Lisa Jackson – Secrets and Desire: Best-Kept Lies / Miss Pruitt's Private Life / Secrets, Lies...and Passion (страница 4)

She flipped on her blinker and switched lanes by rote, then eased to a stop at the next red light. Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t hide out forever. It was time to take action. Reclaim her life. Which was here in Seattle, not at the Flying M Ranch in Montana with her three bossy half brothers.

And yet her heart twisted and she felt a moment’s panic. She’d let herself become complacent in the safety of the ranch, with three strong brothers ensuring she and her infant son were secure.

No more.

You did this, Randi. It’s your fault your family is in danger. And now you’ve compounded the problem with Kurt Striker. What’s wrong with you? Last night…remember last night? You caught him watching you on the ledge, knew that he’d been staring, had felt the heat between the two of you for weeks, and what did you do? Did you pull on your robe and duck into your bedroom and lock the door like a sane woman? Oh, no. You put your baby down in his crib and then you followed Striker, caught up with him and—

A horn blasted from behind her and she realized the light had turned green. Gritting her teeth, she drove like a madwoman. Pushed the wayward, erotic thoughts of Kurt Striker to the back of her mind for the time being. She had more important issues to deal with.

At least her son was safe. If only for the time being. She missed him horridly already and she’d just dropped him off at a spot where no one could find him. It was only until she did what she had to do. Hiding Joshua was best. For her. For him. For a while. A short while, she reminded herself. Already attempts had been made upon her life and upon the lives of those closest to her, she couldn’t take a chance with her baby.

As she braked for a red light, she stared through the raindrops zigzagging down the windshield, but in her mind’s eye she saw her infant son with his inquisitive blue eyes, shock of reddish-blond hair and rosy cheeks. She imagined his soft little giggles. So innocent. So trusting.

Her heart tore and she blinked back a sudden spate of hot tears that burned her eyelids and threatened to fall. She didn’t have time for any sentimentality. Not now.

The light changed. She eased into the traffic heading toward Lake Washington, weaving her way through the red taillights, checking her rearview mirror, assuring herself she wasn’t being followed.

You really are paranoid, her mind taunted as she found the turnoff to her condominium and the cold January wind buffeted the trees surrounding the short lane. But then she had a right to be. She pulled into her parking spot and cranked off the ignition of her SUV. The vehicle was new, a replacement for her crumpled Jeep that had been forced off the road in Glacier Park a couple of months back. The culprit who’d tried to kill her had gotten away with his crime.

But not for long, she told herself as she swung out of the vehicle and grabbed her bag from the back seat. She had work to do; serious work. She glanced over her shoulder one last time. No shadowy figure appeared to be following her, no footsteps echoed behind her as she dashed around the puddles collecting on the asphalt path leading to her front door.

Get a grip. She climbed the two steps, juggled her bag and purse on the porch, inserted her key and shoved hard on the door with her shoulder.

Inside, the rooms smelled musty and unused. A dead fern in the foyer was shedding dry fronds all over the hardwood floor. Dust covered the windowsill.

It sure didn’t feel like home. Not anymore. But then nowhere did without her son. She kicked the door behind her and took two steps into the living room, then, seeing a shadow move on the couch, stopped dead in her tracks.

Adrenaline spurted through her bloodstream.

Goose bumps rose on the back of her arms.

Oh, God, she thought wildly, her mouth dry as a desert.

The killer was waiting for her.

Three

“Well, well, well,” he drawled slowly. “Look who’s finally come home.”

In an instant Randi recognized his voice.

Bastard.

His hand reached to the table lamp. As he snapped on the lights, she found herself staring into the intense, suspicious gaze of Kurt Striker, the private investigator her brothers had seen fit to hire.

She instantly bristled. Fear gave way to outrage. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Waitin’.”

“For?”

“You.”

Damn, his drawl was irritating. So was the superior, know-it-all attitude that emanated from him as he lounged on her chenille couch, the fingers of one big hand wrapped possessively around a long-necked bottle of beer. He appeared as out of place in his jeans, cowboy boots and denim jacket as a cougar at a pedigreed-cat show.

