Dance with the Devil (3 page)

'Drew, you can trust me, I won't harm you. Haven't I proved that?'

Hell, she was right, Drew thought. But the past week had almost had him questioning his sanity. The sense of isolation in that damned hood, the disorientation caused by the drugs, and the fear that any moment he would be killed - they'd taken their toll on him emotionally.

'At this time every year I take three weeks holiday at a small fishing shack near the mouth of the Bloomfield River north of Cairns,' he began. 'About a week ago I went fishing, came back to the shack, drank a stubby of beer and passed out. When I opened the fridge, I thought it was strange there was only one bottle there because I was sure I'd left two, and even stranger that the beer was a little flat. But I was hot and sweaty and the beer was cold.' He shrugged, then winced at the pull of the dressings across his back.

'When I woke up, I was chained in a shed. A hood covered my eyes but I could smell wood shavings, oil, grease, rusted metal.'

'Do you have any clue as to who did this to you?'

'No.' He shook his head, shivering slightly at the memory. 'Even when he brought food and…a bucket for me to use…he only unchained one hand. He kept quoting the Bible at me - atonement, sacrifice, that sort of thing. I gathered he blamed me for someone's death, but I have no idea whose.'

He took another drink of the tea, savouring its heat. Everything he'd been forced to eat and drink in the past week had been lukewarm, and although it should have been the least of his worries, it was another reminder of how helpless he had been, of the power his captor had held over him. His one attempt at escape had ended with the butt of the gun crashing into the back of his head. After that, the devil had increased the amount of barbiturate, and only loosened the chain when necessary to allow him slightly more movement.

'Can I use your phone?'

'Sorry,' her regret seemed genuine, 'the line's dead. I tried it when I came out here.'

Suspicion surged through him again. 'Who did you try to phone?'

A hint of exasperation gleamed in her eyes. 'My mother. She lives on the outskirts of Cairns - in Cascade Heights. The cyclone was predicted to hit Cairns first and I was worried about her.' She frowned. 'What about you? Do you have family who'd be worried about you? Surely after you'd been missing a week they must have - '

'No. I don't normally contact anyone when I go on holidays. My office knows not to phone me unless it's an emergency. I have three weeks of fishing, diving, and reading all the novels I've saved up for the previous twelve months.'

Before she could reply, his stomach gave a loud growl, and he listened in amazement as she chuckled, a low throaty sound that sent tingles up his spine. 'I'm not a very good doctor, am I, forgetting to tend to my patient's basic needs.'

She rose and took a large bowl from the fridge. Drew watched her, noting the economy of her movements, the graceful lines of her body. When she'd helped him to the bathroom her arm had supported him around the waist, and he'd realised then that she had no bra on. Now her firm breasts moved against the thin fabric of her T-shirt as she poured soup into a saucepan and placed it on the stove. He couldn't stop the heat flooding his groin as he imagined her breasts sliding over his chest, as she tended to his
need
that was more basic than food.

'I hope you like beef and vegetable soup.' She turned back to Drew, and he hoped she hadn't caught him staring. 'I'll light the wood stove and make some toast.'

He tried to swing his thoughts back on a more constructive track. 'What about a mobile phone?'

'Sorry.' She shook her head and put a match to the paper and kindling in the firebox of the stove. 'They don't work in the valley.'

'Then would you be able to drive me back to Cairns tomorrow?'

She cocked her head to the sound of the never-ceasing rain. 'By now it will be impossible to cross some of the small creeks that cut across the valley. They're mountain fed and it's been raining like this for…' she glanced at her watch, 'almost five hours. You slept deeply.'

'How do you make contact with the outside world during the wet season?' His frustration made his voice harsh, and his head ached with the lingering effects of the drugs.

'We don't. It's a fact of life here and you plan accordingly. We have plenty of food, rainwater in the tanks, wood stove, kerosene lamps and candles. It might seem a little primitive but I've been in places where this would be thought of as luxury.'

