JAKrentz - Witchcraft (5 page)

"Not to men,"
Cavenaugh
predicted as he studied the return address on the envelope. "Women are the largest segment of my readers," Kimberly informed him grandly. "And I'll tell you right now they're going to love the sense of complete emotional and mental intimacy I'm building between Josh and Amy."

"Well, if you put enough sexual intimacy in the books, maybe you'll hang on to your male readership, too. "I use the violence to keep my male readers interested," Kim gritted. "Men are really big on violence. Maybe it's a substitute for genuine intimacy for them. What are you doing with that letter?" She glanced up from preparing the couch and frowned as she saw the envelope in his hand. "Wondering why you haven't opened it.

Most people open letters from lawyers fast. Kimberly's mouth curved grimly. "Not in my case. I've already had two letters from that law office. I know what's inside."
Cavenaugh
eyed her intently. "Trouble, Kim?" he finally asked softly, tossing the envelope gently into the air and catching it absently. "Have you got other problems besides receiving roses impaled with needles?"

"No. The folks who employ those fancy lawyers are the ones with the problem. They created it themselves, however, and I have no intention of helping them solve it."

She stepped back from the couch, examining her work. "There, that should do for tonight. It's going to be a bit cramped but it's better than sleeping on the floor."

"The floor is the only alternative you're offering?"

"'m afraid so," she said cheerfully. "And since you're sleeping out here, you're in charge of the fire. I don't know how long the electricity will be off and it could get quite chilly by morning."

"I'll take care of the fire," he agreed, glancing down at the letter in his hand. "Are you sure this isn't something I can help you with, Kim?"

"What's inside that letter has nothing to do with you. It has nothing to do with me, either. That's what I told the lawyers after they sent the first one. You can toss that envelope into the garbage." He set it back down on the counter instead. "You can be amazingly stubborn at times."

"Something tells me you can be just as stubborn," she retorted humorously. "But I think stubbornness in men is generally referred to as willpower."

"In the morning we'll have to see whether my willpower is stronger than your feminine stubbornness, won't we?" he queried easily.

"Thanks for the bed, Kim."

"You're welcome. I'm sorry I don't have any extra toothbrushes or razors or whatever it is men need when they stay overnight."

"It's all right. I've got everything I need in the car."

"I see. You came prepared?" she asked a bit caustically. "Going to hold it against me?" he challenged gently. "Good night,
Cavenaugh
. Don't forget to keep an eye on the fire." Head held regally high, Kimberly swept past him to her small, comfortable bedroom. Damned if she was going to get into a useless argument about where he had originally intended to spend the night. Half an hour later the house was quiet and Kimberly lay in bed under her huge feather quilt studying the ceiling.

This had definitely not been one of her normal, pleasantly predictable days. She wasn't quite certain how to react to today. No doubt about it, she was accustomed to having the unpredictable and the potentially dangerous confined within the pages of her manuscripts. She turned over on her side, fluffed her pillow and considered the man in her living room. It was strange that he had shown up on her doorstep even though she had never actually summoned him. Darius
Cavenaugh
must be very anxious to pay off his debt to her. Or else he was very anxious to get her into bed. Kimberly glowered into the darkness. Men, in her experience, rarely pursued women quite this far, at least not ordinary women such as herself. She couldn't help wondering what it was that had brought
Cavenaugh
all the way from his vineyards to her front door. She could understand that a man such as Darius
Cavenaugh
would be very conscious of the bonds of the debt he felt he was under. After all, he had undoubtedly grown up imbued with the notion of obligation and loyalty and family honor. The noble-sounding virtues were stamped all over his hard face. Kimberly remembered little Scott solemnly telling her all about the generations of
Cavenaughs
who had been in the wine business. The boy had chatted quite freely while they had waited together in the sheriff's offices for the arrival of his uncle. Scott was, even at his young age, quite aware of the importance of family heritage. "That's why the witches kidnapped me," he had explained with a touch of pride. "They knew my uncle would pay anything he had to, to get me back. Uncle Dare wouldn't let anyone keep me."

