JAKrentz - Witchcraft (15 page)

Kimberly was forced to slow to a walk. Behind her she heard the door open and close again. Then there was silence. The utter darkness must be as much a burden to her pursuer as it was to her. But Kimberly had one advantage. She knew where she was in the building. With any luck the man with the knife would be forced to wander aimlessly, trying to follow her by sound alone. Taking off her other sandal so that she could move as silently as possible, Kimberly groped her way carefully down the hall toward the huge, high-ceilinged room that held the fermentation tanks and the rows of casks used to age the wine.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

The gentle hum of machinery and the unique, sharp smell of wine in the making greeted Kimberly as she pushed open the door of the huge room. Towering stainless-steel tanks and several rows of wooden vats loomed around her. They made her think of dinosaurs dozing in the muted darkness. At the far end of the room near a short staircase a dull light gleamed. Otherwise all was in shadow. For an instant Kimberly hesitated. The room that she thought might promise some shelter seemed suddenly to be filled with giant, alien machines that were half alive. No, she thought hysterically, it wasn't the tanks that were alive, it was the wine inside them. Hadn't
Cavenaugh
explained that to her on the tour? The process of fermentation and aging was a living process, a process of constant evolution and change. The vats and tanks around her were the wombs that nurtured the wine while it developed and matured. She listened for sounds behind her and heard nothing. Then, slipping into the shadowy room, Kimberly darted to the left. She would weave a path through the tanks, using them for cover while she made her way toward the dimly lit stairs at the far end.

Cavenaugh
, help me. Hurry. For God's sake, hurry. Halfway toward her goal, unable to hear sounds of pursuit above the hum of the tanks, Kimberly's bare foot came down in a puddle of cold liquid. She gasped aloud and then immediately bit down on her lip, cursing silently. With any luck her pursuer hadn't heard her faint, startled exclamation. She felt her way along the darkest side of the room, staying behind the last row of tanks. While the sound of working machinery was a cover for her own progress, it also covered the approach of the creature in the robes.

The room at the top of the stairs seemed miles away instead of only a few feet. She had to reach it. It was the tasting room, the last stop on a tour. In it lay a telephone. There was also a fire alarm, Kimberly recalled vaguely. She would break the glass cover on it. That should summon help in a hurry. But first she had to get through the jungle of tanks. Every soft sound behind her was a new source of terror.

Kimberly kept glancing back over her shoulder, expecting to see the silver dagger plunging toward her at any second. Arriving at the last tank in the row, Kimberly eyed the stairs with trepidation. To reach them
sh
e would have to make a dash out into the open and the small light on the wall would illuminate her quite clearly. She had no reason to think that the door at the top would be locked, but if it were she would be trapped at the top of the stairs.
Cavenaugh
, where are you? I need you. There was no point delaying the inevitable. Her only chance was to reach the tasting room and barricade herself inside while she phoned for help. Collecting her skirts in one hand, Kimberly darted out from behind the shelter of the last tank and ran for the door at the top of the stairs. With the primitive instinct of the hunted, she knew it was too late. There wasn't going to be enough time. The creature was behind her. He must have guessed her goal. Kimberly's hands were on the doorknob, twisting frantically when she glanced over her shoulder and saw him. The dagger was in his fist as the man in the robes raced toward her down the center aisle between the tanks. He was only a few paces behind. No time, she thought wildly as the door obediently opened inward. There was no time. Kimberly slammed the door behind her but her pursuer struck it with such force that it crashed back against the wall.

She whirled and fled behind the ornate bar of the tasting room. The pale glow from the light at the top of the stairs filtered into the dark room, illuminating the rows of glasses and the neatly stored bottles of
Cavenaugh
wine. Without even thinking clearly about what she intended to do, Kimberly grabbed the nearest bottle. It didn't seem like much against a silver dagger but it was all that was available. Grasping the neck of the bottle as though it were a club she swung the end against the highly polished edge of the bar. Then she wondered half hysterically if this sort of thing only worked in vintage westerns.

