot crater. His frozen fingertips brushed animal fur, and he recoiled for a second until he recalled the description of Skylar’s new coat. This time he plunged both hands into the hole and touched a human body.
He immediately began shoveling the snow aside, his hands so cold they lost feeling, his mind on one objective and one objective only. When it felt like he could pull her free, he caught her arms and dragged, and she slid up out of the hole onto the snow. He carefully lifted her torso into his arms, half afraid what revelations the next few seconds would bring.
Was she alive, or was he too late?
Chapter Twelve
Cole lay two fingers against Skylar’s icy throat. Her pulse vibrated beneath his pads, and he almost cried out in relief. Laying her limp body back on the snow, he stood up and bent over, leveraging her weight and picking her up in a fireman’s hold.
He did his best not to think of the last time he’d carried a human this way. That time it had been one of his fellow soldiers during the battle that had ended Cole’s military career. The soldier hadn’t made it; he’d been dead by the time Cole reached the relative safety of their bunker.
; Not this time. Skylar was alive, and if he had any say in the matter, she would stay alive. He retraced his steps, the light actually better when looking this direction, and slowly made his way back to the stairs. Where was everybody?
He had to get her to the hospital. He could get his car, but that would take time. He had no idea where the nearest hospital was. He should get the front desk to call an ambulance. Delay could cost Skylar dearly, and no matter the consequences, her life was all that mattered.
As he approached the patio outside the main building, she shifted her weight and cried out as if in pain or fear. He’d almost made it inside but stopped immediately and lowered her to a bench that was under an overhang. He sat down beside her, gathering her in his arms.
Terror filled her eyes until he said her name softly and took her freezing hands in his. Blood covered her cheek, ran into her hair, but as her gaze focused on his face and relief flooded her eyes, he knew she was at least thinking straight.
“What happened?” he asked, but she just shook her head, lips trembling, teeth chattering.
“I have a room here. That or the hospital?”
“Room,” she managed to mutter.
It took him one second to agree with her. The room was closer, which meant warmth was closer. He stood again and picked her up, this time in a more conventional manner. He carried her inside the hotel, glad the elevators were located on his side of the lobby and he wouldn’t have to parade across the open floor. He had the funny feeling there was a story besides an accidental fall, and he was anxious to get Skylar somewhere private and safe where he could defrost her and she could tell it to him.
His own news would have to wait.
Her phone went off again as the elevator rose to the third floor where they disembarked. It must be in one of her pockets. She made no move to answer it or check to see who was calling, nor did he.
“Can you stand?” he asked as they neared his door.
“Y-yes,” she said.
He helped her on her feet and kept an arm around her as he used the key card, then as she sagged, picked her up again and carried her inside. The click of the heavy door behind them came as a relief.
He set her down on the padded bench at the foot of the bed. “Take your clothes off, okay?” he said and waited until she nodded before turning up the thermostat, then heading into the bathroom to start the water. The tub was oversize and oval-shaped—a tub meant for two, and he had one jolting moment where he wished things were different.
He returned to find that she’d gone no further than slipping off one shoe. Kneeling in front of her, he removed the other shoe, then gently pulled her to her feet.
The snow had begun to melt, leaving her wet now and visibly shaken. He stripped off her new coat, which had kept her torso dry and probably saved her from hypothermia or worse. Her slacks came next, then her sweater and the blouse beneath until she was standing there in wispy nude underwear. After helping her sit again, he draped a comforter around her then went back into the bathroom and checked the temperature of the water, turned off the tap and returned to the main room.
She’d gotten back on her feet and slipped off her underwear. He stopped short. Up until that second, he’d done his best to regard her as a fellow soldier in trouble, done his best to look past the tantalizing curves and creamy flesh to the human being in need beneath the skin.
But seeing her standing there nude breached all his defenses. There was nowhere to hide from the lust the sight of her generated. Her beauty was fragile, graceful and wonderfully sensual, her body small but lush, breasts modest and perfect, waist tiny and hips curved in a way that jammed his heart in his throat.
She shook her head, and he finally realized she was still shivering and that at least some of that porcelain skin tone was due to the fact she was half frozen.
He put out a hand and she took it. He led her back into the bathroom and helped her into the tub where she sank beneath the water with a tremendous sigh, and he pretended he didn’t notice the way her breasts floated.
He grabbed a washcloth, and kneeling beside the tub, he dipped it in the water and used it to wash her face. The cut above her left brow wasn’t as bad as he’d feared nor were the other small abrasions, but it looked as though bruises were starting to form on her shoulders and arms. She turned wide eyes up to him. “Did you see...anyone...out there?”
