Judith McNaught (32 page)

Her

mind was on the best way to deceive Zachary Benedict into relaxing his guard long enough for her to

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escape and, if she had to leave on foot, to trick him somehow into not coming after her until she had an excellent head start. For that reason, she delayed putting on the snowsuit for the time being. At present, it

seemed far wiser to make him think she was simply going outdoors for a few minutes to get some air.

Fixing a polite, impersonal expression on her face, Julie tugged the bottom of her own sweater and jacket over her hips, hoping he wouldn't notice that her legs looked—and moved—liked a pair of stiff, overstuffed sausages, then she opened the door and stepped into the living room.

Her eyes went automatically to the sofa by the fire where she expected to see him. Instead he was across the room, staring out the windows at the falling snow, his back turned to her, his hands shoved

deep into his pants pockets. Delaying the moment when she would have to face him for the first time since last night, she watched him lift his hand. As he absently rubbed the muscles at the back of his neck, her treacherous mind suddenly recalled how skillfully those long fingers had caressed her breasts and the

exquisite pleasure he had made her feel. It occurred to her at that moment that he actually deserved some credit for showing a certain amount of restraint and decency last night. He had been as physically aroused

as she, she remembered, feeling her face grow warm at the vivid memory of his rigid erection pressing against her.

She had aroused him and then inadvertently insulted and angered him, and yet he hadn't tried to resort to rape…

He turned his head slightly and she saw the stern pride stamped on that rough-hewn profile, the mobile

mouth that had kissed her with such soul-destroying passion. Surely a man who was capable of so much tenderness and restraint even in the throes of passion, and when he hadn't been near a woman in five

years, couldn't really be a murderer…

Julie gave herself an angry mental shake! She was being an utter fool again—standing there, feeling sorry

for the villain, romanticizing him, simply because he was tall, handsome, and incredibly sexy and because she was an idiot—a spineless idiot who was disgustingly and helplessly attracted to him! "Excuse me,"

she said briskly, raising her voice to be heard above the radio.

He twisted around, his gaze narrowing on her outdoor clothing. "Where do you think you're going?"

"You said," Julie replied, matching his clipped tone perfectly, "that I could have the run of the house and grounds. I'm going crazy being stuck indoors. I intend to go outside for some fresh air."

"It's freezing out there."

Realizing he was on the verge of refusing, she switched quickly to a calm, logical approach. "As you

pointed out, I'd die of exposure if I tried to escape on foot. I just need some exercise and fresh air. All I want to do is explore the yard a little and—" she faltered, then inspiration struck and she tried to inject a

childlike eagerness in her voice as she finished, "I want to build a snowman! Please don't say I can't,"

she

cajoled, "I haven't seen this much snow since I moved to Texas as a little girl."

He wasn't impressed and he wasn't friendly. "Suit yourself, but stay where I can see you from these windows."

"Yes, warden!" Julie snapped back, instantly angered by his high-handedness. "But may I be allowed to vanish from view now and then—just to gather up branches and things I need?"

Instead of answering, he lifted his brows and regarded her in cold silence.

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Julie decided to take his silence for assent, even though she knew it wasn't intended as anything of the

sort. She had made up her mind to get away from him, and to accomplish that urgent goal, she was prepared to stoop to almost anything, including pandering and placating. "I used to give my snowmen

carrot noses," she told him, and with an ability at acting and subterfuge heretofore unnoticed, she smiled a

little as she added, "I'll look in the refrigerator to see what we have."

The refrigerator was beside a drawer that she'd noticed last night contained some oddly shaped keys to

unknown locks. With her left hand, Julie opened the refrigerator, and with her right, she silently pulled the

drawer open, her fingers groping for the flat metal keys she'd seen. "No carrots," she said over her shoulder, glancing up at him with another artificial smile, then she snuck a quick look in the drawer. She saw one of the keys and picked it up, but she knew there had been more than just this one. She saw them then—three other keys peeking out from under some spatulas and mixing spoons. With her eyes on the contents of the refrigerator, she managed to pick up another one of them, but her shaking hand and long fingernails made it impossibly awkward to pick up the other two, particularly without looking. Just when she nearly had one of them, she heard him move, and when she looked up, he was stalking straight

toward her. She yanked her hand out of the drawer and closed it, two keys pressed in her palm, her voice shaking with nerves. "Wh-what do you want?"

