Night Mist Page 9

  “You can cut the act. The game’s over.”

  Indignation and anger boiled within her, a surprising but welcome antidote. “How can you be such a—?”

  “Bastard? Easy. Watch someone you care about die sometime.”

  She had the strangest urge to laugh. It rose up her throat and she had to press her lips together and clench her hands into fists to keep it contained. But slowly she won the battle.

  Finally, she was able to draw a shaky breath and reply, “Oh, but I have, Detective Becket. I have.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll ask the questions…and I didn’t mean in the course of your work.”

  “I see. Because it’s not supposed to count when you’re a professional? Well, you’re wrong. It counts very much. Just as it counted when it was my brother, though technically he was already dead when I found his body. But the second time…the third and fourth times…oh, yes, I got to watch. That’s why I’m in this mess.”

  He took a step toward her. “So, you are involved.”

  “Involved?” The word again reminded her that she was as confused about what she’d gotten herself caught up in, as he was about her. “Not in the way I think you mean.”

  “Liar!”

  Her denial seemed to break through to some violent thing gestating inside him so that when he took another step toward her, her instinct was to retreat. She darted sideways, and her denim-clad legs scraped against the fitted sheet like fingernails assaulting a chalkboard. It was the echo of her fear, and a mistake.

  His hands reached for her; she tried to evade. Bigger, faster, stronger, he won. But like a spring recoiling, the force of his movements sent her flying backward and threw him off balance, as well.

  They fell onto the bed. For a lean man, he was built like a brick wall, solid and undefeatable. Overwhelmed by the full impact of his weight crushing her into the mattress, Rachel had her hands full struggling to breathe. Until all the fighting and writhing settled him solidly between her thighs and she became acutely, unignorably reminded that he was all male.

  She didn’t want to be aware, dreaded the shiver that betrayed her sensitivity to him. But as soon as her gaze was drawn to his and she found the fierce storm of his angry blue eyes altering, subduing, she reminded herself about who she was dealing with.

  If she believed in what she’d experienced on the bridge.

  If she could trust his ID.

  If she rejected every piece of scientific data she’d been taught since undergraduate school.

  Deciding she’d already made that decision the second night she’d crossed the bridge, she let herself relax and accept his weight, his superiority, his intimacy. She also forced herself to hold his affected, but stubbornly hard gaze with empathy and compassion in hers. Nothing, she was sure, like what he’d been expecting.

  She felt the change in his body first, a twitch of an abdominal muscle, a tightening in his loins and groin. It didn’t take a handful of degrees to recognize what was happening, but it allowed her to recognize he was definitely not as immune to her as he wanted it to appear.

  “It won’t work,” he ground out.

  “What won’t?”

  “The bravado or whatever the hell you’re trying to achieve. It’s a nice try, but I can tell you’re afraid.”

  “Not any longer. Not about what you think.”

  “Then you’re more of a fool than I thought possible.”

  “Maybe. But nothing you’re liable to threaten me with will make it easier to break.”

  “It? What?”

  “The ties that bind me to you.”

  Once again she felt an involuntary physical reaction, his body tightening, hardening against hers. In response, hers grew warmer, taut in places, and softer in others. On some level she knew it was insane, wrong, for her to be letting this happen. First and foremost, they were virtual strangers and, try as she might, she couldn’t forget the social mores that insisted she should have some self-respect.

  But she couldn’t help herself. A stronger urge insisted she follow her hunch. What fascinated her, though, was learning that Jay or Joe, or whatever he wanted to call himself, didn’t seem to have much control over his reaction to her, either.

  What she wasn’t prepared for was the moment he shifted his focus and stared at her mouth. Suddenly, she had a flashing glimpse of their future; in a fleeting instant of clarity, she understood why the Joe on the bridge had looked at her with such aching longing and—yes, she could admit it now—possession.

  She was going to come to know this man as intimately, as thoroughly, as two people could. The shock of that realization sent shivers of excitement and helpless desire through her body.

  “I wonder,” he muttered, after a small eternity, “would you really do anything to save your pretty neck?”

  “Does it matter? You won’t hurt me.”

  Her quiet resolve seemed to fill him with more agitation. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s sheer stupidity to play chicken with a desperate man?”

  Yes, she’d heard such advice, quite a few times, actually. But it had no impact on her at the moment. As incredible a situation as this was, she couldn’t forget that no matter how angry he might appear, she’d seen him first—on the bridge—without this mask of aggression…and she could never go back.

  “You won’t hurt me,” she said again, with more confidence than she knew she should be feeling, “because at your core you’re fair and decent. I may not have been sure of that before, and I’m afraid of how I know it now, but I do.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It’s a long story. One I’m nowhere near finished with putting together myself. How can I begin to explain it to you?” As she spoke, she gazed wonderingly up into his face. It amazed her that she was growing increasingly calm with every second. Even as the lights in his eyes sharpened, grew flinty, Rachel understood and felt herself becoming entwined in his feelings, his fears…his reluctant desire for her.

  “It’s all right,” she said, aware of the battle he waged within himself. “I’m no danger to you.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re in the wrong position to be reassuring. You need to be worrying about how much danger I am to you.”

