Born in Mystery

by Susan Kearney

  “I wish I could do more,” Fred told her. “Your grandmother seems lonely when you don’t visit as often.”

  Guilt pricked at her. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Hey, you just got married. Don’t worry. I look in on her often.”

  “Thanks, I don’t know what—”

  A hand landed on her shoulder, and she jumped. Kendrick stood beside her. “Can I cut in?”

  Fred looked at her, leaving the decision to her. She nodded and Kendrick took over. From across the dance floor, she could see Craig stiffen. Was he jealous?

  She wished.

  “So how is the movie going?” she asked in the awkward silence.

  “Fine. How’s married life?”

  “Fine.” Had the conversations between them always been so stilted?

  “You didn’t mention it at the bowling alley. How come?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know. It was just kind of new and special, and I wanted to keep it to myself,” she prevaricated, wishing for Gran to save her again.

  “Kind of like how I want to keep my story to myself until it’s written,” he muttered understandingly. He drew back and gave her a hard look. “You’ve never been secretive before. What’s going on?”

  Before she could answer, the room was plunged into darkness. The band stopped playing. Someone screamed. There were several nervous titters.

  “Damn,” Kendrick swore. “Lightning must have knocked out the power. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

  Bianca didn’t move. She didn’t want to be alone in the darkness. Breathing deeply and telling herself nothing bad could happen in a room full of people, she tried to calm her jittery nerves.

  A hand clamped over her mouth. The scarf around her neck tightened.

  Oh, God.

  The stalker . . .

  He’d found her.

  Terror shot strength into her limbs. A harsh, rasping sob escaped her lips. She twisted, digging her elbow behind her, but striking only air. She raised her hands to try to free the constriction around her throat. The scarf drew tighter, yanking her off balance and against her attacker.

  Her eyes teared. Her lungs burned like a white hot fire.

  A husky voice whispered, “Get rid of him. Get rid of all of them.”

  Chapter Eight

  THE INSTANT THE lights flickered on, Craig searched for Bianca amid the elegant crowd. Thinking of her, worrying about her safety, had become a habit. Apparently a necessary one. He glimpsed her across the room, bent over and coughing, then a crowd of onlookers closed in around her, cutting her off from his sight.

  What was wrong? Every nerve in his body suddenly crackled with impatience.

  “Out of my way.” He shouldered past groups of gawkers, keeping Bianca in sight. At first, she appeared to be choking. He prayed a sip of soda had gone down the wrong pipe and that she’d straighten and signal that she’d recovered.

  When she didn’t, sweat broke out on his brow and trickled down his cheek. He wanted to shout, knock over people to reach her.

  Keep cool. She’ll be all right. She has to be all right.

  The murmuring crowd parted to let him through, and as he neared, the painful, hacking gasps Bianca emitted grew worse. She curled her hands into claws of pain, and her agony sliced his heart.

  God, no. Please don’t let her be poisoned. Don’t let her die.

  He wouldn’t fail another woman. Never again.

  Clearly on the verge of collapse, Bianca swayed on her feet. Finally, he reached her side. Horrified by her raspy fight for air, he scooped her into his arms. With large, purposeful strides, he forced the crowd to scatter from his path.

  This time, he’d make it to the hospital. This time, he wouldn’t be too late.

  Glancing down, he noted the chalk-white color of her face, sweat beading on her brow, her clammy hand clutching his neck. Her whole body spasmed with each breath and unnerved him.

  His heart pumped panic into his chest. Afraid there might not be time to reach the hospital, he searched the crowd for help, spied Harry by the front door and ordered, “Call 911.”

  Bianca shook her head violently. Her voice was a mere croak.

  “What is it?” He lowered his ear near her lips. “Tell me again.”

  Bianca lifted her head. “Home.”

  As if the one word had taken all her effort, she fell back limp in his arms. At least she’d ceased the awful wheezing. With each ragged breath, color slowly returned to her ashen cheeks and lips. Her auburn wig was mussed, her eyes huge and frightened. Her coughing had stopped. So had the raspy sound that had previously accompanied each lungful of air.

  She was going to be okay.

  She hadn’t been poisoned.

  She was recovering.

  So were the babies.

  His panic slowly subsided, the tension easing from his neck and shoulders. That his first thoughts had been for Bianca and not the babies no longer surprised him. The babies, as much as he loved them, weren’t as tangible as the woman whose perfume taunted his senses, whose skin felt softer than cashmere, whose vivid green eyes flashed a silent message he wished he could read without her straining her vocal cords.

  “Water,” she whispered.

  “No problem.” He set her in a plush chair by the entryway, motioned a waiter over and asked for a glass of ice water. Returning to her side, Craig held the drink to her lips. “Just sip.”

  Harry offered his cell phone to Craig. “I dialed 911 and gave our address. Emergency Medical Services needs additional information.”

  Bianca took the glass from Craig, straightened in her seat and gestured for him to give her the phone.