“By the pier? No. What happened, Skylar? Did you fall or what?”
“Someone threw a blanket over me and attacked me,” she said, her voice suddenly stronger, but the words still coming slowly. “I rolled off the pier.” She tilted her left shoulder forward and twisted her head around as if trying to see something on her back. He took a look for her, again attempting to ignore her physical assets—in this case, the way her back tapered down to her waist and then flared into rounded buttocks below the water.
The sight of a huge bruise near her shoulder blade took off a little of the erotic edge.
“Why didn’t they come down after you? Why leave you still alive?”
“It was a warning. They said I should mind my own business.”
“Did you recognize the voice or see who it was?”
“No, no. It all happened so fast, and the kicks kept coming.”
“Try to put it aside for a minute while you warm up,” he coaxed. “Is there anything I can get you?”
“Something warm to drink,” she managed to say and then dipped her head beneath the surface. When she sputtered to the top, her wavy hair was plastered to her skull, water cascaded down her face, her fair hair lay across her shoulders. If she didn’t look like a mermaid, no one did and no one ever would.
“You’re gaping,” she said, reaching forward to turn the hot water back on. At least there was finally a trace of the old Skylar in her voice.
“You’re gorgeous and you’re naked,” he explained. “And I’m a man.” He touched the blue in her hair and realized for the first time it wasn’t real, it was a clip, pinned up under her thick tresses.
“Very clever,” he said, opening the clip and pulling the blue strands free. “I thought you dyed your hair a different color every night.”
“Now you know the truth.”
He set it aside. “If you’re sure you’re not going to pass out and drown, I’ll go order you something. Soup?”
“Soup would be wonderful,” she said, lying back in the big tub as steam filled the air around her.
He called housekeeping to come collect her clothes for laundering, then dialed room service. Skylar’s phone began ringing again as he hung up the hotel phone, and he quickly dug it out of her coat pocket. The screen identified the caller: Uncle Luca.
What would Luca Futura do if he knew Cole was in a room with his naked niece? How about if he knew someone had attacked her and that the odds were real good it was something Futura had said or done or condoned or whatever that had precipitated it? And what would he say if Cole announced his true last name, the one he hadn’t used since he was two years old?
“Was that my phone I heard?” she asked when he returned with news that fortification was on its way.
“Yeah. Your uncle tried to call you.”
“He’s been trying all day.”
“Maybe it’s your aunt—”
“I thought of that and called her, but nope, it’s just Uncle Luca wanting me to come home, and I’m not quite ready for that.”
“What’s with the Raiders of the Lost Ark music?”
A fleeting smile crossed her lips. “It’s my father’s favorite movie. I must have seen it a hundred times. The ring reminds me of him and of home.”
“And home reminds you of a time when you weren’t involved in murder and attacks.”
“I guess. My dad is a great guy. You’ll like him. I mean, you would if you ever met him. Not that you will or should or anything.”
“Skylar? Calm down. It’s okay. I hope I do meet your dad someday. But right now, we have some serious things to talk about.
”
She sat up, seemed to remember how undressed she was, and slipped lower in the tub. “Can it wait just a bit?”
“Absolutely. But I do think we should alert the hotel.”
“About what?”
“You getting attacked on their premises. The police might find something that reveals who did it.”
“And then they can call Uncle Luca and get him going on about how dangerous being around you is and upset my aunt in the process? I don’t think so.”
Face it, he was glad she’d reached this conclusion on her own. No way did he want to give Futura any clue that anything was wrong. He sat down on the edge of the tub, but it was hard to concentrate. When she’d been zombie-like she’d been exquisite and sexy but remote enough where he could separate his feelings for her from his physical reactions. Now that she was starting to move and look and sound like herself, those lines blurred.
“Cole?” she said.
He raised his eyes from her chest and felt like an idiot. “Er, yeah?”
“I see a robe on the back of the door I can use, but did you happen to find my carry-on?”
He’d already stood and moved off, now unable to find a safe place to rest his gaze. “Your carry-on? No. Oh, you mean where I found you?”
“No. On the pier.”
“It wasn’t up there. Just a tube of your lipstick. Maybe the bag fell with you.”
“I know it didn’t. I remember landing on it, but that was when I was still on top of the pier. Wait, you found a tube of lipstick?”
“Yeah.” He realized he was still wearing his jacket, and he reached into the pocket and brought out the gold tube.
“It’s not mine,” she said. He opened it and wound out the stick, not exactly sure why he did. “I wear a much lighter shade, and I didn’t bring it with me,” she added. “That’s not mine.”