Left To Die (52 page)

She cleared her throat. Licked her suddenly dry lips. “So I take it that money is no object.”

“Not tonight, darlin’,” he yelled through the open doorway, his voice beckoning. “Tonight I figure we owe it to ourselves to let loose.”

“Owe it to ourselves?”

“Something my dad used to say. Will ya call for the maid to pick up?”

“Your wish is my command,” she mocked.

He laughed then, and she smiled as she turned to the phone on the desk. She didn’t so much as peek through the door he’d left open, not even when he started singing slightly off-key in a deep baritone voice.

You’re falling in love with him
, her mind warned, not for the first time. Tonight, she didn’t care. She eyed the two beds, a nod to the fact that they weren’t lovers.

Yet.

“Oh Lord,” she whispered, picking up the phone with trembling hands.

The night was still young.

Snow fell all around.

Great, white lacy flakes swirled, danced and twirled in the blue light cast by the street lamps. In the distance carolers sang “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” as traffic moved through the city streets.

The hotel, six stories of nineteenth-century grandeur, a landmark in Spokane, rose high into the dark heavens. Snow was piled upon the gables and dormers, covering the gutters. Lights washed the stone walls with a warm glow and millions of tiny, jewel-like bulbs glittered in the bare limbs of the trees and the arched entrance to the grand old building.

The Spokane River, swollen and dark, rushed by, wind blowing across the swift water, icy and cold. No stars could be seen in the opaque sky; no moon cast its silver glow.

She
was inside the hotel.

Jillian Rivers…no, Jillian Colleen White Caruso Rivers.

How long has that name been an anathema, a poison filling the air, suffocating all it touches, forever haunting and teasing and laughing?

Oh, Jillian, you should have died long ago…so long ago.

And now you will.

I stared at the historic building. Though the hotel is a stone fortress, there were ways inside, keys to all the locked doors. Keys I have used many times in the past, keys that I had the foresight to copy, keys that jangle in my pocket like the cold, crisp bells of Christmas.

Thank God this hotel retained all of its “Old West Charm,” which included metal keys and locks and skeleton keys used by the staff. No fancy electronic cards. Not here.

So Jillian was not safe.

Her face came to me and, once again, I spoke to her.

“Yours will be a quiet death, Jillian.

“An intimate death.

“Not by a loud gunshot. No, that would attract attention.

“Ruin everything.

“A knife. Yes, a knife!

“With a razor-sharp and perfectly wicked curved blade.

“Drawn quickly across your neck, a knife will do the trick, exposing a thin seam of blood, which will run hot and red as you gasp.”

I felt a little thrill at the thought of this. I’ve waited so long for this moment, planned so many times to rid the world of her, to take away the threat of her and finally, with the Star-Crossed Killer, I got my chance.

But now my mind would not let me forget that she had escaped me once before.

You should have killed her in the woods. Made certain she would die. You were foolish then, weren’t you? Do not make the same mistake. This time she must be dead and then, finally, you will be free.

“I will not fail,” I vowed, and I couldn’t help but tremble with anticipation.

Feel the snowflakes kiss my cheeks.

Soon, my torment would be over.

Biting my lip, I fingered my weapon and smiled in the darkness as I spoke to Jillian, my enemy, in a whispered promise. “The slash will be deep. Your blood will pulse out in thick, dark spurts.

“Your lifeblood will stain the crisp sheets, spattering against the century-old walls, pooling beneath your head upon the soft, freshly vacuumed carpet.

“You’ll be silent then. And finally, you will haunt me no more.”

Chapter Thirty

Jillian had forgotten how heavenly civilization could be.

For the first time since leaving Seattle, she dined on a meal that wasn’t cooked over an open fire in a cabin, tasteless from a hospital kitchen or grabbed on the run at a tavern. They ate steak, picked at salads and potatoes, even drank wine, despite the warnings on her pain-medication bottle.

And she noticed Zane MacGregor.

Oh, how she noticed him with his dark hair, wet and curling over the back of the plush white hotel robe that was his only article of clothing. It gapped a little over his chest, black chest hairs visible over olive-toned skin.