  Only to her heart. The thought sent a shiver of trepidation through her; along with discovering Jay Barnes was Joe Becket, came the revelation of what such news had to mean.

  “Damn it, stop looking at me that way!” he demanded, at once wary and yet tightening his grip on her wrists. When she didn’t, he swore again and crushed his mouth to hers.

  Rachel had been expecting this, and yet nothing could have prepared her for the unleashed power of it. She was almost oblivious to the pain of his hands biting into hers, his mouth as it moved relentlessly over hers. In a few brief moments, he swept away every preconception and experience she’d had regarding intimacy and desire. Only her heart remained sharply aware of how he resented succumbing to this.

  The kiss went on and on, ruthless yet greedy. And his body…his body pressed her even deeper into the bedding, moved against her as though their clothes were inconsequential.

  How was such passion possible so quickly? she wondered dizzily, as he angled his head to seek more of her. They were strangers. Yet she couldn’t keep from wanting and responding to the wild abandon of his kiss any more than she could stop her body from accepting the powerful intrusion of his and challenging him to show her more.

  A sound broke from him, one that resembled pain as well as denial. She heard it the same instant she tasted blood. That was why, when he tore his mouth from hers, she was unable to do more than fight to catch her breath.

  Stunned and tortured expressions transformed his face like a series of splintering masks as he, too, struggled with his lost control. The sight of her dazed but accepting gaze seemed to flabbergast him; the smear of blood from her cut and swelling lip clearly
shamed him.

  “That’s just a sample of how bad it’s going to get if you don’t start talking,” he rasped.

  All she could think to say was “How could you want me so much? How can I want you? It shouldn’t be possible.”

  “I don’t want you,” he snapped.

  “Yes, you do. You hate it, but you do.” When she saw the glint of temper and the steely control that allowed him to drag himself off her and the bed, she knew she’d touched a deep nerve. “I meant what I said before. I’m not any danger to you. At least,” she continued, sitting up and touching her lip, “not in the way you’ve been suspecting.”

  “Can it,” he growled. “If you’re intent on seeing something that isn’t there, then that’s your problem. But I promise you, you’re not leaving this room until you tell me what I want to know.”

  Rachel might have almost believed he meant it, he managed to put that much icy disdain in his voice. However, he also made the mistake of shifting his gaze to her lip and quickly looking away. She attempted a faint smile. “It doesn’t really hurt.”

  “Then I promise it will next time.”

  “No. From now on, you’ll work even harder not to touch me.”

  “Don’t count on it. Right now nothing would give me more pleasure than to wipe that smug smile off your face.”

  She wanted to clarify that her smile wasn’t smug; instead she caught him touching his injured hand. Certain he must have hurt it again, she slid off the bed and went to help. As she reached for it, he backed away as though she was some venomous snake.

  The brisk knock on the door kept her from trying again.

  Rachel saw Joe stiffen and met his sharp look. From the other side of the door came Jewel’s voice.

  “Mr. Barnes? You in there?”

  Rachel met Joe’s stare. He looked as though he expected her to scream for help or something. Instead she lifted an eyebrow in query, which earned her a scowl. He then tilted his head toward the door.

  Her hands shaking from the last few minutes of surging adrenalin, she released the lock and opened up. “Yes, Jewel? Is something the matter?”

  Jewel stared at her mouth for a long moment before shooting an ominous look at Joe. “You okay?” she asked her.

  There was no telling what the woman was thinking, and Rachel’s mind was too full of other matters to try. “Of course. As I told you earlier, Mr….Mr. Barnes hurt his hand at work yesterday and I was about to change the bandage. Did you need me for something?”

  “I just brought up fresh towels for the bathroom, and I saw your door open. Couldn’t help being concerned,” she added pointedly.

  “That’s very kind, but as you can see, I’m fine.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jewel’s gaze darted between them again. “Miss Adorabella also said to ask if you wanted to lunch with her before you went in to work?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m not, um, going in to the clinic. Dr. Voss has decided I need some time off.”

  Jewel nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “In that case you’ll be wanting to come down for dinner, too.”

  “Well, I’m not sure….”

  “You taking time off, too?” Jewel demanded, turning to Joe.

  “Maybe.”

  “Uh-huh. Lunch’ll be ready in an hour. Dinner is at five-thirty. Come if you want to. Don’t if you don’t.” She focused on Rachel’s mouth once more. “Ain’t any of my business.”

  As she began to turn away, Rachel touched her arm. “Jewel!”

  The woman paused.

  “Thank you.”

  After a slight hesitation, Jewel reached into her apron pocket and drew out the ball of black wax Rachel had left downstairs. “You forgot this.”

  She pressed it into Rachel’s hand and shuffled off down the hallway. Boards creaked loudly under the weight of her heavy shoes. Rachel listened until she heard her start down the stairs, then hastily set the ball on the night table.

  “You and the voodoo queen joining forces?” Joe drawled, easing between her and the door. He shut it with barely a sound.

  “She’s afraid you’re trouble for me.”

  “That’s like arsenic telling a .45 it’s deadly.”

