Kiss in the Dark (19 page)

“I d-don’t know.”

Years of training kicked
into place. “Sweet God, you didn’t tell this to Zito, did you?”

Her eyes met his, so blue and impossibly large, fringed by those dark, dark lashes, giving him the first unob
structed, unprotected view into
a place he’d never thought
to see again. Her heart. “I haven’t told anyone, but you.”

The soft words hit hard, but Dylan didn’t have time to think about the implication.

“They’ll find my prints,”
she whispered.

The fear in her voice made him sick. She’d been trying to be tough, to stare
down a world that wanted to believe
the worst
about her. But he saw
the fatigue in her gaze. The worry. The punishing possibility that she might be locked away for the rest of her
life. That she would not be allowed to raise her child.

Their child.

Dylan wouldn’t let that happen.

“The presence of your prints on the handle won’t mean anything,”
he growled. A good defense lawyer would shred that piece of evidence in a heartbeat. “It’s your
house, your fireplace. It would be more odd
if your prints weren’t there.”

“But don’t you see?” she asked, and her voice
broke
on the
question. “Someone knocked
me out. Someone
took off my suit and dressed me in a negligee. Someone put that poker in my hands. Whoever this someone is, they went to a lot of trouble to make me look guilty.”

“All circumstantial evidence.”

“But will a jury see it that way? Like that vulture Yvonne Kelly is so fond of pointing out, my marriage was over. I’d lost almost everything.” She hesitated. “If anyone finds out about Lance’s lies, that the child I’m carrying is yours—”

“Damn it, Bethany—”

She grabbed his forearms.
“Tell me you’ll
take the
baby, Dylan. If the worst comes to pass,
I need to know
my child will be okay. I
can’t stand the thought of him or her being raised
by my mother or worse—”

“Our child,”
he corrected, taking her hands in his. It was all he could do not to crush her in his arms. “Our child. And no way in hell am I
letting anyone take my son or daughter from me. From us.”

For a moment she just looked at him, her mouth slightly open, her eyes as pure and blue as the sky above. Except
for the glisten of tears.

Then she shattered him with two simple words. “Thank you.”

She might as well have swung an axe at him. Not in a million years, a million dreams, would he have believed
they could
be like this again, communicating and sharing,
touching. He wanted to savor the moment, but
even more, he wanted to put his mouth to hers and take away the fear
trembling there. To chase the shadows from her eyes. To hold her
tight, never let go.

“Come on,”
he said
instead. He helped her off the big boulder, breaking the moment of acute intimacy. Even a strong man had his limits. “There’s a great spot up the
way, with the best view for miles. It’s perfect for a picnic.”

She blinked. “A picnic?”

“What else did you think was in my backpack?” She glanced toward shore, where he’d left the big pack resting against the base of a pine. “A picnic,”
she whispered.

His grin turned into a smile. She deserved more than a picnic, but until he could get back to Portland and sort this mess out—find out what the hell
Lance had gotten involved with and why someone wanted him dead—ham sandwiches and grapes were a hell of a lot safer than what
he really wanted to give her.

* * *

“It’s beautiful.”

Dylan turned from spreading a blanket across the expanse of dry, packed dirt to
see Bethany standing on the edge of the cliff. She had a hand to her stomach as she stared over the dazzling vista. Sunlight glinted across her long sable hair, lifted gently by a subtle breeze. A smile curved her lips. Shadows no longer lurked in her eyes.

The sight fed somewhere deep inside.

“It’s like I can see the whole world,”
she said, turning
to face
him.

He smiled. “I come here when I need to think.”

“Who can think with a view like this?” She turned toward the edge, looking over the sweep of sky and mountain and pine. A couple hundred feet below, crushed between cliffs of basalt rock, the river raced with incredible fury. The thundering water couldn’t be heard up here, just the caw of birds, the rustle of the wind.

“Careful,” he said, starting toward her. The drop was sheer and brutal. “My rock climbing skills are a little rusty.”

She laughed. “I didn’t think any of Dylan St. Croix’s skills ever became rusty.
”

He ignored the
flash of heat. “Yeah, well. It takes practice to achieve perfection.”

A light sparked in her eyes. “So
that’s what you call
it?”

Danger signs flashed everywhere. He’d brought her here to distract her, not torture himself, but his plan seemed to
be working a little too well.

“Some things
don’t require practice,”
he growled, closing in on her.

Her smile widened. “Is
that a fact—”

He realized his mistake too late. Her intent. Grinning, she stepped back from his advance … but no
ground awaited her foot.

Dylan roared her name and lunged. Grabbing her shoulders, he thrust her to solid ground behind him. He tried to
go with her, but momentum propelled him forward, and the world dropped away.

He’d always thought about learning to skydive, but trial
by fire wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.

Time slowed to a crawl as he plummeted over the side
of the mountain. He heard the shout tear from his throat, felt the brutal impact of his body slamming against the hard rock wall. But none of it seemed real. Not even the sound of Bethany’s scream caught between the cliffs.

