Her heart rate accelerated and drummed inside her ears. Goose bumps rose across the flesh of her arms and at her neck. She crept closer, grabbed the edge of the curtain, and lunged, shooting the drape aside in one fluid motion. White tile, white tub, silver fixtures, shampoo and conditioner—nothing else.
“This is absolutely crazy!” Her voice echoed against the walls. “Get a grip.”
But she couldn’t halt the trembling of her hands. She’d been holding her wine glass with her left hand and some of the wine had sloshed onto her wrist. She rinsed it off under the sink and shut off the faucet.
Another sound immediately followed. Almost as hollow to the ear. She took a cautious step into the guest room but found it empty.
“No. I won’t have it,” she said to the air around her as she walked into the bedroom. “Johnny, if that’s you, cut it out. I can’t handle any strange other-worldly things happening to me tonight.”
Margot rolled her shoulders and eyed the room with suspicion. She hadn’t been the one to pick up the mess in here. Joyce had done this room, while she’d focused on the kitchen.
If Jake was behind the vandalism, this was the perfect opportunity to search his room, and she didn’t plan on stopping until she came up with something. The man was hiding something.
She placed her glass on the dresser by the bottle and stepped around the bed to the closet. She opened the door and peered inside. Several shirts, a pair of boots, but little else. Sighing, she turned away and thrust her hands on her hips and eyed the floor by her feet.
Absently, she noted the bed skirt brushing against the carpet. The last time she’d been here, Jake had scared the devil out of her. She hadn’t seen him come out of the bathroom because she’d been preoccupied with something. Yes. She inhaled sharply as memory flashed to the forefront. Her foot had hit a dark object protruding from beneath the bed.
She dropped down on her hands and knees and lifted the bed skirt. Two suitcases were shoved beneath the box spring. The vandals must have missed them.
“Yes!” She laughed, ecstatic. “Gotcha!”
She pulled out the one closest, which was a smaller, navy blue case with a carrying handle and wheels at the base. Sitting Indian style, she shifted the traveling bag up against her knees and looked for a lock. There wasn’t one.
“Come on luck. Keep it up. Show me what Jake might be hiding.”
The zipper slithered open with perfect ease. She pulled open the flap. Inside were several smaller bags and cases, a bottle of makeup—foundation of all things—and something—something she didn’t know what to make of. She touched what felt like some type of animal pelt. Frowning she gingerly picked it up. Dark chestnut hair. Human hair.
“My God,” she breathed.
It was a wig. She touched a silken strand between two fingers. It was the same color as Jake’s hair. Why would he need a wig?
Heart skittering against her ribs, she grasped a square, black box from inside which was similar to that of a makeup case. She snapped it open and looked inside. The upper section had...
She frowned again. What in the world? Gingerly, she slipped what looked like an eyebrow or mustache, the same color as the wig, from one of the compartments. She brushed the small piece with a thumb. My God. A tube of glue sat in another compartment while—
A rush of air raced over her, stirring the hair against her cheek. Something hit the bed.
What? Who?
Jerking back in surprise, she glanced sideways, only to have her view blocked by the comforter rushing at her. The material hit her head-on, blanketing and blinding her. She shoved at the comforter, knocking the case from her lap. Someone had slipped into the room with her. They could rush at her any second, could rape, kill—
Panicked, she fumbled for an opening and found none. Growing frantic now, she jerked to her knees and shoved at the suffocating material. Finally, she flung it off her head, throwing her hair on end. She whipped around, gasping for breath.
Dragging air into her lungs in deep, loud gasps, she rushed to her feet and backed away from the bed. She swept her gaze back and forth over the room but found no one. Still, she didn’t relax but stood tense, ready to run or fight if she had to.
“Who’s there? Why are you hiding?” She swallowed down fear and frustration. “Show yourself.”
No one appeared, which didn’t relieve the tension clawing at her shoulders and limbs. For a second she thought she was going crazy, but then she glanced down at the comforter caught around her ankle. It didn’t attack her all by itself.
Impatiently, she kicked the bedding aside. “Okay. Come on. The joke’s over. You can step out now. You’ve had your fun.”
She waited, shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet, ready to bolt if the need arose. Slowly, ever so slowly, as her gaze darted over every conceivable hiding place, she edged toward the doorway.
And that’s when she felt it. Someone or something right behind her. She screamed as she whipped around, stumbling in her hurry to see. But nothing or no one was there. She could have sworn...
Her laughter crackled and died against the four walls around her. Maybe she was going crazy. But the blanket. Could she, herself, have pulled it from the bed by accident?
She hated, really hated doubting herself.
She lunged for the bottle and glass from the dresser and backed out of the room. She hugged both against her chest and continued to walk backward down the hall.
“This isn’t funny, Johnny!” she called. “I know you were always a jokester, but this has gone far enough.
“If someone’s here,” she yelled, “show yourself!”
