His Beautiful Wench (12 page)

“I’m about ready for the nuthouse,” she muttered. Standing, she looked down at herself. “Naked again. Now there’s a surprise.”

The knocking came again. Her heart sped and she glanced around for her clothes, remembering she’d come up here naked. The wench dress lay in a heap on the floor. She stooped to pick it up and shoved it on. Another set of raps filtered to her and she sidled over to the window, standing to the side so she could peer out undetected.

A blond man stood in front of her door. His gray suit looked expensive and a white shirt and black tie completed his business attire. Shiny black shoes peeked from beneath his trouser hems, leather if she wasn’t mistaken. He glanced up and she jerked back with a gasp. Who the fuck was he? Had he seen her? She’d hardly had time to take in his features so didn’t recognize him.

He knocked again.

“Shit!”

Amelia raced down the two flights of stairs. At the front door she inhaled and exhaled to steady her panting breaths, hands clenched at her sides.

“Anyone home?” he called.

She jumped and a startled yelp flew from her mouth before she could stop it. Who the hell, apart from Matilda, would call on her without seeing if she was in first? The cottage was a long walk from town, and so out of the way a passing motorist was highly unlikely.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice muffled as though he’d pressed his lips to the doorframe.

“Yes, hang on.”

She unhooked the chain and opened the door. Her legs weakened and her mouth hung open. The blond man from her dream stood on the doorstep, minus the scar.

Oh, for God’s sake! This just isn’t possible. Besides, Crowe is dead. Find out what he wants and get rid of him.

“Can I help you?” she asked, annoyed that his gaze raked her from head to toe and lingered on her chest. She lifted her hand to her cleavage in an attempt to hide it.

“Going to a fancy dress party?” he asked, one eyebrow quirked. He smiled and nodded at her chest, a stupid grin on his face that she wanted to slap away.

“Pardon?”

“The dress. Or do you like wearing old-fashioned clothes?”

Heat burned her cheeks. “Oh. It’s just something I like to sleep in.” She paused and stared at him. Unease crept into her mind along with images from her dream. Refusing to believe that his looks were anything but a coincidence, she asked, “What do you want?” And then a shocking thought hit her. What if he was the man who had been in her house? The man who had written in the sugar, thrown the dress, followed her up the attic stairs? What if he had come back, decided to try a different approach to getting inside her home? And what did he want anyway? It wasn’t like she owned anything worth stealing.

“I fancied a walk and popped by on the off chance you’d be in. I heard someone in town say you offer piano lessons.”

This man wanted lessons? She almost laughed but held it back. Relieved, she cleared her throat. “You would like lessons?”

“Indeed I would. May I come in?” He moved one foot over the threshold.

His forwardness annoyed her and she remained where she was. “Forgive me, but I don’t know you. To let you in my home would be a little foolish, don’t you think?” She gripped the door handle in one hand, the jamb in the other. “Do you have identification with you?”

He frowned and again reminded her of Crowe, although his jawline was less rigid, his dark eyes rounder. His hair was different, too, a short crop that stuck up in all directions, a far cry from Crowe’s oiled-back locks. He reached inside his jacket and produced a business card.

Holding it out to her, he said, “I hope this will suffice. Of course, I have my driver’s license in my wallet if you’d like to see that too.” He rolled his eyes, letting her know that if she asked for it he’d think her a paranoid woman.

She took what he offered and looked at it. He was a lawyer named Leon Fields. “In this day and age, you can’t be too careful. I had an intruder last night.”

His eyes bugged and he pushed the door wide, grasping her elbow and propelling her inside. “Are you all right? Would you like me to check the house?” He closed the door. “If he’s still here, he’ll regret the day he broke in, I can assure you!” His chest puffed out and his gaze darted around the room then down the hallway to the kitchen. “May I?”

Though indecisive, Amelia said, “Okay, but I’ll come with you.”

He nodded curtly and stalked down the hallway to the kitchen, stopping in the center of the room, his back to her. Amelia reached for her cell and hid it behind her back.

