Into The Fire. Anne Stuart

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СКАЧАТЬ nothing like it at all. He stood with the light behind him, and she couldn’t see his face. She could only see the blood on his hands.

      “Go home, Jamie,” he said after a long moment. “Go back to your safe little boarding-school world. There’s nothing for you here.”

      She didn’t even stop to wonder how he knew that she taught in a boarding school. “I can’t. I promised my mother. We need answers.”

      “Your mother,” Dillon said with a throaty laugh. “I should have known the Duchess would have something to do with this. I don’t give a shit what you and your goddamned mother want, I only care what I want. And that is for you to get in your car and get your scrawny little ass out of here before I lose my temper. I’m already in a bad mood, and you should remember that I’m not very nice when I’m in a bad mood.”

      The notion was so absurd she found she could laugh. “You’re never very nice,” she said.

      “True enough.” He glanced past her. “Where’s your car?”

      “Broken down somewhere.”

      “And I’m supposed to rescue you?”

      “Aw, Dillon!” The man behind him spoke. “Let the poor girl in out of the cold. You’re scaring her.”

      “Easy enough to do,” he said carelessly.

      “C’mon, man. We’re finished our game, anyway. We can’t play two-handed, and I don’t think Tomas is going to be in any shape to play cards for a while.” He stepped out into the alleyway, a short, skinny little man, smaller than her own average height. He probably wouldn’t weigh more than one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. Less than she did. If there was one thing she didn’t possess, it was a scrawny ass.

      “I’m Mouser,” he said. “And your name’s Janie?”

      “Jamie,” Dillon corrected. “Jamie Kincaid. Nate’s sister.”

      Mouser took an instinctive step back from her, looking rattled. “I didn’t know he had any sisters. I thought he hatched from a snake’s egg.”

      “Cousin,” she said, startled. “We were brought up together.”

      “Then you knew what he was like,” Mouser said, nodding. “Just ignore Dillon. He gets like this when someone cheats at cards, especially when they do it badly. It insults his intelligence. That’s why we’ve got Tomas over there in the mud. He’s not going to make you stand out here in the alleyway and freeze to death.”

      “Who says?” But with that caustic remark Dillon moved back inside. Leaving the door open behind him.

      “That’s as close to an invitation as you’re gonna get,” Mouser said. “Better get moving before he changes his mind and locks us both out in the snow.”

      The room beyond the door was hot and smoky, and Mouser closed the door behind her, shutting out the cold. Shutting off escape.

      The place was a mess. They’d been playing poker around an old table, and chips and cards lay scattered on the floor. Two chairs were overturned, bottles of beer lay spilled on the floor, and Dillon stood in the corner, smoking a cigarette and looking at her out of hooded eyes.

      She stifled a cough. The room was a sty, but what else would she expect of someone like him?

      “So you’re Nate’s sister,” Mouser said, getting a better look at her in the smoky light. “Not much of a resemblance, is there?”

      “Cousin,” she corrected him again. “We were just brought up together. And I’m adopted.”

      “Lucky you,” Mouser said obscurely. He glanced up at Dillon. “Maybe I’ll just leave you two together to relive old times.”

      “Not likely,” Dillon said.

      “Well, then, to work out your differences. Be nice to her, Killer. It’s not every day you have a pretty waif show up on your doorstep. Be a hero for a change,” Mouser said, his voice stern.

      “Jamie’ll tell you that’s not in my nature. Scrape Tomas off the sidewalk on your way, will you? I don’t want any more complications tonight. She’s enough.”

      “Will do. But I’m warning you, I expect to find her safe and happy next time I see her,” Mouser said.

      “She’ll be safe enough,” he said. “I can’t be responsible for ‘happy.’”

      “Funny, that’s not what your women say,” Mouser murmured.

      “In case you hadn’t noticed, she’s not one of my women,” Dillon snapped.

      “Oh, I noticed,” Mouser said in a cheerful voice.

      “I notice everything. Don’t let him browbeat you, Jamie. He’s mostly bark and very little bite.”

      That wasn’t what she remembered. But the door closed behind them, leaving the two of them alone in the smoky, trashed room.

      He moved then, picking up the overturned chairs on his way to the sink. They were in a kitchen of sorts, with a microwave, a hot plate, a tin sink and an old refrigerator. Which would undoubtedly be filled with beer. The old oak table in the center of the room took up most of the space, and he had to come way too close to her to reach the sink. He made no effort to avoid her, and she had to stumble back, out of his way.

      He was washing the blood off his knuckles, and she stared at his hands. They were big hands, strong, with a webbing of little nicks and scars. His knuckles were skinned—it hadn’t just been his victim’s blood. He didn’t seem to react to any pain—he just rinsed the blood off and dried the raw knuckles with a paper towel. He tossed it in the overflowing trash can by the sink, but it missed and floated down to the floor in a lazy, graceful swirl.

      He turned then, leaning against the sink to look at her, letting his eyes run from the top of her head to her wet, aching feet.

      It was very nice of Mouser to call her a pretty waif. She couldn’t disagree with the waif part, but “pretty” was pushing it. Particularly right now, when she hadn’t slept for two days, wore no makeup, and her pale brown hair straggled around her face. She’d never been Dillon’s type, thank God, even at her best, and at her worst she was definitely safe. If anyone could be safe around Dillon.

      “You can spend the night,” he said abruptly. “It’s after three, and I’m not in the mood to haul your car out of a ditch. Tomorrow I’ll get someone to tow it here, I’ll fix it, and you can get the hell out of here.”

      “You’ll fix it?” she repeated.

      “I’m a grease monkey, remember? I can fix any car. I just don’t happen to have a tow truck. I count on other people to drag them to me.” He opened the fridge, but to her surprise she couldn’t see any beer. They must have drunk it all. “I suppose you came to collect Nate’s stuff. Fine with me—it’s been just taking up room.”

      “Then why wouldn’t you send it?”

      “Couldn’t be bothered.” He took a carton of milk, opened it and drank.

      She СКАЧАТЬ