Glass shattered. Wine gushed to the floor, spilling over her bare feet.

Kimberly was left holding a jagged, crystal blade. At the open end of the bar the hooded figure halted, silver dagger raised. He was only steps away and for the first time Kimberly could see the dark gleam of humanity beneath the shrouding cowl. The dim light glinted off the broken wine bottle in her hand as she held it in front of her.

"
Cavenaugh
will kill you if you so much as touch me," she bit out. "Your friend
Cavenaugh
can go to hell." The voice was low and harsh and it had the sound of city streets in it. It didn't sound at all supernatural or sepulchral. She was facing a street punk, not a warlock, Kimberly thought wildly. "He'll see you there first. I can promise you that much."

"I'll worry about him later. You're my job for tonight." He rushed her then, holding the dagger now like a fighting blade, not a sacrificial one. Coming in low and fast, the man in the robe covered the few steps separating him from his victim with a frightening ferocity. "
Cavenaugh
!" Kimberly screamed the name as she tried to sidestep the attacker's rush. There was so little room to maneuver here behind the bar. But the punk must have had some respect for the jagged bottle in her hand because when she instinctively lashed out at him with it, he faded to the side. Kimberly swept past him, toward the open end of the bar. He whirled, slashing the dagger through the air in a violent arc. Kimberly picked up another bottle, still holding on to her first weapon. She hurled the full wine bottle toward the man who, in turn, ducked. The glass cracked on the counter behind him and liquid poured onto the floor. "YOU bitch!" Kimberly was throwing every bottle she could get her hands on now and more than one of them found its target. The bulky robes seemed to provide protection, however, and none of the blows proved devastating. With a roar of rage, her attacker sprang forward, intending to throw himself into one final rush that would plunge the dagger deeply into her body. Kimberly turned to run and then heard the scream of fury behind her as the robed figure slipped on the
wineslick
floor. She heard the thud as he fell to the tile, and without stopping to think, Kimberly picked up one more bottle of wine.

She brought it down on the back of the
cowled
head with every ounce of force she possessed. "Kim!"
Cavenaugh
came through the door, a dark lethal shadow in his evening clothes. The glint of metal caught Kimberly's eye as she stood over her victim.
Cavenaugh
held a gun in his hand. Starke was right behind him, grabbing for the light switch on the wall.
Cavenaugh
reached her as the lights came on, yanking her away from her prone attacker. She felt the taut violence in him as his hand closed over her shoulder. Then he was bending down beside her victim, turning him over to feel for a pulse beneath the heavy hood. Starke stood tensely, waiting for the verdict. He, too, was armed. Both men, she thought dazedly, looked very comfortable with a gun in their hands.

Cavenaugh
straighteeed
slowly, shoving his weapon out of sight beneath his elegant evening jacket. "He's out,"
Cavenaugh
growled. His hard, emerald eyes raked Kim from her head to her bare feet. "She knocked him unconscious."

"S
mells
like it took half a case of wine to do it," Starke commented as he examined the situation. "Looks like it took half a case, too. We've got a regular swimming pool in here."

"I didn't know neatness counted," Kimberly managed, her stunned eyes never leaving
Cavenaugh's
. "Lady,"
Cavenaugh
grated harshly, "the only thing that counts in a situation like this is who's still standing when it's all over. My God, woman, you've taken ten years off my life tonight!

Are you all right?" She nodded mutely, unable to move. Still clutching the jagged blade she had created from the first bottle, Kimberly faced him. Then, with a groan of savage relief,
Cavenaugh
reached for her.

She dropped the bottle and fell into his arms. "You're bleeding! If that bastard ... "

"It's all right. I just cut myself a little on the glass in the door. Oh,
Cavenaugh
, I thought you and Starke would never get here," she whispered from the safety of his hold. "Doesn't look like you needed us too badly," Starke said. "You seem to have handled things pretty well on your own. The next time we find ourselves in a barroom brawl, Dare, we'll have to make sure she's along to back us up."

