Cold Comfort (22 page)

He heard the shower water stop, could hear her singing the same wistful tune she'd been humming in the car. He stopped to listen but couldn't make out the words. Wondering what it was, he went to the small counter where a microwave and refrigerator made up the kitchen. He'd already made coffee for himself, but Claire might like tea. A basket beside the coffee pot held a selection of tea bags, hot chocolate, and sugar and cream. He picked Russian Orange tea. It sounded like a warming blend, and he liked the smell.

Claire walked in wearing a terrycloth robe with a towel wound turban-like around her hair. Her pale skin melded with the white of the robe. He could have sketched her with charcoal, a smudge of cerulean blue for her eyes the only color.

She sat on the couch, propped her bare feet on the coffee table, and stared into the fire. Riley handed her the tea and sat down beside her
—
just so they could talk, he reminded himself. He noticed her toenails, painted an inviting shade of dusky rose. She closed her eyes and breathed in the fragrant steam, just as he'd imagined her doing.

The orange and the spice, mingled with the fresh fragrance of her shampoo, lured him. He wanted to lean closer, draw in more of the scent. The gentle curve of her breasts, the clean line of her hip suggested she wore nothing beneath the concealing robe. He tried to think of something
—
anything
—
other than Claire.

She sipped, savoring the tea's warmth. She opened her eyes long enough to set the cup on the small end table, then rested her head against the padded back of the sofa. Her chest rose and fell beneath the thick robe and the tiny vein throbbed in her throat. He knew she was aware of him.

Too much has happened. She's too vulnerable
.
This is the worst possible time
. Then she tilted her head further back, exposing her neck. He felt like Dracula, longed to sink his teeth into the pale ivory of her skin.

Maybe he should take a walk in the rain.

Her eyes flew open, her blue gaze searching his face. "You're staring."

"Darlin', I'm droolin'. I think I'd better go for a walk."

Her eyes widened. Then she smiled slightly with that same light of understanding he'd seen when he first tackled her in the alley.

"No." Color rose in her cheeks. She leaned into him, tilted her face toward his, and slid her arms around his neck. "Stay. Please."

He was going down for the third time, and he knew it. "Claire, this is not
—
"

"Shh." She touched her fingertips to his lips. "Don't say it. Don't think it." She took a deep breath, untied her robe. "I need you, Riley. I want you."

God, he wanted her. He could hardly deny it. Had from the first time he'd seen her with those kids in Mistletoe. Maybe, he reasoned with himself, maybe she needed comfort right now, reassurance of life. He would give her all he could.

Looking at her, hearing her, he felt his own need merge with hers. He wanted to hold her, protect her from harm. Guilt and common sense fled to the far reaches of his mind. He saw only the soft curves outlined under the thick terrycloth. Gently, he let his warm breath graze her neck, pressed his lips lightly against her skin. He held himself back, wanting to make it slow and easy for her, give her a chance to change her mind. "Just tell me to stop if
—
"

"No. I've wanted this for days, maybe years." Her faint smile contrasted with the haunted expression in her eyes. The firelight lent a soft glow to her pale skin.

He loosened the towel from around her hair and let it fall over the back of the sofa. He opened her robe, felt her sharp intake of air. Raising his gaze to her face, he watched heat flare in her eyes like a blue flame.

She stood and turned toward him. He settled back, letting her set the pace, not wanting to overwhelm her. He watched the emotions play over her face, saw that she read him easily.

"Riley, I know what I'm doing."

Her breath whispered across his face, toothpaste and orange.

When she kissed him, snaked her tongue between his lips, he drew her against him, could feel the pounding of her heart. Or was it his?

Rain pattered against the big window, blurring the trees and hiding the sweeping view of the marsh. The firelight chased the gloom from the dull afternoon. She leaned over and tickled his ear with her breath, touched her lips to his. Holding her face, he kissed her, long and deep. She felt right there, wrapped in his arms. The thought sent a nervous flicker to his core.

Afterward, he pulled her robe over them and held her for a long time, watching the rain in the waning afternoon light. Claire, though still, was awake. He had no idea what she was thinking, but she seemed comfortable, at ease. He hoped she wouldn't regret this later.

His only regret was the condom that remained unopened in his wallet. Christ, he didn't even know if she used birth control. This wasn't a casual encounter for her, but she might not be ready to have his child. He was never careless. Never. Briefly, he wondered at himself
—
the idea of a child was not as appalling as he expected.
How are the mighty fallen.
Quickly, he pushed the thought away and concentrated on Claire.

"Riley?" Claire pushed herself up on her elbow. "I wish we could stay here, but we'd better get dressed if we're going to meet Tammy. She's expecting us."

"You're right." He took her face in his hands, fully intending to make it a quick kiss. The first one was.

This time he carried her into the bedroom.

* * *

Darkness fell before they rose again. They scrambled into their clothes, and Claire grabbed a hairbrush to take with her. "Let's go. I'll make myself presentable on the way."

Looking at her wild hair
,
flushed cheeks, and bright eyes, he doubted it but said nothing. Pleased, he locked the cottage door behind them.
Pleased? Damn, you're an idiot.
What's rule number one?
he asked himself.
Don't. Get. Emotionally. Involved.

Too late.

They darted through the rain to the glistening Tahoe, where he set the heater on high and turned on the air conditioner to suck the moisture off the windows.

The heater worked well. Claire shrugged out of her coat and draped it across her shoulders.

Keeping Tammy's directions in mind, Riley turned north onto the highway. There was little traffic and he drove slowly, squinting at the few signs they passed. Ahead a road angled off in a Y. "I think this is it." He hooked a right.

Their headlights created a narrow tunnel through the utter darkness of the two-lane blacktop to South Santee. As they rounded a curve, the lights gave them a brief glimpse of trees standing in water at the edge of the road.