“No sign of the scoundrel here,” he said, hands on hips.

Scoundrel?
Amelia nearly laughed.
Who the fuck uses words like that these days?

He spun to face her as if he’d heard her thoughts and she blushed. Eyes narrowed, he stared at her and, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, feeling vulnerable and ludicrous in the wench dress.

“Upstairs. That’s where he’ll be!” He pointed to the ceiling and brushed past her, his gait purposeful and stiff.

“Umm, Mr. Fields. Wait!”

In the living room, he clasped the newel post and swung onto the bottom step. Peering over the banister, he said, “It may well be to your advantage if you remain down here.”

His words chilled her. She had the sense he referred to more than the possibility of them encountering someone upstairs. But why should they? He’d only said what countless others might say in the same situation. Pressing down her paranoia, she rushed through the living room.

“No, I’ll come with you.”

Christ, Amelia! How did you let yourself get into this mess?

Mr. Fields puffed out a breath and gave her a scathing glance before walking up the stairs. “As you wish…”

Her heart lurched and she followed him, fingers feeling for the button of her cell to switch it on. She coughed and stomped on each step to hide the tinkle of music that indicated the phone booting up. Mr. Fields appeared not to notice and once again swung himself around the newel post, heading directly for the attic door.

“Wouldn’t it be better to check the bedrooms and bathroom first?” she asked as she walked along the landing.

He waved a hand and grabbed the door handle. With his rigid back to her, she couldn’t see his expression to gauge his mood, but he seemed angry, impatient. Her stomach rolled and she cursed herself for allowing him inside.

She shuddered as a ripple of foreboding snuck up her spine to make the hairs on her neck stand up. “I seriously doubt you’ll find anything up there.”

“I won’t unless you’ve moved it.”

“What?” she said, unsure she’d heard him correctly.

“I won’t unless he’s hoofed it,” he said, spinning to smile tightly at her as he flung the door wide.

Fields took the steps two at a time and Amelia stood still for a few seconds, debating what to do. Should she follow him? Wouldn’t it put her in danger if he turned nasty? At least being down here she’d have a better chance of escape.

My car keys. Where did I leave them?

She mentally checked her bag, unable to remember if she’d put them in there or tossed them on the living room table. Panic surged up her windpipe and resulted in a low whimper. Her pulse pained her neck and she dithered, placing one foot on the first step. It creaked and she jumped back, knees weak and hands shaking. The attic door banged into the wall and she shrieked.

“What are you doing down there?” Mr. Fields called, his tone suspicious.

Get a grip! Answer him. Tell him… Tell him what?

“Nothing! I tripped.”

Amelia dialed the police but didn’t connect the call.
Not yet. This might not come to anything. He might be genuine
. She blew air out through pursed lips.
And he also might be a deranged bloody killer!
She climbed the stairs. At the top, she glanced around quickly to determine his position. He stood looking out the window, his shoulders a straight line, his feet planted a foot apart. Sunrays gave him a hazy glow and she blinked, the light too bright.

“I really didn’t want you to come up here,” he said, a chilling edge to his voice. “But like all women I’ve known, you persisted in disobeying.”

Oh God
.

Amelia backed up, fear poking at her gut. She toed the floor, feeling for the top step. Nausea swarmed through her and she tried to work out her best option. Run. She had to run.

“I wouldn’t bother,” he said. “You wouldn’t get far.”

Something about his tone made her stop. She didn’t doubt him. He’d catch her. And then?

“Last night I didn’t find what I wanted, but I woke today with the sense that it was here. One of your movers assured me it was, and I trust him, you see. Trusted him enough to come back today. And I found it.” He faced her, the sculpture from her dreams held close to his chest. “Would you object to me taking this?” He cocked his head.

How the hell did that get here?

Her mouth opened and closed several times before she could speak. “Where did you find that?” Amelia inched backward and stumbled as her foot met with air. She lowered it to the step below the top.

