No One Left to Tell (29 page)

Her eyes opened. At least, she thought they were. Darkness deceived her, toyed with her perception. Black-and-white images of Charles Dunhill, with part of his skull missing, reminded her she had fallen asleep reading the old case file—a hazard of the trade. Now, her warm breath touched her cheeks, deflecting off the back of the sofa. Her face burrowed against a pillow.

Exhausted as she was, she couldn't force her body to move. Her limbs felt like lead. She lay there in the dark, content to waver in and out of sleep. But something jolted her out of a stupor. The room was dark.
Who had turned out the lights?

Shutting down her body's natural recoil, she listened intently, hoping she'd only overreacted.

A faint sound ... A presence weighed heavy in the room, just behind her—

Tensing her jaw, she resisted the urge to turn around. She assessed the situation, relying on her memory for the layout of the room. The chances of getting to her gun in time weren't good.
One chance!
She'd have one chance to get this right. And only one option remained. Without hesitation, she made her move.

Raven was determined to kick some ass.

Lunging off the sofa, she used its leverage to shove her body into the shadow of a man. Her shoulder lowered like a linebacker's. She hit her target with all her strength. The intruder let out a painful groan and fell back against the wall, hitting hard. A gasp of air resounded as he sank to the floor. She'd knocked the wind from his lungs. But she prepared to do some real damage. Set on knocking him into next week, she escalated her assault.

Propped against the wall, the man lay panting, trying to recover. With her legs straddling his, she pummeled his face with her fists—first the right, then the left. She'd have only a short time to get her licks in before he'd launch his counterattack. Every strike felt like hitting a brick wall. Her knuckles were raw and ached with pain, compounded by a burning tingle in her shoulder. Adrenaline kept her arms pumping, inflicting as much damage as she could. Her face burned in outrage.

Taking a moment to glance over her shoulder, she glimpsed the dark shape of her holster. The butt of her weapon was near the edge of the table. With no time to waste, she crawled toward it, slowed by the damage to her shoulder and hands.

But she'd made a fatal miscalculation.

The man had shaken off her beating and lunged, rolling her to one side, away from the gun. With all his weight, he pinned her to the floor, bracing his hands to her wrists. The lower half of his body fortified his dominance over her. Darkness closed in. She bucked and rocked to free herself. Bright flashes streaked across her eyes with the exertion. Think, she had to think. His face was too far away for a head butt. Her only recourse now was to scream.

"Arrggghh." A guttural sound escaped from deep inside her lungs, fueling her rage.

"Hey, don't! Stop it," he pleaded. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

Had she heard right? As soon as she stopped thrashing, the man eased his grip of her hands. The darkness obscured his face. But the voice was—

"Damn, you pack a punch. I think you busted my lip." His voice. "Are you okay?"

A part of her had been relieved, but an even larger part was mad as hell.

"Get off me, damn it! What the hell were you thinking?"

Christian didn't budge, his full weight upon her.

"I didn't want to read about you in the paper, knowing I could've done something. I had to make my point. And showing you was the only way to do that. You're not safe here."

Those eyes. Even in the dark, they found hers. And the deep baritone of his voice and the feel of his body, rock-hard against her, sent chills along her flesh. His chest heaved with every breath, his skin radiating heat to match her own. The blood rushed to her cheeks, then pulsated to other parts of her. The sensation was intoxicating.

She knew he felt the pull of attraction. The hunger in his eyes was undeniable. Yet the awkwardness of the moment left few options.

"If I let you up, are you gonna behave?"

It was the last thing she wanted, so she milked the moment.

"You bust into my house, in the dead of night, and you're worried about
my
behavior?" She challenged those eyes, then set her jaw. "You let me up, and I might have to kick your ass all over again."

"Feeling a little cocky, are we?" He shifted his weight, nearly driving her insane.

"As a matter of fact"—she snickered—"nothing little about it, if my memory of the male anatomy serves."

The low rumble of his laughter coerced a broad grin to her lips. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sound.