"'Blacker than a hundred midnights, down in a cypress swamp,'" Claire quoted. "I can't remember the rest. That water really looks black."

"It
is
black, and it's a real swamp. Martin Luther King again?"

"No, it's from James Weldon Johnson's 'The Creation.' The benefits of growing up with an English teacher. She quoted things all the time."

Headlights approaching from the rear caught Riley's attention, coming faster than he liked on this rain-slick road. He felt a prickle at the back of his neck. "Tighten your seat belt."

"Why?" Claire whipped around in the seat to face the headlights behind them. "Is it following us?"

"Maybe." He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and reached under his seat with the other, coming up with the Glock. The headlights closed the gap between them. He stepped on the accelerator.

The car sped up with them. Abruptly the lights swerved to the left, and the other vehicle pulled alongside. Riley saw its passenger window start down.

"Duck!" He hit the brakes, and the other car shot ahead of them. "Get down in the seat, but keep your belt on." A Mercedes.
Shit
. Riley swung the truck into the middle of the road, blocking the other car from dropping back beside them. The red glare of its brake lights flashed immediately.

He was forced to slow as they did. He spared a glance at Claire, bent almost double.

"Is it them? Fortunato?" Her clipped words, though muffled by her position, betrayed her anger.

"Probably, but you stay down." Jesus, he hoped she wouldn't do anything dumb. She hadn't seen his gun, thank god, or he was sure she'd have grabbed it and be taking aim right now.

The car in front slowed to a crawl. He couldn't fire first
—
he had to be sure it wasn't some crazy local in a pissing contest. "Stay down and hold on." Dropping his window, he raised the pistol, ready. Rain splashed in on him. He gauged the narrow shoulder between the road and the swamp, floored it, and cut to the right of the Mercedes, knowing the Tahoe could never outrun it.

Before he could pull even with the other car, he saw the gun barrel poke out the window. His windshield shattered with a loud crack, and a streak of fire stabbed through his shoulder.
Son of a bitch.
He glimpsed a rough male face as the Tahoe came within inches of the other car. The Mercedes swerved left, away from him. Riley fired once at a tire.

"Cover your head and hang on."

The heavy Mercedes veered back toward them.

The only place to run was the swamp. Riley swung the wheel toward the Mercedes and met it. The impact jarred his teeth, but the Mercedes recovered in seconds. Lower and heavier, it shoved into the high-bottomed Tahoe.

Riley felt the right wheels drop off the macadam. Claire bit off a cry. He grabbed her with his right hand and held on. The car tilted and plunged off the road into the black water. Mud and water sprayed in a wide arc as the Tahoe plowed through the soft bottom, landing at a sharp angle. The instant it came to a stop, he shook his head and released his death grip on her. "Are you all right? We've got to get out. They'll be here in seconds."

"I'm okay. Are you?" Short, rapid breaths punctuated her words.

He was intact, with the minor exception of a bleeding shoulder. He cut the lights and the engine
—
no sense making it easier for them
—
and reached for Claire's seat belt. He felt her fingers fumbling at the clasp; he found the catch and released it. Snatching a flashlight from the glove box, he stuffed it in his pocket. Ahead he could see the red brake lights on the road change to backup lights. The distance between them and the lights closed rapidly. "Quick. Out the back."

He crawled over the seats, pulling Claire with him, and forced the rear door open against the water. The Mercedes stopped on the road above them, and the beam of a flashlight danced over the water, searching.

"Take a deep breath, grab my belt, and don't let go," Riley said. They'd be practically crawling in the shallow water. He hoped the way was clear, at least until they were out of sight. "We have to go underwater until we get further away."

"Right."

He could hear her teeth chattering. The flashlight found the Tahoe as he and Claire sank into the frigid water on the opposite side. He tried to hold the gun above the surface. The water was deeper than he'd expected, maybe three or four feet. He felt the silty bottom, slick with leaves, and crouched, driving himself forward, reaching for Claire's coat with his left hand. He found her shirt. "Where's your coat?"

"In the car. I didn't have it on."

"Christ. It would help with the wind, but the weight would drag you down. Hold tight."

The feel of her hands on his belt reassured him. She'd make it.

Shots zinged around the half-submerged Tahoe. Riley reached a tree and pulled them up on the far side, gulping in air. Through the curtain of rain he could see Joey Fortunato squatting in the shadow of the Mercedes, looking toward the wrecked car. The white cast marked him.
Half-assed job, Riley
, he told himself.
You should have finished it.
The shooter stood with the flashlight in one hand, a gun in the other.

Claire huddled against Riley's side, shaking violently. Aftershock and cold both, he guessed.

"Did he kill my mother?"

In spite of the cold, her entire focus was on Joey Fortunato. Jesus. That was rage, not shock. "No," he said, closing his arms around her. "He's just hired help." If he'd said yes, she'd probably have gone back after the man. He felt some of the tension go out of her, felt her relax in his arms. Pressing his lips to her ear, he whispered, "They won't come into a swamp after us. Just stick with me, kid."

For the first time, she seemed to realize where they were and squinted into the darkness. "I can't see a thing. It
is
blacker than a thousand midnights." She shivered. "Aren't there snakes and alligators in here?"

"They're hibernating." He hoped. "Let's go before they spot us or one of those shots accidentally finds a home. We have to go under again." He touched her cold lips with his, willing warmth into her. "Try not to move any more than you have to. Let me pull you." Focusing on the faint outline of a large tree, he slid into the blind obscurity of the swamp, thankful for the shielding rain. The air temperature was only about fifty degrees, but the cold water could still induce hypothermia. He had to get Claire out and warm soon.