Firebird (11 page)

He smiled down at the girl and the dog.  “At least allow us to welcome you both to La Casa que Canta.”

The crooked smile, and the happy thump of the dog’s tail, eased her fears.  “The House that Sings?  It’s perfect.”

“You speak Spanish?”

“Some.  Along with bits of Italian, French, Latin - and Russian, from my grandmother.”  She grinned self-consciously.  “I’m great with menus.”

“Russian?  I’m impressed.  The only Russian I know I learned in Moscow.  The word ‘bar’.” 

She hid her smile by turning once more to the window.  “This room is like being inside a Monet painting,” she breathed.  

He stared at her.  “You
like
this old place?”

She waved a hand toward the glimmering walls.  “Who wouldn’t?”

“It’s for sale.”

Alexandra glanced at the sheet-draped furniture.  “So
you
live here now?  Like this?”

 “Hardly.  No, my Madre lived here, before she moved to the village.  I’m just here visiting her and...  I needed a quiet place to think.”  He stopped abruptly.  “Madre wants to live in the village full time, so she’s selling the cottage.”

“I can see a young family living here.”

“Won’t be me.  Hoover and I live in a marina on the Potomac River, in Washington, D.C.  A boat called the
Vaya con Dios.”

“Washington...”  A small alarm went off in her head.  “So I take it Hoover is named for the President?”

“The vacuum.”

Juliet’s head came up, and her trill of laughter filled the room. 

Alexandra remained silent, watching him.  The lopsided grin was quite disarming, she had to admit.  Very tall and angular, he was dressed in boots, jeans, a loose white cotton shirt.  Narrow-hipped.  Big, strong hands.  A hint of dark stubble shadowed his high, chiseled cheekbones and sun-browned skin.  Thick black brows furrowed over the deep-set Spanish eyes.  Something in those eyes startled her - they were so
serious
, remote and lonely, reminding her of a man used to keeping his distance.  Except for the jeans, he looked as if he’d stepped out of a painting by Goya.

“Well,” said Alexandra, suddenly flustered, “we’ll leave you to your thoughts, then.”  She glanced down at Juliet, who was actually smiling as she scratched Hoover’s stomach.  “Let’s go, Jules.  Time to get back to New York.”

“Oh!”  Juliet’s shocked cry cut the air.  “How could you?” 

Alexandra spun around.  “What’s wrong?”

Juliet pointed to the Lab.  “He has scars all over his body, Aunt Zan!  And he only has one eye!”  She shifted her body as if to protect the dog and glared at the stranger with deep suspicion.

He squatted on his heels, eyes level with Juliet’s.  “Hoover is a rescue dog,” he said quietly.

“Rescue?” repeated Juliet.  “As in, he needed to be rescued?”

He nodded, his body very still.  “As in.”

“Oh, God.”  Juliet ran her hands gently over the Lab’s fur.  “Sweet brave baby,” she murmured.  Then she raised her head.  “What happened to him?”

For a brief moment the man’s eyes touched Alexandra’s.  Then he said, “Let’s just say Hoover’s previous owner didn’t win any ‘animal lover of the year’ awards.”

Juliet buried her head against Hoover’s neck.  “I hope you shot him,” she muttered.  And then, her words muffled against the sleek ebony fur, “I’m glad Hoover found you.”

“So am I, kid.  That’s a fact.”

Juliet shot a meaningful look at Alexandra.  “When you’re trying to rescue someone, you’re usually trying to rescue
yourself
.”

He stared at her, dark eyes glittering and hard as diamonds.  “Tough cookie, aren’t you, kid?”

She raised her head, smiled faintly.  “I’m Juliet.”

“Juliet.  Very Shakespearian.”  He smiled back at her.  “I think Hoover is smitten.”  He turned to Alexandra, extending his hand.   “You have a name, too, Red?  Mine’s Garcia.  Jon Garcia.”

Alexandra froze. 
Garcia
!  The man Eve had mentioned in her recording.

I don’t think I can trust him, Zan.  He’s no stranger to violence.

She felt the blood drain from her face as she backed away from him.  Her eyes flew to Juliet, but the girl was concentrating on the Lab and appeared not to have heard his name.  “We’ve got to leave.”

