Circle of Fire (6 page)

But there was only one way he was ever going to find out. And that meant he had to get out of the truck, and he had to leave Madeline.

And he wasn’t sure what was going to be the hardest to do.

“Jon?”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. There was fear in her warm amber eyes and blood on her hands.
What could he say? Thank you for saving my soul, if not my life?

“Do you need this?” she continued, distaste in her voice as she dangled the bloody shaft between two fingers. “For evidence or something?”

If he touched the white ash again in his weakened condition, it would probably kill him. And whatever clues the shaft might have held had been lost during his plunge into the water.

“Get rid of it.”

She opened the door and threw the arrow out into the night. Cold air rushed in, swirling around him. He struggled upright, fighting the lethargy taking hold of his body.

“Thank you,” he said, as she slammed the door shut.

She smiled wryly. “I’d say you’re welcome, but it’s not something I’d ever like to do again.”

“If I had more time, I’d take you out to dinner or something.” It sounded cold, even to him. But the cat was out there somewhere. Even if he couldn’t find it tonight, he still had to go back to the inn and retrieve the stuff he’d left there. It might have been easier to stay in Madeline’s company, but he couldn’t involve her more deeply. She said her nephew was safe. Let that be the end of it. Better she thought the worst of him. He grabbed the door handle and pulled it back. “I guess we’ll just have to take a rain check, sweetheart.”

He saw her eyes widen before he let the magic take him.

*   *   *

M
ADDIE STARED AT
J
ON
. F
OR
C
HRIST
’
S SAKE, SHE WAS
still covered in his blood and hers, and here he was giving her a casual brush-off! “Don’t you dare leave just yet—”

But she was speaking to the night.

Maddie blinked. How could an injured man move so fast? She scrambled out of the truck and ran to the passenger side. He was nowhere to be seen. She bit her lip and studied the darkness. He could barely walk ten minutes ago; surely he couldn’t be too far away. She grabbed the flashlight and swept the bright beam across the road. The undergrowth beneath the trees didn’t look as if it had been disturbed recently. So where in the hell had he gone, if not through there?

“Damn you, Jon! Come back here.”

The keen of the wind through the treetops was her only answer. She shivered and watched the shadows uneasily. Something didn’t feel right. A twig snapped suddenly, and she swung the flashlight’s beam across the thick stand of trees to her right. The undergrowth stirred, and out of the shadows stepped a dark-colored cat, its eyes like green fire in the darkness. Not just any cat but a big, black panther.

Something in the creature’s jewel-like gaze made Maddie’s soul tremble.

She edged backward, feeling for the truck’s door. The creature snarled silently, revealing teeth that were long and white. Maddie jumped into the truck and slammed the door shut. The engine started the first time she twisted the ignition, and she shifted into gear. Then she hesitated, eyeing the darkness beyond the headlights.

Jon was still out there, injured and alone, with a
panther stalking the area. Would the cat smell his blood and hunt him down? Maybe she should report the panther’s presence—only who would believe her? Panthers weren’t exactly native to this area, and unless someone had reported that one escaped, they’d probably think she was nuts.

Or drunk.

If only
. She took a deep breath and tried to calm the irrational rush of anger. She knew it stemmed more from her need to find Evan than Jon’s casual gratitude and sudden disappearance, but she wished he’d had the decency to stick around, even if it was just long enough to refuse to help her.

He never promised to help me, though. It’s my fault I’m here, running from shadows and cats. Not his
.

And she couldn’t leave until Evan was safe.

She drove the truck back onto the road and quickly headed toward the inn.

Rain was pelting across the windshield by the time she reached it. She switched off the engine, then glanced across at the inn. The light peeking past the edges of the curtains indicated someone was still up, despite the fact that it was after eleven. But the night manager had said he’d wait and let her in. So why was she suddenly wary?

Maybe her encounter with the cat had scared her more than she’d thought. Or maybe it was the way the shadows crowded the building and gave the appearance of skeletal hands creeping across the outer edges of the light. Or maybe she was simply tired and needed to rest. She glanced down at her palm, which had finally stopped bleeding, then at the rest of her
bloodied clothing. How was she going to explain this away if anyone was awake? Fortunately her jacket, when she found it, was relatively free of blood on the outside, though the lining was stained where it had rested against Jon’s wound. She shrugged it on and found that it covered some of the damage. But what of the rest?

Then she remembered the old rain poncho she kept in the truck for emergencies. She threw that on, too, and was relieved to note that whatever was not hidden by the jacket was now covered by the poncho. Thus armored, she exited the vehicle and ran across the lawn to the front steps.

The bell chimed brightly as she closed the door behind her. Maddie grimaced and shook the rain off her poncho. No one came to greet her, and she drew a grateful breath. The last thing she needed was company—especially if that company was the night manager with the creepy eyes.

Warmth surrounded her as she headed quietly toward the stairs. A woman was talking softly in the parlor to her right, her voice mellow and deep, but beyond that, there was no other sound.

Then the sudden shattering of glass made her stop and glance upward. Had a tree branch gone through one of the upstairs windows? Footsteps sounded behind her, and she whirled around. The night manager had stopped in the parlor doorway and was leaning casually against the door frame.

“Hello again. Enjoy the drive?”

“Yes, thanks,” she said, hoping that the poncho had done its trick. His voice held nothing beyond polite interest, but there was still something about him
that made her uneasy. Maybe it was just the smug half-smile that touched his thin lips, or the way his gaze roamed her body.

Please, don’t let him see any blood …

He raised his coffee cup. “Coffee’s just brewed, if you’d like a cup.”

The urge to run was almost overwhelming.