"Dare?" Kimberly had questioned, wondering about the mysterious uncle who was on his way to collect his nephew. "His real name is Darius. But we all call him Dare." For some reason Kimberly had not felt sufficiently at ease with the tough, powerful man who had arrived later to call him by the shortened version of his first name. He had remained
Cavenaugh
in her mind. And after tonight, that hadn't changed. "Do you have an uncle who would pay lots of money to get you back?" Scott had demanded interestedly, kicking his feet as he sat on the wooden chair beside her.

One of the men in the sheriff's office had bundled him up in an old leather flight jacket, which Scott had loved on sight. "No, I'm afraid I don't have anyone who would shell out cold cash to get me back," Kimberly had told the boy, unprepared for the way it had upset him. "How about your mom and dad?" he'd Pressed anxiously. "I never knew my father," Kimberly had said carefully, "and my mother died a few years ago."

"And you don't even have an uncle like mine?" Kimberly had gently denied the existence of any such useful uncle in her life. Later, after meeting Darius
Cavenaugh
she'd privately decided there were very few lit the kids in the world with uncles like
Cavenaugh
. She had thought the topic of who might pay her ransom should she ever be kidnapped had been closed. Certainly Scott's attention had been totally diverted the moment
Darious
Cavenaugh
had walked through the door. The child had rushed forward with excitement and confidence in his greeting.
Cavenaugh
had swept him up and examined every inch of him with eyes of green ice. At last, satisfied that the boy was all right, he'd allowed Scott to make the introductions. Eagerly Scott had explained who Kimberly Sawyer was and how she had come to his window that night. "We went across the top of the porch and down the side and the witch never even knew we were gone, did she, Kim?"

"No," she agreed, smiling affectionately at the Youngster. "She never even knew. Rather like Hansel and Gretel." "I told Kim you would have paid anything to get me back, isn't that right, Uncle Dare?" Holding the hand of the man with happy possessiveness, Scott looked up at his uncle for confirmation. "Anything,"
Cavenaugh
had agreed. Kimberly had seen the grim protectiveness in the depth of the man's gaze and had known he spoke the truth.
Cavenaugh
would have done more than pay a ransom to get Scott back. He would have killed to save the boy. The stark realization of just how far this man would go to fulfill his obligations had sent an odd shiver down her spine. "Kim doesn't have anyone who would pay to get her back if someone took her away," Scott went on before Kimberly realized what he was going to say.

"But we would pay, wouldn't we, Uncle Dare?"
Cavenaugh
had looked straight into Kimberly's embarrassed gaze and had said with absolute conviction, "We would do anything we could for Miss. Sawyer. She has only to ask." later, after the long talk with the authorities,
Cavenaugh
had taken Kim aside and reiterated that vow. Recognizing the powerful sense of obligation by which
Cavenaugh
had felt himself bound, Kimberly had quickly promised to call on him should she ever need help. At the time, of course, she had never anticipated such an occasion. Yet his face was the first thing she had thought of when the arrival of the rose sent a shaft of fear through her. And now he was here. But there was a new element in the situation. In addition to the sense of obligation he felt toward her, there was no mistaking the fact that
Cavenaugh
wanted her physically. When it came to dealing with the sensual tension he evoked in her, Kimberly knew she was trying to handle something just as strong as any witchcraft. But it was a comfort to know he was out there in her living room tonight. Normally she did not mind spending the nights alone. Tonight, she realized, would have been an exception. The knowledge that
Cavenaugh
was close by soothed the lingering fear the arrival of the rose had caused. She soon fell asleep. When she awoke several hours later the storm had slackened somewhat but the wind continued to hurl rain against the windows behind the drawn shades.