She watched him stiffen and drop his hand to his side.  She was suddenly very aware that his eyes, dark on the surface, hid a greater darkness underneath.  He remained very still, watching her.

“Come
on
, Jules,” she said to the reluctant girl.  “Now!”  Juliet gave Hoover a last kiss and, with a final questioning glance at Garcia, ran to the door.  Alexandra hurried after her.

“Close the door on your way out,” Garcia said into the tense silence.  Very deliberately he turned his back on them and clicked on the radio.

The dark chords of Bach crashed around her as she pulled Juliet out the door.

* * * *

Garcia stood at the window watching them disappear into the pines.  The woman was like a doe running from a hunter.  No doubt about it,
he’d
caused the fear sparking in the depths of those wary eyes.  What the devil was with this woman?

He didn’t believe in coincidence, not in his line of work.  Okay, maybe Hoover had trusted them.  But Hoover would trust an axe murderer if her hair sparked like firelight...

He remembered the moment the woman pulled off her cap and tucked the long coppery strands behind her ear with those slender, nervous fingers.  Light, transparent as water, had touched her face.  Dios, he’d never seen eyes like hers.  Bright with intelligence and anger.  Shining, silvery, like the color of a mirror...

He leaned to scratch the Lab’s smooth head.  “She had some forearm, old boy, I’ll give her that.”  He rubbed the bruise on his cheek, where she’d hit him with the book, while the dog gave a soft bark of agreement. 

Yes, he’d scared her at first.  And she’d stayed on guard, ready to take him on - he could still see the deliberate squaring of slender shoulders under the worn sweatshirt, the small chin thrust up.  He’d liked that she was protecting the girl.  And she was, what?  Five foot nothing…  But then she’d recognized him from the beach, seemed to understand he was no threat to her.  He’d actually caught her smiling, hadn’t he?

Until he’d introduced himself, and watched her skin go sheet-white while the fear flared like lightening on water in those remarkable eyes.  And she’d whirled away from him, her hair swinging out like a red cloak around her shoulders.

He looked down at the dog.  “Just because you walk out of a movie, Hoove, doesn’t mean it’s over.”

Once more he gazed out the window at the now empty beach.  Who the devil was she?  And why was she so damned afraid?

CHAPTER 11

“...horror, of falling into naught.”

Joseph Addison

The Grandfather clock in the front hallway of Cliff House was chiming noon when the intruder heard the kitchen door open. 

At last.  He’d been waiting for her.

He stood very still, almost invisible in the shadows of the dining room.

Low voices, footsteps.  Rustling.

He took a step closer. 

“We’ll need to leave for the ferry at two, Jules.  Cross your fingers that the fog holds off.”  The woman’s voice was low and musical.  “I‘ll make us some lunch, why don’t you go upstairs and pack your things?”

Silence.

“Did you hear me?”

A brief, tight response.

“
Please
, Jules.”

The sound of footsteps stomping up the back stairs.

He raised his head.  Quieter now.  Her purse was open on the countertop.  Was it in her purse?  Her jacket?  Her jean pockets?

He heard a long sigh, then water filling a kettle, the radio softly tuned to an Italian opera.  She began to hum along.

She liked Puccini.

For the first time, she moved across his vision.

He swallowed, watching her.

Watery light drifted through the window, turning her thick hair to crimson.  She bent down.  He stared at the bare feet, the outline of her body in the narrow jeans.

Slipping the dark nylon mask over his face, he moved silently toward the kitchen.

* * * *

With the Puccini aria echoing in her head, Alexandra stood at the kitchen door gazing out at the broad terrace.  She’d never liked it, remembered only too well how high it was, perched on the very edge of the cliff.  More than 100 feet above the water.  So damned high...

Follow me,
she heard her sister whisper in her ear. 
I dare you. 

She opened the door slowly, forced herself to step outside onto the slate.  Waves crashed against rock, so far below her, and she felt the paralyzing fear grip her spine.  I can’t do it, Eve.

She stood frozen while the sun disappeared beneath a great cloud of grey fog that billowed toward the cliffs.  Already the air was gauzy, mist sliding like slender fingers across the black stones.  The fog rushing toward her was like a wave of thick smoke.  In moments the pines and the terrace would disappear.