Slowly, he released his grip, letting her go. Sitting back on his haunches, then rising, he held out his hand to help her up. She gripped his strong fingers, feeling weightless as he lifted her from the floor. In the dark, she groped for the light switch, then flipped it on. Turning back, she tilted her chin and furrowed her brow, assessing the damage.

"I think I did bust your lip."

Dressed in black military garb, Christian dominated her small living room with his athletic build. He towered over her, broad shoulders narrowing to slender hips and long legs. Only good timing and her surprise attack had brought him down, and then for only a brief moment. Still, she'd connected her blows. Blood from the cut on his lip painted his chin. She'd left her mark. With her reminder, he dabbed at his wound with a finger, drawing his tongue over the spot.

"You realize this was a very dumb idea. You could've gotten yourself killed." She crossed her arms, standing defiantly.

"I had to take the chance." His eyes held no apology. "I didn't bring a weapon. If I had, you would've been dead."

Her smile quickly faded. The truth of his words chilled her.

"And the men out there? I would've taken them out first. No one would have been able to help you, Raven."

He was dead right. And he had been only one man. Tony had seen a small band of mercenaries with state-of-the-art weapons. The conspicuous squad cars and the police patrolling the grounds outside her house would have deterred the common criminal. But there was nothing common about this situation. Using her quiet neighborhood to stand her ground suddenly seemed foolish. So many innocent people were at risk. Reality hit her square in the face.

"But this is not your fight, Christian. Why should you take this on?"

"Whoever this guy is, he's sent a very clear message for me to seek the truth, and punctuated it with a dead body. And for whatever reason, he's drawn you into it, and Tony." He stepped closer, the intimacy of his voice commanding her senses. "I am involved, even more than you. This is my fight. I've made it mine."

"And what about Fiona? I'm not so sure she'd want you aligning yourself with the police on this one." Her eyes drifted to the Dunhill files strewn on the floor. The autopsy photos and other evidence carelessly spread over her rug.

At first, he met her eyes, a stern resolve in his tone.

"I have to trust my instincts. I honestly don't know anything about this. But I want to believe her." Then his voice wavered and he couldn't hold her stare. Christian had his doubts.

Maybe together they could sort through this mess. She had the old case file here. Pooling their resources, they might make some headway. Raven considered the option he offered. But with a glance down at her knuckles and a roll of her aching shoulder, she had things to do. She had to trust her instincts, too.

"I'm gonna accept your offer, for now. How could I refuse such a persuasive invitation?" she teased, wincing as she lightly touched a finger to his bruised lower lip. "The Dunhill Estate is so fortified, the bastard would have to be a fool to launch an attack against it."

In response to her sympathetic touch, Christian torqued his jaw, making sure it worked. If he had a bruised ego, it wasn't showing.

"Let's get cleaned up. I gotta pack a few things, call off my police protection, and talk to some folks." With a sly glance over her shoulder, she smirked. "You always go to so much trouble to get a woman to come home with you?"

Christian's smile broadened to a devilish grin. "It's usually not this difficult. . . No."

With a shake of her head, she laughed and tugged at his arm, leading him to her bathroom. "I don't doubt it, Delacorte. I don't doubt that at all."

In the hours before dawn, the Dunhill Estate glowed on the horizon, its security lights serving as a beacon. Before her, the ribbon of asphalt emerged from the darkness only as far as her headlights reached, winding through the shadowy terrain. Raven gripped her steering wheel and followed the red taillights ahead. She knew Christian's plan made sense. Yet the idea of spending so much one-on-one time with him sent her stomach reeling. The thrill of expectancy and the uncertainty of cold feet vied for position. It would have been more comforting if she'd ridden with him, so they could talk. But she'd been determined to have her independence and drive her own car.

The massive stone wall with its wrought-iron gate loomed ahead. Several men in uniform bounded from the shadows, weapons drawn, surrounding both vehicles. In the lead, Christian spoke to a guard, then waved a hand back to her. The other men peered through the headlights into her vehicle, without a change in their stern expressions. With a curt nod, the guard standing closest to Christian's SUV waved her onto the property. He commanded the others to stand down and resume their duties.

