Danger in a Red Dress

by Christina Dodd

  The woman was blond all the way.

  And he was almost dizzy from lack of oxygen.

  She leaned over him.

  He leaned back.

  She smiled, a slow, inviting smile that made him wonder who was seducing whom. In slow motion, he lifted his hand and slid it along her collarbone. The contrast of his tanned copper fingers against her silky pale skin made him frantic to grab, to take.

  But he had promised her all the colors of pleasure.

  He always kept his promises.

  Taking her by the waist, he guided her over the top of him and urged her down, to lie flat on her back on the snowy-white sheets. He looked into those big blue apprehensive eyes. “Let’s see if we can make your dreams come true.”

  “What about your dreams?” Her voice quavered a little.

  She was afraid. She was taking a chance on him, and he kissed her warmly, deeply, tasting her mouth and finding it as voluptuously sensitive as he had imagined. When he lifted his head, she caught her breath, and slowly, her blue eyes blinked opened. He waited until she had focused, then said, “As long as I’m holding you, all of my dreams have already come true.”

  Hannah lay with her head on Gabriel’s heaving chest, hearing the thunder of his heart and exulting in the knowledge that, even while he had plied her body with all the skills known to man, she had driven him into a sweet and equal madness.

  Even now, when the frenzy was over, he held both arms around her, as if she were a treasure he feared would escape.

  She couldn’t fool herself. They didn’t know each other.

  But he fulfilled her requirements for a man.

  He had never used her. Quite the opposite. When she performed what was nothing more than the right thing to do—yell when someone shot at them—he insisted on repaying her with his hospitality and his care.

  He hadn’t lied to her. She knew who he was, and she knew he kept his promises.

  She didn’t know if he would stick around, but . . . she stroked his chest.

  He kept his promises very well. During their long, leisurely loving, he had touched her with hands filled with magic. He had smiled as he kissed her belly, and he didn’t stop at her belly. He kissed her intimately, his tongue caressing her clitoris, until orgasm lifted her on an ocean swell and carried her to shore. Then . . . then he’d entered her, slowly, carefully, filling her with himself until she was frantic with need. Only when she urged him onward with desperate moaning and clutching hands had he allowed himself the ultimate bliss.

  More important, he hadn’t despised her for being illegitimate or for sharing her silly father fantasies or talking about that humiliating, awful meeting with the man who had slept with her mother. Instead, Gabriel had done what he could to put her at ease. In return, he had shared something very special, very real, very personal.

  Today, in the shower, she had faced the facts. She had to do something about Carrick Manly and his greedy quest for the fortune. She had to seek help, or she would die and Mrs. Manly would never be avenged.

  She knew only one man she could trust.

  Gabriel Prescott.

  Taking a big breath, she slid out of his arms. She leaned her elbows against the mattress and looked into his troubled face. And she said, “I have something to tell you.”

  The next morning Hannah was still asleep when Gabriel unlocked the door and limped into the living room.

  Daniel sat at the coffee table, eating and watching CNN on his laptop. At the sight of Gabriel, his dark handsome face lit up in a grin. “Been getting any?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Because it’s been a long drought around here, and you’ve been grumpy enough to have a dwarf named after you.”

  Gabriel sat down, helped himself to a slice of the double-meat, double-cheese, all-the-vegetables, thin-crust pizza and repeated, “Shut up.”

  “Better eat up. You’ll need your energy for when you go back in there.”

  “Shut . . . up.”

  “Tell me why I should.”

  “Because I need you to fucking find out who shot at us.”

  Daniel straightened, offended. “I’ve got the organization working on it, but whoever it is, he isn’t letting out any information.”

  “Look. She told me some stuff that . . .” That Gabriel didn’t know whether to believe. That he didn’t want to believe, but that explained so much.

  “What did she tell you, boss?” Daniel sounded more than curious. He sounded as forlorn as Gabriel felt.

  Gabriel felt as if his soul had been ripped in half.

  Was Carrick the villain Hannah painted him to be? A man who would kill his own mother for a fortune?