Although her tone was still soft, Drew felt appropriately rebuked. 'I'm sorry if I sounded churlish,' he said, 'but - '

'Don't apologise. If I were in your position I'd be so damn angry and frustrated I'd probably try to walk back to Cairns.' She glanced down at his feet, the white bandages stark against the wooden floor. 'But you won't be able to do much walking for a while.'

Emma finished cooking the meal, acutely conscious of his scrutiny, and even more conscious of her reaction to it. She kept telling herself she was only feeling this way because she was emotionally strung out - too much had happened in too short a time for her to come to terms with it all.

'Will you be all right with the spoon?' she asked as she set the bowl of steaming soup in front of him.

'I'll manage.'

Emma watched him eat. He was awkward at first, then gradually he manoeuvred the spoon so it balanced between his fingers. Long, strong fingers. Capable hands. His chest gleamed bronze in the lamplight, dark hairs lightly sprinkled across hard muscles, tapering down to where she knew the towel covered what Nature had amply endowed.

Heat flushed through her body, creating an ache she hadn't felt for a long, long time. She gave herself a mental shake, forcing her thoughts onto more practical matters. Clothing - she'd have to find some for him. He couldn't spend the next few days wearing nothing but a towel. Not if she wanted any peace of mind he couldn't.

'We'd better find some clothing for you,' she said as she put the empty dishes in the sink, 'and a bed. You look exhausted.' She smiled tiredly. 'And I feel it.'

He picked up the lamp, hoping he wouldn't ask her to help him up. She was starting to feel frazzled around her emotional edges, her usual iron control slipping under the events of the day. But he only nodded and levered himself upright, awkwardly tightening the towel around his waist as he did so.

Mellow lamplight moved their shadows along the hallway. Emma paused briefly at the doorway to her bedroom and sighed with relief to see no damage. But as she opened the door into the spare bedroom her heart fell. A large tree limb had crashed through the window, showering glass over the room. The curtains hung ragged and dripping, ornaments shattered, a bookcase toppled across the bed, and books scattered like broken birds.

She felt the heat of Drew's body as he limped closer to her, his breath warm on her hair as he gazed at the chaos. Her skin tingled as though he had touched her.

Sighing, she closed the door. There was only one bedroom left. She squared her shoulders, took a deep, slow breath, subconsciously following a routine which had helped get her through other difficult situations.

Reluctantly she walked to the end of the hallway and into the last bedroom. Somehow she expected it to look different, as changed and marked as she felt. But the old silky oak dresser, wardrobe and matching ends on the double bed looked as solid and substantial as they always had. The bedspread was a serviceable brown and gold check; a man's hairbrush and an old-fashioned alarm clock the only items on the dresser. The cream lace curtains were the sole feminine touch in a decidedly masculine room.

Emma felt a lump form in her throat, but swallowed determinedly. She placed the lamp on the dresser and opened a drawer. Her hand shook slightly, but she picked out briefs and a pair of shorts, took a shirt from the wardrobe, and placed them on the bed. She turned back to Drew, hoping he wouldn't ask whose room he was taking, but his expression was carefully neutral and she wondered what he was thinking.

'I'll leave you the lamp. I'll use the candle I left in the bathroom.' Still he didn't speak. 'Do you need anything else?'

'A toothbrush, if you have a spare. I've learned that the proper answers to the question, "What would you take to a deserted island?" have more to do with hygiene than good books and a fine Scotch. Although,' he gave a wry grin, 'I don't think the gorgeous female part was too far off the mark.'

The appreciation in his eyes stopped Emma's breath in her lungs. She stood speechless for a moment, then walked past him to the doorway. 'I'll leave a toothbrush and paste in the bathroom for you. Goodnight.'

'Emma,' his hand lightly gripped her arm, stopping her. He seemed to hesitate, then his hand fell to his side. 'Thank you.'

She nodded, acknowledging and dismissive in the one motion, and walked back to the bathroom. As she washed her face and brushed her teeth, her mirrored reflection showed a wild-haired woman whose face was lined with exhaustion.
Gorgeous female indeed
.

She found a new toothbrush in the drawer and placed the packet next to the toothpaste.