  Her scarf was askew. Angry red marks stood out against the whiteness of her throat, and the shock of what had almost happened sickened him. Damn it to hell! Someone had tried to strangle her.

  Harry and Craig exchanged long glances over her head. The concern in her former boss’s eyes could have been faked, but Craig didn’t think so. While Craig hesitated a split instant, she grabbed the phone. And Harry rejoined his guests, ushering them back into the main room.

  Visibly mustering her strength, she spoke almost normally, albeit with a husky catch, into the receiver. “I’m fine. I choked.”

  Why was she misleading the emergency operator? The marks on her neck indicated an appetizer hadn’t stuck in her windpipe. When the lights had gone out, someone had hurt her, and it made him shake with fury, filled him with a gnawing anger. Who would do such a thing?

  Craig searched the room. Kendrick had disappeared. Craig couldn’t find Gran or Fred, either. They must still be unaware of Bianca’s problem.

  “I’m okay now,” Bianca insisted into the phone. “Don’t send an ambulance. Sorry to have troubled you.”

  Troubled you? The attack could have been fatal.

  It had been his responsibility to protect her, and he’d failed, a failure that made him furious with himself. But right now, his first concern was Bianca’s immediate safety. Leaving became a priority as there were too many people here for him to protect her properly. “I’m sorry,” he told her.

  “For what?”

  “For not being there when you needed me. I should never have left your side.”

  Her brilliant eyes bored into him. “I’m usually very capable of taking care of myself.”

  “That’s probably the reason you’re still alive,” he muttered grimly.

  Harry had returned silently and overheard Craig’s last comment. His eyes darted from side to side. After he seemingly assured himself no one would hear, he lowered his voice. “Bianca, come see me. Soon. There’s something you need to know.” Before either of them could ask questions, Harry departed, drawing the few remaining guests back into the main room. “Show’s over, folks. S
he’s going to be fine.”

  Craig frowned at the man’s mysterious words and wished he could go after him and make him explain, but getting Bianca to safety took precedence. As people returned to the party and the band struck up another tune, Craig knelt by her side and spoke in a low tone so only she could hear. “Do you want to call the police?”

  “They’d ask where we live. I don’t want to lie, and I don’t want to give them our new address. Besides—” her hand moved to her neck “—I didn’t see who did this.”

  Knowing her arguments made sense, he reluctantly agreed, but that didn’t stop angry, frustrated adrenaline from pouring through him. Damn it. How could he protect her from this maniac? How could he stop someone he couldn’t even recognize?

  Coming out of hiding had been a mistake. One he didn’t intend to repeat. Their situation demanded they slink back into seclusion. The sooner they crawled into their hidey-hole, the better he could protect her. Besides, he hadn’t gained any new information at the party—and the risk of staying was too great.

  He’d almost lost Bianca and his unborn children. The realization left his blood icy and his temper hot. And his desire . . . raging.

  His feelings for her could not be denied. For too long, he’d kept his heart walled off. Now the walls were crumbling. Leaving him with impossibly mixed yearnings. A yearning to go back into isolation. An even stronger one to let himself acknowledge his feelings.

  After a quick goodbye to her Gran and Fred, they departed into the stormy night. Before Craig pulled onto the freeway, he turned numerous times, doubling back until he was positive no one was following.

  As vulnerable and shaken as Bianca was, she questioned his evasive tactics. “Is someone after us?”

  “I’m not sure.” He glanced at her, reached over and squeezed her hand that still felt cold. “If they were, I’ve surely lost them by now. Are you up to telling me exactly what happened?”

  She kept hold of his hand. “There’s not much to tell. The lights went out. Someone grabbed my scarf and choked me. I couldn’t see a thing.”

  She was holding back, but out of reluctance to spill the details or from the fear of reliving a horrifying incident, he wasn’t sure. “How did you get away?”

  “Even before the lights came back on, he let me go.”

  Her words confirmed his suspicion. The stalker’s intent was not murder. Somehow that didn’t make him feel better. He wanted to slam his fist into the bastard’s face for hurting her, for scaring her. “Why did he let you go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  At the weariness in her tone, he gentled his voice. “Did someone or something scare him off?”

  She tucked a strand of the wig behind her ear. “I could only think about drawing air into my lungs. I almost blacked out.”

  At the telling strain in her tone, he cursed himself for putting her through even a gentle interrogation. But, he needed a lead.

  “Maybe he was afraid the lights would come on, and he’d be caught in the act.”

  “No. I think he intended to release me. Right before he let go of his stranglehold on my scarf . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “He whispered, ‘Get rid of him. Get rid of all of them.’”

  A chill stroked his back and froze the marrow of his bones. “The him has to be me.”

  “Or the words could have been the ranting of a crazy person.”

  “Perhaps.” He remained unconvinced. “Anyone who resorts to stalking is unbalanced. I’d hoped the stalker might back off after seeing us attend the party together. Most stalkers are bullies. With me around protecting you, I’d hoped he might give up. Obviously, I was wrong.” He frowned and looked over at her. She was shivering, and he turned up the heat. “I’ll have you warm in a minute.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.”

