In the Dark (11 page)

She did, giving him most of the space. When he was finally on his back, she settled against him, holding in her sigh of relief. He was long and muscular. She fit against him like a long-lost puzzle piece, shoulder tucked under his arm, her head on his chest. Closing her eyes, she listened to the steady pumping of his heart.

Exhaustion tugged at her. "Thank you," she mumbled, drifting toward sleep.

Luther said nothing at all. Either he was too tired himself to speak or she wasn't welcome.

Virginia's Northern Neck
24 September ~ 16:36 EST

The sun had been well past its zenith, imbuing the air with late summer heat, by the time Luther, Hannah, and Westy took off for the Northern Neck in Westy's car. Hannah's ID had not arrived until noon, which hadn't bothered Luther at all. It gave him time to plan for whatever contingencies the mission might entail.

As a result, Westy's Nissan 300ZX was loaded to the gills with diving gear, reconnaissance equipment, and their overnight bags. Hannah's new ID was safely stowed in the purse Luther had bought her on their way out of Virginia Beach. Sitting in the backseat, with her disguise once more in place and the old-lady purse in her lap, she looked nothing like the woman who had woken up in his arms this morning. She looked like a Catholic School teacher with a secret fondness for sexy lingerie.

He preferred her the way she'd awakened with her red hair tousled, wearing none of the heavy makeup that disguised her as Rebecca Lindstrom. With morning sunlight framing Westy's window, he'd allowed himself to be dazzled by the color of her hair and the way her eyelashes rested against her freckle-dusted cheeks. Her mouth, so wide and soft in her sleep, had him thinking about the kiss she'd given him the night before.

Why the kiss? he'd wondered. Had she figured out that he was rich? Was she after his money as Veronica was? Or had she simply needed a reassuring touch?

He had to suspect that it was reassurance that she needed. Why else would she have asked him to join her on the couch and then fallen asleep on him? She liked him for who he was, not what he used to be. But did she know that spending time with her was undermining his resolve to resist her appeal. How many times did he need to repeat to himself that she was not the tame, uncomplicated woman he was looking for?

With an imposition of will, Luther brought his thoughts to the present and the mission at hand. They'd driven a couple of hours now, leaving the congestion of the ocean-front behind without any sign of being followed. If Lovitt had been the one stalking Hannah last night, they'd apparently convinced him to keep his distance.

To further mislead him, they'd decided to leave Luther's truck as a decoy.

As the afternoon dragged on, they traversed several bodies of water—including the James and York Rivers. Congestion thinned as they forged up Route 17 until there was nothing but fields of withered cornstalks, tapioca, and peanut plants as far as the eye could see. An occasional farmhouse dotted the flat terrain. Here and there, a tractor harvested crops.

"Lordy, we are out in the hicks!" Westy commented with sudden glee.

Hannah roused from semi-sleep in the cramped backseat. "It must remind you of home," she commented in a drowsy voice.

Westy was from Oklahoma. That was really about all Luther knew of his past. The chief wasn't exactly forthcoming about his history, so how did Hannah know? "What part of Oklahoma are you from, Chief?" he inquired, suddenly curious.

"Broken Arrow," Westy said succinctly.

"His grandfather was a full-blooded Creek Indian," Hannah volunteered.

Westy kept his eyes on the road and said nothing.

Luther considered him sidelong. "You never told me that," he accused.

Westy shrugged. "Sabena, two miles," he announced.

Luther pulled the map from the glove compartment and shook it open. "Take a right on Country Route 110. Left on 45."

Westy took the next right, which bore them through a dense copse of woods, past a big white church and sprawling graveyard. Luther glanced back. There was no one behind them.

The trees ended abruptly, and the road spit them out over a two-lane bridge. According to the map, the channel of water beneath them was just one of the many branchings of the Rappahannock River, deep enough for large vessels to navigate. The car's tires hummed over grates, indicating that this was a swing bridge.

The picturesque town of Sabena sprang into view. A marina with a waterfront restaurant was tucked against the opposite shore. Nineteenth-century stores and houses lined the street, each charmingly distinct from the next and interspersed with century-old boxwoods, oaks, and maples just beginning to flush into an autumn hue.