"Something to eat, why?"

"I just wondered, that's all." She scooted past him as he rounded the counter. "Help yourself."

He paused, his gaze following her as she walked stiffly over to the closet. "What's wrong with your legs?"

Julie's mouth went dry. "Nothing. I mean—I found a pair of long johns in a drawer and put them on under my jeans, so I could stay warmer when I'm outside."

"Stay close to the house," he warned. "Don't make me come looking for you."

"I will," she lied, already opening the door of the hall closet where she'd seen some ski hats and gloves belonging to the owner of house. "What do you think I should use for his eyes and nose?" she asked, prattling about the details of her project in hopes of boring him into letting his guard down.

"I don't know and, to be perfectly honest, I don't give a damn."

Affecting a look of guileless enthusiasm, she looked over her shoulder as she pawed through the boots in the closet. "Snowmen are very important artistic projects in some cultures," she informed him, unconsciously affecting the same tone she used when she addressed her third-grade students. "Did you

know that?"

"No."

"They take a great deal of forethought," she added ingenuously.

Instead of replying, he studied her in speculative silence for a moment then he rudely turned his back on

her and returned to the kitchen.

Julie would have dropped all further attempts at conversation, but she'd just thought of an excuse to disappear more often from his view and she instantly put it to use, shamelessly inventing her own facts as
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she went along: "I mean, in those cultures where snow and ice figures are considered meritorious art forms, there's much more to a snowman than just three big balls of snow. You build an entire little scene

around the snowman using branches and berries and rocks," she said, pulling on a pair of waterproof ski gloves she'd found at the bottom of the closet.

Glancing over her shoulder with a bright smile as she

stood up and closed the closet door, she added, "Isn't that interesting?"

He took a knife out of the cutlery drawer and opened a cabinet. "Fascinating," he mocked.

"You don't
sound
very fascinated," Julie complained, determined to goad him into telling her to go outside and leave him alone, which was exactly what she wanted to do. "I mean, the least you could do is try to concentrate on the project. You could have some input. Think of how much fun and satisfaction you would get when the snowman scene is—"

He slammed the cabinet door with a crash that made Julie lurch around, and her gaze riveted on the knife in his fist. "Julie," he warned, "shut the hell up!"

His sudden mood swing would have been enough to remind her that Zachary Benedict was a

dangerously unpredictable foe, but with a knife blade flashing in his hand and his eyes glittering with

menace, he looked fully capable of committing cold-blooded murder.

Zack saw the color drain from her face, he saw the way she was staring at the knife, and he knew exactly what she was thinking about him. His simmering anger built to a fury. "That's right," he taunted.

"I'm a convicted murderer."

"B-but you said you didn't do it," she reminded him, trying very unsuccessfully to sound calm and convinced.

"I said that," he jeered in a silken voice that sent chills up her spine, "but you know better, don't you, Julie?"

She swallowed convulsively and started backing down the short hallway. "Can I go outside?" Without waiting for him to answer, she grabbed blindly for the door and opened it.

Behind her, Zack stood perfectly still, fighting to calm himself and to block out the horror he'd seen in her face. He told himself it didn't matter what she thought or that she'd looked adorable chattering about

snowmen or that she was sweet and good and clean and that, compared to her, he felt inhuman and filthy.

A few minutes later, the news came on the radio and his mood lifted considerably: According to the newscaster, Sandini was no better, but he was no worse either. He was holding his own. Zack changed radio stations and finally found one that was all news and no music. He'd just started into the living room when the commentator announced that a man whom Canadian officials now believed to be Zachary Benedict had crossed the border into Canada at Windsor two nights ago driving a rented black sedan.

