TWILIGHT HAD FALLEN by the time the local sheriff had finished taking their statements. Rather than slackening, the rain worsened, and with the coming darkness, made travel all the more perilous.
The sheriff warned them there had been reports of other rock and mud slides along the mountain road, and they would be wise to find themselves rooms in town and hole up for the night. By morning, the rain would surely have stopped, and the highway department could get the roads cleared.
Thinking about the close call they’d had earlier, Valerie had to agree. “But what about you?” she asked Brant. “Do you have to get back tonight?”
“No, I have tomorrow off, too. I think the sheriff’s right. We’d be better off to wait until morning to start home.”
The dispatcher at city hall scribbled down a list of bed-and-breakfasts in town and wished them luck. Evidently they were going to need it, Valerie thought, because the first three places they called on the list were full. On the fourth try, however, they got lucky. The Other Side of Paradise Inn could accommodate Brant and Valerie for the night.
It wasn’t until after they’d located the inn and were signing the register that Valerie realized there was only one room available.
This is too much, she thought. Like something from a bad movie.
“You’re sure you don’t have two rooms?” she asked anxiously.
The owner of the inn, a slender, dark-haired woman named Emily, glanced at her curiously. “I’m afraid not. There’s a big craft show this weekend and most of the rooms in town have been booked for weeks. You’re lucky I had a last-minute cancellation. But the room has a sofa,” she added tactfully. “It’s quite comfortable.”
“We’ll take it,” Brant said, signing the register.
Emily showed them to a quaint, cozy room on the second floor, at the end of a long hallway. The decor was decidedly old-fashioned, with a four-poster bed and lace canopy, braided rugs and a rocking chair set near a stone fireplace. Lace-curtained French doors opened onto a small balcony, and a carved wooden door led into a bathroom, complete with a claw-footed bathtub and a pedestal sink.
The sofa Emily had mentioned was also close to the fireplace, and its deep cotton-covered cushions did indeed look quite comfortable, the perfect spot to snuggle up in front of a warm fire.
“The bathroom has plenty of towels,” she said. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get out of those wet things and have a hot shower. I’ll bring you up a couple of bathrobes. Then we can wash and dry your clothes, and they’ll be as good as new in a couple of hours.” She turned to leave, then thought of something else. “Oh, and I’d probably better warn you that our power is famous for going out in rainstorms. You’ll find plenty of candles and matches in the room if you need them.”
Then she closed the door behind her, and Brant and Valerie were left alone. An awkwardness settled over the room. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Brant walked around, locating the candles and matches, and Valerie stood at the French doors, peering out into the rainy darkness.
“You want the bathroom first?” he finally asked.
“No, you go ahead,” Valerie said. “I’ll probably take longer. I’d like to try out that bathtub.”
It seemed almost unbearably intimate to be talking about such things with Brant. But it wasn’t as if they were talking about taking a bath together, Valerie reminded herself, although, come to think of it, the claw-footed tub had seemed big enough to accommodate two people. She’d even noticed candles strategically placed on the porcelain ledge above it. For ambience? she wondered. Or for convenience, in case the power went out suddenly?
There was a time when the latter would have seemed more likely to her, but now Valerie was having a hard time getting a picture out of her head—an image of her and Brant together in that bathtub, with candlelight dancing over bare skin. “Valerie?”
She turned at the sound of her name. Brant stood in the bathroom doorway, gazing at her quizzically. Obviously he’d said something to her, but she had no idea what.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
His gaze intensified on her. “I asked if you were okay. You seemed as if you were a million miles away just then.”
She smiled nervously. “Actually, I wasn’t. I was just thinking how good a hot bath is going to feel.”
“I’ll be quick, then,” he said, and closed the door between them.
In a moment, Valerie heard the sound of the shower running, and to block out the visions dancing in her head, she decided to get out of the room and explore the inn. As she headed down the staircase, she met Emily coming back up.
“I was just bringing you up the bathrobes. The dark blue one belongs to my husband. It should fit your…friend quite nicely.” She handed the velour robes to Valerie, along with a plastic bag filled with toiletries, including toothpaste and toothbrushes. “If you’ll just leave your wet things in the hallway, I’ll be along later to collect them.”
“This is very good of you,” Valerie said. “I’m sure most of your guests don’t come in looking like drowned rats.”
“You might be surprised who walks in my front door,” Emily said with a smile. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”
She turned and went back down the stairs, and Valerie retraced her steps to their room. She placed the smaller of the two robes—a white one—on the bed, and hung the other—the dark blue one with a masculine M monogrammed on the lapel—on the bathroom doorknob.
After setting the bag of toiletries on the floor just outside the door, where Brant would be sure to find them, Valerie beat another hasty retreat from the room, hoping to allow him ample time to finish his shower and dress.
When she returned, he was standing at the French doors, staring out at the rain. He turned when she entered the room, and Valerie thought he looked ill-at-ease wearing the robe. He was the type of man who would probably have been more comfortable standing there stark naked, she thought, and shivered.
“Bathroom’s all yours,” he said, not moving from the window.
Valerie nodded. “Good. I can’t wait to get out of these wet things.”
She gathered up the white robe, then went inside the bathroom and started her bath. In addition to the candles, she also found an assortment of bath salts and oils on the ledge above the tub, and choosing one, sprinkled the water liberally before shimmying out of her clothes and kicking them aside.
Just as a precaution, she decided to light the candles. What if the power went out while she was in the tub? She would be stuck in the dark.
But the candlelight seemed lost in the harsh, overhead lighting, so Valerie flipped off the switch. A soft glow fell over the room, and by this time, a fragrant cloud of honeysuckle rose from the steaming water. With a sigh of pleasure, she lowered herself into the tub.
Why had she never pampered herself like this before? she wondered. Why had she always been in such a hurry, always pushing herself to be more, do more, have more?
Was it because, deep down, she’d never thought she deserved special treatment? Never thought a killer’s daughter should be allowed to enjoy the simple pleasures of life?
While she contemplated this sobering thought, a knock sounded on the door. Valerie looked up, startled. “Yes?”
“Emily’s come for our clothing,” Brant said through the door. “Do you want me to come in and get yours?”
Why hadn’t she thought to put her clothes outside the door before getting into the tub? Now she would either have to get out of the water, wrap herself in a towel and hand her things out to Brant, or let him come in here, where she was taking a bath. By candlelight.
She glanced down at the water. The bubbles completely covered her, except for her head and shoulders. Nothing showed. There was no real reason why he couldn’t come in and get the clothes.
“All right, come in,” Valerie called, sliding deeper into the water.
* * *
BRANT OPENED THE bathroom door. And froze. His gaze slipped immediately to the tub, or rather, to the woman inside.
She looked incredible.
He’d always appreciated Valerie’s appearance, always thought she was a beautiful woman, but he’d never seen her looking like this. Never seen her look as womanly as she did at that moment.
She was completely covered. He could see nothing but her head and neck, and here and there, tiny patches of tanned skin where the bubbles had melted. But knowing she was wet and naked beneath those bubbles—and the images that knowledge evoked—was sexier, more arousing than anything he’d ever experienced before.
Candlelight danced in her eyes, mesmerizing him, and for a long moment, Brant stood in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her, the fragrance of her. The essence of her.
She put out a slender arm and pointed toward the floor. “There,” she said softly, and for a split second, Brant wondered if she meant for him to kneel beside the tub to worship her beauty.
Then he shook his head slightly, coming to his senses, and realized she meant for him to pick up her wet clothing from the bathroom floor.
He did so in a hurry, knowing that if he lingered any longer, he just might make an even bigger fool of himself.
* * *
BY THE TIME VALERIE had gotten out of the bath, the lights had begun to flicker intermittently. Emily had delivered a light supper of ham-and-cheese sandwiches and steaming bowls of vegetable soup to their room, and candles had been lit on the table near the French doors.
Valerie wondered if the touch had been provided because of the failing power, or because of the romantic mood it cast over the room.