"She'll be there if that's where I happen to be. I'm never going to let her out of my sight."

"How did you find me?" she interrupted hastily. There was still a fierce tension flowing in him. She could feel it as he held her close. "Starke's beeper went off when you crossed the wall. We excused ourselves to go check the control panel, thinking the alarm must have been set off by an animal. Somewhere along the line we noticed that you were nowhere to be found,"
Cavenaugh
explained. Very gently he disengaged himself from her tight hold and turned the water on in the small sink. Then he thrust her bleeding arm under the flowing tap. "I told Dare I'd last seen you on the patio," Starke put in calmly, bending down to yank back the hood of the attacker. Beneath the mysterious cowl was the face of a dark haired young man in his early twenties. "Neither of us could believe you'd be stupid enough to actually take a midnight stroll over the wall, of course,"
Cavenaugh
went on. "I didn't exactly go strolling over that damned wall, you know. I was in the garden, about to start back to the house when this turkey got in the way. I knew I couldn't run past him. So I tried to run away from him, hoping that when we went over the wall, the alarm would go off. Ouch.

Cavenaugh
, that hurts." He ignored her and slapped a bar napkin over the wound. "We found Starke's jacket and knew it was you and not some deer who had triggered it. But we couldn't figure out where you'd gone at that point. When you broke into the winery you tripped another alarm, though, which pinpointed your location. We were right behind you. And then we started hearing all those bottles you were throwing around with such cheerful abandon." Cave
naugh's
mouth twisted wryly. "Some of my best Cabernet Sauvignon, by the way. I may send you a bill."

"Of all the nerve!"

"On second thought,"
Cavenaugh
said
consideringly
, I think I'll just take it out of your sweet hide." He released her to bend over the young man in the robes. Fumbling beneath the flowing garment he retrieved the silver dagger. "Call the cops, Starke. And see if you can get hold of that Detective Cranston we've been working with."

"Right." Starke picked up the phone and dialed. It was several hours later, nearly two in the morning, before Kimberly finally got to bed.

Julia and Aunt
Milly
and Ariel had fussed over her while Mrs. Lawson fixed a soothing herbal tea according to Ariel's directions. Aroused by the hubbub, Scott had wandered sleepily downstairs to see what was going on.
Cavenaugh
and Starke dealt with the police, while concerned neighbors and guests asked countless questions of one another and of Kimberly. "Maybe you'll be able to work this into one of your plots."

Mark Taylor said lightly at one point. "Mark!" Julia scolded. "Don't joke like that." But ultimately the guests and the authorities took their leave. The man in the monk's robes was thrust into the back of a patrol car and taken away, too. He had revived by then but to the best of anyone's knowledge he hadn't said a single word. Alone at last, aware of her own exhaustion but feeling too restless and wound up to sleep, Kimberly slipped into her T-shirt and crawled into bed. She lay in the darkness and reran the entire episode over an
dover
in her mind. It seemed to her that it would be a long time before she could get the image of that raised dagger out of her head. Every time she closed her eyes it was there, poised and ready to strike. Her body seemed periodically racked by fine shivers. It was just reaction , she knew, but she couldn't seem to control it. She was lying on her side, staring out the window when her bedroom door opened softly and then closed again. Kimberly knew who had entered the room without having to see his face. "
Cavenaugh
?" "I told you I wasn't going to let you out of my sight again." She heard him undressing in the darkness and she turned slowly to meet his shadowed gaze. Her amber hair was spilled around her on the pillow, and the sheet was pulled taut across her breasts.
Cavenaugh's
possessive eyes moved over her as he slipped off his ruffled evening shirt. "What about the proprieties? What about the uh, awkwardness of my position as a guest in your household? What about your concern for my potential embarrassment?" She tried to make the words light and teasing, but the truth was she was incredibly glad to have him here and she knew it must have shown in her voice. "What about moving over?" he countered as he stepped out of the last of his clothes. "I may not have mentioned it the last time I slept here, but I happen to prefer the left side of the bed."