With Deadly Intent (13 page)

Reluctantly, she unzipped Simon's coat, stepped into the rust stained bathtub, took a
speedy shower, and tried to dry herself on a threadbare towel. Goose flesh pimpled her
skin as she pawed through the clothes she'd packed. After she got her flannel pajamas
on, she'd feel fine, she told herself. She dressed quickly, wrapped a handkerchief
around her foot, put on a pair of socks and rejoined Simon.

He lay the coat she handed him on a chair and turned back the covers of the bed. “Get in
before you get any more chilled than you are.”

Her chattering teeth prevented her from arguing. She did as he directed, curled up in a
ball, and waited for her body to thaw out. Cold air came in from the walls and up from
the floor. She couldn't stop shaking.

She heard footsteps, peeked from the covers, and found Simon draping the towels and bath
mat over her.

“We have to get you warm.” He unzipped his jacket and put that over her too.

She reared up in bed. “You can't do that, you'll freeze. Maybe we could find a way to get
into the other rooms. They must have blankets in them.”

He shook his head. “My key fit all the doors so I checked. All the rooms were bare. Not
even a mattress.” He clumped back and forth. “I'm sorry, Amy. I've done some screw-loose
things in my time, but this tops them all.”

“You're not God, Simon.” She flipped back the blankets. “Get in here.”

“No, I'll manage.”

Her shivering grew more violent. She stiffened her muscles in an attempt at control.
“Don't be a damned fool.”

“All right. All right.” He moved a night stand to his side of the bed, set the lamp and
the wooden chair leg on it, then switched off the light. After considerable rustling
around, he slid into bed. “Careful you don't hit my cast with your sore foot. My socks
and long johns won't stretch over it.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her
into the curve of his body.

His wonderful warmth enveloped her, and her muscles unclenched for the first time since
she'd landed in Lewistown. She patted his jersey-clad arm. “Thanks,” she said sleepily,
and sank into a delightfully warm oblivion.

Sometime during the night, she dreamed she was making love in a sun-drenched meadow. At
first, she thought the man to be Mitch and she struggled to get free. Then he laughed
and called her, Doc, and she realized it was Simon.

Her body came alive and that Simon should be the one who sparked it seemed not at all out
of reason. As he bent over her, the sun's rays caught on his chestnut hair and turned it
into a glowing crown. “You're the woman for me,” he said, and nuzzled her neck.

She awoke to find what she'd dreamed had been triggered by more than her subconscious.
Simon's hand had worked its way under her pajama top and cupped her bare breast. His
lips caressed her neck.

“Julie,” he whispered. “Julie, love.” His hand left her breast and moved across her
abdomen.

She whimpered—a thin childlike sound. Not her. Never her. A golf-ball-sized lump jammed
her throat. She slipped out of bed, crept into the bathroom and stayed there until the
frigid cold drove her back.

The bed squeaked as she got in, waking Simon. He turned on the light. “You okay?”

“I'm just f-fine.” She forced her shivering body to be still.

He stared down at her with dream-clouded eyes. “Amy"—he moved closer, bent his head—"I
need...” He brushed his fingers across her cheek and touched her bottom lip with his
forefinger. “Amy, would it be all right if I kiss you?”

She felt his erection against her thigh and knew what he really wanted. “Yes,” she
murmured, closing her eyes and tilting her chin. She cringed at her weakness—a strong
woman wouldn't barter her body for a word, a touch, some show of tenderness to fill the
void where her heart had once been.

His lips met hers, gentle, soft, questioning.

Blood that had been moving like slush through her veins warmed and her lips parted under
his. Then, they were kissing hungrily as if neither of them would ever get enough. Yet,
even then she could hear Mitch's jeering voice, “Why shouldn't I bed other women? You
got about as much sex appeal as a dead fish.”

Simon unbuttoned her pajama jacket and covered her breast with his hand. “Um-m-m, you
feel so nice.” Suddenly his entire body went rigid. “Oh, Christ!” He broke away from
her, sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “It was you I touched in my
dream, wasn't it? Holy Jesus, I'm as bad as that baboon who was pawing you.” He rose,
picked up his clothes and marched into the bathroom.

