Shadows At Sunset (22 page)

She thought she heard a soft chuckle from him, but she couldn't be sure, since he was holding her so securely in his arms. She supposed she ought to move away, but at the moment she couldn't. If it were up to her the world could have ended there and then, with her wrapped tightly against his body.

“You see,” he whispered a long time later. “Sometimes I'm right. You don't always have to be responsible for everything.”

“Yes,” she said, hiding her face against his warm, smooth skin.

“That doesn't make you weak, or vulnerable. Sometimes it's just nice,” he said, stroking her long, thick hair.

“Yes,” she said.

“But you aren't going to make the mistake of falling in love with me, are you?”

She moved her head to look up at him, her eyes still swimming with the remnants of her tears. “Yes,” she said. “I am.”

She would have thought that would drive him away. She didn't care—her defenses were long gone and right then there was no gaining them back. She heard his sigh, his muttered curse. And then he began to make love to her all over again, slowly, with infinite gentleness, this time without a word, just kisses, soft, sweet kisses everywhere.

It would have been one thing during the cover of a long dark night. During the brightness of the dawning day it was positively, deliciously decadent. Afterward he carried her into the shower, setting her down on the built-in tiled seat from La Casa's glory days, and proceeded to wash her with sweet, rose-scented soap. And then he knelt at her feet and used his mouth on her, bracing her legs on his shoulders as the water poured down around them.

They ended up in the swan bed in the bright daylight, and Jilly was past wondering if Dean or Rachel-Ann were going to come wandering in. All she could think about was Coltrane and the wicked, delicious things he was doing to her body. The wicked, delicious things she was doing in return.

He took her in ways she hadn't even thought of, and she lost count of how many times, or when one session blended into another. It was a blur of heat and passion, sex and love, and when she took control, taking him in her mouth, she climaxed from the sheer pleasure she was giving him.

And they slept. Sweaty, sticky, exhausted, they slept the day away, tucked up safely in the swan bed, while the ghosts kept watch over them.

 

There was nothing to be afraid of, Rachel-Ann told herself when she pulled into the driveway at La Casa de Sombras. Jackson's monolithic G-Wagen was nowhere in sight, neither was her brother's Lexus. Her own car was still there, as well as Jilly's Corvette, and she parked Coltrane's Range Rover in the stall beside it.

She slid out, looking around her nervously, half afraid something might jump out at her. Oddly enough, it wasn't the ghosts who frightened her this time. She wasn't sure if they'd ever frighten her again. They were the ones who told her to run last night, who tried to save her. She had a great deal more to fear from the living.

The house was quiet, still, deserted. The living room was just as she'd last seen it, before she'd run. The glass coffee table was smashed on the floor, broken dishes and glasses all around. No one had cleaned anything up.

And she wasn't going to, either. She was going upstairs, pack as much as she could carry and run, before anyone tried to stop her.

Jilly would lecture her. She'd be sure Rachel-Ann was getting involved in another disastrous relationship, the first step on the inevitable downward spiral into drugs and alcohol, and Rachel-Ann wasn't in the mood to argue or explain. She didn't quite understand herself the difference with Rico.

But it was very different, and both too new and too old to be dissected. Some things you just take on faith. Her future with Rico was one of those things. The details would sort themselves out eventually. Right now, for the first time since she could remember, she felt alive. Hopeful. Strong.

Coltrane might be around there, as well, unless Dean had given him a ride someplace. She didn't want to see him, either. She didn't like the way he looked at her, the worry and disapproval almost a match to Jilly's. She'd been fully prepared to sleep with him when she'd first heard about him, and then he turned around and acted like a stern older brother….

Older brother.
The words echoed in her head. Or maybe they were the voices of the ghosts, she could never be sure. Older brother. He's your brother. He knows who you are.

She sat down, hard, on the sofa that Dean had abandoned last night, staring at the rubble on the floor. Her brother. That's who the ghosts meant, when they'd warned her. Dean wasn't looking out for her—not Dean with his one-track mind. Dean loved her, but he was unlikely to do anything about it, much less stand up to Jackson.

It was Coltrane who was looking out for her. Coltrane, her long-lost brother, who must have known all along.