  He slanted a glance at her. “When I kissed you, you were plenty warm.”

  “You think a kiss will make me all better?” she snapped.

  “All better—no. But better—yes.”

  At his words, she sagged in her seat. He held her hand tight. If taking her mind off her problems with a kiss could help lessen the relentless load, he’d stop the car and take her into his arms.

  She looked so defenseless that he ached to hold her, vowing to do so at the first opportunity. Meanwhile, he wouldn’t keep his thoughts to himself. Bianca had said she didn’t want to be sheltered from his suspicions. Her tenacity would see her through.

  He voiced the fear that had haunted him ever since she’d repeated her attacker’s threat. “Do you think get ‘rid of all of them’ referred to me and the twins?”

  “Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “Do you hate me for putting your children in danger?”

  “I could never hate you.”

  His words, meant to reassure her, seemed to have the opposite effect. She tensed, drawing her hand from his.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked quietly, non-threateningly.

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me. Please.”

  She sighed. “Love and hate are supposed to be two sides of the same coin. One feeling isn’t supposed to exist without the possibility of the other. Yet the only strong feelings I seem to inspire are ones that cause a crazy man to stalk me. I was thinking that I’ve forgotten what normal life is like. I was wallowing in self-pity. Now aren’t you sorry you asked?” she said in a that-will-teach-you-not-to-pry-into-my-thoughts tone.

  “Could you hate your grandmother?” he countered.

  “Of course not!”

  “Then you don’t love her?”

  “Of course I . . . yes, I see your point.”

  “Oh, I’m not done with you yet.”

  “Really?” She braced as if for a fight.

  All in all, her stiff posture was preferable to her sagging limply against the seat. Deciding he was on the right track, he kept up the pressure. “What makes you think you don’t inspire strong feelings?”

  Her voice went flat. “I’m not going there.”

  “Where?”

  “Into my past relationship with Kendrick. It doesn’t matter. It’s not relevant. It’s none of your damn business.”

  “I’m making your past my business. I’m making you my business. That man is a complete egotist. Just because things didn’t work out with him doesn’t mean you can’t find another man to love.”

  She turned to him. “Are you volunteering to take me to bed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “If you have to ask, you have no idea how much I ache to kiss you, to touch you and hold you, to taste every inch of you, to give you pleasure.”

  “How do I know I’m not just a convenience for you?” she asked, with a logic that sliced him.

  “What?”

  “You can’t date other women right now. Maybe you’re turning to me out of a purely physical need.”

  That she had to ask made him ache from the pain her statement revealed. “Is that what you think? Didn’t you feel what I did when we kissed? When we danced? Do you think the intensity of feelings like ours happens often?”

  When he glanced at her, she averted her gaze. Clearly, she found looking at him too painful. Her hands twisted in her lap. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I do. What we have is rare. It’s special.”

  “You sound so sure.”

  “I’m sure that I want to know you better. I want to know what makes you tick. I want to know what you think is funny. I want to know what turns you on. And I won’t demand more from you than you want to give.”

  She remained silent during the rest of the ride to Malibu, apparently giving his words some consideration. Powerful anticipation kept him wide awake as he drove. Would she
take him up on his offer? Was she thinking about what he’d said or thinking up another excuse to deny herself what he could give her? What she could give him?

  He stopped only once, at an all-night grocery store to pick up supplies. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the driveway. Setting the scene of seduction filled his thoughts, though he grimaced wryly when his first move was to look right and left at the neighbors’ yards and across the street to see if anyone followed.

  The narrow street remained empty and dark. He circled to the passenger side to help her from the car. Bianca met him halfway, and he held the umbrella over them and the groceries as protection against the driving rain.

  “This is a good night for hot cocoa and snuggling under a blanket in front of a fire,” she murmured.

  At the comfy scene she’d suggested—especially the part about cuddling in front of a fire that indicated her thoughts had been running along the same romantic lines as his—gladness filled his heart. “I’ll see what I can do about the fire. Why don’t you put the food away, maybe make some cocoa.”

  After he locked the door behind them, they slipped off their wet shoes. He padded to the fireplace where a stack of oak already waited in a metal grate. One strike of a match set the center log burning. The paper kindling around the store-bought wood caught quickly, and barely ten minutes passed before the oak blazed and took the chill from the room.

  He appraised the giant floor-to-ceiling windows next. In daylight, the view of the Pacific was the house’s best feature; at night, the black glass seemed cold against the endless rain. After he closed the blinds, the room seemed cheerier, cozier.

  He walked past the living-room bar to a stereo system and popped in several CDs. What else? The lady had asked to cuddle. Where better than with blankets and pillows by the fire? He vaulted the stairs, returned with an armful of bedding and arranged a comfortable nook near the fireplace.

  He didn’t dim the lights, and several minutes later, she returned with two cups of cocoa. He wasn’t sorry the lights were still bright. Not when he saw the tightness in her dark emerald eyes and the determined set of her lips as if she’d have to endure his seduction.