“I
said
I wouldn’t bother. Don’t move!” Mr. Fields jabbed the sculpture toward her and waved it. “Now answer my question.”

“It isn’t even mine. I don’t know how it got here.” She clenched her fist and moved her thumb across the phone pad to locate the call button. Her gaze met his wide-eyed, manic one.

“Oh I’m well aware of how it got here, don’t you worry, and I know damn well it doesn’t belong to you. It’s mine.”

“Then take it,” she snapped, “and get the fuck out of my house!”

Mr. Fields walked toward her. “Oh I plan to, but you could call the police on that phone you have there, and I can’t have that.” He sneered, his lips a pink slash on his red-cheeked face. One step, two, three, and he stood inches from her, his breath whispering across her face. “Give it to me,” he said, holding out one hand.

Decision made before she’d thought it through, Amelia shoved his chest and jabbed her thumb onto her phone. He didn’t budge and his laugh rang around the empty attic. She willed herself to turn and run downstairs, but her legs stiffened and her feet wouldn’t move. He snatched the phone and rejected the call, then threw it to the floor and stamped on it with his heel.

“Foolish woman. Now I’m going to have to hurt you.”

He mimicked her action and pushed her chest. She teetered, her position precarious, and stuck her hand out to steady herself on the stairwell wall. Slick with sweat, her palm slid and she lurched backward, tumbling down the stairs. Each step jarred her spine and her head cracked against the floor at the bottom. She fought the pain blooming in her skull. His footsteps thudded and she craned her neck to see him coming down the stairs. The fight-or-flight instinct consumed her and she rolled over and scrabbled to her knees.

“No point in running. I’ll catch you.” His frame filled the stairway and with each step he took he appeared to grow in height.

On her feet, she staggered to the top of the stairs, rounded the newel post and slipped on the carpet. Reflexes sharp, she grabbed the rail to her right and glanced at him advancing, his pace unhurried. Her heart hurt and she swallowed down bile.

Get to the door, get to the door
…
No time to find the car keys
.

The stairs seemed a mile long despite her speedy descent and she hit the bottom step and leaped at the door, hand out ready to grasp the handle. Her palm covered the cold metal, turned the knob and she yanked the door open, the force jarring her shoulder. The soft pads of his feet on the carpeted stairs sounded creepy behind her and she chanced looking back to check her time advantage. A few seconds at most. Out in the garden, the gravel path jabbed her bare feet and she ran through the gate and onto the cliff. A quick look side-to-side and she swerved left, running full throttle toward the forest. Her lungs burned and her leg muscles protested. The sound of long grass whipping at his trousers reached her and she cried out in part desperation, part fear. Her survival instinct took over and the fear raging through her spurred her into racing faster. She entered the copse, following a well-worn trail, twigs digging into her soles.

Let me get away. Oh God, please let me get away
.

Sunlight pushed through the foliage above and dappled the path. In any other circumstances the forest would have been a pleasant place to be on a day like today, but at this moment it was nothing but a prison, something she had to break out of at all costs. His heavy breaths panted behind her and fear accelerated her pace. With no knowledge of what lay at the exit of the copse except the town in her dreams, she prayed nothing much had changed over the years. She’d only ever visited the town via the main road, using her car. Surely someone would be around, out for a stroll in the glorious sunshine? That hope urged her faster. She jumped over a jutting tree root just before she would have tripped over it.

“Even if you get away,” he yelled, “I’ll come back for you!”

She took that to mean he thought she had a good chance of escaping him—this time—and pressed on, branches and leaves grabbing her face and hair. The trees thinned and she made out gray brick buildings ahead. Relief touched her briefly before she told herself to concentrate on getting out of the copse—time enough to celebrate her freedom later. A few feet along saw her bursting through the outer edge of trees onto an asphalt road. The change from soft ground to hard jolted her and pain shot from her feet to her knees. She gritted her teeth and quickly looked around before dashing across the road to an alley. Images from her dream flickered through her mind and somehow she knew to keep going until the end.
I’ll be safe then…