And so would the ferry ride to the mainland.  Oh, no, she thought.  Not another night stranded here with Juliet.  She stood on the terrace, thinking about her sister’s child, as the fog closed in around her. 

A small sound scraped behind her, and her skin prickled.  Elusively, subtly, the sweet scent of a man’s cologne drifted on the air.  She glanced uneasily over her shoulder.  Her breath caught in her throat as she heard the sound of a soft footstep in the kitchen.  A long shadow moved suddenly across the tiles.

A jolt of sheer terror washed through her.  She swung around.

Just an impression of a tall stranger, lunging toward her through the swimming mist.

“No!”  She started to scream, but his hand closed painfully over her mouth.  A sickening scent of cologne gagged her.

“Don’t cry out, Shura.”

Shura
!  Even through the haze of fear she recognized the Russian nickname her grandmother had called her.  “Please!”  She dragged at his arm, felt the smooth nylon of his sleeve, saw a flash of dark navy-blue against the light.  “Do you know me?”

“If you make another sound,” he said against her hair, “the girl will come downstairs to see what’s wrong.  Is that what you want?”

She shook her head in terror. 

Strong fingers gripped the neck of her sweater.  She glimpsed the shine of heavy gold, the shape of a bird’s wing.

“Come here,” he whispered.

She twisted in his arms and saw the masked face.  Through the black slits, eyes blue as a northern sea stared back at her.  She bit her lip to stop the scream in her throat. 
Don’t let Juliet hear you!

He bent toward her and gripped her, curling her body tightly against his.

“Good girl,” he breathed against her hair.  His voice was intimate, sexual.

“Don’t,” she whispered, shrinking away.

“Do you like this, Shura?”  She felt his lips hot against the pulse in her neck as his free hand roamed roughly, searching, over her body.  Horror exploded inside her.  She struggled harder, kicking wildly, crying out as his fingers pushed beneath the waistband of her jeans. 

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, and her attacker raised his head. 
Keep him out of the house.  Keep him away from Juliet!

She let herself go limp.  For a split second his hands loosened, and she broke free and stumbled across the terrace into the fog.

Cold wind caught her long hair, whipping it across her face.  The mist closed around her like a thick grey blanket, smothering sound, robbing the air of all color.  Disoriented, she turned left instead of right, slammed against an iron chair, and froze. 

Where was he?

She forced herself to stand still.

Somewhere far below her, the crash of the waves against the cliffs was watery and hollow.  
Don’t go near the edge
...

Then a scrape, and footsteps.  Behind her!

S
he dropped down, blood pounding in her ears.  The heavy iron patio chairs appeared and disappeared like hulking sculptures through the fog.  She moved from chair to chair, keeping low.   Double back, she told herself.  Get between him and the house.  If she could get back into the kitchen she could lock the doors and call for help.

Keep him out here, away from Juliet
.

The cocoon of mist shifted, broke open.  One dark Nike sneaker appeared.

She spun away toward the house.

Ten steps, five.  Two.  She could hear the shrill whistle of the kettle on the stove.

A hand broke through the mist, disembodied and terrifying. 

“No!”

Fingers caught her hair from behind, snapping her head back.  Pain knifed through her scalp as the fingers tangled in her hair.  She fought to breathe. 
Fight back
, her instincts screamed. 
This time, fight back
!  She bit his hand.

“Bitch!”  He slapped her.  She jerked sideways, the pain sickening.

Barking, louder now.  A shout, someone banging on a door.

Her attacker turned quickly at the sound, then dragged her toward the low stone wall.

His voice, low and menacing against her neck.  “Quickly!  What did she tell you?”

Strong hands pushed her inexorably backward across the terrace.  Her legs hit the low balcony wall.

“Who?” she whispered.  “What do you want?”

“I want what she gave you!”  Fingers pulling at her pockets, digging, searching.  “Where have you hidden it?”

Another shout, somewhere in the house.  Frenzied barking.  Closer!

His body forced her, bent her backwards, against the low stone balustrade.  Her shoulders slid back, out over the void.  She could hear the surf pounding the rocks, so far below.  Her vision splintered like broken glass. 

“You could take a terrible fall,” he whispered.  “Your little girl would be alone.”

God, God, please don’t let me fall!