Kimberly heard the sounds of the storm only vaguely. Her main awareness was of being thirsty. Too many salty black olives on the potato tonight. Hovering in that floating region between wakefulness and dreams, she wondered if she could get back to sleep without making a trip out to the kitchen for a glass of water. But the growing thirst finally had its way. Still half asleep, Kimberly pushed back the quilt and padded barefoot to her bedroom door. Dimly she wondered why she had closed it tonight. She never closed her door. After all, there was hardly any need. She was always alone in the house. Wrenching it open in annoyance, she continued on down the hall to the open kitchen. There was a faint flow of light from the fireplace and Kimberly vaguely remembered that the electricity was off. It was getting cold, she realized. The oversized man's cotton T-shirt she habitually wore to bed barely covered her derriere. One of these days she was going to remember to buy some real pajamas. There was a robe hanging in her closet but it had seemed too much bother to drag it out just for a short trip to the kitchen. With comfortable familiarity she found the cabinet door in the darkness and groped inside for a glass. Then she shuffled over to the sink and ran the water. The shade on the kitchen window had been left up this evening, and as she stood barefoot in front of the sink, drinking her water, Kimberly stared disinterestedly out into the darkness. If she was careful she could stay in this half-asleep state until she crawled back into bed. She had almost finished the contents of the glass when something moved outside the window. Startled by shifting shadows where there should be nothing but open expanse between her and the view of the ocean, Kimberly belatedly began to come awake. As her eyes widened, lightning crackled across the sky, obligingly illuminating the scene in front of the kitchen window. In that split second of atmospheric brilliance Kimberly stared In horror at the figure in a
cowled
robe who stood outside staring back at her. She had no time to discern a face in the shadowy depths of the cowl. Kimberly's entire attention was riveted on the silver dagger the figure was holding up right in front of himself. In that moment she knew the dagger was meant for her. Although the scream that echoed through the small house was hers, Kimberly felt dissociated from the sound of unadulterated terror in her voice. She was more conscious of the glass sliding from her fingers and crashing into the sink. "Kim!"
Cavenaugh
. She had forgotten all about him. Half turning she saw him as he leaped over the back of the couch, rushing toward her. "What the hell ...?"

"Outside the window," she managed to gasp. "Someone outside the window with a knife.

I, oh, my God!"

"Get down." The command cracked violently through the air. He was right, Kimberly realized, stunned. She was standing silhouetted against the kitchen window. But she couldn't seem to move.

Then movement on her part became unnecessary.
Cavenaugh
reached her a second later, driving into her with the full weight of his half-naked body. He dragged her violently down onto the floor behind the protection of the counters and out of sight of anyone who might still be standing at the kitchen window.

CHAPTER THREE.

"Stay down,"
Cavenaugh
gritted, sprawling along the length of Kimberly's body. Crushed against the cold vinyl tile of the kitchen floor, Kimberly gasped for breath. "I can't do much else with you on top of me like this. You weigh a ton,
Cavenaugh
!" He ignored that, his features a rigid mask of concern in the shadowy light. "Tell me exactly what you saw out there," he whispered roughly. He lifted his head so that he could meet her wide-eyed gaze. "I told you. There was a man, at least I think it was a man. He was wearing a hooded robe or something.

I couldn't see his face. But when the lightning flashed I saw a knife.

A big silver dagger. It was horrible. I had the awful feeling he meant me to see it."

"Given the fact that the bastard was outside your window and not someone else's on the block, that's a fair guess,"
Cavenaugh
mocked grimly. He shifted his weight and she realized he was going to get up off the floor. "Lie still. Don't move until I get back, understand? No one can see you down here behind the kitchen counters."

"Until you get back!" Kimberly repeated, horrified. "What's that supposed to mean? Where on earth do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to have a look around outside." He rolled off her, uncoiling easily to his feet. "No, you can't go out there!" She grabbed for his jean-clad leg. It was like trying to hold on to a breaking wave. He slipped from her grasp as if he hadn't even been aware of it. "
Cavenaugh
, this is stupid," she hissed as she watched him stride across the room to find his boots. "You can't go out there. Who knows what might be waiting?