WHERE TIGERS PROWL

by Karin Story

  He dragged in a deep breath. She'd brought him into her home last night and had taken care of him. She deserved some sort of explanation. Too bad he didn't have one to give her. "I can't give you a concrete reason. All I can tell you is that right here," he put a fist against his stomach, "I know that they can't find me. I don't know why that is…" His voice faded away. How did he explain something to her that he didn't even understand himself. Hell, he could be an axe murderer for all he knew, and she would do well to turn him in.

  The cold ding of the doorbell caused them both to jump.

  Panic pressed against his chest. "Please. Tell them I'm gone."

  "Why should I trust you?" she whispered.

  He stared hard into her eyes, willing her to believe in him, but knowing he had no way to prove himself. "I've told you everything I know. Now the only person who can answer that question is you." He put his good hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Go get the door."

  "But—"

  The doorbell rang again.

  "Go. They're waiting. They may want to search the house. Don't impede them. You don't want to get in trouble."

  "Why would they want to search the house? They're probably just responding to the call I made last night."

  "I don't know why they would. I'm just saying that you should let them do what they want."

  "What about you?"

  "Don't worry about me. Go." He pushed her toward the bedroom door.

  She hesitated, giving him one last glance over her shoulder. Finally, she flipped on the flashlight and headed toward the stairs.

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  He didn't remember who he was?

  As she trudged down the stairs, Maris's mind churned.

  The human brain was a delicate instrument, easily short-circuited. There were a whole lot of things, including trauma, that could cause parts of it to function improperly. And God knew, the man had been through trauma. She also remembered, with a wince, the sickening thud his head had made when he hit the coffee table this morning.

  Still…why was he so adamant that the police couldn't know he was here?

  He'd indicated it was a gut feeling. She could relate to having gut feelings about things; that's how she usually lived her life. But what if he was faking a memory loss because he was hiding something?

  The heavy, insistent knocking on the door caused her to pick up her pace as she rounded the corner and entered the front hall. Surely the police were just checking up on her after her 911 call last night.

  When she opened the door, two men greeted her—one in a police uniform, the other in a dark, crumpled suit. Who would wear a suit on a night like this? She'd been expecting to see a medical technician. The fact that there wasn't one sent a warning bell clanging in her head.

  The man in the suit held a badge into the gleam of her flashlight. "Detective Murphy, ma'am. This is Officer Liebowitz. We wanted to check on you after your emergency call last night. You said you'd found an injured man?"

  "Yes. Uh…come on in." They'd sent a detective? This was not good. Not good at all. She held open the door for them and tried to light the way with her flashlight. "Sorry, the electricity's off."

  "No problem. The road's still covered with water, but the wind died down so we were able to get a chopper in the air." Murphy tucked his badge inside his suit coat.

  "Are you following up on all the 911 calls made during the storm?"

  "Yes, ma'am. In some fashion or another."

  Some fashion or another? Definitely not good.

  The detective stopped just inside the door and ran his hand along the strip of lighter-colored wood on the doorframe that Jerry had used earlier to repair his macho heroism. "What happened here? Having trouble with your door?"

  "No, no trouble. I, uh, locked myself out one night and the friend I was with got a little overzealous trying to help me get in." Calm, Rhodes. Stay calm.

  "Hmmm…I see," Murphy said slowly.

  Maris didn't want to continue talking in a dark hall with nothing but a flashlight. It gave her the creeps. She led the way into the living room where the fire gave off a decent amount of light, and offered the men seats. Both shook their heads and remained standing.

  Murphy got right down to business. "The man you called the dispatcher about last night…is he still here?"

  "No," her mouth said before she had time to think. Well, obviously she'd made her decision. Jerry was going to think she'd lost her mind, that she was getting too personally involved again. Damn, he was probably right. If the police weren't standing right here with her, she'd probably sigh.

  "Where is he?"

  "When I got off the phone last night from calling 911, he was gone. The back door was open." Her heart pounded like a cannon inside her chest.

  "I see." Murphy itched his bulbous nose with the back of his hand.

  Maris wondered, in a moment of angst, just what it was he could "see."

  "I don't want to startle you, Ms. Rhodes, but the man you found could be wanted for questioning in a police investigation. It's important we find him."

  Her heartbeat stopped dead, then resumed at an even more furious rate. "What kind of police investigation?"

  Murphy's dark little eyes drilled into her. "A murder investigation."

  "Murder? Out here on Abbott Point?" She tried to keep her voice casual, but her stomach twisted tight.

  "No, ma'am. Across the Sound. In Warstanton Beach, New York."

  "And tonight a body was discovered in Long Island Sound…he had been strangled and bludgeoned…" Oh, my God. She'd heard about it on the news last night. What if the man upstairs had had something to do with that? Was she harboring a murderer?

  A chill raced up her spine.

  But as always in a moment of crisis, her instincts took over. She remembered how the man had tried to protect her from Jerry this morning. And how he'd looked so defeated upstairs when he'd admitted to her that he couldn't remember who he was. Even when he'd grabbed her around the neck, she'd sensed his control. He could have hurt her if he'd wanted to, but he'd been careful not to.

