Had she gone along with his kiss, hoping to convince him to let her go to the party? But she couldn’t have known he intended to kiss her. He hadn’t known himself. For all his resolutions to keep his hands off her, he didn’t regret kissing her. He could still taste the sweetness of her mouth. Still hear the soft purr of longing at the back of her throat, feel the softness of her breasts and the hardness of her nipples against his chest.
In another moment, he would have had his hand under her shirt, and stopping himself would have been nearly impossible. Yet the longer he resisted touching her, the more irresistible the urge became.
The guilt he’d expected to feel from kissing a woman other than his first wife never materialized.
The automatic buffer that had protected him these past few years was gone. A weight he hadn’t known he’d been carrying lifted, leaving him lightheaded and oddly content.
Perhaps he was simply rationalizing his own response to Bianca. In truth, little had held his interest lately. His passion for business had gone down the tubes. Work had become tedious. Without a family, what was the point?
Sure, at his family’s urging, he’d forced himself to date. While the pleasures of scented skin and affable conversation were very well and good, the women had all seemed alike. Boring.
The only thing that had brought him the slightest pleasure was thinking about his plans for a family. The embryos he and his wife had created still existed after she was gone. Finally, he’d made the decision to hire a surrogate, and slowly he’d come out of his funk.
At least he’d thought he’d gone back to normal. But while his interest in business gradually rejuvenated, his interest in women had palled for good. Despite his brothers telling him he would find another woman to love, none of his dates aroused his interest.
Being around his happily married brothers and their wives made him realize how much he was missing. So he’d withdrawn from them, too.
But he hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d become to his empty house. How he’d immersed himself in loneliness. Until Bianca had shown up at his front door wearing black leather.
Her arrival had stunned him like a knockout punch. Her proximity alone made his head spin. She actually had him dizzy with her stories and his veins pumping with curiosity. He’d been fighting a bewildering torrent of emotions since the first moment he saw her. Maybe “emotion” was the wrong word. “Reaction” seemed less threatening. Exasperation, irritation, fury, resentment, grudging admiration when she stood up to him. All suffused with the worst case of lust he’d experienced in a very long time.
And despite her attempts to keep her distance, their response to each other was mutual. For some crazy reason, she wanted him. He hadn’t missed the breathless way she’d leaned into him during their kiss. Afterward, her mouth was moist and swollen from his, her pupils dilated in her flushed face, she’d suddenly looked as if he’d just rocked her safe little world.
He grinned. No, he certainly wasn’t bored.
But that didn’t mean he wanted a relationship.
He entered the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice while realizing there were all kinds of reasonable explanations for Bianca’s effect on his senses. For one thing, he hadn’t made love to another woman since his wife’s death. So all feelings aside, his physical response to Bianca was as natural as ice melting during a heat wave.
How she felt about him was another subject. After their argument over whether to attend the party, she was none too pleased with him. Yet, he could have sworn she’d taken as much pleasure in their kiss as he had. Sure, she’d stopped him with words about the party and Kendrick. But had she been thinking about her old boyfriend while he’d held her? Or had she simply grabbed the first excuse to break free of the passion that consumed her?
A scream, Bianca’s scream, had him bounding to his feet, sprinting across the kitchen and charging the stairs three at a time. Had the stalker found her? Raw nerves cramped his stomach. Was the stalker in the house? His heart pounded with dread and pulse-lancing fear.
As he raced up the stairs he told himself he should have checked every room when they’d first gotten home. Only he’d been so sure Kendrick was responsible. Could the horror writer have beaten them here and wormed his way past the security alarm before they’d arrived?
Upstairs, Bianca had turned on the light. She stood in the hallway, wearing a towel wrapped around her head, gripping the belt of his robe tight at her waist, her face three shades too pale. Water droplets trickled down her neck, and her skin was still damp and dewy from her shower as if she hadn’t taken time to dry herself.
She didn’t look injured, and a measure of his panic subsided, although adrenaline carried him up the steps with wary intensity. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“I laid out fresh underwear on the bed.” She gave a weak little laugh, but he didn’t miss the slight tremble of her shoulders.
He risked taking one of her icy hands in his to rub some warmth into her. She yanked him toward the guest room.
His gaze fanned over the bed and settled on snips of material, black slivers smaller than confetti. He inhaled a shaky breath. He assumed the material had once been her underwear.
Before he’d worked through the implications that the stalker had followed her to his home and been in her bedroom, she handed him a slip of paper. His attention riveted on the typed message: “I’ve been watching,” it read, and it was signed, “The Sentry.”
“This matches the one you found on your car windshield,” he guessed.
She nodded.
He took her into his arms. “We’re going to find this creep. You’re safe now.”
“No,” she whispered as she pointed into the room. “I’m not. Neither are the babies.” She placed both hands over her womb. “He’s found me again. We have to get out of here.”
His gaze focused on the sliced underwear, and icy fear shimmied down his spine. He could have lost Bianca and the babies. As much as he wanted to check the alarm and search the house for the intruder, he wouldn’t leave Bianca alone. And she was in no shape to go with him.
