Dark Journey (8 page)

"That damned heating system," Ricky grumbled. "I just about froze last night. Why the hell it picked last night to malfunction is beyond me. And then you have to scare the life out of me by screaming like a banshee! What the hell's gotten into you, Jeremy?"

"At least you had someone to sleep with," Cynthia said with a malicious purr, glaring at her husband. "A little body warmth must have made a difference."

"It would have if I'd been sleeping with someone other than Justine. She's about as cozy as an ice maiden." He glanced over at Jeremy, and his eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with you, man? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's Father," Justine cried in a piteous mew. "He's dead, isn't he?"

Laura moved swiftly, pushing past her motionless older brother, wrapping her arms around Justine's narrow shoulders. "He's still holding his own, Jussie. As a matter of fact, I looked in on him before breakfast, and Maria said he'd had a very peaceful night."

"Then what's wrong with Jeremy?" Cynthia murmured, moving closer.

Jeremy managed a rough laugh. "Nothing," he said. "I'm a little spooked, I guess. I don't like being cut off up here."

"Cut off?" Ricky echoed.

"Trees are blocking the road. The radio and telephone are still out. Not to mention the TV. We're isolated up here on the mountain, and it gets on my nerves." He moved toward the door, and Laura noticed a curious stiffness to his gait. "I'm going down to shower and change. I spent the night sitting up with Father. I'll see if I can figure out what's wrong with the heating system."

"Don't we have servants who take care of that sort of thing?" Ricky drawled.

"They're on the other side of the fallen trees," Jeremy snapped.

"Besides, Jeremy's always been terrific at mechanical things," Laura said, jumping in to try to soothe the tense atmosphere. "Father always used to say it was proof..." Her voice trailed off as she realized what she'd been about to say.

"Yes," Jeremy murmured, and there was no missing the twist of bitterness in his voice. "He always said it was proof I didn't carry any of the glorious Fitzpatrick blood in my veins. If my mother hadn't married him, I could have had a very happy life as a plumber."

Laura bit her lip. "You know I didn't mean that, Jeremy."

He shrugged, a wry expression on his usually bland face. "Don't worry about it, Laura. I stopped being offended by your father's gibes years ago."

It must have been the weather. The strange, stormy ether in the air or the tension that clung to them all, but suddenly Jeremy's humorous excuse rang false. Laura glanced up, over her shoulder, to Alex. He was standing apart, watching them, rather as a scientist might observe a tribe of interesting bugs. The unexpectedly strong notion sent a chill of foreboding dancing down Laura's backbone.

"Well, go or stay," Cynthia snapped. "But make up your mind. I'm freezing to death." She cast a measuring glance toward Alex, letting her eyes drift past Laura for a brief, dismissing moment. "In the meantime, I'm bored, and I'm afraid it's up to you to entertain me, Alex. I'm sure Ricky's mainly interested in how much whiskey he can sneak into his coffee cup, and Justine's frightened of her own shadow. You and I can play blackjack for impossible stakes."

Laura held her breath, waiting. She wanted him with her, not the mesmerizing Cynthia. She wasn't sure what she longed for. A continuation of that too-brief, devastating kiss? Or escape from something too powerful for her to handle?

"Why don't you and Laura see if you can help Mrs. Hawkins?" Jeremy suggested. "With the road closed, she's shorthanded."

Cynthia cast a scathing look at her husband. "Sorry, darling, but Laura's even more tedious than you are. The poor girl's lived like a nun, and everything she knows she's learned in books. We hardly have a thing in common."

"True enough," Ricky drawled. "You've never read a book in your life, and I bet you were a tramp by the time you were twelve."

"Not getting enough, Ricky?" Cynthia cooed, unmoved by his insults. "Sorry, but I'm no longer interested in charity cases." She moved past him. She was dressed in a garnet velour catsuit that clung to her curves, and she stopped in front of Alex, her mane of blond hair rippling down her back as she stared up at him. "Do you like to gamble, Alex?"

Laura held her breath, wickedly hoping for a put-down. But what man had ever been able to resist Cynthia's wiles when she focused them? "It depends on the stakes," he said, and his faint accent and husky tone made the words sound deeply erotic.

Cynthia's smile widened. "How delightful. You don't mind if I steal him, do you, Laura? I'm certain you have a million things to do."

"Of course," she said in a cool voice. "A million books to read."

She turned away, starting to move past them, and the unexpected threat of tears stung the backs of her eyelids. She didn't want them to see—she didn't want
Alex
to see—and she moved quickly, clumsily, toward the door.

It must have been an accident. The back of his hand brushed against hers as she went, and his skin was cool, firm, an odd caress so brief it must have been a mistake. And yet that momentary touch sent a thousand thoughts soaring through her, and there was no way she could believe where they'd come from. Except that she knew. They came from him. An apology. An assurance that all would be well.

She didn't want to hear apologies, assurances, but they slid into her subconscious through his touch, and she couldn't fight them. She had already moved past, out of reach, and she wanted to turn around, to catch his hand and take him with her. To warn Cynthia to keep her hands off him.

It was childish and absurd. If she'd been less troubled, it would have been amusing. As it was, she was barely able to summon a smile. As her lips curved, she remembered the cool delight of his mouth against hers, and she shivered.

"There's coffee and breakfast in the dining room," she said with creditable calm. "I think I'll go check on Father."