  Preoccupied with wondering how to dispose of the nasty-looking wax, Rachel turned to Joe in surprise when she heard the sound of the lock. “Didn’t I just prove to you that I can be trusted?”

  “Hardly. You didn’t sound any more eager to explain yourself to her than I did. That only confirms I was right. You’ve got something to hide, and you’re not leaving here until you tell me what it is.”

  She shut her eyes and shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re asking. It’s not something I can casually blurt out to you. What’s more, you’re not going to believe me when I do tell you.”

  “Try me.”

  Rachel took a deep breath and shifted her hands to cover her queasy stomach. “I think…No, it’s more than that. I know you’re going to die.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “This may come as a shock to you, Doctor, but everybody kicks the bucket sooner or later,” Joe said, grateful that he managed not to show any outward reaction. But inside he felt shaken to his core. How could he not when, from the moment she’d moved in, he’d been wondering if she was one of Garth’s people sent to silence him, all the while knowing it did nothing to lessen his desire for her?

  “By a gunshot wound to the stomach?”

  His abdominal muscles tensed spasmodically. Of all the ways he’d imagined it happening—and in his line of work there were plenty—he tried not to think about that one. It ranked up on his list of dreads along with having to spend his life in a wheelchair or being reduced to a vegetable. But what disturbed him most was the certainty with which she spoke. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  Rachel bowed her head and massaged her shoulders. He was beginning to recognize the gesture as a habit performed when she was hot, restless…or nervous. Considering that she kept to herself almost as much as he did, he’d been storing up an abundant supply of trivia about her. And now that he knew what she tasted like, he realized he’d learned too much.

  “I’ve been experiencing a strange phenomenon,” Rachel told him, with a caution that matched the returning unease in her brown eyes.

  If anything, those eyes were going to be his undoing; wide and clear, with the slightest hint of a tilt at their corners, they possessed both an intelligence to be reckoned with and a softness born of an irresistible sensitivity. “Phenomenon?”

  “Since Monday. Since the weather changed.”

  As he saw how her gaze seemed to be drawn to the side window that looked out toward Black Water Creek and the bridge, he let his follow. “The fog?”

  “Not exactly. It’s what’s in it.”

  “Something’s in it?”

  “Try to remember that you’re the one who asked,” she shot back, her tone defensive. But once she turned back to the window she grew apologetic again. “And I suppose because it involves you, you deserve to be told. Only…” Once again she reached up to her shoulder.

  “Will you cut that out,” Joe muttered, frustrated because he’d been thinking how he would like to brush her hand aside and press his lips there.

  “What did I do?”

  Feeling like an idiot, he said, “Just stop fidgeting and finish what you were saying.”

  She nodded, but continued to look confused over his outburst. “All right. But please understand, until this happened, I wasn’t the type to give credence to the, um, paranormal.”

  What the hell…? He wanted to laugh. He almost swore. Crushing both impulses, he thought, no. He wouldn’t say anything. Let her finish trying to play him for a fool and see what happened.

  “On Monday,” she began, using the low, quiet voice he’d found himself listening for when they were both in the house, “when we closed the clinic, I had to walk home because the woman who usually gives me a lift back here—had car problems.”

  She’
d said here, not home; Joe filed away the small tidbit of information, which raised dozens of other questions. “Why don’t you have a car?”

  “I sold it to pay bills. My college loans, to be exact.”

  “Give me a break.” This was obviously going to be a bigger trial on his patience than he’d first thought.

  “Why not? It was worth more than what I’ll earn in two years working here, plus it retired a hefty chunk of my tuition debt.”

  “That’s not what I was commenting on. I was referring to someone with your background insinuating you’ve had it tough. Don’t forget, the Duchess is a diehard gossip. She told me who your old man is.”

  “Maybe if you’d listened longer, you’d have learned I’m also the black sheep in my family,” she retorted, a hint of gold fire in her eyes. “I turned down their offer to pay for my education in order to choose my own school, my own career and the right to live my life on my own terms.”

  “Honey, no one in their right mind spends the small fortune you must have to get your degree and volunteers to come to this slug capital of Louisiana.”

  “The loan program I was part of had a moral commitment clause,” she explained, with a dignity he had to admire. “The basic concept is that you get your tuition, but upon graduation you’ve agreed to serve two years at a location that ordinarily can’t afford decent medical staffing.”

  “Sounds as though you’d have to be a saint or a fool to agree to something like that.” Once again her eyes turned bright with temper, and Joe grimaced.

  “Okay, okay. Finish.”

  “Forget it.”

  She spun away from him and he caught her by the upper arm. “Finish.”

  What was it about her that tied him in knots so easily? From the first time he saw her walking to work with the midafternoon sun highlighting the russet and gold in her squeaky-clean hair and her filly-slim body moving with the grace of a woman totally at ease with herself, he’d been living for the next glimpse of her. Even in the bathroom, he searched for a hint of her presence—the scent of her soap or body lotion. On nights when he was too hot or edgy to sleep, he went to the window and listened for the low, not-quite-on-key humming that drifted over from her window, telling him that she’d come in from work and found it as impossible to settle down as he did.