Hannah wedged herself between the two front seats to take it in. "There's the sign for Magnolia Manor," she pointed out, seeing it up ahead.

Westy turned the car down a shady side road. With the sun beginning to set, the Victorian houses lining the streets looked eerie, with their turrets and towers and dark, watchful windows.

The road dead-ended at the head of a driveway flanked by brick pillars. A plaque had been nailed into the whitewashed bricks.

According to the article they'd read online, this was where Ernest Forrester had last laid his head. M
AGNOLIA
M
ANOR
, read the tree-shaded sign. And underneath that, in smaller script, barely legible in the dusky light: A L
OVERS'
R
ETREAT
.

Uh-oh. Luther swung a startled look at Hannah, who was also reading the sign, her mouth slightly agape. "Forrester didn't have a girlfriend, did he?" he inquired.

"No." She shook her head. "Definitely not. He must have stayed here for a different reason."

Westy shifted into neutral and pulled up the hand brake. "I'll leave you lovebirds to it," he smirked, fetching his gun from the glove compartment.

As they'd previously discussed, Westy's mission was to act like a loner, soliciting work at local warehouses. "Your cell won't always work out here, sir," he reminded Luther. He popped the hatch and fished his duffel bag out of the rear. As he zipped his gun into the bag, he caught Hannah's eye and winked at her.

Then he turned and sauntered down the road, duffel flung over his shoulder. He definitely had the look of a roamer, right down to his flannel jacket, the hole in the butt of his jeans, and his worn work boots.

Hannah gazed after him, impressed. Luther got out, popping the seat forward so she could move up front.

With inexplicable butterflies in her stomach, she rose from the car and stretched, while Luther adjusted the driver's seat to accommodate his legs. She drew a deep breath, then took the seat beside him.

They sat for a minute, focusing on the mission, one that was suddenly a bit stickier, given the description of the bed and breakfast as a lovers' retreat.

"We should probably share a room," she pointed out, darting him a quick look. The shadows of the pine trees had fallen over the car, leaving his face in shadow.

"Right."

"Don't forget to call me Rebecca," she reminded him. "Maybe we should say that we just got married."

"Makes more sense than you being my sister," he drawled in agreement.

"But we're not wearing rings," she said, looking down at her bare left hand.

"We haven't found the right set yet," he suggested. "We're hoping to find something in the antique shops."

"That works."

Luther shifted into first and the car crept forward. Down the long, pine-shaded driveway they crawled. On the carpet of fallen pine needles, their tires were almost silent.

Hannah's eyes widened as the mansion came into view, glowing like a ghost in the dark, with spotlights illumining its facade. The two-story, federal period structure looked like something out of
Gone with the Wind,
complete with tall Doric columns and a portico. The only thing missing were live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. They were too far north for that.

Luther parked their car in the designated area. He retrieved their bags from the back, ignoring her offer to help.

Hannah sniffed the cool air. "Do you smell that?" she asked under her breath. "We're close to the water." The air was rife with the sulfuric tang of river mud.

Minutes later, the proprietress of Magnolia Manor huffed up the sweeping stairs ahead of them, chiding them subtly for not making prior reservations. The lantern she carried cast flickering light over the whitewashed walls. "You would have loved the honeymoon suite," she lamented, her large hips swaying, "but of course it's taken. People call up to two years ahead of time to make sure they can reserve it."

"Our marriage was sort of impromptu," Hannah confided. "Good thing you still had one room available. Though I hope it's not haunted." The proprietress had warned them that the only vacant room had last been used by a patron who died while on vacation.

"Oh, I assure you it isn't," the woman replied.

"Did anyone ever find out what caused that man to drive off the road?"

"No, but it was quite late at night. The poor soul must have fallen asleep at the wheel. Such a shame," she added, catching her breath at the top of the stairs. The lantern cast an unkind light onto her jowly face.

"So you don't think that someone just gave him a nudge," Hannah added.

The startled woman nearly dropped her lantern. "Oh, heavens, no," she cried. "This isn't the city, dear. We don't have crime like that out here." She turned abruptly away, leading them to the last room on the right. "The key sticks a little," she admitted, jiggling the key in the lock. Pushing the door open, she hit a light switch. Hannah sighed in relief. She was beginning to wonder if the place had electricity.

