Heartbreaker (29 page)

He carried a pistol in his right hand, but he
held it loosely by the side of his leg. "Michelle," he said, a little
confused by her manner, as if she were greeting a guest. "You're looking
well." It was a comment dictated by a lifetime of having the importance of
good manners drilled into him.

She nodded gravely. "Thank you. Would
you like a cup of coffee?" She didn't know if there was any coffee in the
house, and even if there were, it would be horribly stale, but the longer she could
keep him off balance, the better. If Edie wasn't in the kitchen now, she would
be in a few minutes, and she would wake John. Michelle hoped John would call
Andy, but he might not take the time. She figured he would be here in fifteen
minutes. Surely she could handle Roger for fifteen minutes. She thought the
brightly lit house would alert John that something was wrong, so he wouldn't
come bursting in, startling Roger into shooting. It was a chance, but so far
the chances she had taken had paid off.

Roger was staring at her with a feverish
glitter in his eyes, as if he couldn't look at her enough. Her question
startled him again. "Coffee?"

"Yes. I think I'd like a cup, wouldn't
you?" The very thought of coffee made her stomach roll, but making it
would take time. And Roger was very civilized; he would see nothing wrong with
sharing a cup of coffee with her.

"Why, yes. That would be nice, thank
you."

She smiled at him as she got up from the
stairs. "Why don't you chat with me while the coffee's brewing? I'm
certain we have a lot of gossip to catch up on. I only hope I have coffee; I
may have forgotten to buy any. It's been so hot this summer, hasn't it? I've
become an iced-tea fanatic."

"Yes, it's been very hot," he
agreed, following her into the kitchen. "I thought I might spend some time
at the chalet in
Colorado
. It should be pleasant this time of year."

She found a half-empty pack of coffee in the
cabinet; it was probably so stale it would be undrinkable, but she carefully
filled the pot with water and poured it into the coffeemaker, then measured out
the coffee into the paper filter. Her coffeemaker was slow; it took almost ten
minutes to make a pot. The perking, hissing sounds it made were very soothing.

"Please sit down," she invited,
indicating the chairs at the kitchen table.

Slowly he took a chair, then placed the
pistol on the table. Michelle didn't let herself look at it as she turned to
take two mugs from the cabinet. Then she sat down and took another cracker from
the pack she had brought with her; she had left it on the table earlier, when
she was going around the house turning on all the lights. Her stomach was
rolling again, perhaps from tension as much as the effects of pregnancy.

"Would you like a cracker?" she
asked politely.

He was watching her again, his eyes both sad
and wild. "I love you," he whispered. "How could you leave me
when I need you so much? I wanted you to come back to me. Everything would have
been all right. I promised you it would be all right. Why did you move in with
that brute rancher?
Why did you have to cheat on me like that
?"

Michelle jumped at the sudden lash of fury in
his voice. His remarkably pleasant face was twisting in the hideous way she
remembered in her nightmares. Her heart began thudding against her ribs so painfully
that she thought she might be sick after all, but somehow she managed to say
with creditable surprise,

"But, Roger, the electricity had been
disconnected. You didn't expect me to live here without lights or water, did
you?"

Again he looked confused by the unexpected
change of subject, but only momentarily. He shook his head. "You can't lie
to me anymore, darling. You're still living with him. I just don't understand.
I offered you so much more: all the luxury you could want, jewelry, shopping
trips in
Paris
, but instead you ran away from me to live with a
sweaty rancher who smells of cows."

She couldn't stop the coldness that spread
over her when he called her "darling." She swallowed, trying to force
back the panic welling in her. If she panicked, she wouldn't be able to control
him. How many minutes did she have left? Seven? Eight?

"I wasn't certain you wanted me
back," she managed to say, though her mouth was so dry she could barely
form the words.

Slowly he shook his head. ''You had to know.
You just didn't want to come back. You
like
what that sweaty rancher
can give you, when you could have lived like a queen. Michelle, darling, it's
so sick for you to let someone like him touch you, but you enjoy it, don't you?
It's
unnaturall"

She knew all the signs. He was working
himself into a frenzy, the rage and jealousy building in him until he lashed
out violently. How could even Roger miss seeing why she would prefer John's
strong, clean masculinity and earthy passions to his own twisted parody of
love? How much longer would it be? Six minutes?

"I called your house," she lied,
desperately trying to defuse his temper. "Your housekeeper said you were
in
France
. I wanted you to come get me. I wanted to come back
to you."

He looked startled, the rage draining
abruptly from his face as if it had never been. He didn't even look like the
same man. "You…you wanted…"

She nodded, noting that he seemed to have
forgotten about the pistol. "I missed you. We had so much fun together,
didn't we?" It was sad, but in the beginning they
had
had fun.
Roger had been full of laughter and gentle teasing, and she had hoped he could
make her forget about John.

Some of that fun was suddenly echoed in his
eyes, in the smile that touched his mouth. "I thought you were the most
wonderful thing I'd ever seen," he said softly. "Your hair is so
bright and soft, and when you smiled at me, I felt ten feet tall. I would have
given you the world. I would have killed for you." Still smiling, his hand
moved toward the pistol.

Five minutes?

The ghost of the man he had been faded, and
suddenly pity moved her. It wasn't until that moment that she understood Roger
was truly ill; something in his mind had gone very wrong, and she didn't think
all the psychiatrists or drugs in the world would be able to help him.

