Endless Night (18 page)

“I want you too, but now probably isn’t the best time—” she drew back and searched their dismal surroundings, “—and here probably isn’t the best place.”

Jake’s expression was intense. He held her shoulders and stooped his head to look her in the eye. “No. I
want
you. All of you. Not just today. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Feeling a bout of vertigo, Megan latched on to the strength in his arms. “Not—not exactly.”

“Megan, I—”

Overhead, the alarm shrilled through Wakefield House.

Jake felt the shockwave through Megan’s body as if a ricochet of lightning had pierced its way into this dungeon and plunged deep into her chest. The death grip she had on his biceps was probably the only thing keeping her standing. He could hear her muffled pant, a kind of respiratory mantra.

With Megan still attached, he reached over and flicked off the flashlight. Obscurity swallowed them, trapping them in the dark bowels of Wakefield House. It was like being buried alive and he fought the urge to claw at the ceiling.

Over the distant peal of the timer, Megan’s erratic gasp continued, a soft staccato that showed no signs of ebbing.

“Listen to me,” he whispered, hoarse and emphatic against her ear. “Listen, Megan.”

Fingers bit through his jacket while Megan gulped for air.

“You know this house,” he persisted. “The dark doesn’t scare you. This is your turf—you have the advantage, remember?” He hesitated, waiting for a response. “Isn’t it true? Tell me, Meg, exactly how many steps is it to reach the staircase?”

Jake listened to that stifled breath and thought that she wouldn’t answer, but then she gulped softly. “Five,” she whispered, “directly to your right.”

He squeezed her shoulders. “That’s my girl.” It was nearly imperceptible, but he sensed that her death grip was easing up. “Okay, now how about the gun?”

She released his arm and soon he heard her fingers tapping on the nearby shelf, followed by the sound of metal scraping metal. “Got it.”

“Okay, now listen—can you hear anything up there? Anything over the alarm? Can you tell where he’s at? Are there footsteps? Is he on the move?”

In the intense gap that followed, Jake mentally urged her on. Megan was a remarkable woman, and no matter what the outcome, at this moment he was full of admiration and pride. God help him, he was wholly in love, and he’d be damned if anyone was going to hurt her.

But for as much as he wanted to protect her, he understood Megan’s private battle to be free of Gordon Fortran—to be free of the threat and torment that doggedly pursued her for the past year.

It had to end tonight. Now.

“Hard to tell,” she whispered. “I have to go upstairs. He won’t know his way around here, but I—” Control returned to what had before been a breathless sound. “I can move around unheard. I know where to step without the floorboards squeaking. He would never know that I was right behind him. You’re right, Jake. I have the advantage.” Verbalizing that statement seemed to spur on Megan’s confidence. She bent down and hauled off her boots, the flashlight revealing thick woolen socks.

“Hell,” she said, “I can trace him—be his shadow. I can be a specter—his own personal ghost.”

“Damn, woman.” He shook his head.

“But—”

“But what?”

“You’re going to have to stay here.”

His hand fell. “Like hell I am.”

“I’m serious, Jake. I only say this because I want you safe.”

Megan must have sensed his intake of breath because she rushed to add, “To keep
us
safe. Listen to me, if you move, he’ll hear you. I can find the Jones boy, or Gordon, or whoever’s
up there, and make it back down here—”

“No.” It wasn’t the notion of remaining in this wretched black dungeon alone that inspired his response. It was the thought of Megan fighting this battle unaided with a man whom he dared not underestimate. “It’s not negotiable. You’ll just have to show me where to walk.”

“But—”

“By touch—any silent command you can think of, but I’m with you.” His hand found hers. “I’m
with
you. Do you understand?”

Jake waited out the silence with his breath held, and then he felt her fingers link with his. “Yes,” she said softly, “I understand.”

Megan’s hand tugged on his in silent invitation. Jake fell in behind her and, for the first time in his life, felt a sheer loss of control.

Megan held the gun. She held the knowledge. She held the instinct.

What on earth could he possibly offer?

“No matter what happens,” she whispered from the dark, “I intend to continue our conversation later—in bed.”

Fortran was history if he dared touch this woman.

