One Stormy Night. Marilyn Pappano

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СКАЧАТЬ left hand was already in the air, she realized. She drew the right back from the light switch, raised it, as well, then turned slowly, as he’d instructed.

      With the dim light at his back, all she saw was shadows, but that was intimidating enough. He was at least six foot two, with shoulders broad enough to fill the doorway. Hulk was the first word that came to mind. He had a gun and he worked for Taylor the scum.

      And she was pretending to be Taylor’s wife.

      She drew a breath, straightened her shoulders and said, “You protect and serve even in the middle of the night. I’ll be sure to tell my husband how diligent you are.”

      For a moment the air in the room seemed to vibrate. Just as quickly, the moment passed, and there was a rustle of movement, the click of a switch, then light flooded the dining area. The enemy stared at her and she stared back.

      She’d been close with hulk but definitely one letter off. This guy was a hunk. Tall, broad, great chest, narrow hips, long legs, muscular and golden brown all over. She could see that because he wasn’t wearing anything but boxers that rode low on the aforementioned hips. He didn’t need a weapon to make a woman swoon; just one good look at him in his current state of undress would do the trick nicely.

      Tall, dark and hot. That meant he was Mitch Lassiter, and she’d been right on one point. He was the enemy.

      His expression was impossible to read. Shock? Dismay? Suspicion? Doubt? He could be feeling anything or nothing, and she’d never know, thanks to the utter blankness on his features.

      Feeling as if she were taking a chance she shouldn’t, she lowered her arms and crossed them over her middle instead. “I suppose you have a reason for harassing me inside my own apartment.”

      He moved as if to put the gun away, but there was no place to put it. He settled for laying it on the glass dining table a foot to his left. “Other than the fact that you’re supposed to be dead, no.”

      “Dead.” Holding her arms out to her sides, she turned in a slow circle. “I assure you I’m very much alive, Officer Lassiter.” Jen had never encouraged familiarity with any of Taylor’s employees, though she’d had little choice with Billy Starrett, the assistant chief. He and his wife, Starla, had constituted the bulk of their socializing.

      Starla Starrett. Can you imagine? I’d’ve kept my maiden name.

      His gaze narrowed as he studied her. His hair was dark brown and so were his eyes. If eyes were the windows to the soul, this man’s soul was hard. “Where have you been?”

      “I wound up in a hospital, then a shelter. My sister came back to the U.S. after the hurricane, and I spent some time with her.”

      “And you never thought to call your husband?”

      The same husband who’d punched his wife and held her head underwater? It would be all Jessica could do to see him without smacking him hard. “Estranged husband,” she pointed out.

      “Does he know you’re back?”

      “I’m sure he will once you scurry home and call him like a good little police officer.”

      His gaze narrowed even more, and a muscle clenched in his beard-stubbled jaw. I don’t like Mitch, Jen had said. Though she hadn’t mentioned it, the feeling was evi dently mutual.

      “He’s been worried about you.”

      “So worried that he tells people I’m dead?”

      “You were seen leaving the apartment with your car loaded. Your car was found a few days after the storm where it had washed off the road near Timmons Bridge, with everything still in it. You didn’t call anyone.”

      “I called my sister.”

      He looked as if he wanted to say something to that, but she didn’t give him a chance. “It’s late, Officer Lassiter. I’m tired. And I’m sure you’re just dying to get to a phone so you can report in to Taylor. Please close the door on your way out.”

      A moment passed before he finally picked up his pistol, then turned to the door. His muscles were taut—heavens, he had a great back and backside, too—and his movements graceful as he stalked across the room, walked outside and left the door standing open.

      Another moment passed before Jessica was able to move. Lacking his grace and trembling more than a little, she hurried over, closed and locked the door, then put on the security chain for good measure. Not that it would stop someone determined to come in, but it gave her a small measure of extra comfort.

      As she righted the items she’d knocked over in the dark—a vase on the coffee table, a statue on the side table—she admitted that she was probably going to need whatever comfort she could get in the days to come.

      Jennifer Burton was alive, well and back in Belmar.

      As Mitch dialed Taylor’s number, he wondered how his boss would take the news. He was sure as hell disappointed by part of it. Not that he wished Jennifer dead, of course. But he had thought that if she’d escaped the hurricane alive, she would have had the sense to not come back to Belmar. After all, it was Taylor’s own private kingdom, where she was his own private property. He wasn’t the sort to let a woman go unless he wanted her gone, and there had seemed something not quite right about her car at the Timmons Bridge. As if the scene had been staged.

      About half of the town had presumed she was dead, and Taylor had been among them. If it had been his wife, Mitch wouldn’t have given up hope until there was none left to hold on to. He would have personally searched every shelter, walked every inch of the county looking for a clue and gone to every hospital, clinic and doctor’s office within a three-state area. He would have printed flyers and offered rewards.

      Not Taylor. And yet all through their separation he’d sworn he loved her and wanted her back.

      On the third ring, Taylor picked up, his voice groggy, his words slurred. “Thish better be ’mergency.”

      “Depends on your point of view, I guess.”

      “Hey, Bubba.” That was followed by a loud yawn. “What’s up?”

      That was what Taylor had called him ever since they were kids, when Mitch had come to Belmar to live with his grandmother just down the road from the Burtons. They’d been nine years old and adversarial in the beginning. After Mitch—three inches shorter and fifteen pounds lighter—had whipped Taylor’s ass, they’d become good friends and remained so, though not as close as they once were. After college, Taylor had returned to Belmar, while Mitch had taken a job in Atlanta. They’d kept in touch, though, and eventually Mitch had found himself back in town again.

      Mitch wasn’t sure about the etiquette for breaking the news to someone that his loved one wasn’t dead, so he said it bluntly. “Jennifer came home tonight.”

      There was utter silence on the line. Mitch would give a lot if he could see Taylor’s expression. Most people weren’t as good at hiding their feelings as Mitch was. Just a flicker could tell him a lot.

      “So she’s alive.” Taylor sounded wide-awake now and his voice was quiet. Thoughtful. “Is she all right? How does she СКАЧАТЬ