Nightfire. Barbara McCauley

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      “Wrong. You slam on the brakes.”

      “What?”

      “First lesson, Allison. Listen carefully.” His eyes narrowed with intensity as he glanced at her. “Be aggressive, hit fast, hit hard, then get the hell out.”

      She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re actually serious. For God sake’s, Kane, we’re not talking about a military operation here.”

      “And we’re not talking about the fairy kingdom of never-never land either, princess.”

      Gritting her teeth, she bit back the first response that came into her mind and went with the second. “Don’t call me ‘princess.”’

      “Stop acting like one.” Kane checked his rearview mirror again, satisfied that the sedan was still behind him. “You need to understand a few things. I don’t own a pair of kid gloves and I’m not here to hold your hand.”

      Hold her hand. Allison wound her fingers so tightly around the armrests that the fabric creaked. “I think you better understand a few things yourself, Mr. Kane. I don’t need or want you to hold my hand. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

      He slanted her a look and smiled. “Hold on to that thought. Lessons begin bright and early.”

      She had no idea what he was talking about, nor did she care to ask. Kane pulled up in front of her apartment a few minutes later and after she packed a bag and watered her house plants, they were back on the road again, crossing the bridge over the sound, heading toward Fox Island. They’d be at her father’s house in about ten minutes and all she could think about was getting out of her heels, into a soft, comfortable pair of flats and her favorite sweatshirt.

      To say that it had been a long day was putting it somewhat mildly.

      “Oh, and one other thing,” Kane said suddenly, breaking the long silence. “I’ll need a list of men you’ve dated and/ or slept with.”

      She hadn’t heard him right. She couldn’t have. He’d asked her for a list of lovers as casually as if he’d been asking her the time of day. She turned slowly in her seat and simply stared at him. “Excuse me?”

      “I’ll need a list of men you’ve—”

      “Don’t you dare say it again.” Her jaw was clenched so tight she could barely speak. “Don’t even think it. Whom I’ve dated, or as you so eloquently put it, ‘slept with,’ is nobody’s business but mine.”

      She decided it was a good thing after all that Kane was driving. If she’d been behind the wheel right now she probably would have driven off the bridge.

      “It’s not uncommon for the victim to have known their abductor beforehand,” Kane said. “Quite often, intimately.”

      Allison settled back in her seat. “I guarantee that whoever this creep is, it’s no one I know or who knows me. Sorry, Kane, but I suggest you find a more willing subject if you’re looking for kicks, and while you’re at it, you could certainly use a more creative approach.”

      He smiled then, a slow, confident smile that made Allison’s insides churn. “Princess, let me tell you something—When I ‘get my kicks’ as you say, I’m very creative, and the lady is always willing.”

      She didn’t doubt for a second what he said was true. She’d already had a firsthand experience with the man’s appeal. Because she didn’t want him to see her cheeks turn red, she turned away and stared out the window. All she could manage to say was, “Don’t call me ‘princess.”’

      This was not going to be easy.

      Kane stood at the southwest edge of the cliffs behind the Westcott estate and scanned an experienced eye over the luxuriant grounds. Inside a five-foot brick wall surrounding the property, flowering trees and perfectly manicured shrubs nearly engulfed the two-story Spanish-style house. The greenery was aesthetically pleasing, but a virtual haven for uninvited guests, he thought with more than a twinge of annoyance.

      And the house had more windows than Seattle had rain.

      One specific window on the second story—the bedroom Allison slept in—drew his attention, and he mentally calculated his position. Based on the angle of the shot, Kane was sure this was the spot where their “shutterbug” had been standing when he’d taken his picture. The rocks here were big enough to easily hide behind and access from the beach below was an easy climb. The spot was so remote that it was doubtful any neighbor would have spotted him, and even if Allison had seen him, she was so naive she probably would have just waved at the guy. Hell, she probably would have invited him in for lunch.

      He could still see the look on her face when she’d stared at the photograph of herself in her underwear. Her skin had paled against her dark hair and her fingers had felt like slivers of ice when he’d taken the picture out of her hands. He knew she was scared to death, he’d seen the fear in her wide eyes. Yet still she refused to spend the next few days here, inside, where she would be safer, out of danger.

      Why, dammit? He shook his head irritably. What difference could it possibly make if she skipped a few days at the center and postponed the kids’ show? So maybe the kids would be disappointed. Disappointment never killed a kid. If it did, he’d have been dead by the ripe old age of seven.

      He turned sharply at the shriek of a sea gull overhead and watched the bird as it swooped low over the water. For some strange reason, the smooth motion of the creature made him think of Allison. She moved with that same powerful and elegant grace. And even though he knew that she’d studied ballet, hers was a grace that no amount of dance lessons could ever teach. It was completely natural, utterly feminine and disturbingly sensual.

      He could still feel the soft pressure of her breasts on his back when they’d stood in the elevator this morning. The heat of her body had burned straight through his clothes and scorched his skin. Thirty seconds more with her pressed against him like that and he would have broken out in a sweat. He was going to have to be careful to keep his distance from her, he resolved. A woman like Allison could easily mess up a man’s thinking, make him lose control. And control was something Kane had no intention of relinquishing.

      He thought of the file he’d read on the plane this morning. Allison’s file. She’d graduated from the dance academy six years ago, and the rest of her life had been as easy to read as a children’s book, complete with pictures. Her career as a dancer had been notable, but her offstage life seemed to be virtually nonexistent. Though there’d been an occasional boyfriend mentioned in an entertainment magazine here and there, as far as he could see she’d had no serious affairs or rejected lovers.

      He couldn’t help the smile as he recalled the look of indignation on her face when he’d asked her about her personal life. He’d had to ask, that was his job, but any interest he might have in Allison’s love life was purely professional. Unless one of those men was tied to the case, they had no relevance at all. They were simply nameless and faceless lovers who had no bearing on the current situation.

      So why, then, was he trying to put a face to one of those men, wondering if he’d been another dancer she’d worked with, or maybe one of the dozens of admirers she must have had? What difference could it possibly make?

      It didn’t, he told himself. He was just getting restless. He’d worked nonstop for the last twelve months. There’d been СКАЧАТЬ