She heard the voices then, drifting down the stairs, and for a moment she froze, listening for the ghosts. But in a moment she recognized Jilly's voice, unexpectedly husky with laughter. And Coltrane's response.

She didn't hesitate, didn't stop to think. She jumped up, raced out of the living room and up the stairs, storming into Jilly's room without knocking.

Coltrane stood silhouetted against the window, wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else. Jilly was sitting on the bed, wrapped in a sheet, looking like…

Looking like exactly what she was. A woman who'd just had the best sex of her life. A woman in love.

Her sister, and her brother. One by blood, one by heart. Coltrane was looking across the room at Rachel-Ann, an enigmatic expression on his face. In his green eyes, just like her own green eyes, she saw that she'd been a fool not to see it before.

“You're my brother, aren't you?” she said abruptly. Almost from a distance she could hear Jilly's indrawn gasp of breath.

“Don't be ridiculous, Rachel-Ann. He's no relation to us.”

“No, thank God, or you'd obviously have a lot to answer for,” Rachel-Ann said in a controlled voice. “He's only related to me. Aren't you?”

She half expected him to deny it. He glanced at Jilly, who was sitting in the middle of the bed, the sheet wrapped tight around her, that blissed-out expression vanished in the cold light of day.

“Yes,” he said. “I'm your brother.”

J
illy sat in the huge, swan-shaped bed, frozen, watching them. How had she missed the obvious? They were so much alike, and she'd never even guessed.

“What are you doing here, Rachel-Ann?” Coltrane demanded. “I thought you'd have enough sense to keep miles away from this place.”

“I've never been known for my good sense,” Rachel-Ann retorted. “Why was I supposed to stay away? So I wouldn't figure it out and tell Jilly? Well, guess what? I figured it out, and Jilly knows. Forget about me—what are
you
doing here? Did you come here to find me?”

Coltrane moved away from the window. He didn't even glance at Jilly, huddled beneath the sheets in a knot of pain and betrayal. “I didn't know you existed until I saw you,” he said slowly. “I came to L.A. to find out what happened to my mother. Our mother. She died out here, over thirty years ago. My father told me she was murdered.”

“Your father?” Rachel-Ann echoed. “We don't have the same father?”

“No.”

A spasm of fear crossed Rachel-Ann's pale face, and Jilly wanted to move, to comfort her, to protect her. But she was trapped inside her own sense of betrayal.

“Does Jackson know who you are? Why you're here?” Rachel-Ann demanded hoarsely.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He's the reason I'm here,” Coltrane said in a cool, emotionless voice. “My mother lived here with him and a bunch of others in the late sixties, and he killed her. He murdered my mother. Your mother. I came here to find the truth. And to make him pay.”

“You bastard,” Rachel-Ann said softly. “It's a lie! He couldn't—”

“Don't!” He stopped her. Still refusing to look at Jilly. “I don't give a damn what you think, but you have to get out of here. He'll be coming here. He thinks I'm bringing you here, keeping you for him. He's going away, leaving the country. He's about to be indicted for fraud, he's broken almost every law you could ever think of, and all he cares about is getting to a nice safe country where there's no extradition and enjoying all the money he squirreled away. And he expects you to help him spend it.”

“And why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I go away with him? He loves me.”

“Yes, he does,” Coltrane said grimly. “Just a little too much. He's your real father.”

“Oh, God,” Jilly said, breaking her shocked silence as it all finally made sense.

For a moment Rachel-Ann didn't move. And then she crossed the room very slowly, ignoring them, walking into the bathroom. A moment later they heard the sound of her retching.

Finally Coltrane turned to look at Jilly, unflinching, unrepentant. “You have to get her out of here. I thought she'd stay away and I wouldn't have to worry about her.”

“You just had to keep me occupied?” she said.

“It was your idea, Jilly. Not mine.”

Of all the things he could have said, that was the cruelest. She had no doubt that he knew it, that he'd said it deliberately. “What will he do to her?”

“Force her to go with him. Your father doesn't give a shit about laws or morality, he just doesn't want to get caught. And he's not willing to give up anything he wants, including Rachel-Ann. You've spent your life protecting her, Jilly. Get her out of here before he comes back.”

“And what will you do?”

“I don't know,” he said flatly. “I'll figure it out as it happens.”

