Shrouded in Darkness (Shrouded Series) (16 page)

Malcolm grabbed her upper arm. His hand on her made her react without thinking, and she swung the carton of milk. It landed against his cheek. The thin cardboard cracked open, spraying milk everywhere. Chips of broken glass frozen to the carton caught on his cheek, scraping his smoothly tanned flesh and drawing blood.

Margot broke free and dragged frigid air into her lungs as icy milk trickled from her face, down her neck to seep into her sweater and jacket. For several, long heartbeats they stood without moving, breathing heavily, staring. A muscle ticked along the edge of his jaw while milk coated one side of his face and dripped from his ear lobe. Then Malcolm growled and lurched for her with both hands.

She stumbled back onto slick ice. This time, she couldn’t regain her footing, couldn’t do anything but helplessly clutch at air.

Her skull hit the side of the railing as she went down. White pinpricks flashed across her vision as the world blurred around her.

Then she was falling into blackness.

He wasn’t a violent man. At least, he’d always thought that until now, Jake realized as he sank back and rested his neck against the chair’s backrest and stared up at the ceiling of John’s lab.

In high school, he’d been the stereotypical geek, the awkward, gangly boy with his head buried in a book, the type girls avoided and disliked as much as an outbreak of acne. He’d been into science, math, everything that wasn’t considered ‘in’. Then out of high school, he’d grown into his large-boned body and acquired a new self-confidence, and suddenly women were finding him attractive. But he hadn’t changed. Not really. He still had his head buried, but now it was in front of a computer.

Fat lot of good that had done him.

Why hadn’t he learned to have fun? Or gone out drinking and chasing girls like the rest of his male counterparts? Maybe if he’d been able to relax, let his hair down, so to speak, he wouldn’t be in such a dire situation right now.

If only he could go back and start from the very beginning. He would never have accepted the position at Miltronics, never have let himself get caught up in Malcolm’s enthusiasm and his own inflated ego. A chance to change the world. The possibilities of a Nobel Peace Prize, and...disaster. Why hadn’t he seen the dark side of the formula? Had he been so damn self-centered that he hadn’t understood its two edged sword? Of course he’d understood the ramifications. He’d ignored everything, because he’d wanted it all—money, fame, colleague recognition.

Jake gripped the vinyl armrests and pushed out of the chair. Right now, he couldn’t work. He was too wired to concentrate.

Anger and self-loathing rolled through him. Oh, yes. He’d never been a violent man, never been put into a situation which forced him to see the darker side of his personality. But now—well, now he wanted to lash out, pound something with his bare hands. The rage inside him at times completely consumed him. Then there was the hopelessness. They were both dark, insidious companions that dogged his every step. He had no business dwelling on such unproductive emotions; he couldn’t afford to. If he caved to either one, he wouldn’t have a future.

Sighing, he turned away from the desk and computer and with two thumbs rubbed at the pressure points by his temples. He needed to be rational and formulate some backup plan. Jake snorted. He couldn’t think of one he hadn’t already attempted.

Maybe he should go back through Margot’s house and search again. The disk had to be there somewhere. Granted, John hadn’t said it was at Margot’s place in so many words, but the implication had been there all the same. What else could Jake make out of,

“I’ve got you covered. It’s tucked away where only my sister can find it.”

Maybe if he had Margot’s help, this time, they’d be able to find it. Though, he hated the idea of involving her further. Damn it.

He’d told her far too much already, endangering her life when he had no right. He’d caved in and spilled his guts, instead of fielding Margot’s questions like he should have. But he’d needed to talk to someone other than himself.

Walking over to the window that faced Margot’s house, Jake stretched, twisting his waist and arching his back. The joints between his vertebras popped, easing a back cramped with tension. He saw an unfamiliar car parked alongside Margot’s 4X4. Jake’s own pickup was hidden away on a back road along side Margot’s property. Most days he parked there and backtracked to John’s lab—his way of insuring Margot didn’t start asking more questions.

Frowning, he drew nearer to the glass. She was up there on the veranda with someone, but he couldn’t get a good view because of the branches from an aspen tree. Shifting, he pressed closer only to have his warm breath fog the icy glass panel.

Impatiently, he rubbed the condensation away with a fisted hand.

Then suddenly he saw up the hill to the house.

Malcolm. Even with the fading sunlight, he’d recognize Margot’s ex-husband anywhere.

Jake stiffened. What the hell was Malcolm doing there with Margot? Something wasn’t right, but Jake was too far away to gauge either’s expression.

He watched Margot turn her back on Malcolm and reach for the front door. Then Malcolm sprang. No. They were struggling.

Malcolm was touching her, hurting her. Suddenly, she crumbled to the porch.

Jake sucked in air. No.

She didn’t get up.

Fear moved him. Fear that Malcolm wasn’t done. Fear that he wouldn’t get there in time.

Margot. She couldn’t be hurt. He wouldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t let it happen.

