Murder Game

by Christine Feehan

  Gas was everywhere, in every direction, even splashed along the mountainside where the Volkswagen had tumbled end over end. Inside the Bug, two occupants were hanging upside down, held by their seat belts, heads and arms dangling limply. He wrenched open the nearest door. It was already hot with the flames licking at it from the flaming grass on the mountain. With superhuman strength he tore it open, and reached inside to unsnap the seat belt. The body fell into his arms.

  It was a woman, covered in glass and blood, but still alive. Aware he had no choice, no time to examine her first, he lifted her out, closing his ears to her cry of pain. He ran a distance from the cars to deposit her in the grass. Blood was pumping from a terrible gash in her leg and he yanked off his belt and wrapped it tight around her thigh, just above the gash.

  When he turned back, the Volkswagen was already engulfed in flames. He had no hope of getting the other victim out. He sent up a silent prayer that the occupant had been killed instantly. Resolutely, he turned toward the convertible. He had covered half the distance when an agonized cry froze him in a fragment of time that would remain etched in his mind forever.

  "Andy!"

  The woman he had rescued somehow managed to get to her feet, which was a miracle, considering her injuries. She stumbled back toward the Volkswagen. For a moment, he could only stare incredulously. She had broken bones, was covered in ragged deep gashes, her face a mask of blood, yet she was running back, right into a wall of flames, and she ran with astonishing speed.

  For a split second, pure shock held Jake frozen to the spot. The gasoline on the road had ignited. The flames actually licked at her legs, yet she continued on toward the fiercely burning vehicle. The woman had to have known the car was going to explode at any moment, yet still she ran toward it.

  Jake cut her off just a few feet from the car, snatching her up into his arms, sprinting away from the intense heat and building conflagration. She fought like a wildcat, kicking, scratching, the blood making her so slippery he lost his hold more than once. Each time he dropped her, she didn't hesitate to turn back, her eyes on the burning car as she tried to run, then crawl, back toward it.

  "It's too late," he cried harshly. "He's already dead!" Ruthlessly he flung her to the ground, covering her body with his own, pinning her down while the earth beneath them rocked with the force of the explosion.

  "Andy." She whispered the name, a lost, forlorn sound wrenched straight from the heart.

  In an instant, all the fight went out of her. She lay motionless in Jake's arms, small, completely vulnerable and broken, her eyes staring up at him unseeing. Again, time seemed to stand still. Everything tunneled until he was focused wholly on her eyes. Enormous, tilted like a cat's, aquamarine with dark orbs, unusual and mesmerizing, now haunted. She seemed familiar--too familiar. He knew her, and yet he didn't.

  For the first time in his life he felt a strong protective urge welling up out of nowhere. He became aware of the gathering crowd staring down at the woman as others came upon the scene. Instinctively he shielded her, barking orders to check the overturned convertible, to ensure ambulances and the police were on the way.

  He worked furiously to stem the flow of blood pouring from the woman's temple and from her leg. A part of him knew he should be thinking instead of Shaina and the child she was carrying, but his mind was consumed with the woman he protected. All he could do was silently vow not to allow her to slip away as she so clearly wanted to do.

  Her grief-stricken green eyes begged him to let her go. Where had he seen those eyes before? He looked into them again, drawn by some unseen force. Almond in shape, pupils round and black, the irises a rare aquamarine, the blue-green surrounded by a golden circle. Unusual. And yet he knew those eyes. Where had he seen them?

  "Let me go."

  She knew then that his will held her when she wanted to slip away. Jake found himself leaning close to her so that his mouth was against her ear, his breath warm against her skin. His golden eyes glittered ruthlessly, mercilessly into hers. "No." He said the word implacably. "Did you hear me? No." He denied her a second time, his white teeth snapping together in finality as he applied more pressure to the pumping wound in her leg.

  She closed her eyes, tired, and turned her face away from him as if she had no fight left in her. The ambulance was there, paramedics pushing him aside to work on her. A short distance away, firefighters draped a blanket over Shaina's friend. This was one accident Shaina's father could not make go away with his money.

  More paramedics were working desperately at Shaina's side. It took him a minute to realize they were taking the baby--his son. His heart in his throat, he waited until he heard the triumphant cheers. The child was alive, more than they could say for the mother. He waited to feel emotion, any emotion, at Shaina's death or his son's birth. He felt nothing at all, only a sense of contempt for the way Shaina had lived and died. Silently cursing his own cold nature, he looked down at the woman lying so still, her dark eyes staring past the paramedic to the burned car. He shifted slightly while they worked on her, to block her view.

  Jake followed the ambulances carrying his son and the woman to a small hospital. Although the place seemed a little primitive by Jake's standards, the overworked staff seemed to know their jobs.

  "I'm Officer Nate Peterson." A young highway patrolman thrust a cup of coffee into his bloody hands.

  Her blood. It was all over him. Jake's shoulders sagged and all at once he was immensely tired, but he needed to find out if she was still alive.

  "Can you tell me what happened, sir?" the officer asked. The young patrolman was shaking so badly he could hardly hold his pen. "Andy and I were good friends," the man admitted, choking back emotion.

  "Tell me about him," Jake asked, curious about the man who inspired such loyalty that a woman would run through fire to save him, even with her own terrible injuries. A man who could make a patrolman shake and hold back real tears. Jake could feel the genuine emotion pouring off the other man. He looked around the hospital and found others looking just as distressed.

  "His name was Andrew Reynolds and he was twenty-five, best mechanic in town. He could fix anything with an engine. I was best man at his wedding only five months ago. He was so happy that Emma married him. They were so happy."

  Emma. That was her name. "Is she still alive?" He held his breath.

  The patrolman nodded. "As far as I know. She's in surgery. Did you see the accident?"

  Jake crumbled up the paper coffee cup and threw it in the trash can. "They were drunk. I followed them from Senator Hindman's party. Shaina Trent, the woman, was carrying my child. She didn't want him and had signed him over to me, but it didn't stop her from drinking and partying with her friends. I was worried because both of them appeared to be drunk. I'm sorry, I don't know the man."

  Jake gave the rest of his statement as clearly as possible, knowing the skidmarks would bear him out.

  Jake overheard a young nurse crying in the hall and he walked over to her on the pretext of comforting her. "Are you all right?"

  She sniffed several times, her eyes bright and a little interested when she saw him. Jake stuck out his hand and patted her shoulder. "I'm Jake Bannaconni." He knew the name would be recognizable and when her eyes widened satisfaction settled in his belly. "Can you tell me about the woman? Is she alive?" He looked at the nurse's name tag. Chelsey Harden.

  Chelsey nodded her head. "She's in surgery. She's only twenty-one. I don't understand how this could happen. She called me earlier today and said she took a pregnancy test and she was so happy. She was telling Andy tonight at dinner. I bet he didn't even have a chance to know." She covered her face for a moment and broke into sobs.

  Jake patted her shoulder again. "I take it you two are friends."

  Chelsey hiccupped and blew her nose. "Very good friends. I went to school with Andrew and he introduced us. Now she has no one. Andrew's parents died last year in a car crash and Emma's died when she was a teen. They only had ea
ch other. It seems like some kind of curse or something, all these car wrecks." Her face whitened and she covered her mouth with her hand. "I'm sorry. Your wife was killed as well. I'm so sorry."

  Jake shook his head. "We weren't married, but we were having a child."

  "He's going to be fine. He's a little early, but he's very healthy," Chelsey hastened to assure him.

  "How long will he have to stay here?"

  Meaning how much time did he have to set things in motion. He had a vague idea what he wanted to do, but no real plan. It was obvious the staff felt sorry for him. His pregnant girlfriend had run off with another man. Shaina was in the news all the time. The paparazzi loved her and of course Jake wasn't unknown to them, but Shaina's exploits were always food for the gossip magazines and she loved the spotlight.