"I trust you'll enjoy the view, come morning. Breakfast is served from six to ten. If you need anything at all, you just let us know. Enjoy your stay, now."

The proprietress backed away with her lantern, shutting the door behind her.

Hannah took the bag Westy had loaned her out of Luther's grasp. "Beats the hell out of the last place I stayed," she commented, breezing in to have a look around. "Oh, wow, we even have a balcony."

"I don't know if that was—"

She put a finger to her lips and began sweeping the room for bugs, not expecting to find any. She had to believe they were still one step ahead of Lovitt.

The room was small but tastefully decorated to reflect early nineteenth-century design. Hannah ran a hand up the posts of the canopy bed. She looked under the marble-topped vanity. "This furniture is old," she commented, "early nineteenth century."

Luther, who'd joined the search, cast her a wry look. "You know your antiques, too?"

"This one's a reproduction," she said, searching the bedside table. "No dovetail grooves on the drawers."

Luther lifted the cranberry-and-black Kurdish carpet, laid over the oak floorboards. He peered under the cushion of the plush reading chair, a modern concession to comfort.

"Place is clean," Hannah determined.

"I'll take the chair," Luther volunteered, stowing his bag, along with his weapon, in the wardrobe.

Hannah peered into the bathroom, taking note of the footed bathtub, brass fixtures, and the elaborate wallpaper. She crossed to the window to look outside. The river, if it was there, was camouflaged by trees. It was nearly dark out. "So what do we do tonight?" she asked.

"We go into town and play the part," Luther suggested.

"If the locals are as naive as Mrs. Dodd, we're not going to learn a thing," Hannah sighed. "Though I had a feeling she knew more than she was letting on."

"So did I. We'll learn something," he said. "I have confidence in your information-gathering abilities."

"Really?" His comment made her smile at him.

"Westy sure opened up to you," he added on a strange note.

Hannah's smile faded. Why didn't that sound like a compliment?

The sound of footsteps outside had them both looking at the door. Sure enough, whoever was out there gave a tentative knock.

Luther pointed at the bed, and Hannah threw herself onto the mattress. Luther stripped off his shirt and messed his hair up. Stalking to the door, he cracked it open. "Yeah," he said, with just the right amount of irritation.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," Mrs. Dodd effused, "but I forgot to give you our complimentary coupon. We give it to all our newlyweds. A free dinner at the Waterside Inn, the restaurant next to the bridge."

"Thank you," he said, shutting the door with a forced smile. He retraced his footsteps, frowning down at the coupon.

Hannah took advantage of his distraction to ogle his naked chest. The lamplight highlighted the bulging pectoral muscles that the darkness had disguised last night. Brown chest hair tapered into a line of fuzz bisecting his tautly muscled abdomen. No tattoo anywhere, she noted.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, catching her staring.

She ripped her gaze upward. "Yes, actually." Though not necessarily for food. She wanted to feel Luther's arms around her, this time when they were both wide awake.

But what was she thinking? There was no allowance in her plans for any intimate relationship in the next few years. Her career would demand everything of her.

"Let me freshen up," she said, rolling off the bed and snatching up her bag. She disappeared into the bathroom.

The woman gazing back from the bathroom mirror brought her back to reality. If she, for one second, believed Luther was drawn to her in this disguise, she was the naive one.

Strolling hand in hand along Main Street, Hannah was conscious of how gently Luther clasped her hand.

The display of intimacy was for the benefit of the locals, of course. And yet the link between them felt oddly comfortable. In contrast to the cooling air, Luther's hand felt warm. His lightly callused palm reminded her that much of his job was physical. Like her, he'd chosen a profession that put him on the defensive edge of the free world.

Perhaps, cognizant of his deadly training, he took pains to handle her so gently.

It was hard not to surrender to the atmosphere of romance as they struck out toward the riverside restaurant. Age-old cedar trees lined the crumbling brick of Sabena's courthouse wall. In the windows of an antiques shop, a collection of Tiffany lamps cast a kaleidoscope of color.