It was a deep breath, but not enough to sustain her for the flight of stairs. Regardless, Megan felt she was allowed one last remark before she stopped talking—before she ceased breathing and simply relied on intuition.

“Second step from the bottom—skip it.”

“Got it,” Jake muttered, his hand a warm source of contact at the base of her spine.

She climbed slowly, her feet hugging the corner of each step where the framework was sturdiest. The steps were cold against her wool-clad toes, but adrenaline made it a minor discomfort. An emphatic tap of her hand on Jake’s thigh kept him in line with her. His warmth so nearby spurred her on. Instinct to protect and shield the man she loved infused her with strength. It was odd, she thought. For a year she had set about training herself for this very moment. First learning to negotiate the house in the dark, then her target practice on the cans outside, and the research, to be armed with a mental advantage, as well. Know your enemy. Know what you’re up against.

And yet, just moments ago when the time was at hand—it had all crumbled. When that alarm went off, all intentions to face the inevitable battle waned and panic of epic proportions set in.

But the firm grip around her waist was a silent signal that she was not alone. Fear, which had nearly debilitated her, was waylaid by the powerful adrenaline that love packed.

They reached the cellar door. It swung outward, into the foyer, and Megan knew that if it was forced open fast enough, it didn’t have time to squeal. If she opened it gradually however, it would shriek like a banshee. She pressed her ear to the cold wood and listened for any hint of movement on the other side, but the peal of the alarm obscured any such sound.

If Gordon was out there, then she was about to plunge headlong into disaster.

The steel barrel of the gun stung her hand. With the dimpled tip of her pointer finger she toyed with the trigger. Absurdly, the gesture felt reassuring. Jake was right, she was a freak, but someday she would be normal again—if she could just live through this.

Using her free hand, Megan reached back and pressed her palm against Jake’s stomach, prompting him flat against the wall. She could feel the rugged ladder of muscles spasm with effort.

Please, Jake,
she pleaded silently.
Please don’t do anything reckless.

Every ripple of strength in Jake was honed for attack, but he remained at her side, the urgent brush of his palm about her waist a silent command to watch out.

I won’t be a victim,
she whispered silently and thrust the cellar door open.

First to attack her was the shrill assault of the alarm. Was the device an ally or foe? Did it cloak her tread, or prove only to mask her predator’s progress?

Megan’s fingers flexed and briefly tugged on Jake’s sleeve. She spread her legs to hurdle the oriental runner, knowing full well that beneath the textile, the wooden floor sagged and groaned under pressure. To her vast pride, she felt Jake mimic the motion.

There was little relief from darkness on this level. The front door and its flanking windows stood mere feet away, yet the heavy brocade drapes were drawn shut, and beyond them was a night void of moonlight.

Megan inched toward the foot of the stairs and went so far as to incline her head up the staircase, though there was nothing for her to see. What she
saw
was simply ingrained from memory. The broad landing at the foot of the staircase, followed by fifteen steps adorned with a floral carpet runner that had worn in the middle to a shade of mud. Images from every
Creature Feature
film she had watched as a child flooded her head, but even those films couldn’t match this true horror.

The alarm had been tripped. Jones must have gone up into that black void in search of her. Megan’s fingers wrapped tighter around the cold barrel of the gun and touched the banister for balance. Jake read her intentions. She could feel the resistance in his touch—steel strength that denied her call to move. Mutely she gave an emphatic nod, but of course he could not see it.

Just as she was about to take that first step, Megan felt the air shift behind her. The alarm fell silent, and before she could even react, the gun was wrested from her hand. Within the malevolent stillness of Wakefield House her swift whimper of despair barely registered.

“Now listen to me.” Jake’s mouth was against her ear, his breath warm, and his whisper insistent. “Don’t even think for a minute I’m going to let you walk up these stairs into God knows what type of trap. I’m taking the lead. It’s not up for debate.”

With his head pressed to hers, the subdued inflection was no more audible than that of a scurrying mouse, but the tone was adamant.

Megan opened her mouth to say
but,
and then tipped her head back so that her lips could brush against his earlobe.

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded quietly into his ear.

Jake jerked back and placed his mouth against her hair. This time she swore he actually kissed her before he spoke.