  The world believed that she'd left Jake brokenhearted. In truth, they had despised one another. Her father had filled her with conviction that the Trents were so far above the Bannaconnis--Jake in particular--that she felt she had lowered herself to sleep with him. Not that she hadn't enjoyed it and kept coming back for more, but the tabloids only knew what Shaina wanted to feed them. Now that she was dead and sympathy surrounded him, Jake knew he could use that to his advantage.

  "You'll have to talk to the doctor, but for a preemie, he's healthy. Maybe a week, but I honestly couldn't tell you." Chelsey let out a soft sigh. "Emma really wanted a family. It was so important to her and to Andy, because they didn't have anyone at all, so they kept saying they would have a big family."

  Jake raked a hand through his hair. He should have his son immediately transported back to a hospital in Texas and return home. This wasn't his mess to clean up. But he knew he wouldn't. He had looked into Emma Reynolds's blue-green eyes and something had opened up in him, something nameless he didn't understand. But regardless, he couldn't walk away.

  A man approached and Jake was instantly aware of Chelsey straightening, immediately changing her demeanor to a very professional face. So this was a hospital administrator. Someone had recognized Jake and they were sending the big guns to make certain he was comfortable with his son's treatment.

  "You're burned, Mr. Bannaconni, on your hands and arms. You need to have that taken care of."

  "I didn't even notice," Jake said truthfully.

  He sized the man up as his burns were treated. Dignified. Sincere. This was a man who had too much work, too little time off, and who believed in what he did. And he was fiercely proud of his hospital--Jake could tell that the moment the doctor began showing him around--yet apparently had little money to bring in modern equipment.

  Jake seized the moment, striking where he knew it would do the most good, murmuring about a sizable donation for the care his son had received, asking questions about his child, how long he'd have to stay, what the repercussions of an early birth were, and what he could do to better help the hospital care for him. Finally he managed to turn the conversation to Emma Reynolds and how terrible he felt for her situation. What were her injuries? Did she need special doctors? He would be more than happy to fly in who or what they needed to help.

  Dr. John Grogan, head of the hospital, tried to convince Jake that Emma Reynolds wasn't his responsibility.

  Jake looked very grave. "I'm well aware the rest of the world might think that, but it was my girlfriend and her lover who are responsible for the death of Emma's husband and for her injuries. She has no one else. Taking care of bills or making certain she has anything she needs is the least that I can do for her." He glanced around and lowered his voice another octave. "I'd prefer if no reporters know I'm here or that my son is still here."

  Grogan nodded. "We're a small hospital, Mr. Bannaconni, but we're very discreet with our patients."

  Jake let out a relieved sigh and slumped a little to show how tired and upset he was. "Please let Emma's doctors know I'm willing to help out. I need to see my son now, if that's possible."

  The first step toward becoming involved in Emma's life was accomplished. He let himself be led to the nursery where he was forced to wear a gown, mask, and gloves to stare down at the wrinkled little boy who lay naked in small incubator with lights everywhere.

  "How is she today, Chelsey?" Jake asked as the young nurse came down the hallway toward him. "I've just come back from seeing my son and thought I'd peek in on her."

  Emma's room was the first room closest to the nursery. She was pregnant and the OB doctor wanted easy access to her if she began to miscarry after her traumatic ordeal. It was easy enough for Jake to use the excuse that she was so close to his son to look in on her. Emma had been unresponsive to the doctors and nurses, but when he walked in, her blue-green gaze would jump to his face and stay there.

  Chelsey sighed. "She doesn't talk to anyone, Mr. Bannaconni. We're all a little afraid for her. But I heard the baby was doing better. He's breathing on his own now and it's been only three days."

  "Yes, he seems much better, although they tell me he should be gaining more weight." Jake paused with his hand on Emma's door. So far no one had ever stopped him from going in. Today he wanted Emma to give the staff her permission to allow him to help her. "I'm going to try to give Emma a reason to live today. You gave me the idea the other day when we talked."

  Chelsey patted his shoulder and this time her smile was flirtatious. "I hope you can find a way to get through to her."

  Jake smiled back, letting his gaze slide over her with a man's interest. Chelsey's breath caught in her throat and she gave him a little wave as she sauntered off, her hips swaying more than usual. Jake pushed open the door to Emma's room and slipped inside.