Cynthia had already laid claim to Alex's arm. "Don't worry about our guest, Laura. I promise I'll keep him entertained."

H
e wasn't quite sure what he was expecting from the woman. She felt the coldness of his touch far more acutely than Laura did. She minded it, but she couldn't seem to keep her hands away from him.

He had no qualms about letting her experiment. He knew now that her voice had been one of those calling to him last night. For some reason, her appointment with death had been moved up, unnaturally, and he wondered idly what had caused the change. It wasn't of great importance to him. When the time came for him to return, he would take those who were still ready. Those whose reprieves seemed justified could wait their turn.

She drew him into a room he hadn't seen before, some kind of study, and she closed the door behind them and flicked on the overhead light. The glow was dim, and he suspected the generator might be failing. It made little difference to him, but it might bother Laura. He didn't want Laura bothered.

But he knew she was very angry with him right now. The emotion had sung through her skin, stinging him, and he'd had time for only the briefest of reassuring touches. She didn't know what he was trying to spare her.

This woman might serve as a substitute. Perhaps she could provide the answers he sought, perhaps she could quiet the emptiness inside him. And then Laura could wait a little longer.

Cynthia put her hand on his thigh. She had attractive hands, adorned with expensive rings. Experienced hands. He leaned back on the sofa and watched her from behind the mirrored sunglasses, curious as to how far she intended to go.

"I like playing dangerous games," she cooed, moving close to him. Her scent was dark and musky, erotic. "Anyone might walk in here at any time. You know that, don't you? They know we're in here, and they'll probably leave us alone. Unless Laura gets too annoyed. I'm sure you know she's got a crush on you, Alex. I've never seen it before—little Laura is usually too saintly for human passions. Her family has seen to
that,
as well." Her hand trailed higher, and he watched it curiously, anticipating.

"But you're quite an interesting man, aren't you? You make us poor women throw caution to the winds." She rose to her knees on the couch, hovering over him, and he could see the hardness of her nipples. "You're so cold," she whispered. "Let me warm you up." And she put her mouth against his.

She was very practiced. He could appreciate her technique, both with her mouth and her hand as it claimed him. His body responded as a normal body would, but that dark, quiet part of him remained unmoved. He could push her down on the couch and have her, and she would scream with pleasure. Loud enough for Laura to hear, of course.

He would do it. It would hurt Laura, but it would also spare her. He touched Cynthia's plump breast, and she shivered, drawing back, a triumphant smile on her pink mouth. "I thought you might be interested," she purred. "Take off your sunglasses," she said in a husky voice, unzipping her catsuit with shaking fingers. "I want to look into your eyes when you make love to me."

She'd pushed the soft velour down around her elbows, baring her torso, baring her breasts. He stared at her through the sunglasses and tried to tell himself that he wanted her.

But he didn't.

It was a simple enough matter to drive her away. He reached for the mirrored sunglasses and took them off.

The thud when her body hit the floor was muffled by the thick Oriental carpet. She looked absurd, sprawled there in a dead faint, her jumpsuit halfway off her lush body. If he'd had an ounce of kindness in him, he would have pulled her clothes back around her, propped her up on the sofa and left her to regain consciousness.

But he wasn't feeling particularly kind. He rose, putting the sunglasses back over his eyes, and stepping over Cynthia's unconscious figure, he went in search of Laura.

T
he odd thing was, she'd never felt more alive. Last night when she lay in the forest, gasping for breath, she'd looked up and seen the bright white light and known. Known that Death, who had always hovered so closely, was reaching for her. She'd denied him too long.

But instead it had been Alex, looking down at her from behind his mirrored sunglasses, and life had come surging back, as she'd never felt it before.

She felt strong. Invulnerable. Fearless. Nothing could hurt her—she was charmed, safe, protected, and she couldn't rid herself of the notion that it was Alex, the stranger, who was protecting her.

She moved slowly down the winding path, her feet scuffling through the fallen pine needles. Overhead the sky was dark and stormy, the tops of the trees swayed in the angry wind. There was a chill in the air, a bite that promised a long, cold winter. And yet, all around her, plants still bloomed.

She hadn't been able to bring herself to stay in the house a moment longer. She knew Cynthia far too well—if she hadn't managed to seduce Alex by now, then it was only a matter of time. It didn't matter that Alex didn't seem the type to be seduced by Cynthia's obvious machinations. He'd gone with her willingly.

Laura paused by an aspen. The yellow leaves had been drifting down for days, but right now the remaining few clung stubbornly to the wind-tossed branches. She stared out over the golden hillside, bright against the dark sky, and took a deep, shaky breath. She'd always loved autumn best. It didn't matter that winter was coming, the long, endless darkness. For her there had always seemed to be hope and beauty in the fall, not in the spring.

She shook her head. It was no wonder she was getting fanciful. The freak storm was unnerving. The inevitable death of her father was even more shattering, and the advent of Alex in their enclave was the final disruption.

She couldn't rid herself of the feeling that nothing was as it seemed. Not with Alex not with her family. Not with her. She felt strong, invulnerable, for the first time in her life. And yet she knew that twelve hours ago she'd been closer to death than she'd ever been.

She heard the noise from a distance, and she tensed, her instincts suddenly alert. Whoever was approaching from the house was a stranger, dangerous to her and all she cared about. It had to be Alex, the only stranger there, but she didn't think it was. She leaned back against the tree, holding very still, ready to dart into the undergrowth at any moment.