  Then, when the police showed up, he could have held her hostage, but instead he'd put his hand on her shoulder, a warm, almost comforting grip, and told her to go to the door. He wanted her to keep his secret, but he hadn't forced her to do so. There was something about that action that spoke louder than any words could have.

  "Uh…Ms. Rhodes?"

  She realized Murphy was watching her closely, and that she hadn't answered him yet. Damn "I'm sorry. I was just thinking that I'd seen a report on the news last night, before the electricity went off, about the dead body that was found."

  "I see," he said again. "This man, had you ever seen him before last night?"

  "No, never."

  "The report said you found him in your backyard."

  "Yes, that's correct. I went out to latch the gate and he was near the porch." Best to stick to the truth as much as possible.

  Murphy pulled a penlight and a small spiral bound notebook out of his jacket pocket. "Your call last night said he had what appeared to be knife wounds, as well as a gunshot in his leg?"

  "Yes."

  "Any idea how he could have gotten those? Or how he came to be in your backyard?"

  "No. At the time, I speculated that maybe he'd been mugged and had wandered to my back porch looking for help."

  "Mm-hmm." He stuck the penlight between his teeth, scribbled in his little book, then pulled out the light again. "Did he speak to you about who he was? Tell you his name? Where he was from?"

  "No. He wasn't real coherent." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Liebowitz studying the photographs arranged on top of her mother's piano.

  "He didn't say anything at all?" Murphy asked in a voice that indicated he didn't believe her.

  "No, I'm sorry." She could feel a bead of sweat dripping down between her breasts. She shifted her feet and watched Liebowitz move to the book shelf, where he eyed her choice of
reading material and all the treasures she'd collected from her jaunts around the world with her dad.

  Murphy scribbled some more. Liebowitz continued to stay silent like a good watchdog. "Nice place you have here." Murphy motioned with his hand around the living room. "Old place."

  "It was my grandparents'. I inherited it from my grandmother when she passed away last year."

  Murphy scratched his nose again. "Mind if we have a look around? Just to make sure everything's secure. After all, you do live out here alone, don't you?"

  Her pulse pumped through her arteries like a train out of control. "Sure, be my guest," she answered in a steady voice.

  Detective Murphy motioned for Liebowitz to take the downstairs, while he moved toward the staircase, pulling a larger flashlight out of his pocket as he walked.

  She wanted to follow him—desperately wanted to follow him. In fact, it was one of the hardest things she'd ever done in her life to turn her back on both of them and go into the kitchen. But she knew that the worst possible thing she could do was be clingy with Murphy. His sharp little eyes probably didn't miss much.

  What in heaven's name was Detective Murphy going to find upstairs? There wasn't any place to hide except maybe under one of the beds or in one of the closets. Not much protection from Murphy's beady eyes.

  She automatically began to put the cookies she'd baked earlier into a plastic bag. Anything just to stay busy. Her ears, however, were tuned to the upstairs. She cringed at every creak of the floor. Sucked in a deep breath at every cough or sound Murphy made. Had heart failure every time a door slammed.

  Where was the stranger?

  By the time Murphy returned from the second floor, Liebowitz had made his round of the downstairs and the backyard, and was happily munching on one of her chocolate chip cookies. Trying to keep her heart rate in check, she offered one to Murphy.

  He refused and scowled at Liebowitz, obviously not liking the uniformed man to accept treats either. "If you should see the man again, ma'am, we'd appreciate it if you'd give the police a call."

  "Certainly, I'd be happy to."

  Liebowitz wolfed down the last bite of his cookie, looking like a guilty kid, and offered her an awkward smile.

  She showed the men out, then leaned against the door with a vocal gasp of relief. Her legs shook, making up for her firm control of them while the police were there. She heard the thud of the rotor blades and peeped out the window in time to see the chopper lift off the ground from the long gravel driveway. She watched until the helicopter disappeared into the night. Only then did she allow herself to go upstairs.

  Holding her breath, she crept down the hall and peered into her bedroom. Startled, she paused in the doorway and leaned against the frame to support herself. Everything in the room was perfect and tidy, and if it weren't for the fire burning in the fireplace, it would look as if no one had been in here all day. The down comforter was neatly pulled up, the pillows were properly fluffed and in place.

  Where was he?

  She tore across the room and yanked open the closet, then peered under the bed.

  "They're gone," she called, wishing she knew his name.

  She turned away to search the two guest rooms. No luck. The bathroom was empty; the linen closet, in perfect condition.

  Running to the window in the guest room facing the front yard, she pulled back the heavy, floor-length drapes. The window was shut and locked tight, but she pushed it up and peered out anyway. The rain had tapered off, but the bite of cold air tightened her lungs as she stared down at the ground below. If he'd jumped, he would have killed himself. Especially in the condition he was in right now. Still, she couldn't stop the nagging worry in the back of her mind that maybe he had jumped and tried to run for it. He'd been trying to leave earlier when she came upstairs. And he'd made it clear he didn't want the police to know he was here. Maybe he hadn't trusted her to keep his secret after all. That thought caused a pang of hurt somewhere deep down inside her.