  Or was Hannah the grand manipulator, telling the story to stake claim to her innocence?

  Either way, Gabriel lost something very precious to him.

  “She’s good, isn’t she? I knew she wasn’t guilty.” Daniel sounded satisfied.

  Gabriel wanted Carrick to be a good man. He needed Carrick to be part of his family.

  And he wanted Hannah to be the woman of his dreams.

  He couldn’t have both.

  Did he believe his brother Carrick, or did he believe his lover, Hannah?

  One of them was a liar and a murderer. The other was much wronged.

  Finishing his slice, he wiped his face and hands and stood up. “If you want to be sure about Hannah, we need to know who did the shooting and why. Now.”

  Daniel pulled up his e-mail program. “I’ll make it a code one.”

  “You do that.” Gabriel headed back into the bedroom.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Hannah was running, running for her life, but she couldn’t run fast enough because she was pushing Mrs. Manly. Someone was chasing her, pointing a gun and shooting. But it wasn’t Mrs. Manly in the wheelchair. It was Gabriel. She did CPR, but the blood poured out of him, and he died there in her arms. She looked up into the black eye of the pistol, then back down at the body in her arms. But it wasn’t Gabriel anymore. It was Carrick, and he was staring at her. Pointing the gun and staring at her . . . Carrick’s green eyes . . . green eyes . . . She was on the verge of knowing something, something very important. . . .

  The click of the door brought her out of the nightmare. She sat up, covered with sweat, her heart hammering.

  Gabriel stood there, his back against the door, dressed in a pair of jeans and, as far as she could tell, nothing else. He ran his gaze over her and smiled as if he liked her naked and disheveled. “I’m going to take a shower. Want to help me?”

  “I think I’d better wake a little bit more.” She rubbed her head fretfully. She wanted to sit here and think about what the dream was trying to tell her. Something important . . . something so dreadful . . .

  “Did I wear you out?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He sauntered over and sat beside her, a smug beast of a man. His fingers drifted down her breastbone, and he watched as if fascinated by the contrast of colors and textures. “You always say that when actually . . .” He took a long breath and shifted his gaze to her face. “Dr. Bellota was right. You were exhausted, and I spent all night making love to you. I really did wear you out.”

  She tugged the covers up. “You’re the one who was shot through the thigh. I was just . . . barely shot.”

  “Bellota says I’m a disgustingly healthy animal, and he wishes all his patients recovered as quickly as I do.” Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

  “I’m fine.” Man, he was irritating.

  “I’ll be out in five minutes,” he promised.

  “Don’t get your leg wet.” She ought to help him wrap it, but her dream . . . something about Carrick’s eyes . . .

  Gabriel made a face. “Ten minutes. I’ll be out in ten minutes. Then we can nap together.”

  She didn’t want to nap. She wanted to remember that dream—the dream that even now was drifting away from her. . . .

  He headed toward the bathroom,
and she watched him, the man she had trusted with the truth. He looked strong, healthy. He walked with almost no limp. His recovery had been nothing short of miraculous, and still, she had dreamed he had died, that he had turned into Carrick. Then . . . then . . . “Damn it!” she muttered.

  The whole thing was muddled in her mind, the message lost in Gabriel’s arrival.

  But maybe it was a warning. Certainly she should find where Carrick was, to discover what he was doing. She should make sure he couldn’t find her and hurt Gabriel, because . . . because her subconscious abruptly hummed with anxiety.

  Flinging back the covers, she leaped to the desk. She opened Gabriel’s laptop and typed Carrick Manly into the search engine.

  She got a hit right away, a new interview in Oui-Gee magazine, a periodical that catered to the people interested in the occult. She clicked on the article and found herself staring back at an artfully posed photo of Carrick with his dimples in full bloom.

  He was handsome—she had to give him that. That was why he’d managed to extend his fifteen minutes of fame into an hour. And in a way, she was glad, because while he was in the public eye, she could follow his movements. She could be safe.