“Murder's against the law.”

“Tell your father. And it wouldn't be murder. It would be justice, long overdue.”

“You made a mistake with me, you know,” Jilly said slowly. “You can't get to him through me or through Dean. He doesn't care about us. It was a waste of time trying to play your games with me. Sure, I fell for it. I'm only human. But it didn't get you anywhere you wanted to be.”

He looked at her, letting those green eyes sweep down over her body, slowly, pausing between her legs. “Oh, yes it did,” he said softly.

There was an art deco lamp on the bedside table. Without hesitation she picked it up and flung it at him, yanking the cord from the wall.

He didn't bother to duck. He didn't need to—the lamp didn't even come close, simply smashed on the marble floor. “Get her away from here, Jilly,” he said again. “Take her and get as far away as you can. And with any luck you'll never have to see your father or me again.”

Without another word he walked out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. Roofus rose with a huge doggy sigh and followed him with mindless canine devotion.

Jilly was still sitting there, motionless, when Rachel-Ann emerged from the bathroom, pale, shaken. “What am I going to do, Jilly?”

It took her a moment to respond. She looked up at her sister with a kind of shock. “I'll get you out of here. Coltrane is right—Jackson's dangerous. He always was, but now that he's desperate I don't think anything will stop him. We need to have you out of here.”

“You, too, Jilly. You need to come with me. If he can't have me—”

“He certainly doesn't want me,” Jilly said. “He never has and he never will. Thank God.” She tried to pull herself out of her momentary paralysis. Her sister needed her. “Rachel-Ann, did he ever…?” She couldn't bring herself to say the words. “When you were young, did he…?”

“No,” she said in a shaky voice. “I wasn't sure, but it seemed as if he came close a few times, but something stopped him.”

Jilly breathed a tiny sigh of relief. “Nothing's going to stop him now. You need to get your stuff together and we'll go. We'll drive up north, or maybe out to the desert where he can't find us.”

“I have a place to go. Where I spent last night. He'll never find me there.”

Jilly stared at her. “Who is he?” she asked calmly.

“Don't pass judgment on me, Jilly. He's not some one-night stand. He's someone I cared about, a long time ago.”

There was a moment's weary silence. “Actually I wasn't passing judgment,” Jilly said. “For once I was a little more preoccupied with the mess I've made of my own life, speaking of one-night stands.”

“Jilly…”

“Get packed and bring your stuff downstairs. I'll be down in a minute. Don't try to take everything—the sooner we get out of here the better.” The sooner she got away from Coltrane, from the smell of sex that was turning her stomach and making her heart ache, the better.

They'd used up most of the hot water. It didn't matter—a cold shower was what she deserved. She dressed quickly, grabbing the first thing she could find. Jeans and a T-shirt, letting her hair hang free as she hurried down the stairs. The hall was deserted, and she headed straight for the kitchen, the heart of the house. The sun was already beginning to set, filling the rambling old mansion with shadows. She'd spent the entire day in bed with a cheat and a liar.

And the worst thing was, she still wanted him.

She was a survivor. They had their roles in the family. Rachel-Ann was the fragile one, Dean the scapegoat. And Jilly was the mother, comforter, the strong one who rescued and protected.

Right now she would have given anything to have someone rescue and protect her. But she'd already given that right to the man who'd betrayed her.

She was limping by the time she reached the living room. Twelve hours on her back hadn't quite effected a cure for her feet. All was still and silent, everything hidden in shadows, and she almost turned away when some small sound alerted her.

“Hello, Daddy,” she said. “Looking for someone?”

Jackson Dean Meyer rose from the wing chair that had shielded him from sight. He looked smaller than she remembered, somehow diminished. And yet even more dangerous. Because what had been vague, instinctive warnings had now coalesced into fact. He was a murderer. A murderer fixated on his own daughter. One of them.

“You look like hippie trash, Jillian,” he said calmly. “As usual.”

“Takes one to know one, pops,” she said flippantly. “Did Grandmère know you ran a commune in this place?”

“Why do you think she took it away from me? And I wouldn't knock it if I were you. This family was flat broke before I got started. Drug money went a long way toward making us solvent again. Toward supporting you and this house.”