  Lowering the window and relocking it, she made her last desperate guess.

  She kept both her bedroom windows cracked just a bit, even in the winter. Old houses were notorious for being miserably hot on the upper floor and staying unreasonably chilly downstairs. She skipped the window on the side of the house, and instead moved to the one next to the bed. It faced the backyard, and would have been the farthest from where the pilot had sat waiting in the chopper while the detective and his flunky were in the house.

  It was cracked, just like always. Maris pushed it up and peered out into the darkness. The nearly full moon teased in and out of the heavy clouds, giving off just enough light for her to see the features of the house. He had to be out here somewhere. He couldn't have survived a jump out the window.

  A narrow ledge ran just under the window. Actually, it was really more like a piece of molding. In his condition, could he have gone this way?

  Even if he'd managed to get out on the molding and make his way up to the roof, it was still several feet up from the ledge. He would have had to pull himself up, and he only had one usable hand. She didn't see how he possibly could have done it. But he wasn't in the house anywhere.

  Please let him be out here.

  She climbed out the window, balancing herself on the ledge, facing toward the house. If he was out here, time was of the essence. In his condition he wouldn't be able to tolerate the damp cold for long.

  Slowly, confidently, she edged her way along the side of the house until the eave was even with her head. When she stood on tiptoe, she could just peer over the edge of it. Gripping tightly with her fingers, she let the strength of her arms pull her up, wondering all the while how the man could possibly have done this with only one hand.

  But then, she knew from experience just how much strength came with the adrenaline boost of fear. She'd had her share of scares when she'd been mountain climbing, but somehow that deep-down strength always burst forth at the right time.

  The heady rush of endorphins kicked in now, giving her the euphoric high athletes lived for. Her arm muscles burned, the cold wind tore at her shirt and ate through her sweatpants. But it was an excellent feeling.

  As she pulled herself up over the edge of the roof, the moon peeked its way out from behind the clouds once more and she saw a teasing hint of denim jutting out from behind the chimney. An enormous breath of relief burst from her lungs. He was here. But God! How had the helicopter not spotted him when it flew away?

  She found the answer when she climbed the roof's incline. He'd wedged himself as close to the chimney as he could get, on the side away from the helicopter. Unless they'd flown all the way around the house, they wouldn't have been able to see him. But it had been a huge risk to take on his part, coming up here when he knew they'd arrived from the air.

  She dropped to her knees in front of him. He was wearing her oversized, black Yale sweatshirt with his jeans now. He'd obviously helped himself to it from her closet, and she was glad he had. His eyes were closed, and she swallowed back the bitter taste of fear that filled her mouth. Please let him be okay.

  As soon as she touched his cheek, his eyes opened.

  "Kind of early in the year to be playing Santa Claus, isn't it?" she remarked wryly, trying to hide the worry in her voice.

  "Yeah. The reindeer took off without me."

  He gave her a weak smile, the first she'd ever seen from him. It smoothed his serious, sharp-edges into a warm, hauntingly sexy face. God, she'd just thought he'd been intriguing before.

  At the sight of that smile and the humorous undertone in his tired voice, tenderness welled up inside her already mushy heart. She shook her head and wrapped her hand firmly around his good one. "Let's get back inside."

  "Are they gone?"

  "Yeah, they're gone."

  His gaze locked with hers for a long moment. "Thank you," he whispered, rubbing his fingertips along the back of her knuckles.

  A warm tingle spread through her hand where he touched her
. She swallowed a lump in her throat. "Come on, we need to get you inside and get you warm."

  Considering his weakened state, he managed to lower himself onto the ledge with some amount of grace, and remained mostly surefooted as they slowly made their way back to the window. It wasn't until she put her arms around him to help him in the window that she realized the true extent of what he'd put his body through tonight.

  His muscles shook from being overtaxed, and as soon as his feet safely touched the floor of her bedroom, his knees buckled. If she hadn't had hold of him, he would have fallen.

  Maris kept him on his feet, taking the bulk of his weight on her as she led him the couple of steps to her bed. Gently, she lowered him onto it, then collapsed next to him, her arms still around him.

  Their breathing came out in ragged gasps as they lay there, but slowly, she felt his body relax. When she'd caught her own breath, she rose and slammed the window shut, noticing it had started to drizzle again outside, then pulled her down comforter over him. God only knew what kind of damage he'd done to his barely healed body, but at the moment, it was more important to get him warm. He'd been sitting out there in the cold for a good forty-five minutes.

  He had his eyes closed and his breathing sounded regular, so she slipped downstairs to make sure the doors were locked. When she returned, she stoked up the fire, then sat on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

  "Mmmm," he sighed. "My mom used to do that when I was little."

  His eyelids suddenly popped open to meet her startled gaze.

  "Your mom?" Suspicion warred with compassion. "I thought you didn't remember anything?"

  His forehead creased in what appeared to be honest confusion. "I just had this vague memory of someone else doing that." He shook his head. "My…my mom. It had to be. Because I felt young…and safe."

  "Do you remember anything else about it?" she said softly. The vulnerable expression on his face when he said he felt young and safe tore at her heart and she found herself wanting to make everything all better for him.