Rage catapulted Jake across the linoleum floor to the front door. He dodged a table and a trashcan. Blood pounded against his ears. His heart crashed against his ribs. He’d kill Malcolm. He’d use his bare hands and strangle the life from him.

Two feet from the front door, it hit him, slamming him to a halt. The pain. It ripped through his limbs, ate through his veins and ligaments to sear his skin. Crying out against the pain, Jake pushed himself forward. One step. Two. He stumbled. He fell to his knees, the flats of his hands landing on the tile as he gasped for breath.

Jake didn’t blackout. But almost. He held on, curling into a fetal position on the floor. Fighting the crushing pain only seemed to make it worse, so he gave into it and rode each wave that pounded against him.

How long he lay there, he didn’t know. When he became aware of everything around him, the cold tile against his jaw and hip, the soft purr of the computer across the room, Jake realized pain no longer crippled him.

He uncurled his fists and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Every joint protested. He shook his head to clear it. He’d thought his attacks couldn’t get much worse, but he’d been wrong. Dead wrong. With this one, his mind had ceased to function.

Any coherent thought had been beyond his grasp. It scared the hell out of him.

Grasping the corner of a table, Jake rose to his feet. His legs shook from his weight. He had to get to Margot. If he was too late

—

No. He wouldn’t think it. Drawing in a fortifying breath, he fumbled his way to the lab’s door. He grasped the knob and flung the door wide. Strength was returning to his limbs, but not half as fast as he wanted. He trudged through the snow-covered yard. The going was too slow. Slick snow and patches of ice impeded his way up the slope to the house. Plus his damn legs. They weren’t working!

Jake fell once and had to grab a brittle branch from an aspen tree, which cracked and nearly snapped beneath his weight as he heaved himself up. His arms and legs wouldn’t respond to his brain’s signals. They were too damned sluggish and uncoordinated.

Everything about his recovery seemed slower, so much slower than all the other attacks. Jake knew it was a bad sign, but he didn’t dare think about that now. He needed to focus on Margot.

He glanced up. The sun had almost dipped over the horizon. But still enough light illuminated the way to the house and the empty space beside Margot’s 4X4. Malcolm was gone.

Jake pushed himself harder, racing up the remaining snow-covered hill, then pounding up the stairs to the veranda. She lay on her back, twisted at the waist, her arms flung to her sides. Choking back a cry, he dropped down beside her, his knees skidding across the icy wood deck.

“Margot...”

She was still unconscious. But for how long? A few minutes, an hour, or longer? He didn’t think it was too long, but he hadn’t been paying attention to the time when he’d first seen her from the lab. Quickly, he checked her pulse and found it strong beneath his fingers. With gentle hands, he explored her scalp and found a large lump on the side of her head. The skin was unbroken, but that didn’t discount the severity of the blow to her head.

He brushed a gloved knuckle across her cheekbone.

“Margot.”

A soft groan parted her lips as she stirred, shifting and moving both legs. That was all he needed. He hauled her up into his arms and carried her into the house. He closed the door with a heel. Still weak from the attack in the lab, he strained beneath her weight as he carried her down the hall. She was much heavier than he’d expected. Grunting, he hefted her higher against his chest.

Margot’s head fell back, limply cradled against the crook of his arm, exposing the smooth, long column of her throat. Her hair fell away from her face, affording him a clear glimpse of her clean, delicate features. She was beautiful. The blue-black hair, milky complexion, red, pouty lips were so like his childhood visions of what Snow White would look like if she’d appeared in his make believe world of dragons and wicked wizards.

He found the sofa in her den and carefully placed her across the cushions. After flipping on her desk lamp, he hurried back and sank down on the floor beside her. Taking both of her frigid hands in his he began rubbing them to get some warmth into them, but froze at the feel of them against his fingers.

“Damn it!”

Even with the muted lighting from the room’s lamp, Jake saw it all. Blood. Glass. Tiny slivers cut the insides of Margot’s hands, while streaks of blood clung to the creases of her palms, her cuticles and beneath her nails. Her hands were a mess. Jake didn’t know how, and he was almost afraid to find out. He hadn’t seen any evidence of broken glass, but then again he hadn’t been looking for it.

He needed a flashlight, tweezers, hot water, antiseptic and a cloth. It took him a while to find everything, but he needn’t have worried. She hadn’t yet stirred.

Jake wedged the flashlight into the crease between the cushions of the couch and worked it till the beam shown down on her hands, but faced away from him. The last thing she needed was to get a real good look at him. Then she’d have a bigger scare than any Malcolm could ever give her.

She shifted several times as Jake wiped the blood gently away with a damp cloth, careful not to pull at the pieces of glass.

When he used the tweezers to pull out a fragment, she finally woke up.

“Ouch!” She jerked her hand from his grasp. “What are you doing? Trying to kill me?”

Margot squinted at Jake but couldn’t see clearly because some stupid light shone right in her face. But she did glance down and got a good look at her hands. She winced. “Did I do that?”

“Did you?” Jake reached over, grabbed the flashlight and quickly shut it off. “Or was it Malcolm?”

“Malcolm?” she asked. