Freefall (57 page)

She swallowed. “Does it hurt?”

“When I’m up too long, or off it too long. Sometimes I wake up and don’t remember the rest isn’t there. Sometimes it’s the rest that hurts.”

Tears streamed. Her mouth worked, but no words came.

He lowered himself to the end of the bed, detached the prosthesis and set it aside. He could hardly make himself look up, but when he did, Allegra didn’t look away. They sat there a long time. Then he said, “Would you want to sleep in here tonight?”

She dropped to her knees and laid her head on his thigh. “Yes,” she said, her tears soaking his scars. “I would.”

FORTY-FOUR

Cameron knocked on Gentr y’s door.
He had slipped through the security doors with a group of partiers, but at 2:30 in the morning most of the building was quiet. A hint of music seeped from somewhere; a wall sconce fluttered across the hall. His own breathing was louder than either. No sound came from behind Gentry’s door. If she was sleeping, she’d be confused and frightened by the knocking, more so by his next move. He took the lock pick from his wallet.

The click of the lock seemed magnified. He slid his Glock from the holster before easing the door open. No security chain. If she was inside, he’d talk to her about that. Even with the coded entrances, she should be more careful.

Candle scent surrounded him as he recalled the room’s layout from the wonderful evening he’d spent there. He lit the tiny flashlight on his key chain and sent the beam around the main room and kitchen, then started down the hall to Gentry’s room.

He crept carefully, making no noise that could startle her. The door stood open. No sound of breathing. No sense or scent of her. He turned on the light, fear and disappointment hitting him in the gut. He turned back and lit up the kitchen and living room, revealing arched doorways and alcoves, but the rooms lacked the magic she’d made with candlelight and, most of all, her presence.

There was no sign of struggle. No forced entry. But he was careful not to touch anything just in case. 2:45. Where would she be? He holstered his Glock, opened the desk drawer in the kitchen, and found an address book. It was filled with names, some he might recognize, most he’d never heard.

He flipped through the pages and realized he hardly knew her. When they were alone together, it seemed as though he did, as though he always had. But he’d had nothing more than a glimpse. When she’d called the other night, had she been telling him she liked Alec’s kiss? Was that what had upset her? That she’d felt something with Alec? He ran her wording through his head.
“ You were right. It’s Eva, but it’s me too.”

Had today’s shoot developed a heat between them that neither wanted to end? He’d felt it, her potent presence. The mind-numbing, visceral, awakening power of her gaze. Alec’s back-of-the-neck kiss had not been teasing. He wanted her, wanted her to want him. Alec had opportunity and motive.

Cameron clenched his jaw. He thought of holding Gentry on her parents’ roof. Did she turn it on for whatever man she was with?
“I’ve been kissed on every stage I’ve played.”
Jealousy like nothing he’d ever known shot fire through his veins.

Myra’s betrayal had dumbfounded and disenchanted him. But he’d never wanted to go after the men she’d been with the way he wanted to go now and rip into Alec Warner. Because he was part of her passion? The acting she loved, the thing that made her “come alive.” He burned. What Myra had not accomplished in five years with her multiple infidelities, Gentry achieved now. He tossed the book into the drawer.

What was he doing? He didn’t belong here. He’d been stupid to come. He turned off the kitchen light, plunged the hallway back into darkness. He reached for the switch to extinguish the living room lights, but caught sight of a strip of paper on the carpet.

He picked it up and read the single word.
Help
.

His heart hammered. He closed the note into his fist, his ego crashing in. He had let his mind go the other way, because he couldn’t think of her with the man who’d hired someone to kill her. The single word stripped away his doubts and jealousies and focused his mind. Whatever it took, he’d get Gentry the help she’d called for.

After withdrawing all the cash he could get from her bank and credit cards at several ATMs—and freezing all her accounts in the process—Curt had secured a fleabag room in a part of town Gentry had never seen in the four years she’d lived there. It was the kind of place where they didn’t ask questions when a man half dragged a woman out of the car and shoved her through the door.

She shouldn’t have angered him. He’d seemed absurd as her aunt’s lover, but her indignation had made her foolish. This was no spitting contest. He jerked her through the small, dingy space and tossed her onto the bathroom floor. Her chin banged, and she gagged at the sour smell that arose from the yellowed linoleum.

With a knee in her back and the gun to her head, he coiled a phone cord around her wrists and cinched it. “Sit up.” He tied the rest of the cord to the brown, corroded plumbing under the sink, then stooped down and raked her with his gaze. “Welcome to the sewer with the rest of us.”

She pressed in between the tub and toilet, away from the snake who’d seduced her aunt while Uncle Rob fought for his life, fought because this same piece of trash had ordered them killed. She wanted to rake her nails over his smug face, chop his chiseled chin with her knee.

His gun kept her docile. She didn’t walk out on a crumbling shelf, didn’t stand tall in a lightning storm. But if one way was blocked, she found another. And when she found it, she’d take it.

“How’s it feel?” He slid his fingers over her cheek, down her neck. “Big Hollywood star, every man’s dream.”