Really, this was all too much, she thought, seating herself across the table from Brant. What was it Naomi Gillum had told her? Your destiny is tied to him.
Well, destiny was pulling out all the stops. Throwing every cliché in the book at them. Luring them here to this rustic setting, stranding them in a town with only one available room, in an inn run by an incurable romantic. Then taking their clothing, so that they were sitting across from one another with only robes covering their nakedness. Threatening the power, so that candlelight was a necessity. Setting the stage, like something from a Gothic novel.
All that was needed now, Valerie thought acerbically, was a haunting presence to frighten her into Brant’s strong, waiting arms.
“You’re very quiet tonight,” he commented.
Valerie glanced up. The candlelight shifted across his face, making his eyes seem even deeper, more mysterious. Brooding, she thought; in keeping with the atmosphere.
She shivered in spite of herself. “I was just thinking.”
“About what happened earlier?”
She nodded. “That man, Remy Devereaux. He tried to kill us, Brant.”
If possible, his eyes darkened even more. “I know.”
“You realize what that means, don’t you? That whoever hired Remy Devereaux—”
“Was willing to kill me to get to you.” His voice grew hard. “Yes, I’ve thought about that, Valerie. I’ve thought about little else. But I refuse to think my own father would hire someone to kill me.”
Valerie could understand his denial. It was difficult to believe your own father could be guilty of murder. She knew that better than anyone. “Your father wasn’t the only one involved in the Kingsley investigation,” she reminded him. “He isn’t the only one who has a vested interest in keeping Cletus Brown behind bars.”
“No, you’re right,” Brant said grimly. “My uncle was also part of the investigation, and though I’ve never been that close to him, he is still family, and the idea that he might be willing to kill me isn’t a particularly comforting one. And as for Hugh Rawlins, he got me into the academy. Did I ever tell you that? He took me under his wing when I first joined the department. He’s been more than a mentor to me. He’s been a good friend, someone I’ve always looked up to and admired. If those are my three choices, I have to tell you, Valerie, they all stink.”
He got up abruptly from the table and strode to the window, staring out into the darkness. After a moment, Valerie followed him, though, for a while, she didn’t say anything. She stared up at his bleak profile, wishing, suddenly, that things could be different between them. Wishing that rebuilding her world didn’t include tearing his down.
“Remember that first day I met you,” Brant murmured, still staring out at the darkness. “When you were in the hospital and I came to interview you. You said the Kingsley kidnapping had changed a lot of lives. You were right.” He turned to face her, his eyes fathomless. “The publicity surrounding the case changed my father. He became obsessed with being a hero, with living up to an image the media created. But nothing in his life ever measured up to that one moment, that one instant when the admiring eyes of an entire country were upon him.”
Brant scrubbed his face with his hands, then turned back to the window. “I’ve sometimes wondered if the reason he was opposed to my becoming a cop wasn’t so much that he was afraid I couldn’t follow in his footsteps, but because he thought I might somehow overtake them.”
Yes, Valerie reflected. She could see how that might happen. She could see how a man like Judd Colter might look into the eyes of his son and see a younger, stronger, better version of himself. And how he might have a hard time accepting it.
A man like Judd Colter might turn against that son, might try to tear down his self-confidence, might be willing to do just about anything to prevent the inevitable comparisons.
But would he be willing to murder his son just to protect his image? His legend?
“Sometimes I’ve wondered,” Brant said slowly, “if the reason I’ve been so anxious to help you find out the truth is because a secret part of me wants to get back at him. Wants to put a chink in his armor.”
“I don’t believe that,” Valerie said. “You’re not that kind of person.”
He turned to face her. The look in his eyes sent a chill up Valerie’s spine. “A few nights ago you were willing to believe I was capable of murder.”
Had it really only been a few nights ago? Had she really once believed him capable of murder?
It seemed impossible now, though Valerie wasn’t sure why. Nothing had changed between them, and yet everything had. Somehow, in the last few days, her trust in Brant had begun to grow. She didn’t know when or why or how, only that it was so.