She was crazy. She’d finally gone over the edge. She found herself back in the den as she hit a heel against a damaged book. The chaos of the room smacked her hard, sucking the breath from her lungs and the energy from her body. She stumbled over the ruined books and found an empty spot beside the couch. With bottle in one hand and glass in the other, she slid down its side, her back rubbing against the quilted fabric. Her bottom hit the floor.
After sitting there for God knew how long, and when nothing or no one appeared, she uncorked the wine and poured a healthy measure. No one was going to jump out at her, because no one was in the house with her. She didn’t want to think she’d made up the incident, because it scared the hell out of her.
She made a conscious effort to pull her thoughts toward something else and focused on the room around her. She swore under her breath. Much of her inventory was ruined. It had taken her two years to get to where she’d been this morning. Now it was all gone. The work involved...
With the back of one hand, she brushed angrily at a tear that had slipped past her lashes. Crying never solved anything. At least not in her life. She’d learned while growing up that tears only brought censure or indifference. A Davenport never cried or showed any sign of deep emotion. That’s probably why she’d failed both parents.
She drank the rest of the bottle. The wine coated her fear, deadened her feelings and pulled her into a world of oblivion. Sleep finally dragged her under as she slumped against the couch.
~~~~~
That’s where Jake found her. An empty bottle of wine on one side and an overturned glass on her other.
“Damn it, Margot,” he whispered, frustrated. “Alcohol isn’t going to make your life any better. It’ll only push you down deeper.”
He took both bottle and glass from her side and shoved the bottle in the trash beneath her desk and left the glass on top by the computer.
It didn’t take much to pick her up, carry her over from the side of the couch and gently set her down on the cushions. Her head fell limply to the side and a wave of raven hair slipped across her cheek. He slid the strands aside, exposing her flushed cheek—a cheek where deep hollows clung below the bone. From the photos he’d seen around the house, she’d lost weight—a lot of weight. If she lost any more, her health would be in danger, if it wasn’t already.
Jake didn’t look around the room. He’d already seen enough. The guilt of it buried itself into his gut. He might not have torn the place apart, but he was equally to blame. Malcolm knew he was here. It was also obvious Malcolm suspected another copy of the formula was secreted away in the house.
Reluctantly, Jake left her on the couch. He had to right some of the wrong done to her. Less than an hour later, when he came back and found Margot still sleeping, he sank down on the edge of the couch and caressed her forearm with a gloved hand.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, knowing she couldn’t hear. “For having Malcolm follow me. For all the destruction and all the pain it’s caused. And for frightening you with the blanket. I never meant for you to doubt yourself, but I didn’t see any other way to stop you. You were going to discover everything. I can’t let that happen. I can’t put you in any more danger, or myself.”
Her lips parted, giving him a glimpse of even white teeth. He touched her bottom lip with an index finger, and then trailed it down across the line of her jaw and smooth column of her throat to her delicate breastbone and the scooped neckline of her dark brown sweater. Her low-slung, faded jeans clung to her hips and thighs in all the right places.
He groaned. He shouldn’t be thinking of sex. She had enough problems without him adding to it. But he couldn’t help but think of a sexual relationship with her, however short. He couldn’t ignore his body’s reaction—a reaction that both amazed and alarmed him. He’d never been that sexual. Work, more importantly, science, had been his life, something that had always taken precedence over anything else.
He’d had women, of course. There’d never been a problem getting sex. As to his looks or his sexual prowess, he’d never had complaints. But any relationship he’d encountered had lacked any great feeling.
Damn. What a cold ass he’d been. He’d made the mistake of letting everything important fall unheeded behind him. Until now. Now with his mortality threatened, he hungered for life and everything it involved.
He slid his index finger back up over the column of her throat. Dissatisfied, he pulled away. The gloves masked the feel and texture of her skin.
Margot stirred. Her lids snapped open and she stared at him with large, thick-lashed eyes. An indefinable emotion flickered in their depths before they widened. She scrambled along the couch and away from him.
“You’ve done this before. Sat there, watched me, touched me while I’ve been sleeping, haven’t you?”
The question threw him. How could he explain without sounding like a pervert?
“It’s not what you think,” he insisted. But wasn’t it? Hadn’t he crept into her room in the middle of the night and watched her sleep? Hadn’t he touched her? Hadn’t he wanted to take her in his arms, have her naked and crying out his name?
“You’ve been in my room. Late at night while I’ve been asleep.” She shoved her knees up to her chin and wrapped both arms around her jean-clad shins. She regarded him with huge brown, liquid eyes. “I had such dreams... I thought they were my imagination. I’d wake up in the morning feeling so—I thought—”
Sudden awareness flared between them. He felt it, saw it in her eyes and heard it in the quick intake of her breath as his own breathing escalated and his groin throbbed and hardened.
“I wanted you.” The admission seemed dragged from her lips. “In my dreams I wanted you to go further than a simple touch.”