In her bedroom, she quickly undressed and pulled a cotton nightgown over her head. She opened the windows and listened to the steady beat of the rain on the verandah roof. The faint tang of eucalyptus mingled with the rain's freshness. The air was no longer oppressive as it had been before the cyclone, but it was still warm. She picked up her brush and gently stroked the tangles from her hair, brushing until the light brown strands flowed softly on her shoulders. She rubbed moisturiser over her face, lay down on the bed and blew out the candle.

Should she have asked Drew more questions, tried to learn more about him? Was he a criminal who'd cheated on his cohorts? What did a criminal look and sound like anyway? Emma had been too long away from the veneer of civilisation to even hazard a guess.

Why would anyone want to kill another human being in such a bizarre manner? Was Drew mixed up with some weird religious cult? Was he mentally disturbed? Emma considered this last possibility but decided that, although he was obviously trying to keep his emotions under control, he was probably more stable than most people would be under the circumstances.

But fear and suspicion still lingered. She rose and pushed her rocking chair under the handle of the door. Then she sank back onto the bed, hers since she was a child, and wriggled into the familiar shapes of it.

Exhaustion rolled over her in waves. She forced herself to concentrate on the task that lay ahead of her in the morning, where she could safely store the lifeless body in the stables for the next few days. Guilt ate into her heart but she fought against it, trying to find the strength to face what had to be done.

And overlaying all other sensations was her foreboding chill that somewhere out in the darkness was a man with murder on his mind.

Drew sat straight up in bed, his heart thumping, every nerve tense.

He listened for the noise that had jerked him from sleep so abruptly, but heard only the steady drum of the rain. At least this morning his head felt a lot clearer, but he wondered how long it would be before the drugs left his system.

Stretching his long body, he became conscious of aches in every bone, in every muscle. A week of forced inactivity, of lying all day without being able to turn over, and he could feel the difference in his physical strength. In the small periods of time when the effects of the drugs had eased, he'd forced himself to do what little exercise was possible, but he knew it was nowhere near enough.

He flexed his shoulder muscles, felt the stinging sensation as the crusted wounds tore from the dressings. He'd found it hard to sleep on his stomach last night, but eventually he'd become too tired to feel the pain if he rolled onto his back.

The noise came again.

Howling. A dog's howling, eerie and mournful, piercing the incessant downpour. Through the lace curtains Drew could see daylight, bleak and grey though it was, and a glance at the clock told him it was a little after nine.

He flung the sheet aside and pulled on the underwear and shorts Emma had given him. They were old, a little too small for a man of his size, the cotton material so softened by washing it draped like silk, outlining his masculinity in explicit detail. A wry smile curved his mouth. He'd have been better off with the towel.

The night before, he'd wanted to ask Emma whose bedroom he was occupying but her tension had been almost palpable. Besides, he'd figured they both needed sleep more than a cross-examination.

The howling continued.

Drew disregarded the shirt - it didn't look big enough and he didn't need anything else pulling against the wounds on his back. He walked slowly down the hall, gingerly working out what parts of his feet could take the most pressure.

At the bathroom door he wavered, then made a quick detour. A damp washer around his face and clean teeth made him feel almost human again. The temptation to use the shaving cream and razor lying on the handbasin, to succumb to the need to rid himself of some of the evidence of his captivity, was almost overwhelming, but he continued down the hall.

Emma's bedroom door was open. Unlike the dull cream walls of the bedroom he had slept in, this room was painted white with cheerful blue and green curtains and matching bedspread. A rocking chair with quilted cushions stood next to a pale pine wardrobe and dresser. Personal items were scattered on the dresser, and a travel photo frame caught his attention. He moved closer to look.

A teenage Emma stood between a thin, unsmiling man and a laughing dark-haired woman. Emma held the reins of a sleek, obviously thoroughbred horse. The other photo showed the woman, older now, but still with the same joy for life shining in her eyes. It struck Drew that that was how Emma would look at the same age, her beautiful bone structure and flawless skin making her always appear much younger than she actually was.

He continued on to the kitchen. It, too, was empty. Then the living room, comfortably furnished with a three-piece lounge suite in faded green tapestry and bookcases overflowing with books and magazines.