Bianca squeezed his hand so hard his fingers went numb. “He was in the bedroom while I took a shower.” Her voice broke. “I shut the bathroom door—but not all the way.”
Even if steamy, the clear glass shower stall wouldn’t have been protection enough from prying eyes. Her teeth chattered, and her jaw clenched as she made an obvious effort to regain her composure.
Her voice cracked. “He was watching me bathe while he sliced the panties. He’s sick.”
The man had invaded his home.
Watched her shower.
Sliced her clothes.
She trembled, and he rocked her against his chest and tucked her under his chin. “I’m sorry.”
He ached to tell her everything would be all right. But how could he when the stalker had actually been right here in the house?
Dark, sinister violence swirled in him. He’d failed to protect his wife from a riptide; he wouldn’t fail another woman. He curled his fingers into his palms, vowing to put her safety and the children’s first.
He massaged her back through the robe. “Did you see him?”
“No.” She jerked away. Pain and regret flashed through her eyes.
While he stood uncertain what to say to make this better, she pulled the duffel from the closet. “He’s likely long gone by now,” he tried to reassure her.
Opening and closing drawers, she removed her clothing and dumped items into the bag without bothering to fold, sort or organize. “He could be outside watching us right now, waiting to see what we do and where we go.” Her voice rose an octave with desperation. “We can’t run blindly. We can’t delay, either. I don’t know why he didn’t kill me. He certainly had the chance.”
Her word
s were cool, rational and practical, yet her voice shook, and her hands trembled so badly she couldn’t pick up the cosmetics from the bureau, opting instead to brush them into the duffel with her forearm. That she was shaken to her core, he didn’t doubt, and it cut him deep that he hadn’t protected her.
Even now should he be checking the house? The stalker could still be inside. But he didn’t dare leave her unguarded.
Fear, anger and desperation for her and the children surged in him like waves in a stormy sea. The stalker hadn’t hurt her but instead had frightened her half to death. “Maybe his intent isn’t to kill you.”
“Maybe he’s toying with me like a cat with a cornered mouse. I’m not sticking around to find out.” Her head jerked up, and the towel fell partway off her head, though not enough for him to ascertain her hair color. She grabbed a pair of jeans, a shirt and a brunette wig and went into the bathroom to change. She emerged, looking like another stranger. This time, she’d outlined her eyes with black. Her lashes looked longer than usual. A headband over her forehead kept the latest wig in place.
She’d gone to great lengths to alter her appearance. But neither her numerous disguises nor a change in jobs and living arrangements had prevented the stalker from finding her. They had to do better. He wasn’t sure what he could come up with that she hadn’t already tried herself.
“Perhaps we should go to the police,” he suggested, bracing himself for her protest.
“No.” A fierce burning sprang into her eyes. After placing toiletries into a side compartment, she zipped the duffel bag, adding emphasis to her words. “I told you I think the stalker might have a connection inside the police department. When we went to court, I had to give my name and address. You did, too. Maybe the stalker picked up my trail from police records.”
“Suppose you’re wrong? We could be avoiding the people that can help us the most.”
She shook her head, venting anger. “Even if I’m wrong, what could we tell them? That someone cut up my underwear?” She threw up her hands in frustration. “I can’t even give a description.”
Craig leaned against the doorjamb, hoping she wouldn’t belatedly realize the stalker might still be in the house and he’d stationed himself in the doorway to protect her. “Kendrick likely has connections at police departments. He was in town the day of the attack and has the knowledge to stalk you. Maybe the police could assign someone to watch him.”
Slinging the bag’s strap onto her shoulder, she looked over at him, her eyes now brown and too wise for a woman her age. “We can discuss this while you pack.”
He backed toward his room, seeing the merit in her suggestion. She followed, and he locked them inside. While she plopped onto his bed, he tossed articles of clothing into a suitcase.
“I told you,” she said, “Kendrick isn’t the stalker. I know him. He has a gentle soul.”
“Right.” He threw a swimsuit into the case. “His gentle soul suggested you get rid of my children.”
“I never said he wasn’t selfish.” She sighed, glanced at the clothes he’d packed and frowned. “Unless you’re planning on adding some shirts and slacks, you’re going to look mighty peculiar in only a swimsuit, tie and socks.”
“Very funny.” Craig raked his fingers through his hair and shot her a wry glance as he realized he was more shaken by the intrusion into his home than he’d realized. The stalker had been right there with her, and he hadn’t known. He strode to his closet and threw several shirts and slacks into his bag before removing his laptop from its case. “I’ll find us a place to stay.”
“Where are we going? Wherever we stay has to be someplace not easily traced to you. I can’t leave the area. Despite what Gran said, I have to stay close enough to look in on her every few days.”
Craig fired up his laptop. “If I can find his contact information, I can text a friend who’s on vacation in Europe. If he didn’t rent his house, we might stay there.”
“What about leaving here undetected?”