"
D
amn," Julie said softly as she slid out of the Blazer, which was still parked at the back of the house,

out of sight of the picture windows at the front and sides. In the fifteen years since she'd had her first and
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only lesson on hot-wiring a car, the wiring systems in them had obviously changed or else she hadn't been

a very adept student, because she hadn't the slightest idea which of the fistful of wires she'd pulled from beneath the dashboard were the right ones.

Shivering convulsively, she bent down and gathered up the armload of pine boughs she'd collected and raced through the wind and snow to the side of the house. For the entire fifteen minutes that she'd been outside, he'd remained at the windows, watching her like an expressionless stone statue. The alleged need for "props" for the imaginary snowman scene enabled her to vanish from view for a few minutes at a

time without rousing his suspicions, exactly as she'd hoped it would, but she was afraid to be gone too long. So far, she'd made three short trips of increasing duration, returning each time with pine boughs

after trying to hot-wire the Blazer. She was counting on the hope that he'd soon decide she was actually idiotic enough to spend her time building a snowman in freezing weather, and he'd grow bored with

sentry duty.

Raising her arms, Julie pulled the knitted ski cap she'd taken from the closet down over her frozen ears,

then she began to roll the bottom ball of the snowman's body, while she reviewed her remaining alternatives for escape: To try to escape on foot would be suicidal insanity in this weather, and she knew

it. Even if she didn't get lost trying to go cross-country down the mountain, she'd likely freeze to death

long before she reached the main road. If by some chance, she did make it, she'd surely die of exposure before a motorist came along. On the way here, they hadn't passed another car for the last two hours.

The possibility of finding out where he'd hidden the keys to the Blazer seemed equally remote, and she couldn't start the car without them.

"There has to be a way to get out of here!" Julie said aloud as she pushed and shoved the ball of snow closer to the pile of pine boughs. There was a padlocked garage at the back of the house, which Zachary

Benedict had told her was used for storage and thus couldn't accommodate the Blazer. Maybe he was lying. Maybe he didn't know for certain. One of the keys in her pocket looked like it was meant to fit a padlock, and the only padlock she'd seen anywhere was on the side door of that garage. The possibility that the homeowner had left a car in there did little to elevate her spirits right now. Assuming she could find the car's keys and get it started, the Blazer was blocking the garage door.

That left her with only one likely option: Even without seeing the interior of the garage, she had a hunch

what she was going to find inside of it: Skis.

There were ski boots in the bedroom closet, but no skis in the house, which meant they were probably in the garage.

She'd never skied in her life.

She was prepared to try. Besides, it didn't look very hard whenever she saw people skiing on television and in the movies. How hard could it possibly be?

Children could ski. Surely she could, too.

And so could Zachary Benedict, she remembered with a thrill of raw fear. She'd seen him skiing in one of his movies, a mystery set in Switzerland. He'd looked as if he were an expert skier in that film, but probably a stuntman had done the hard stuff.

Grunting as she rolled the heavy ball through the snow, making it fatter and fatter, Julie finally maneuvered it into position ten minutes later—no mean feat, given that she could scarcely bend her knees

in her tight jeans. Finished with the first one-third of the snowman, she quickly scattered the pine boughs around it in a half circle as if she had some plan in mind, then she stopped and pretended to contemplate her handiwork. From the corner of her eye, she stole a sidelong glance at the windows, and saw that he
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was still there, immobile as a stone sentry.

It was time, she decided with a nervous tremor, for a foray into that locked garage.

Her gloved hands clumsy from suspense and cold, Julie tried unsuccessfully to fit the first key she'd found into the bottom of the heavy padlock. Holding her breath, she slid the second key into it, and the lock separated into two parts in her hand. Glancing over her shoulder at the back door of the house, she made certain he hadn't suddenly decided to come outdoors, then she stepped over the snowdrift blocking her way and went into the garage, closing the door behind her.