One Week To Live (22 page)

What just happened was awesome. He’d been the pursuer all evening, never imaging she’d pursue him once in bed. This was a different side of Angie Martin. The normally reserved woman hid a passion he’d never suspected. She’d revealed another part of herself to him. He felt both honored and blessed. He tugged her closer treasuring what she’d shared with him.

“You have so much love to give,” he said.

“And so do you,” she replied, planting a contented kiss on his lips.

That single kiss kindled a new arousal. He’d never get enough of this woman.

****

She’d never been the aggressor in bed before. The thought both shocked and pleased her. In the past, she’d always been the submissive partner. The one to surrender to a man’s advances. Not this time.

The love she’d searched for all her life always eluded her. Each time she’d thought she’d found it, disappointment followed. The man she’d foolishly fallen for with a young girl’s ardor deserted her. Then there’d been marriage to a man who demanded obedience for his supposed love. After this, she’d forsaken love because she feared if she searched for it again she’d only find more heartache.

Was she ready to take down the wall protecting her? Give her heart away again? Was Brian the person to give that love to? At this moment in his bed with the thunderstorm’s rain and wind raging outside, it felt right. Would it feel that way in the light of day?

She turned on her side, and he wrapped his arms around her. Soon she could hear his soft, steady breathing. He’d fallen asleep. Snuggling against him, she also slipped into sleep. Just before she did, however, she thought of Polly, and guilt smothered the pleasure of the moment.

As morning light filled the sky, she woke with a scream on her lips. Sitting up, she pulled the unfamiliar satin sheet protectively around her naked body. As she did, he rushed into the room.

“Are you all right? I heard you scream.”

He came over and sat on the bed next to her. She wanted to scoot away, but couldn’t without letting go of the sheet. Remembering the night before, she grew embarrassed by his nearness and her nakedness.

“I screamed?” she asked, attempting to act as nonchalant as possible while visually searching the room for her clothes.

“Yes, you did.” He gently brushed her dark hair away from her face. “Were you having another nightmare?”

“I don’t know.” The concern and love reflected in his eyes made her more uncomfortable.

“Try to remember.”

“I can’t.” How could she think clearly with him sitting shirtless next to her? She recalled his well-muscled chest pressed against her naked breasts just hours before. How could she possibly concentrate on a nightmare?

“Angie, think,” he said, his voice now edged with impatience. “It’s the seventh day.”

“I know what day it is. Don’t push me.” The glow of last night’s romance faded further.

“Think,” he demanded.

She scrubbed at her face with her hands. “Coffee might help. Do you have any?”

“Yes.”

“Brian?”

“Yes.”

Embarrassed, she asked, “Where are my clothes?”

“I hung them in the closet. Didn’t want them to become wrinkled. Besides”—he pointed to the back of a nearby chair where one of his shirts hung—“I thought you could wear that to breakfast. There’s nothing sexier than a naked woman wearing only a man’s shirt.”

He leaned toward her and planted a lingering kiss on her lips while his hand explored one satin-covered breast with gentle, tantalizing strokes. “Or we could stay here for awhile. Lovemaking might be just the ticket to waking you up.”

She brushed his hand away. “Not this morning. As you pointed out, it’s already the seventh day. Please leave so I can get dressed.”

“Okay.” Halfway across the room, he stopped and turned, a lecherous grin spreading across his freckled face. “Since you feel the need to be fully clothed, I could help you dress,” he said.

She tossed a pillow at him. “In your dreams, Brian Murphy, in your dreams. Now go.”

True to his word when she entered the living room, he’d poured her coffee and added a croissant to the breakfast offering. “Thanks.” She scooted onto a bar stool and took a sip of her coffee. She saw that a computer, printer, and paper now cluttered the table where they’d dined the previous evening.

“Working already?” she asked.

“Last night energized me.” He grinned.

She attempted to ignore the gleam in his gorgeous green eyes. Before she could stop him, he planted a passion-filled kiss on her lips.

“Luscious,” he said, sighing. “The sweetness of your mouth mixed with the wonderful taste of French roast. Nothing could be better in the morning.”

She raked her hand through her disheveled hair. “Enough with the Irish blarney. It’s too early for that.”

“It’s nearly 11 a.m.”

“And the clock keeps ticking.” Her smile faded and so did his.

“So what gives with the nightmare?” he asked, sitting on the bar stool next to hers.

“Nightmares. There was more than one.”

“What did you see?”

She thought for a minute. “Several dreams appeared in rapid succession beginning with the outline of the house with its high wall. Then I saw the numbers—343.”

“The house numbers?”

She shook her head. “The numbers floated in space not attached to anything.”

He’d retrieved his notebook from the table and began scribbling things down. “Go on.”

“I stood on a rocky hill above the house. Lightning flashed overhead, white splintery lines that stabbed at the dark sky.”

“Did you see your surroundings? Anything that could tell us where the house is located?”

“Nothing.”

She put down her coffee, and walked over to the sliding glass door. Opening it, she stepped outside. Morning heat radiated off the balcony floor. The storm did little to cool things down. He brought her coffee to her.

“That’s the direction where we saw the lightning last night, right?” she asked, retrieving the mug from him. She studied the rugged, distant mountains bathed in sunlight. A scattering of clouds crested the peaks. “You said something about Red Rock Canyon.”

“Yeah. The canyon is in that general direction.”

“So maybe that’s where the house is,” she said, taking a sip.

“It’s a desolate area. Once you’re away from the city, the desert stretches for miles with few inhabitants.”

She rubbed at her forehead. “I wish I could remember more, see more clearly.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and gave her a quick hug and kiss. She no longer wanted to back away from his kisses. Even in the light of day, what they’d experienced the night before felt right. Little did she realize how quickly that euphoric feeling would vanish. “What caused you to scream?” he asked. “Nothing you’ve described so far sounds terrifying.”