“I’d love to, but …” She hesitated, then shrugged. The best excuse was usually the truth. “It’s been a long day and it’ll just keep me awake. Thanks for the offer, though.”

He pushed away from the door frame and took several steps toward her. “I thought I heard something break as you came in …”

Again, though his voice was conversational, his dark eyes were intense, watchful.

Something odd
was
going on.

She licked suddenly dry lips. “You … you did?”

“Yeah. It sounded like glass breaking.”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to sound calm. “I didn’t hear anything like that.” And if he had, why didn’t he mention it the moment he came out?

“Really?” He took a sip of his coffee, then glanced up the stairs. “Maybe I should check your room before you go up. Make sure it’s safe.”

The last place she wanted this man was in her room. She shook her head and tried to smile. “I’ll be all right. If anything’s broken, I’ll give you a call.”
But not until morning, when there’s more light and a lot more people around
.

“I’ll be up in a moment to check the other rooms, so I’ll be nearby if you need me.” He hesitated, then raised his cup. “ ’Night.”

She watched him disappear into the parlor, then turned and almost ran up the stairs. Her hands were shaking so much it took several tries before she could get the door unlocked. She quickly locked it behind her, then sagged against it and took a deep breath.

What was it about that man that made her so afraid? Or was Jayne right? Had she locked herself away for so long that she’d simply forgotten how to interact with people?

Maddie rubbed her eyes, then walked across the living room toward the bedroom. She stripped off her poncho and then her jacket, dropping both in a heap by the bed. Then she kicked off her shoes and removed her socks. A cold breeze ran around her ankles and she glanced in the direction of the bathroom.

Had
a window broken? She hesitated, then cursed herself for doing so. What was she afraid of? A little broken glass?

Opening the bathroom door, she switched on the light and looked in.

Jon lay sprawled on the floor—wet, bleeding, and surrounded by glass.

H
E WAS ALIVE—SHE COULD TELL THAT MUCH FROM THE RISE
and fall of his chest. But he was so pale he could very easily have passed for the ghost she’d once mistaken him for. She quickly knelt down and felt his forehead. His skin burned, despite his lack of color.

“Jon?” She ran her hand down his stubble-lined cheek and lightly pinched his chin, trying to get some sort of reaction from him.

He groaned and opened his eyes. The power of his vivid blue gaze pierced her heart.

“Madeline.” His voice was little more than a harsh whisper, yet she heard surprise in it. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry for what? Sorry for being such a bastard back in the forest, or for landing in a bloody mess on her bathroom floor? And just how had he managed to get back here so quickly?

“We need to get you out of these wet clothes,” she said in an effort to organize her thoughts.

He nodded weakly and closed his eyes. “I’ve got dry clothes inside.”

Inside? What was he talking about? She frowned and wondered if, in his delirium, he’d wandered into the wrong room. Yet that didn’t explain the broken
window or the fact that he’d somehow gotten past her locked door.

“Let’s get you off the floor,” she said, deciding to tackle one problem at a time.

He nodded weakly, obviously hanging onto consciousness by a thread.

“Stay with me, Jon,” she said softly.

Again he nodded. Was he fully aware of what she was saying or merely nodding every time she finished speaking?

“Okay, you’ve got to help me here.” She shuffled around to his feet, then reached forward and took his hands. His fingers were long and strong and very cold. “One, two … three.”

She rose, pulling back as hard as she could. He lurched forward, teeth gritted, eyes slits of pain as he struggled upright. At his nod, she let go of his hands. He caught the edge of the shower door, using it to balance himself.

“Remind me not to do that again,” he muttered. His knuckles were almost white with the force of his grip on the shower.

Even so, he wasn’t too steady. She quickly slipped her shoulder under his. The last thing she wanted was for him to collapse again. She’d never be able to lift him back up.

He stirred at her touch and opened his eyes, but his gaze was unfocused. She had the odd feeling he wasn’t even seeing her, that something else held his attention.

“Don’t let them find me.” Anxiety edged his hoarse voice.

“Who?” Was he delirious?

“Downstairs,” he whispered, then reached up, gently touching her cheek. “They’ll hurt you.”

His touch was cold, yet it sent fire racing across her skin. She licked her lips and wondered again at her sanity. Here she was, helping a man she didn’t know and probably shouldn’t trust. “I can take care of myself.”
Only too well …

“Not against them.”

And maybe not against you
, she thought, trying to ignore the tingle that raced through her limbs every time she brushed against him. “Let’s worry about the bad guys after you’re out of these wet clothes.”

He muttered something, his breath warm as it brushed over her cheek. Maddie shifted her grip on his arm. “Walk with me, okay?”

She glanced sideways at him. Even as pale as he was, he was handsome. He glanced up, a sudden gleam of amusement momentarily blurring the pain in his eyes. She quickly swallowed the thought. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear he had read her thoughts. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? At least, she hoped it was. She didn’t want him to think she was after anything more than finding Evan.

Anything else could be dangerous—for both of them.

“Don’t faint before you can get out of those clothes,” she muttered, pulling her gaze away from his. Instead, she found herself staring at his boots. They were snakeskin, for heaven’s sake! And his jeans were so damn tight they looked painted on. And as wet as they were, taking them off would be more effort than it was worth.

“Let’s go,” she continued, shifting her grip on his arm.

Supporting a good half of his weight, she staggered through the bathroom door and across the room. He dropped down to the bed with a sigh she echoed, and then he fell sideways toward the pillow. There was fresh blood on his arm where she had gripped it. She quickly checked her palm, which was bleeding again. The wound must have opened when she’d hauled him upright.