“Why?” she demanded as she dropped her bag and purse on a parson’s table in the entry. She didn’t step into the living room; didn’t want to get too close to this man. He bothered her. Big-time. Had from the first time she’d laid eyes on him when she’d still been recuperating from the accident.

Striker was a hardheaded, square-jawed type who looked like Hollywood’s version of a rogue cop. His hair, blond streaked, was unruly and fell over his eyes, and he seemed to have avoided getting close to a razor for several days. Deep-set, intelligent eyes, poised over chiseled cheeks, were guarded by thick eyebrows and straight lashes. He wore faded jeans, a tattered Levi’s jacket and an attitude that wouldn’t quit.

Resting on the small of his back, sprawled on her couch, he raked his gaze up her body one slow inch at a time.

“I asked you a question.”

“I’m trying to save your neck.”

“You’re trespassing.”

“So call the cops.”

“Enough with the attitude.” She walked to the windows, snapped open the blinds. Through the wet glass she caught a glimpse of the lake, choppy, steel-colored water sporting whitecaps and fog too dense to see the opposite shore. Folding her arms over her chest, she turned and faced Striker again.

He smiled then. A dazzling, sexy grin offset by the mockery in his green eyes. It damn near took her breath away and for a splintered second she thought of the hours they’d spent together, the touch of his skin, the feel of his hands…oh, God. If he wasn’t such a pain in the butt, he might be considered handsome. Interesting. Sexy. Long legs shoved into cowboy boots, shoulders wide enough to stretch the seams of his jacket, flat belly… Yeah, all the pieces fit into a hunky package. If a woman was looking for a man. Randi wasn’t. She’d learned her lesson. Last night was just a slip. It wouldn’t happen again.

Couldn’t.

“You know,” he said, “I was just thinkin’ the same thing. Let’s both shove the attitudes back where they came from and get to work.”

“To work?” she asked, rankled. She needed him out of her condo and fast. He had a way of destroying her equilibrium, of setting her teeth on edge.

“That’s right. Cut the bull and get down to business.”

“I don’t think we have any business.”

His eyes held hers for a fraction of a second and she knew in that splintered instant that he was remembering last night as clearly as she. He cleared his throat. “Randi, I think we should discuss what happened—”

“Last night?” she asked. “Not now, okay? Maybe not ever. Let’s just forget it.”

“Can you?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to try.”

He silently called her a liar.

“Okay, if this is the way you want to play it.”

“I told you we don’t have any business.”

“Sure we do. You can start by telling me who’s the father of your baby.”

Never, buddy. Not a chance. “I don’t think that’s relevant.”

“Like hell, Randi.” He was on his feet in an instant, across the hardwood floor and glaring down his crooked nose at her. “There have been two attempts on your life. One was the accident, and I use the term loosely, up in Glacier Park, when your car was forced off the road. The other when someone tried to do you in at the hospital. You remember those two little incidents, don’t you?”

She swallowed hard. Didn’t answer.

“And let’s not forget the fire in the stable at the ranch. Arson, Randi. Remember? It nearly killed your brothers.” Her heart squeezed at the painful memory. To her surprise he grabbed her, strong hands curling around her upper arms and gripping tightly through her jacket. “Do you really want to take any more chances with your life? With your brothers’? With your kid’s? Little J.R. nearly died from an infection in the hospital after the accident, didn’t he? You went into labor early in the middle of no-goddamn-where, and by the time some Good Samaritan saw you and called for an ambulance, your baby almost didn’t make it.”

She fought the urge to break down. Wished to heaven that he’d quit touching her. He was too close, his angry breath whispering over her face, the raw, sexual energy of him seeping through her clothes.

“Now, I’m not moving,” he vowed, “not one bloody inch, until you and I get a few things straight. I’m in for the long haul and I’ll stay here all night if I have to. All week. All year.”

Her stupid heart pounded, and though she tried to pull away he wouldn’t allow it. The manacles surrounding her arms clamped even more tightly.

“Let’s start with one important question, shall we?”