And it frightened her. It frightened her badly.
* * *
SOMETIME AFTER MIDNIGHT, the haunting presence made its appearance. Though it didn’t exactly drive Valerie into Brant’s arms, she did wake up with a start and bolt upright in bed at the unexpected noise in the darkness.
The rain had stopped and the moon was out, filling the room with dark, ominous shadows. Valerie could just make out Brant’s silhouette at the window.
“What is it?” she asked softly. “What was that noise?”
“Sounded like a motorcycle,” he said. “I’m going down to check it out.”
He crossed the room to the sofa to draw on the blue robe, and it was only then that Valerie realized he’d been standing at the window naked. She shivered under the covers, pulling the blanket up to her neck as she watched him move toward the door. When he’d disappeared into the hallway, Valerie got out of bed and pulled on her own robe. She followed him into the corridor.
He stood on the landing, staring over the railing into the large living room/lobby below. Valerie joined him. She started to say something, but he motioned her to silence. Together they watched as the front door opened, and a tall, shadowy figure emerged from the darkness.
Valerie could feel Brant tense beside her, and knew he was getting ready to confront the intruder, but just then, another figure appeared from the hallway beneath the stairs. A woman dressed in a white, flowing nightgown.
Valerie recognized Emily, the owner of the inn, and the intruder appeared to be a welcome one. When Emily drew near him, the man took her in his arms and kissed her. Valerie could hear them whispering in the darkness, a low intimate sound that stirred a yearning inside her.
The man swept Emily up into his arms and disappeared with her down the hallway. A door closed softly below, and there was little doubt about the couple’s intentions. Little doubt about what they would be doing in a few moments.
The longing grew inside Valerie. She thought she had never felt more lonely than she did just then. She turned to walk back to the room, and Brant followed.
“I would assume,” he said dryly, when they’d closed the door behind them, “that was Emily’s husband.”
“No doubt,” Valerie replied, climbing back into bed and pulling the covers over her. She didn’t take off her robe, but she saw that Brant did. The fabric slid to the floor with a soft thud, then she heard the springs in the sofa creak ever so slightly as he lay down.
The springs creaked again as he turned over. Then creaked again, as he turned back over. He kicked off the covers, and Valerie heard him curse softly in frustration.
“Do you want me to sleep on the sofa?” she asked.
“No,” he said tersely. “That’s not what I want.”
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “I’m smaller than you. The sofa would be more comfortable for me.”
“I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous,” Brant said. “It’s ridiculous that someone wants to kill you—and now me, it would seem—because of something that happened thirty-one years ago. It’s ridiculous to think my father—my own father—could be behind it.” He sat up on the sofa and stared at her through the darkness. “It’s ridiculous that you’re over there in that big bed all alone when there’s plenty of room for both of us.”
Valerie’s heart pounded against her chest. “Wh-what?”
“You heard me.” Then, “Oh, hell, stop looking at me like that.”
“How do you know how I’m looking,” she asked, hurt by the angry sting in his words. “You can’t even see me.”
“No, but I know that look well enough. I saw it the other night in New Orleans. And before that, in the garden at the Kingsley mansion. You’re looking as if you think I’ll come over there and force my attentions on you.”
“Maybe I want you to,” Valerie said softly, surprising herself as much as him.
“What?”
“You heard me,” she said, using his own words.
“Valerie—”
“Don’t say it,” she whispered into the darkness. “Don’t say anything. Just come over here and kiss me.”
It was a request he seemed more than willing to grant. Valerie watched him cross the room toward the bed, felt his weight on the mattress as he climbed under the covers. Then she felt his hand on her arm, and a delicious shiver raced up her spine. He slid his hand down her skin until his fingers found hers, locking them together, drawing her hand up to his mouth to plant soft kisses on each knuckle.
With her free hand, Valerie reached up to cup the back of his neck, pulling him toward her. When his lips were only inches from hers, he released her hand to wrap her tightly in his arms.
And then he kissed her.
And Valerie’s whole world shattered.