"We were so young," she murmured,
wishing things could have been different for the laughing young man she had
known. Little of him remained now, only moments of remembered fun to lighten
his eyes. "Do you remember June Bailey, the little redhead who fell out of
Wes Conlan's boat? We were all trying to help her back in, and somehow we all
wound up in the water except for Toni. She didn't know a thing about sailing,
so there she was on the boat, screaming, and we were swimming like mad, trying
to catch up to her."

Four minutes.

He laughed, his mind sliding back to those
sunny, goofy days.

"I think the coffee's about
finished," she murmured, getting up. Carefully she poured two cups and
carried them back to the table. "I hope you can drink it. I'm not much of
a coffee-maker." That was better than telling him the coffee was stale
because she had been living with John.

He was still smiling, but his eyes were sad.
As she watched, a sheen of tears began to brighten his eyes, and he picked up
the pistol. "I do love you so much," he said. "You never should
have let that man touch you." Slowly the barrel came around toward her.

A lot of things happened simultaneously. The
back door exploded inward, propelled by a kick that took it off the hinges.
Roger jerked toward the sound and the pistol fired, the shot deafening in the
confines of the house. She screamed and ducked as two other men leaped from the
inside doorway, the biggest one taking Roger down with a tackle that sent him
crashing into the table. Curses and shouts filled the air, along with the sound
of wood splintering; then another shot assaulted her ears and strengthened the
stench of cordite. She was screaming John's name over and over, knowing he was
the one rolling across the floor with Roger as they both struggled for the gun.
Then suddenly the pistol skidded across the floor and John was straddling Roger
as he drove his fist into the other man's face.

The sickening thudding made her scream again,
and she kicked a shattered chair out of her way, scrambling for the two men.
Andy Phelps and another deputy reached them at the same time, grabbing John and
trying to wrestle him away, but his face was a mask of killing fury at the man
who had tried to murder his woman. He slung their hands away with a roar.
Sobbing, Michelle threw her arms around his neck from behind, her shaking body
against his back. "John, don't, please," she begged, weeping so hard
that the words were almost unintelligible. "He's very sick."

He froze, her words reaching him as no one
else's could. Slowly he let his fists drop and got to his feet, hauling her
against him and holding her so tightly that she could barely breathe. But
breathing wasn't important right then; nothing was as important as holding him
and having him hold her, his head bent down to hers as he whispered a choked
mixture of curses and love words.

The deputies had pulled Roger to his feet and
cuffed his hands behind his back, while the pistol was put in a plastic bag and
sealed. Roger's nose and mouth were bloody, and he was dazed, looking at them
as if he didn't know who they were, or where he was. Perhaps he didn't.

John held Michelle's head pressed to his
chest as he watched the deputies take Beckman out. God, how could she have been
so cool, sitting across the kitchen table from that maniac and calmly serving
him coffee? The man made John's blood run cold.

But she was safe in his arms now, the most
precious part of his world. She had said a lot about his tomcatting reputation
and the women in his checkered past; she had even called him a heartbreaker.
But she was the true heartbreaker, with her sunlight hair and summer-green
eyes, a golden woman who he never would have forgotten, even if she'd never
come back into his life. Beckman had been obsessed with her, had gone mad when
he lost her, and for the first time John thought he might understand. He
wouldn't have a life, either, if he lost Michelle.

"I lost twenty years off my life when I
found that note," he growled into her hair.

She clung to him, not loosening her grip.
"You got here faster than I'd expected," she gasped, still crying a
little. "Edie must've gotten up early."

"No, I got up early. You weren't in bed
with me, so I started hunting you. As it was, we barely got here in time. Edie
would have been too late."

Andy Phelps sighed, looking around the
wrecked kitchen. Then he found another cup in the cabinet and poured himself
some coffee. He made a face as he sipped it. "This stuff is rank. It
tastes just like what we get at work. Anyway, I think I have my pajama bottoms
on under my pants. When John called I took the time to dress, but I don't think
I took the time to undress first."

They both looked at him. He still looked a
little sleepy, and he certainly wasn't in uniform. He had on jeans, a T-shirt,
and running shoes with no socks. He could have worn an ape suit for all she
cared.

"I need both of you to make
statements," he said.

''But I don't think this will ever come to
trial. From what I saw, he won't be judged mentally competent."

"No," Michelle agreed huskily.
"He isn't."

"Do we have to make the statements right
now?" John asked. "I want to take Michelle home for a while."

Andy looked at both of them. Michelle was
utterly white, and John looked the worse for wear, too. He had to still be
feeling the effects of hitting a steering wheel with his face. "No, go on.
Come in sometime this afternoon."

John nodded and walked Michelle out of the
house. He'd commandeered
Nev
's
truck, and now he led her to it. Someone else could get the car later.

It was a short, silent drive back to the
ranch. She climbed numbly out of the truck, unable to believe it was all over.
John swung her up in his arms and carried her into the house, his hard arms
tight around her. Without a word to anyone, even Edie, who watched them with
lifted brows, he took her straight upstairs to their bedroom and kicked the
door shut behind him.

He placed her on the bed as if she might
shatter, then suddenly snatched her up against him again. "I could kill
you for scaring me like that," he muttered, even though he knew he'd never
be able to hurt her. She must have known it, too, because she cuddled closer
against him.

"We're getting married right away,"
he ordered in a voice made harsh with need. "I heard part of what he said,
and maybe he's right that I can't give you all the luxuries you deserve, but I
swear to God I'll try to make you happy. I love you too much to let you
go."

"I've never said anything about
going," Michelle protested. Married? He wanted to get married? Abruptly
she lifted her head and gave him a glowing smile, one that almost stopped his
breathing.