And he smelled so good.

Of soap and some cologne and that crisp, clean male scent she’d forgotten about.

They ate and drank from a bottle of smoky Cabernet Sauvignon. She took her wineglass into the bathroom, drew a bath with thick, foaming bubbles and relaxed. She removed the tape from her ankle, which seemed far less swollen than a day ago, and eased into the fragrant warm water.

Sinking under the surface, she wet her hair and shampooed it, rinsing it under the faucet as best she could and thinking, for a second, that out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Zane, his pale reflection in the glass panes as he sat at the desk. Could he see her as well, a ghostly image caught in the elegant old doors?

If so, who cared?

It wasn’t as if she didn’t let her eyes wander to his muscular legs and bare feet.

Afterwards, wrapped in her own robe, her hair drying in untamed curls, she shared the last drops of the bottle with MacGregor, who gestured for her to sit down at the desk.

“Take a look,” he said, all business while the smell of him enveloped her. On the laptop screen blow-ups of the photos she’d received, enlarged by Chilcoate, who had e-mailed them to MacGregor.

“I photo-shopped these myself,” Jillian said, “but I couldn’t find anything.”

“You’re not Chilcoate,” he said, adding, “thank God. I won’t bore you with the details. Bottom line is, he managed to enlarge this parking meter, which seems to read ‘Spokane Municipal Meters’ underneath. That puts the photo in Spokane. Besides that, he got this from the reflection in this store window. The letters SEAU.”

She nodded. “The rest is cut off, but it seems to be a shop sign.”

“Exactly. Which means this man is in Spokane, at least he was for the photo.”

Jillian felt a thread of hope. Was it possible? Were they really going to ID this monster who had drugged her and dragged her into those frozen woods to die?

She stared at the photo, at the image of the man in the cap. Aaron? Or someone else entirely? Was she closing in on the man who had stolen investors’ funds, then faked his own death and left her not knowing for years? Or was she just being pulled deeper into an incredible hoax used for the purpose of killing her?

She felt an anger, deep and hot and dark, surge through her soul. Not only at the man who had abandoned her, but at the person who was trying to ruin her, kill her, and blame her death on another sick monster.

MacGregor, as if he understood what she was feeling, placed a big hand over her shoulder, the warmth of his fingers permeating the thick terry cloth, seeping into her skin. She tried not to think too much about his touch, not when they were so close.

“Don’t tell me,” she said, surprised at the emotion she heard in her voice. “Chilcoate’s already found the shop, located the street corner here in Spokane.”

“Even
he
has his limits.”

“You’re kidding.”

“He promised that by tomorrow morning. When he gives us the location, we’ll get to this street.”

“And then we’ll be at the spot where Aaron, or someone who looked like him, stepped across the street. We won’t necessarily find him.”

“It’s not the answer, Jillian, I know, but it’s a start.” He rotated her chair so that she could see his face, and for a second she lost herself in his gaze, imagining that he was talking about more than locating her supposedly dead husband. “That’s something, right?”

“Right.”

“And we’re closer now?” he asked.

“To the truth?” she repeated, her voice a little rough because she guessed he was, in fact, not discussing the case any longer. “Yes,” she nodded, meeting the unvoiced questions in his eyes.

One of his brows quirked. A silent invitation.

She smiled faintly.

“Ya think?” he asked, as if to make certain.

“No thinking about it, MacGregor. I know.”

“That’s what I like, a humble woman.”

“Just as I like a weak man.” Her smile widened as she goaded him, and she saw a flicker of desire in his eyes. She was treading into dangerous territory, but then, didn’t she always?

She felt safe with him, trusted him, and a very vital and feminine part of her wanted him. She’d been attracted to him from the first time she’d watched him stoking the fire, when his shirt had lifted to expose a slice of bare skin. But she’d been careful. Cautious. Rightly so.

But not now.

Not when she was certain he was on her side, probably more a partner to her than either of the men she’d so foolishly married.

“I asked for two beds,” he reminded her.

“I was wondering about that.”