But Jilly wasn't going to be distracted. “You can't have her.”

Jackson's small eyes narrowed. “Jealous?”

“You're disgusting.”

He didn't even react. “Where's your sister? And where's Coltrane? He promised to have her here for me.”

“And you trusted him?” There was no noise in the house. She could only hope and pray that Coltrane had realized Jackson was already there and had spirited Rachel-Ann down the back stairs, out of the house, away from danger.

“As much as I trust anyone. Why shouldn't I? He isn't troubled by morals.” He cocked his head to one side, looking at her. “Oh, I get it. You slept with him. I told him to try to distract you if he could—I didn't need you barging into my office, asking questions, demanding answers while I was dealing with the federal government breathing down my neck. But I never thought he'd do it. Or that you'd fall for it. I guess you're not the big, strong Jilly, after all. You're just as much of a weak-minded fool as your mother was.”

She didn't even blink. “Rachel-Ann is gone, Jackson, and so is Coltrane. If you want to get out of the country ahead of the law then you'd better leave now.”

“How very interesting. Who told you I was leaving the country? As far as I know only Coltrane was aware of my plans.”

“Maybe you trusted Coltrane a little too much.”

“And maybe I didn't.” Jackson was looking past her, into the darkened hallway. “What took you so long?”

It was Coltrane, of course. Dressed, looking like a stranger. Not like the man who'd spent hours in bed with her. And standing beside him was Rachel-Ann, looking stunningly serene, with Coltrane's hand on her thin upper arm.

Jackson smiled at Rachel-Ann, that fond, benevolent smile that had always made Jilly's blood run cold. Long before she knew she had a reason for her discomfort.

“We're going away, Rachel-Ann. You're coming with your old man and we'll roam the world having adventures. You'd like that, wouldn't you? I'll take care of everything, just as I always have, and you won't need to worry about a thing. It'll be just you and me, like always.”

Rachel-Ann was still, silent, watching him out of her betraying green eyes, so very like Coltrane's.

If Jackson was daunted by her lack of response he didn't show it. “Where are your suitcases? Not that it matters—we can buy anything we need once we reach Rio. We're starting out in Brazil, darling, and then we'll see where we want to go from there. Thanks for everything, Coltrane. You've done a good job.”

He reached out for Rachel-Ann, but Coltrane didn't release her. Jackson frowned. “What's the problem? Afraid I haven't taken care of you? Don't worry, I've left instructions with Afton—”

“I'm not going with you,” Rachel-Ann said, her voice wobbling slightly.

Jackson's disbelief should have been comical. Instead it was even more chilling. “Don't be ridiculous. Coltrane brought you here to me—”

“I didn't bring her here,” Coltrane said. “She insisted on coming. I was trying to get her out the back door.”

Jackson's smile was benevolent. “Of course she insisted. I don't know what you've said to upset her, but all she has to do is look at me and know that I love her and always have. I'd never hurt her. Come with me, Rachel-Ann. You've always hated this house, hated this life. We'll start a new life, far away, where no one knows anything about us.”

“I'm staying with my brother,” she said calmly.

“Don't be ridiculous! Dean is useless, and who the hell even knows where he is—”

“No,” Rachel-Ann said. “My real brother.”

The silence in the room was chilling, deafening. Jackson's attempt at charm vanished, leaving him cold-eyed and dangerous. “You lying son of a bitch,” he snarled in fury. “Don't believe him, Rachel-Ann. It's nothing but lies. I don't know what stories he's been telling you, but I don't know anything about him.”

“He told me you murdered his mother. My mother. Why would you do that?”

“Baby, I wouldn't!” Jackson said, so charming, so believable that even Jilly knew a moment's doubt. “I don't know who he says he is, but it's lies. I don't even know who your mother was. You were an adoption case I was handling that fell through, and I decided to keep you for myself.”

“If it was an adoption case you were handling wouldn't you have met my mother?” she countered.

“She died in childbirth,” he said without hesitation. “Who are you going to believe, baby? A stranger, or your father who loves you? Walk away from him, now. Come with me. Just go upstairs and get a change of clothes and we'll get out of here. Go on, sweetheart.” He must have sensed her hesitation, and he nodded encouragingly. “I'll be right down here waiting.”