She clenched her teeth when he touched her mouth and willed herself not to bite his fingers to the bone.

“Maybe that’s what Uncle likes, hmm? Off alone together on your little adventures.”

“You filthy—”

He grabbed hold of her ponytail, brought the gun’s barrel to the hollow under her ear. Fear surged through her. Everything she’d done, all that she’d hoped for ended here. Bloody carnage. Headlines. For once she wouldn’t care. She’d be gone.

Curt ground his mouth into hers so hard she tasted blood. “Is that how he kisses you? How that cripple kisses you, Allegra?”

Gentry sucked a breath. “I’m not Allegra.”

He bent her head back hard and scowled. “Not even close. But Uncle Rob likes you better, doesn’t he?”

“Uncle Rob loves his wife.”

He smacked her head against the chipped edge of the tub, then let go and stood up. “You’re lucky I’m not a violent man.”

Sharp stabs of pain shot from the back of her head. Her shoulders burned. The tang of blood seeped into her mouth and warned her not to provoke this “nonviolent man.” If he was crazed enough to imagine her Allegra, then he was more than some con after Uncle Rob’s money. There was no telling what anger he might work out on her.

He backed out of the bathroom. “I need some sleep.”

Through the open door, she watched him empty his pockets, lay her phone and his gun on the table beside him, and then stretch out prone on the bed. Within minutes, his breathing slowed and deepened; he snored. She writhed and tugged against her bonds.

If she screamed would someone hear? Would anyone care? He would gag her—or beat her senseless. Her whole body shook. She couldn’t see the watch on the wrist tied behind her, but she knew it was too late for Uncle Rob to return her call. The tiny note she’d left would probably lie inside her door for days, a piece of evidence in a crime bag after the fact.

She sank back against the pipes under the sink and pulled her knees to her chest. Drawing a jagged breath, she fought the tears. The bang on her head felt wet and throbbed. Her arms and shoulders ached. Her lips had swollen. But it could get worse. If Curt thought she was Allegra, or got angry that she wasn’t …
Lord!
Fear choked her.
Help me.

Into her mind came the blurred image in the photo that someone had called her strong angel. Cameron claimed she had divine protection; the centipede, the falls, Malakua. Was it true? Was any of it true?

Closing the door behind the police, Cameron released his breath. The officer who’d recognized him from the tabloids had assumed he had legitimate access to Gentry’s place. He never thought he’d be glad for those rags, but it had given his presence and his fears legitimacy, and though he’d furthered the impression that he and Gentry were lovers, he didn’t care.

He’d laid out the situation, shown them the note. The officers were treating it as an abduction rather than a missing person, which would have required a delay of days. The lack of disorder indicated that Blanchard had a weapon, probably a gun. Otherwise Gentry would have fought.

All over the city, cops would be on alert for Gentry Fox, for her car, her credit cards. But was it all too little, too late? Fatigue dragged him to the futon. Though he doubted he could, he needed to sleep. It was too intimate to use her bed, too presumptuous. He’d like nothing better than to get caught there, if it meant she was free and able to do so, but he was too realistic to imagine it.

He lay back, assailed by memories of Gentry lighting candles, her eyes laughing, her mouth … Fear caught him by the throat. “Jesus,” he breathed. He’d carped about Alec kissing her, but darker thoughts assailed him now.

Curt had seduced her aunt. What would make him keep his hands off Gentry Fox? Ransom and leverage were probably the reasons he’d taken her. But this was a man who used sex as a tool. He was already wanted, desperate. If Gentry pushed him, angered him …

He clenched his fists. Denny had called her a light in the darkness. Was she so radiant, evil couldn’t tolerate her?

He pressed his hand to his face.
Lord. Akua. She’s in your hands
. He closed his eyes and saw her flinging off the centipede. He’d believed on the island. Did he believe now?

Gentry cringed against the chipped bathtub, averting her face when Curt came in and relieved himself. His crassness chilled her as she gagged on the sharp odor. He zipped his pants and stood there with an expression she didn’t want to see. How desperate must Aunt Allegra have been to fall for the sensuality he exuded?

The frailty she’d seen at Uncle Rob’s, the despair in her aunt’s face, explained so much—a woman fighting time, faith, and anything too real. Curt Blanchard found and exploited weakness. And while she’d never thought of Aunt Allegra as weak, he’d seen what the rest of them had missed.

She pulled against the cord. Both wrists were raw. She had worked at it throughout the night, whenever she woke from the snatches of sleep that had overcome but not restored her. These were not the gentle knots Cameron had tied when Malakua ordered it.
Kai
. If he knew, nothing would stop him helping her.

But how would he know anything was wrong? Not talking to her one night wouldn’t tell him. She twisted her wrist; the cord only dug in. If she had stayed and read with Alec, would she be safe now? If she hadn’t left early … But she’d followed her conscience. And now this.

She inched away when Curt squatted beside her. Though a handsome man, the smile that found his lips was ugly. She braced herself when he touched the swelling on her lip where his teeth had ground it into hers. Her stomach turned.