“You know this house, and you probably know that gun better than I do, but I’m not going to stand behind you and watch this unfold.”

Edgy, Megan sliced her gaze up the staircase waiting for Jones or Gordon himself to come thundering down after the alarm fell silent, but Wakefield House still clutched her secrets in its colossal fist. And Gordon, well, he wasn’t the type to come thundering.

Still, nothing could be determined from the ominous stillness on the second floor.

“Now is not the time to get all macho on me. You’ll get us killed if you take the lead,” she breathed against Jake’s angular cheekbone.

This time he did kiss her. A swift consumption of her mouth, followed by a soft whisper in her ear. “Too late.”

With no words, only the gentle touch of Megan’s hand and the subtle guidance of her body molded to his, Megan guided Jake up the staircase. Their nimble ascent and the ensuing
silence made it feel as if they floated. At the top, night’s curtain dropped with a finality that hinted there was no beginning or end to this hall. For all Jake could tell, they might as well have soared to the edge of the universe, where no stars were left. The air itself felt full of echoes as if he stood rooted at the center of an empty amphitheater.

This hallway—this darkness did not scare him. The obscurity evoked memories of the silky curves of Megan’s body as she clung to him. He welcomed the dark, and began to understand how it could become her ally. In this black world, she was a creature of the night, sheathed in an armor of assurance and passion, and right now that shield stiffened in fear. He sensed that she heard something.

No matter how hard he strained to listen, there was nothing but the faint sound of her labored breath, and even that was only perceived by her heaving breasts pressed against his back. Megan’s fingers slipped around from behind to wrap about his arm. She raised his hand, gun and all, and shifted his aim to the left.

Jake felt an unsettling sense of menace rise from the absolute dark before him. He knew the layout well enough to identify that she was pointing toward the room in which he had slept.

In the subtle way he flexed his muscles, he tried to deflect Megan. His biceps jerked under her touch, a silent command for her to retreat. Megan ignored the warning, and instead, her hand slipped to tap his right thigh.

Right step first.

Jake took the step cautiously. When his weight settled, there was no piercing shriek to reveal him. Megan’s left hand swept across his thigh. The dusting motion meant something. She wanted him to shift his leg in the same direction. He took a step to his left instead of forward. The brief squeeze of her hand was his reward for guessing correctly.

In this manner they progressed soundlessly to the doorframe. Jake gripped the gun even tighter, his pointer on the trigger, his thumb crooked for precision, but what ensued left no opportunity to shoot. In the span of a heartbeat, he felt the vacuum of cold air as the door was sucked open.

From the blackest chasm, a form charged forward.

In the chaos brought on by this surging entity, Jake lost track of Megan’s presence. There was no way he could chance a shot and risk hurting her. He nearly called her name, but a rigid shoulder crashed into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs.

Instinct prompted him to haul his fist down in a violent rush. With the gun still in his hand he felt the impact of steel against cranium. A foreign male grunt sounded from the darkness, and then a discordant thud ricocheted around the vaulted ceiling.

Jake braced himself, ready for another attack, but the weight at his feet did not budge. Cautious, he nudged the figure with his toe. Nothing. He repeated the gesture with more conviction.

“Jake?” Megan called from the dark.

“Find a light, Meg. I don’t trust it was that simple.”

A quick snap and then a small circle of light ensnared the scene. Jake blinked to acclimate.

“Be careful,” Megan warned. “You’re right. Don’t trust him.”

The recognizable frame of Jones in a black trenchcoat was slumped in an ungainly pile at Jake’s feet. He was alive. The ray of light revealed the rise and fall of his back. His collar was turned up so that only a small portion of his blond cap of hair could be distinguished. There was no blood, but the impact of the gun had been hard enough to render the man unconscious.

“We’ve got to be sure he’s really out,” Jake cautioned, “and if he is, do you have something around here to secure him?”

“Handcuffs, you mean?”

His eyes snapped up. “You have handcuffs?”

“No.” Megan smiled edgily. “But you mean something like that, right?”

As she crouched down for a closer inspection of Jones, Jake warned, “Easy, not so close.”

“I want to see him,” she demanded.

“I understand, but I don’t want you within arm’s length.”

Her shoulders fell.