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Being around Zachary Danvers was like walking a fraying tightrope strung taut across a steep canyon. One false step in either direction and she would pitch down the sharp emotional cliffs. Too much tension and the rope would give way. She wasn’t fool enough to believe that he’d be there to catch her. “What is it you want from me?”
He hesitated, his eyes searching hers, and she felt as if he could stare straight into her soul. “I just want to keep you safe.”
“So that your family can prove me to be a liar.” She felt the air shift between them. “You can’t keep me here, not against my will.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
She licked her lips. “I think so. Yes.”
His eyes were the color of flint, his brows pulled together in frustration, though she didn’t know if his vexation was with her, himself, his family, or the world in general. They were close enough to touch yet he moved closer, advancing upon her, his expression turned hard and suddenly cruel. As his shadow fell across her face, his fingers curled in the lapels of her old leather jacket. “Do you remember that someone tried to kill you?” he demanded in a harsh whisper. “Less than forty-eight hours ago?”
“I can’t run scared.” But her breathing was shallow and fast. The scents of coffee and leather and musky male cologne swirled around her.
He gave her a little shake and his eyes sparked with anger. “Can you recall what it felt like to nearly have your brains bashed in?”
She blanched. “Of course.”
“Who do you think did it?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Neither do I, but he’s still out there, darlin’, and my guess is that he doesn’t give up easily.”
“I don’t, either.”
“Okay,” he said, pressing his face close enough that she saw the striations of green in his gray eyes. “Let’s talk about the sheets—the ones on your bed in the motel. Did you get a good look at them?”
She swallowed with difficulty but refused to give in to the urge to step backward.
His fingers clenched more tightly. “They’d been ripped to ribbons, as if some enraged animal with six-inch teeth as sharp as razors had worked himself up to a maniacal frenzy and started shredding and just couldn’t stop.”
He yanked her closer, lifting her off her feet, drawing her nose-to-broken-nose. “While we’re at it, did you happen to see the message on the mirror, the one meant for you? What did it say?”
“It doesn’t mat—”
“What did it say?” he repeated more loudly.
“Something about—”
“Not something about—it said Death to the bitch. Fairly specific, I’d say. In fact, crystal fucking clear. Do you know what kind of psychotic it takes to do something like that and let’s not forget your shredded panties. What if your attacker had used that razor on you instead?”
“I—I really don’t want to think about it.”
“Well neither do I, but I force myself because it’s not over yet.”
She managed to notch up her chin and stare into eyes that glittered with determination. “I just can’t run away from this, Zachary. I started it and I’ve got to finish it.”
“Or wait until it finishes you,” he snarled and looked at her mouth in a way that made her insides turn to jelly. As quickly as he’d grabbed her, he let go and she nearly fell as her heels hit the ground again.
Disappointment settled in her heart when he stepped away from her.
“The way I see it, you’ve got no choice but to lay low for a while, wait until the police nail this guy or until the story dies down. Right now you’re a target, not only for the psychopath who attacked you, but for any other copy-cat prankster looking for a way to get his jollies and his name in the press. These aren’t nice people you’re dealing with, Adria. So just stay put.” He glared at her for a few silent, tense seconds, then swore loudly and stalked to the stables.
Heart thudding, she ran, catching up to him and following on his heels. She tamped down the fear that he’d managed to bring right to the surface of her mind and told herself to ignore the erotic message that had seemed to radiate from his eyes. “I’m not going to let anyone—not you and certainly not someone who runs around ripping bedsheets—intimidate me,” she insisted.
“Then you’re not as smart as I gave you credit for.” He opened the door and strode inside. The door would’ve banged shut behind him, but she caught it and, clenching her fists in determination, followed him into the musty interior.
Several horses nickered. His boots rang on the old floorboards and the scents of horseflesh and dung, oil and leather, hay and dust mingled and assailed her nostrils, reminding her of the farm she’d left behind to follow this quest here, this damned quest! She touched a rough fir post supporting the hayloft where an old kerosene lantern, tarnished, rusted, and covered with cobwebs, still hung neglected.