Part of her felt secure behind these gates, yet another part felt trapped and alone. She wondered if Christian ever felt that way.

The old oaks lining the drive stood like sentinels, more ominous under the sweeping headlights than she remembered from her first visit. The imposing presence of the Dunhill mansion intimidated her, emerging even larger as she approached. Its size alone made her feel small and unimportant. With eyes on the grand front entry up ahead, she reminded herself to breathe. On her first visit, she'd been a cop with a job to do. It had been a distraction. But this time, she'd have her Cubs cap in hand, staying for a while.

"I hope they give out maps at the door. 'Cause I can guarantee I'm gonna get lost in there," she whispered, the blue dash lights casting shadows on her hands and clothing. "And what the hell am I going to do with a butler or a maid? How do you live like this, Delacorte?"

Humor didn't ease her worry. It only reminded her just how different her life was from Christian's. He'd practically grown up here, accustomed to such wealth and self-indulgence.

"Tony was right. I must come from a long line of Raven lunatics."

She chalked it up to raw nerves, being a fish out of water. She wasn't sure what to expect from a man who'd been a total stranger just a short time ago. Correct that—a suspect.
For cry in' out loud, the man had been a suspect.
She rolled her eyes, chastising herself again. Doubts played serious havoc with her judgment.

As Christian approached the circular drive leading to the front steps, he didn't slow his speed. It threw her. He bypassed the main house and drove around a bend. His taillights disappeared. Where was he going? She knitted her brow and blindly followed his lead. As she made the turn to the right, a quaint cottage lay just ahead. Subtle landscape lighting gave it a gentle radiance, illuminating the encircling trees. Its charm reminded her of a Disney flick.

She pulled in behind him and turned off the ignition to her car. "So this is where you hang your hat, Delacorte. Very nice." She nodded her approval, craning her neck toward the windshield for a better view.

Then it hit her.

The pretentious mansion with its many, many rooms was one thing.
But this?

"I'm going to be staying here with you, in this small, intimate cottage. Oh, my Gawd!"

The minute he opened his car door and turned to see her face, he realized something had changed in her resolve. For the first time since he'd met her, Raven looked unsettled, off her game.

But then again, he knew exactly how she felt.

His home had always been his oasis. A refuge. Despite his joking with her about bringing women home, he'd never brought one here. Tensing his jaw, he wondered why his mind drifted to something so personal.
This is business, Delacorte!
Yet with Raven, it felt like anything but—

The evidence box hoisted to his shoulder, he turned the key to the front entry, then quickly entered a pass code into the security system to his right. With a sideways glance, he watched her walk past him and stop, setting her overnight bag beside her feet.

"I called ahead, had the housekeeper change the sheets and stock the kitchen. You take the bedroom." He set the evidence box in the study, then took a deep breath before heading back to her. Stepping back into the living room, he found her still standing near the entry. Her eyes absorbed every detail of her limited accommodations, without uttering a word since she'd crossed his threshold. He hadn't known her for very long. Even so, he knew Raven being speechless would be highly improbable.

He took a risk, hoping to break the ice.

"I assure you I can control my manly urges. You're safe here." Hand to his chest, he waited for a smile from her.

None came.

Instead, she slowly stepped into the living room. Her eyes darted to the room just beyond. His bedroom. Its double doors were open, its lamps lit and welcoming. And from what she could tell, the housekeeper had even left a chocolate mint on the pillow. Still, she avoided the bedroom with a vengeance. Tension dominated the space between them. He felt the need to defend his decision.

"An outsider's assumption is that you'd be staying in the mansion. And the smaller place makes it easier to defend. Is this arrangement a problem?"

She hesitated for only an instant. "No, not at all. It's just that I don't want to take your bedroom. Let me— I'll sleep on the couch."

It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but at least she was talking.

"No way. If it'll make you feel any better, I can barricade the doors once you're inside, block it with this console table . . . maybe that chair."