  She scanned the interview. He talked about losing his mother, of course, and how all the signs had pointed to the danger of having a celebration in that particular house on that particular Halloween. As always, he was a figure of tragedy and high drama, recounting the tale of Nathan Manly and the lost fortune. But this time, down at the bottom, the interviewer asked him about the good luck of finding his half brothers. He assured the interviewer that family was so important to him, he had hired a security firm to locate them. Not surprisingly, precognition had made him hire a very special man, Gabriel Prescott, and Gabriel had turned out to be his brother, too!

  Stunned, breathless, Hannah read the interview again. And again.

  And in case she didn’t believe the printed word, there was a small photo of Carrick and Gabriel, sitting at a table in a restaurant, sandwiches before them, talking intently.

  The image imprinted itself on Hannah’s retina.

  She slammed the laptop closed.

  It wasn’t possible. It could not be possible.

  But it was. That was what she’d been dreaming. Gabriel had turned into Carrick—because Gabriel had the same green eyes.

  As he washed, Gabriel cursed the plastic wrap and the duct tape that kept his bandage dry. The whole thing took too long to put on, and it took too long to take off, and all the while, Hannah was lying in bed alone and worried about her confession to him. That was the real reason she hadn’t come in the shower with him. She was afraid he didn’t believe her.

  The hand that held the soapy washcloth slowed.

  She was afraid for good reason. He didn’t believe her.

  Did he?

  Was he willing to condemn Carrick without asking for the truth? If he did ask for the truth, would Carrick tell him?

  Did Carrick even know what the truth was?

  Would Carrick admit to killing his own mother?

  No, never.

  But he’d done it. Damn it.

  Gabriel slammed his fist on the wall of the shower.

  He’d done it all.

  Because Carrick would do anything for money, and once Gabriel had suggested that Hannah probably knew the code to access the fortune, Carrick had needed only one thing: confirmation. Knowing Mrs. Manly, knowing how easily irritated she was . . . she’d given it to him.

  Gabriel played the video in his mind.

  Carrick had been in the party. He’d gone to his mother’s room, dressed in the long vampire cape, and placed a red rose on her pillow. Afterward, he had stopped by the tray where the medications and syringes had been laid out, and for a vital few seconds, his cape had covered the tray.

  That was when he’d made the switch.

  He hadn’t needed his mother anymore, except as a means to an end. Except as a means to pressure Hannah into giving him the code.

  It hadn’t worked, because Hannah got away. Even if she hadn’t, she would never have betrayed Mrs. Manly’s trust.

  No wonder Carrick had looked a little worried in New York City. He needed that money.

  Had Gabriel known all this before? He’d seen that video a hundred times, yet never had he allowed himself to think Carrick had done the deed. Gabriel could have enhanced the video to see details—he would now, and look to see if Carrick was wearing gloves, or if there was a chance he’d left a fingerprint on the medicine bottle. But Gabriel hadn’t wanted to admit his brother’s possible guilt to himself.

  What had changed?

  Hannah. Hannah had changed everything.

  Mrs. Manly hadn’t been a fool. She had trusted Hannah, because Hannah was as genuine as she seemed.

  Gabriel was the fool.

  In a hurry now, he rinsed and got out of the shower. He needed to talk to Daniel about Carrick, consider how best to go about trapping him without harming anyone else. He needed to talk to Hannah about remaining indoors and out of sight.

  He needed to tell her . . . who he really was.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Gabriel walked into the bedroom, hoping Hannah wasn’t already asleep. He needed to tell her the truth as soon as possible. He needed to hold her, convince her he truly believed her story, discuss the strategy for catching Carrick in the act, and what kind of deal they would cut with the feds before she gave them access to Nathan Manly’s fortune.

  He needed to tell her he loved her.

  But she was gone.

  He hit the living room at a dead run and skidded to a stop.

  She was circling the perimeter of the huge room, dressed in his lounge pants and racer-back shirt, walking as fast as she could.

  He gaped at her. “What are you doing?”