“Call a cab and have them meet us on the corner of Fifth and Morgan Street. We’ll sneak across the backyard.” He sensed her gaze on him while he typed.
“And then what?”
“Let me worry about that.”
“I don’t think so.”
He was talking, typing and listening, but her sharp tone grabbed his attention. “Huh?”
She folded her arms over her chest, lifted her head and stared him straight in the eye, every inch of her stiffened in protest. “If you think I came here to turn over the decision making to you so I didn’t have to worry my little head . . .”
Her words were a challenge, thrown down like a gauntlet, and he stepped toward her. “Hey, I didn’t say—”
“Just because my life is at stake—”
“Okay, okay. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just want to protect you and the babies. I’m sorry. Can we leave now, and I’ll explain on the way?”
She didn’t back down an inch, yet her tone softened. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, but I’m edgy, knowing he’s found me again.”
After Craig texted his friend, they hurried out the back door, through the yard and down a neighboring street. He had to fight his instinct to urge her to run, fearing the stress of the past hours combined with too much physical strain could have grave consequences for his babies.
BIANCA HAD PHONED for the cab, and it waited for them on the corner. Craig handed their luggage to the driver and directed him to take them to the bus station. Bianca nodded her approval. Many buses would leave every hour and make tracking them difficult. During the ride, he couldn’t help craning his neck to see if a car was following. He spied no one who seemed interested in them and took a measure of relief in the knowledge they seemed to have fled undetected.
Craig paid the taxi driver and hurried her into the bus terminal, surprised and grateful the place was so busy at ten o’clock at night. Yet under the bright fluorescent lights, he felt exposed. Bianca, wearing jeans and a casual blouse, fitted right into the crowd, but he was a little overdressed in a designer polo shirt and slacks. Still, there was nothing he could do to disguise himself now.
After taking a bus schedule from a counter display, he led Bianca to a bench in a less crowded area by a side door—just in case they needed to make a quick exit. Remembering she wanted to be consulted, he held the schedule between them. “It’s decision time. We have several choices.”
“Where’s your friend’s house?”
“Malibu.”
At her raised brows and pleased expression, Craig didn’t bother containing his grin. Even with the danger they faced, the thought of hiding out with Bianca in the posh neighborhood by the ocean had his blood thrumming. He’d always enjoyed the sand and the sun, the tang of salt on his skin and the roar of the surf in his ears.
Bianca restrained a whistle. With all the movie stars living around LA, homes along the Pacific were expensive, but Malibu was one of the more exclusive areas. She hadn’t realized Craig traveled in such elite circles. No doubt he found her blue-collar background and odd modes of dress unappealing.
She wondered what he’d thought to find his new wife roaring up his driveway in her black leather motorcycle outfit. She bit back a grin as she recalled the priceless expression on his face when she’d told that cop the leather was his idea.
Her urge to grin faded. Being on the run again was no picnic, but at least this time she wasn’t alone. She intended to do her part in keeping the babies safe. She owed Craig that much. Maybe, just maybe, she could make up in some small way for the secret she still kept from him.
Tucking a strand of the wig behind her ear, she peered at the schedule. “We could take the first bus heading up the coast to LA, head inland near Buena Park and pick up a rental car or completely change directions and go to Mission
Viejo.”
“Why not try Anaheim? We’ll stop at Logan Gate Mall. I’ll have someone at my company drop off a car for us.”
Her brows knitted. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Logan Gate Mall is open twenty-four hours a day. The place caters to Japanese tourists who haven’t adjusted to the time change after a red-eye flight, movie stars who party all night and regular Joes who work the night shift but want to shop before sleeping all day. Besides, my people are awake. We do a lot of business in the Far East, so the night shift is on.” Craig handed her money to purchase the bus tickets, then he used his cell phone to make arrangements for the car. He was still on the phone when she returned, so she dug into her pocket for a quarter and called Gran from a bank of pay phones. She hated to wake her up this late, but she didn’t know when she’d next have the opportunity to call.
The phone rang three times before someone picked up the receiver.
“Hello,” a man answered in a gravelly voice. Poor Gran. Uncle Bob must have returned, and she’d put him up for the night. With the nurse and Gran and her brother in the small apartment, they must be getting on one another’s nerves.
“Uncle Bob?”
“This is Harry Pibbs.” The man cleared his throat, and the rough tone was replaced by a friendlier one. “Is that you, Bianca? Where have you been?” What was Gran’s attorney and Bianca’s former boss doing in Gran’s apartment? What had happened to the nurse? She gripped the phone more tightly, her nerves screaming. “What’s wrong? Is Gran all right?”
“She’s fine. She caught the nurse pilfering a Wedgwood vase, the blue one she picked up on a trip to Jamaica that she keeps in the—”
“I know where she keeps the Wedgwood, Harry.” She couldn’t contain her worry. Here he was rattling on about a Wedgwood vase when her heart was beating madly. “What are you doing there?”
“I’m afraid that’s privileged attorney-client information.”
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