~~~~~
It was the truth, Margot realized in dismay, acutely conscious of Jake sitting on the same sofa with her and aware of being in a dark and isolated house together. The idea both horrified and aroused her. He was darkly dangerous, darkly male and darkly mysterious.
His sudden stillness told her he’d been affected by her words. She sensed his desire across the short distance and her body responded, hunger wrapping, then squeezing itself around her belly.
“You don’t know how tempted I was to do more than touch you,” he admitted.
His words, deep, rough and thick with desire washed over her, weakening what little resolve she had. “Don’t.” She lifted her chin. “You don’t have any right to steal into my room. I sure as hell didn’t invite you.”
“But you wanted me. Late at night, alone in bed. At least your body did. You’d arch up, urging me to touch your breasts, curl my fingers between your legs and—”
“Stop it!” She stumbled off the sofa and stepped on a book. The pages ripped beneath her foot. She stared at the crushed volume and remembered everything. Her body once hot and flushed turned icy. Oh my God—to think for a few moments she’d forgotten the vandalism. She glanced over at Jake still seated on the sofa. “I want you out of here.”
She dodged a mound of books and snapped on the lamp on top of her desk. She blinked at the brightness, while the sudden throb of a headache pressed against her temples. She could thank the wine. Rubbing at her brow, she looked at the books thrown at her feet.
Jake saw her glance at the floor and then look at him. The accusation on her face was unmistakable. His heart rate faltered, then galloped full tilt. “You think I did this?”
“Of course. Who else? Can you tell me that? It’s seems damned strange that you show up at my door and this happens! It took Joyce and I hours just to clean a portion of the place—your room included.” She tossed several raven strands over one shoulder. “I don’t want you here. I’ll give you enough time to pack before I call the police. It won’t take Carl long to get here.”
“That doesn’t make sense! Why would I trash my own stuff? Can you answer me that?”
“I don’t know!” She balled her hands at her sides. “I don’t know you! Or what motivates you! For all I know you could be some sick lunatic.”
Jake rose to his feet, but he wasn’t ready to leave yet. “I’m not some lunatic. How can I convince you I didn’t do this?”
“Can you give me proof?”
“Proof? You want proof?” He turned, intending to walk the length of the room, but stumbled over a book. He picked it up and leafed through the pages. Did he dare tell her? No. Once she knew, matters would escalate. More questions would be raised, more people would become involved. Someone else would get hurt or even die. He couldn’t handle that. Margot might not value her life, but he did.
“I have no alibi,” he said, his voice weary and tired as he placed the volume on an empty bookshelf beside him. “I was alone.” Palms upward, he raised his hands. “Damn it, Margot. You’ve got to believe me. I had nothing to do with this. If I’d known it was happening, I would have done something to stop it.”
“Even if you had nothing to do with what happened today—something’s going on. Why else would you make an effort to disguise yourself? The wig. The glasses. You’re hiding from someone or something. I want to know what it is. I want the truth. And I want it now. Are you running from the police?”
He ignored the panic. How could he have ever thought she’d forget her little discovery in his bedroom? What did he say? What could he say? Did he tell her the truth? He rubbed the back of his neck where the label of his turtleneck chaffed at his skin.
“Well?” She folded her arms across her middle. “I want answers. Do I have to call Carl? Because I will. Maybe he’ll get to the bottom of this. Maybe he’ll be able to find out what you’re hiding.”
When he still didn’t answer, she strode over to the desk, reached over and put her hand on the phone. Damn it! He bounded over a pile of books to get to her side and covered his gloved hand over her own. The light was shining on him, damn it, but he couldn’t let her make that call.
She tried to pull away while retaining a grip on the receiver, but he held on. “Don’t,” he breathed into her ear, unable to mask the desperation in his voice. “Don’t call the police.”
She turned as if in slow motion—her waist twisting, her neck arching sideways as she lifted her head to look at him. The light on the table hit every pore of his body. She’d know. In a second she’d see the light illuminate his features, his mouth, his teeth—
He continued to hold her hand down against the telephone, as he slammed his other hand against the lamp’s candelabra. The light skirted across the table, tipped over and crashed against the floor.
Utter blackness enveloped the den, then slowly, very slowly moonlight whispered into the room, painting a myriad of different shades of gray against the furniture and fixtures. Blessed shadows shielded him from her eyes. Only then did he let go of her hand.
She stumbled back. “Why did you do that?”
“It was an accident.” He backed away from her, tripping over another damn book with his clumsy feet. He grabbed an empty shelf along the wall to steady himself. “I can’t have you call Carl—or anyone else for that matter.”
“Then tell me,” she insisted.
He bowed his head. For too long he’d kept everything to himself. Years now. There’d been his co-workers of course, but he had yet to confide with anyone outside of Miltronics. No one else knew the details of his research, not even his sister.
He lifted his head and glanced across the distance of the room. Jaw ridged, tension radiating from her slim figure, Margot stood waiting.
“Fine,” he finally said. “I’ll tell you.”
Find out what happens next....
Episode three is available at your favorite online bookstore.