His eyes slid her a sideways look in sexy invitation. “I didn’t want you thinking I intended to take advantage of you.” The room seemed to shrink around them, becoming more intimate.

“Do you think you could? I know tai kwon do and all kinds of martial arts,” she warned.

“And you’ve got bruised ribs and a sprained ankle. And I outweigh you by nearly a hundred pounds.” His gaze skated down her body. “Maybe more.”

“You’re saying you could take me?” she challenged.

He let out a low chuckle, barely heard over the hiss of the fire. “Careful, woman.”

“Why?”

“Because it might be the smarter thing to do.”

She stood then, wobbling just a bit, but facing him, toe to toe. She tilted her chin up a fraction to keep his gaze. “Let’s review, shall we? Not that long ago, I thought I was going to die,” she said, more serious. “And then you came and saved me and I’ve been trying to sort out feelings about that ever since. But the real thing is this: life is short.”

His smile faded a bit and she noticed the streaks of color in his eyes, the peppery flecks of his beard shadow. “You’re making it damned hard for me to be…”

“Oh, please!” She laughed, tossing back her head, her wet hair brushing down her shoulders. “For the love of God, MacGregor, I guess I just have to throw myself at you.”

And she did.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with all the pent-up emotion that had been plaguing her for days. The room tilted a bit and he caught her, his arms steel around her waist as the robe slipped off her shoulders.

She wanted him. Body and soul. And she didn’t give a damn about tomorrow or the consequences.

Maybe it was the wine.

The pain pills.

But she wasn’t about to let this moment, this one special minute, slip from her. She heard him groan as his arms tightened about her, his big hands splayed across her back.

“Do you always get your way?” he asked into her open mouth.

“I sure hope so.”

He laughed, then carried her to one of the beds and lowered her onto the mattress. Stretching out beside her, he kissed her again and this time his tongue pressed against her lips until she opened her mouth eagerly. Hungrily.

The back of her neck heated instantly, desire spreading through her, rushing through her blood, pounding in her ears. It had been so long since she’d been touched and never had she felt so impatient, her body rousing with each sensation.

“Take it slow,” he growled when she started tugging at the belt cinching his robe. “We’ve got all night.” And then he showed her exactly what he meant, skimming his hands along her body, slowly loosening her belt, so gently around her sore ribs, peeling off her robe while kissing her. His lips moved downward as the fabric parted and suddenly she was naked beside him. He touched her breasts, holding them, sliding down to take one in his open mouth and causing her blood to swirl and heat deep within. He suckled freely, his hands rubbing her back and slipping along her spine, finding her buttocks and pulling her tight.

Once he stopped to gaze down at her sprained ankle, but she pulled his gaze back to her, assuring him that there was no pain, only pleasure. Then his calloused hands slid lower, over the crest of her rump, fingers exploring and paving a trail for his mouth, oh God, his hot, wonderful mouth.

Jillian moaned as her eyes closed and she felt as if she were losing touch with reality. She touched him as well, biting his shoulder, caressing the wall of his chest, playing with his nipples until he sucked in his breath.

His erection, thick and hard, pressed intimately against her. She started to pull him to her when he stopped his ministrations to stare at her. One hand covered hers, the other pushed her hair away from her face. “You think this is a good idea?”

“No.”

“Me, neither.”

A second passed and he whispered, “Oh hell.” Then he drew her to him and kissed her with an urgency she’d never felt before. His mouth ground against hers and his body lengthened, fitting perfectly, long legs, hard, strident muscles, firm skin rubbing against her.

She couldn’t think, could barely breathe. Her thoughts were centered on him, on joining with him. He rolled onto his back and pulled her atop him, careful of her ribs. Staring up into her eyes, he rocked his hips, rubbing her so that she felt nothing but want.

“MacGregor,” she whispered, opening her legs to take him.

He drew her body to his and thrust inside, pushing upward, parting her.

She gasped.

Then groaned as he withdrew, using his hands to manipulate her hips, starting the rhythm of movement that drove her insane. Heat flowed through her bloodstream. Desire curled deep inside as Zane MacGregor, lying beneath her, holding her gaze with his own, made love to her as if he never wanted to stop.