  As he closed it he heard Chelsey giggle. "He's so hot, Anna. My god, when he smiles I think I'm going to orgasm on the spot."

  He glanced at Emma and knew she heard. He closed the doors on the laughing nurses and crossed to her side.

  Emma held her breath. He was back. She could go far away from the others and not have to face the reality of being completely alone again, not have to think of her beloved Andrew as dead, not have to deal with losing his baby, but then this man would come in and sit down, filling the room, filling her head with the scent and sight of him, compelling her to live again. He forced her back to the surface every time where there was no escape from the terrible grief that overwhelmed her.

  Silently she pleaded for him to go, to just let her be in the half-alive, half-dead state that protected her from feeling. But once his gaze focused on her, it didn't leave.

  "How are you today, Emma?" He always sounded intimate, talking to her as if they were best friends--more than friends, closer. He used the pads of his fingers to stroke back her hair. "Are you feeling any better?"

  Each time he touched her, no matter how light, she felt as if electricity arced between them, zapping her alive again, so that the fears and the sorrow were closer than ever. And he held her there, gently but firmly, forcing her to look at her empty life while unimaginable grief poured over her, holding her prisoner.

  She didn't answer him. She rarely did, just looked mutely up at him begging him to let her drift back into her safe little cocoon.

  Jake dragged a chair to the side of the bed, spun it around, and straddled it. "I named the baby this morning. I didn't ever think much about the naming process, but I wanted to give him a good name, something that he'd be happy with even as an adult. I found a baby name book in the waiting room."

  She couldn't look away from his face. His tone was soft and low and very intense, but there was something that was a little off. She couldn't tell what it was. His gaze never left her face. He reminded her of a leopard with his golden-green eyes and his unblinking piercing stare, so focused on her there was nowhere to hide.

  He leaned forward. "He's so little, Emma, I swear I could fit him in the palm of my hand. It scares me to think of taking him home when I don't know the first thing about taking care of a baby. Does it scare you? You're going to have a baby. Did they tell you that? That the baby is still al
ive with only you to protect it?"

  Her breath caught in her throat and her hands moved to cover her stomach. Was it true? She could feel her heart pound, hear it thundering in her ears. She'd willed herself to die, she wanted to die, and she would have taken her baby--Andy's baby--with her. She closed her eyes briefly, afraid she'd heard wrong.

  Jake sighed softly and ran his fingers through his hair as if in agitation. "That's what scares me. There's only me to be the parent, to give the baby a good home, and I'm so far from the real deal." That admission slipped out and his voice rang with truth.

  She swallowed--hard. Her throat convulsed. It took effort to part her dried lips and she had to reach for her voice. When it came it was thin and shaky and nearly unrecognizable. "Are you certain? About my baby? Are you certain I didn't lose it?"

  He leaned closer to her. Jake Bannaconni. She'd heard his name spoken in hushed, awed whispers, but she still couldn't figure out why she knew him. What was it that was so familiar about him, and why did she feel as if his will held her own?

  "Your baby is fine, Emma. The doctor said even with the blood loss, the baby appears to be healthy. There are no signs that the pregnancy will terminate. You're going to be a mother."

  Tears burned behind her eyes again. Her baby. Her precious baby was safe. She wasn't entirely alone and there was a small piece of Andy growing inside of her. "Thank you for telling me about the baby. I was afraid to ask and no one thought to tell me. Just my head, my leg, a million other injuries and . . ." She trailed off and stared, blinking up at the ceiling, tears welling in her eyes.

  "Andrew," he supplied gently. "I'm sorry, Emma, we both have to live with what happened. And we both have babies to raise by ourselves." He flashed a small smile. "I have the feeling you'll be much better at the parenting part of it than I will."

  "You'll be a good father," she reassured. "Don't worry so much." How in the world was she going to take care of a baby?

  Jake picked up Emma's hand, his thumb moving along the back of her hand. His touch was achingly familiar. "Have they said when you can get out of here?"