Survival instincts kicked in. He grappled against the rock face for something to
hold on to, but only felt jagged edges gouge his flesh. He kicked wildly, needing to keep
his body close to the
rock. There was a ledge about fifty
feet down—

Pain splintered through him. He lay
there, stunned,
dazed, afraid to move. The ledge wasn’t very wide. One misstep, and his skydiving
would end abruptly on the rocks
below.

“Dylan!”

He blinked against the severe midday sun and saw Bethany leaning over the edge. Or was that two Bethanys? Three.

Nausea surged.

“Oh, my God, Dylan!” the now four Bethanys cried.
He blinked rapidly, but the world wouldn’t quit spin
ning.

“Bethany…”
No voice came from his throat. There were five Bethanys now, all staring at him. Close to fifty feet separated them, he figured, making it impossible to discern her expression.

But he sure as hell heard her words. They reverberated on the wind, blasted off the side of the mountain. “I’m sorry.”

Then she was gone.

* * *

The sun inched across the sky, headed sluggishly for its bed on the Pacific horizon. Heat soaked into the land and radiated from the rock, drenched Dylan’s body. The wind that had gentled before, now shrieked in concert with the river thundering below.

It was a hell of a way to die, Dylan thought grimly, perched like some sacrificial offering up on the side of a mountain.

He lay prone, the narrow ledge not granting him the luxury of moving. He’d managed to stand once, to grapple for jutting rock formations he could grab and use to pull his body up the mountain. But he hadn’t been joking when he told Bethany his rock climbing skills were rusty.

And he’d never practiced when his vision blurred. He lay there now, unmoving. The sun beat down without mercy. A few clouds, he thought idly, wouldn’t be asking so much. Maybe a gentle cooling shower. Anything but the three crows circling. Cawing. Waiting.

“Bethany!” he shouted for the hundredth time. But for the hundredth time, nothing answered but the echo of his own voice boomeranging between the basalt cliffs.

Damn it, he’d been a fool. He’d brought Bethany to this remote stretch of the mountain, thinking only of how much
she would love the view. Never once had he thought about the opportunity he was handing her on a silver platter.

Without a watch, he had no way of knowing exactly
how much time had
crawled by since she’d
disappeared, but the sky hinted at well over two hours. Plenty of time
to reach the cabin and make it back.

Unless she’d gotten lost.

“Bethany!”
he shouted again. “Bethany!”

Jesus. She could be lost, hurt, in trouble. And sunning himself here thirty feet below the top of the cliff and several hundred feet above the pounding river, he couldn’t do a damn thing to help her.

Or she could be on her way to Canada.

If the worst comes to pass, I need to know my child will be okay. I can’t bear the thought of him or her being raised by my mother.

He’d seen the resolve in her eyes, heard the kind of fear in her voice that made a person take chances, risks, they wouldn’t normally consider. The car keys sat on the bathroom counter, back at the cabin. She would find them, use them. She could speed north and be in Canada long before Zito realized she was missing.

Even if he found some way off the mountain, he might never see his child.

A violent curse tore from his heart and ground against the wind. He couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t lose a second child. Couldn’t lose Bethany all over again.

* * *

The sight of the sprawling St. Croix cabin almost made her weep. Bethany stumbled out of the dense pine forest and ran for the porch. She’d never considered herself directionally challenged, but all those Douglas firs looked remarkably similar. She’d passed the same abandoned gold mine at least three times.

But now she was home.

She ran up the steps and threw open the door, a blast of cool air hitting her immediately. She didn’t stop and
gulp
it in, just staggered to the kitchen and turned on the faucet. Water. She needed water. She splashed it against
her face and let it run down her neck to her T-shirt. She cupped it in her hands and drank greedily.

But her heart didn’t
stop pounding, her breathing didn’t even out, her thoughts didn’t clear.

Dylan. Dear God, Dylan.

If she lived
a hundred years, she’d never forget the horror of seeing him fall off the cliff. Because of her.

Guilt cut deep. She’d been so lost in the moment, the
banter between them, she’d forgotten how close to the edge she stood. If Dylan hadn’t
lunged for her, she would
have never survived the fall.

A keening sound tore from her
throat, as her hands found her stomach. Her baby.
Their
baby. Already, love for the child she and
Dylan had created filled every corner
of her soul.

A hideous fear backed up in her throat. She couldn’t lose this baby. The thought was too vile to even consider,
not after waiting a lifetime to be a mother.

Dear God, she knew what she had to do, even if doing so bucked up against every survival instinct she possessed. She had no choice. Not anymore.

* * *

She wasn’t
coming back.

The reality wove through Dylan like a sharp needle,
piercing deep. Let her be safe,
he raged silently. On her
way to
Canada. He could live with that. He could live with
anything so long as Bethany and the baby were safe.

Or at least, that’s what he wanted to
believe. Now
wasn’t the time to think of the child he would never see,
never hold, the sloppy kisses he’d never receive, the skinned knees he’d never bandage. The grins, the laughs,
the tears. Now wasn’t the time to think
about the son he
would never teach to play baseball, the
daughter he would never walk down the aisle.

If he did, he’d lose his mind.

But then, maybe
that was happening anyway.

The sun slid westward, long shadows taking over for the glaring streaks of light. Everything was quieter now, the
world gone still. Holding its breath. Waiting.