  She grimaced and waved a hand at Daniel.

  “She says she needs exercise. Nordstrom is sending up some workout clothes, and I was telling her there’s a gym on the fifth floor.”

  Gabriel shot him a glare.

  Daniel shrugged his shoulders like, What’s the harm?

  “Are you well enough to exercise?” When she didn’t answer, Gabriel said, “Grace?”

  “Oh! Sure. I got enough sleep. And you warmed me up.” She shot him a glittering smile. “I’m actually getting a little twitchy being in bed. I’m not used to being idle.”

  Idle. Well. That put him and his lovemaking in their places.

  “I’ll get into my workout clothes.” Daniel headed for his room. Daniel loved to exercise, and apparently Hannah wasn’t the only one getting twitchy.

  “I’ll change, too.” Gabriel tried to catch her eye. “Want to come and help?”

  She shot him another one of those million-volt smiles. “If I did that, we’d never make it to the gym, and I’m getting a little stir-crazy, being up here. Not that it’s not a gorgeous place. Big living room!” She kept walking. “But are you sure you should exercise at all? Dr. Bellota said you were to stay in bed for seven days.”

  “Dr. Bellota is a conservative old poop.”

  She laughed. “Go and change. I’ll wait for the workout clothes.”

  He didn’t want to leave her alone to accept the package, but he reminded himself—he trusted her.

  He retreated to the bedroom.

  It was that right now she seemed to be acting . . . oddly.

  He got into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and was tying his shoes when he heard the buzzer. He paused and listened, poised and ready in case. In case of what, he didn’t know, but for no reason he could put his finger on, that impression of wrongness nagged at him.

  He heard her speak, heard someone answer, heard the elevator door close. He made himself finish tying his shoe, stood, and walked into the living room.

  She sat on the couch, transferring her new shoes and clothes into a gym bag. He would have sworn she heard him come in, but she didn’t look up.

  “I need to tell you something.” Maybe this
wasn’t the best time to confess the truth, but a sense of urgency was driving him.

  “Hmm?” She looked up as if surprised.

  “It’s complicated, but I’m not who—”

  Daniel bounded into the room. “Are we ready?”

  “Yes!” Bag in hand, Hannah stood. “Not quite. If you both will give me a private minute . . . I won’t be long.” She headed toward the bedroom and shut the door after her.

  “Sorry, boss.” Daniel hung his head and looked sorrowful. “I didn’t realize you were having a moment.”

  “I was going to tell her I believed her.”

  “All the way?”

  “All the way.”

  “About time.” Daniel was intelligent, intuitive, and a friend, and his blessing meant a lot.

  “It probably wasn’t the right moment, anyway.” Gabriel rubbed the stubble on his chin and wished he’d taken a moment to shave. “When I tell her who I really am and what I’ve done, she’s going to—”

  “Blow a gasket.”

  “Hannah’s not like that.”

  “You are kidding yourself. You spied on her. You slept with her, and she doesn’t even know who you really are.” Daniel counted off the list of Gabriel’s sins on his fingers. “You’d better roll on your back like a puppy, because she is going to beat you with a slipper.”

  The door handle turned.

  “Shh,” Gabriel said.

  She walked out, still in the lounge pants, and said, “Are we ready, gentlemen?”

  Daniel pulled his pass card out of his wallet, stuck it into the elevator panel, and pressed the DOWN button. “Let’s go.”

  Hannah walked into the elevator ahead of them, faced front, and leaned against the wall. She smacked her bag into the rail, and it made a clinking sound.

  She stiffened with guilt and worry, but they didn’t say anything. They didn’t notice.

  Okay. Just act cool.

  Gabriel stood next to her and wrapped his arm around her.

  She had to act natural; she couldn’t screw this up now. So she tilted her head onto his shoulder, and tried to pretend he was some other man. A guy who was honest and true, although in her experience men like that didn’t exist. She was out of the penthouse, and if she played her cards right, she’d be so gone Gabriel Prescott would never find her again.