She turned on her side, drew her knees up to her chest and let silent tears slide down
her face. She ached, didn't know why she ached, and hurt too much to try and figure it
out.

The bathroom door hinges creaked, footsteps crossed the floor and stopped by the bed. She
didn't move and hoped he'd think she was asleep. He'd said women often came on to him,
and she'd been like all the others. She cringed with shame. Now, he'd think she was
starved for sex. She released a soft sob.

Simon uncovered her head, knelt on the floor and took her face in his hands. “Look at me,
Amy,” he said in a soft voice.

She opened wet lashes and a tear escaped. He wiped it away with his fingers. “You're a
very desirable woman, and don't you let my actions, or those of your ex-husband, make
you think otherwise.”

His earnest hazel eyes stared into hers. “You're attractive, feminine, and caring.
Everything a man would want in a woman.”

But she wasn't Julie.
And at that moment she wanted very much to be her. She
wanted to be loved and cared for in the way she knew he had Julie. Another tear spilled
over.

His lower lip trembled and his eyes got wet looking. “Amy ... I needed the release you
could give me.” His gaze sharpened. “But you knew that, didn't you?”

She sniffed and nodded.

“You deserve better than that.” He took out his handkerchief, wiped her face, and blew
his nose. “A helluva lot better.”

She covered his hand with hers. “So do you, Simon.”

His mouth twisted. “One of these days you'll meet a guy who can love you as you should be
loved.”

But he wasn't the one.
He couldn't have made it any plainer. His gaze held hers
until she said, “I know” to put his mind at ease.

He let out his breath. “Good.” He swept aside her tangled bangs and planted a kiss on her
forehead. “You get some sleep. I'm going to walk around awhile. Don't be
frightened'cause I'll stay close by.”

She managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Professor. I feel better now.”

His smile wobbled as much as hers. “So do I. For a change, I did something right.” He
turned off the light, pushed the dresser away from the window, climbed through, and
closed the window from the outside.

She slept thinly, aware of her unfulfilled needs, of the empty space beside her and
Simon's lingering scent. The struggle to sleep strained her already frayed nerves,
causing her mind to teem with scraps of unfinished business. The man who'd attacked her
had flung her jacket aside. She had to find it. Her money, credit cards, and plane
tickets were in an inside pocket.

Friday, October 28

When the sky began to lighten, she got out of bed. Her foot hurt and she felt as if every
bone and muscle ached. Hobbling back and forth from suitcase to the bed, she pulled a
pair of jeans over her pajama pants, donned a T-shirt and put a coral-colored sweater
over the top. Today, she'd be warm.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and heard Simon's words
You're a
desirable, attractive woman.
She touched a bruise that extended from cheekbone
to chin. What did he see that she couldn't?

Her glasses had gotten lost during the skirmish, so she put in her contacts. She seldom
wore them. They were time consuming, a vanity item. Who needed to boost their self
esteem? A laugh burst from her. She did, that's who.

She studied her eyes. Maybe a little vanity wasn't such a bad thing. After applying
make-up, she softened the appearance of her unruly brown hair with a curling iron.

Perhaps if she ... Leaving the thought unfinished, she tried to move the bed from in
front of the door. She couldn't budge it so she snatched the chair leg Simon had left
behind, climbed out the window and headed up the street toward the vacant stone
building.

As she neared it, her heart rate increased. She swallowed and no saliva moistened her
cottony mouth. Straighten up, she told herself. Keep a cool head. She made a face. What
an asinine suggestion. This time she was the victim, not the investigator, and the
difference yawned wide as a canyon.

At the front entrance, she gripped her billy club and gave the door a shove. As she eased
inside, a small animal squeaked and skittered through the litter. Her eyes adjusted to
the gloom and she attempted to get her bearings. She took a step, waited and took
another. Suddenly, a light flashed full in her eyes and she screamed.

“Sorry,” Simon said. “Didn't know it was you.”

She gulped air and waited for her pulse to slow. “Where'd you get the flashlight?”

“Borrowed it from the restaurant. Wanted to find your glasses.”

“Don't worry about them, it's my coat I need.”

They found it not too far from his crutches. Evidently, Cecil's mind had been on his pain
instead of thievery because nothing had been taken.

Simon examined the badly bent crutch. “Maybe those jokers learned city dudes aren't so
easy after all.” He slipped both under one arm. “Let's get something to eat.”

During breakfast Amy frowned and broke the rather uncomfortable silence that lay between
them. “I hate to see those creeps get off scot-free, but if we file a report we'll have
to come back when their case comes up.”

Simon set down his cup. “It's more complicated than that. The cook says the guards at the
hospital are the only law White Bird has. The nearest sheriff is in Lewistown.”

She studied the purple bruises on his face. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Stiff and sore, but nothing serious. How about you?”

“The same.” She shrugged. “We can discuss what to do on the way.”

By the time they finished, the lights were on in Demski's Auto Repair. They went across
the street and entered the glassed-in office. It was empty, but noises came from the
garage portion. They followed the sounds.

Their Toyota and several other half-dismantled cars formed a straggly line leading up to
a long tool bench. Nearby a tall, lean-bodied young man raised a cloud of dust as he
pushed a broom across the floor. When he saw them approaching, he dropped his broom and
loped toward them. He stopped several feet away and began to pick at the frayed cuff of
his jacket.

“Good morning,” Simon said.

The young man raised his gaze to meet Simon's. “Hi, mister. I'm Donny Quinlan.”

Simon grasped his hand, shook it, and introduced himself and Amy.

The young man took in Simon's crutch and their bruised faces. “Gol—ly, you been in a
wreck?”

Simon glanced at Amy and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you might say that.” He handed the
young man the slip Boris Demski had given them the previous day. “Can we pick up our
car?”

Donny stared at the piece of paper and handed it back. “I can't read.” He frowned. “My
mother says I'm slow. I ... I guess I am, but...” His eyes lighted up. “But I can add
better than she can.” He straightened bony shoulders. “And you know what?” His face
beamed and he seemed about to explode.

“What?” Amy asked.

“I can pitch a baseball better than anybody in White Bird.”

Simon shifted his feet. “And all of them want you on their team.”

“Sure do.” He swelled his chest. “'cause I can pitch a no hit game.”

“I wasn't much of a baseball player,” Amy said. “How about you, Simon?”

“They called me, ‘No hope' Kittredge. Couldn't hit, couldn't throw, couldn't catch.” He
smiled at Donny. “I'll bet you know everybody in town, don't you?”

“Sure do.” He inched forward.

“You know a man named Bull?”

Donny grinned. “Everybody in White Bird does. That's Mr. Marchmont.” He snickered and
looked at them with the clear and guileless eyes of a child. “I heard the guys say it's
a fittin' name. Him bein' penned up like he is with a bunch of heifers.”

“Shut your trap, Donny.”

Amy turned to see the garage owner standing in the office doorway.

A fit of coughing bent the man over. When he recovered, he glowered at the young man who
stood with hunched shoulders and bowed head. “I pay you to sweep, not work your jaws, so
get to it. Ya hear?”

Donny shuffled over to the work bench and picked up his broom, then his head came up. “I
can add better'n you too.”

“Don't pay the boy no mind,” Demski said, raising his voice so Donny couldn't help
hearing him. “He's missing two-thirds of his cogs.” He held the door open. “Come in, and
we'll get your paper work done so you can be on your way.”

Simon held back. “Be right with you.” He guided Amy to the other side of the Toyota and
took a twenty dollar bill from his wallet. “If you can get Donny aside, give him this.
Tell him to buy a new mitt, or something. The only honest person in this town deserves
some kind of reward.”

She smiled. “I like you, Simon Kittredge. You're a nice man.”

He met her gaze somewhat shyly. “Not all the time.” He drew his eyebrows together.
“Sounds as if reporting those two guys would be useless.”

She nodded. “That creep said this town knows who butters its bread.” Simon rejoined
Demski and she walked over to Donny.

He gazed at her with a sad expression. “Makes me feel bad, when Mr. Demski says things
like that about me.”