“Right before I woke I felt like I was tied up and couldn’t get free. An explosion rocked my world followed by a ball of fire.”

“Now I understand the scream. You’re making progress, Angie.”

“How? Most everything I saw in those dreams are reruns from previous visions.”

“But they came to you all at once proving they’re connected.”

“But it’s not enough.”

His eyes held compassion as he bent to kiss her. “Don’t lose faith. We’ll figure it out.”

“Not in time, Brian. My granddaughter is going to die.” She sucked in a breath. She’d just confessed that Polly was her granddaughter. He looked at her with a knowing smile acknowledging the secret she’d finally revealed to him. “No, she’s not,” he replied. “I’ll get dressed and we’ll talk to my cop friend. Maybe even contact Dunning.”

“What the hell is he going to do except tell us to stay out of his hair. He thinks the FBI has everything under control. They don’t, but he won’t admit it.”

He opened his arms to her and she willingly went into his embrace. For a brief moment, it offered a safe haven from things she feared would soon happen.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes. Eat your croissant. It’s going to be a long day.”

He headed for the bedroom and she left the balcony and returned to the living room. As she did, a slight breeze sent several of his papers from the table to the floor. Wondering what he worked on, she picked the pages up and looked them over.

The words she saw immediately stabbed at her. With each sentence she read concerning her and her daughter, the knife twisted deeper. He had already broken his promise. She glared at the bedroom doorway. Part of her wanted to march in and fling the pages in his face, but what good did that do? Besides she wasn’t sure she could keep her composure if she did. She refused to break down in front of him.

She wanted to escape before he came out. Throwing the papers on the floor, she grabbed her purse and marched out the front door slamming it behind her. Reeling from the shock of betrayal, she rushed to the parking garage thankful she’d driven her own car the night before.

She jabbed the key into the car door lock. He’d lied to her. Told her he’d never write a story about her and her daughter without her permission, but he had. Like the other men in her life, he’d deceived her. She peeled out of the parking garage, nearly colliding with a car backing out of a nearby space.

She’d been foolish to trust him. Give herself to him like she had. Thinking about what he’d done, their night together no longer held joy. She couldn’t wait to get home and take a shower. Wash the scent of their lovemaking from her skin. Scrub Brian Murphy from her life. Unfortunately, it would take more than soap and water to cleanse the fresh pain in her heart. She’d not only given him her body, but her heart as well.

As she parked her car in the apartment complex carport, a vehicle pulled into the space across from her. Feeling totally empty inside, she yanked a tissue from her purse and mopped at her eyes. She needed to pull herself together and face the truth. He wouldn’t be part of her life guiding her down the road to save Polly. It was up to her now. She couldn’t lose her grandchild, too.

She thought about Dunning. In their last encounter, he’d listened to her. She wondered if he’d listen to her again when she told him about her latest dreams. She’d give it a try.

She’d just stepped out of her car when someone grabbed her from behind and dragged her toward the neighboring vehicle across the way. She twisted her head, struggling to break free.

“You,” she gasped as he covered her nose and mouth with a rag. His familiar face faded as she slipped to the ground unconscious.

****

He hadn’t wanted to commit the crime in daylight. A few minutes more and the person driving into the carport could have seen him. Fortunately, he’d made his escape without being caught. If only she’d left the bastard’s condo last night.

He’d waited for a long, hot night in the condominium complex’s parking garage, ducking down every time a security patrol car passed by. He planned for the abduction to take place in her less busy carport. When she emerged he followed her home.

If she hadn’t surfaced when she did, he’d have been forced to put his backup idea into action. Lucky for Murphy, he didn’t have to do that.

He glanced in his side mirror and saw that her car door remained open and her purse lay on the ground, its contents scattered. Good, he thought, smiling. They’d know she’d been snatched, but they’d never find her.

Chapter Eighteen

Friday

Brian slipped one leg into his jeans as he heard the front door slam. He called out Angie’s name, but she didn’t reply. He finished putting on his pants and rushed into the living room. It was empty. So was the adjoining deck. She’d left.

Seeing the papers scattered across the floor beneath his computer he immediately understood the reason for the slamming door. “Shit,” he muttered. She wasn’t supposed to find out about the article this way.

He threw open the front door and peered down the hall just as the elevator door dinged shut. Damn it, he thought. Returning inside, he grabbed his cell phone and tried calling her. She didn’t answer. Either she’d turned off the cell phone or wasn’t answering calls. He’d have to confront her face to face, although he wasn’t sure she’d accept his explanation. He scooped up the pages, folded them, and stuffed them in his back jeans pocket. Grabbing his keys and wallet, he headed for his car.

Seeing the article, she must presume he’d already filed the story without talking to her. Something he’d promised he wouldn’t do again. She’d trusted him last night, willingly given herself to him, and he’d blown it.

He hadn’t been able to stop himself from writing the piece. The relationship between Angie and her daughter and granddaughter was poignant. It needed telling. He’d printed the story out so she could read it hoping for her stamp of approval. He wouldn’t submit it without her okay. She’d stormed out before he could tell her that.

It didn’t take much imagination to know what she must think of him right now and that hurt. What they’d shared last night was too special to walk away from. Their relationship couldn’t end this way. Hell, he didn’t want it to end at all. He loved Angie Martin and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

Emerging from the elevator at the garage level, he cursed himself for writing the piece. It was a stupid move, but it wasn’t the first time he’d let his work screw up his personal life. Even before he and his wife lost their son, she’d been talking divorce. His work always came first and his family second. Was history repeating itself? Was his need to write threatening to destroy a relationship with the first person he’d cared about in some time?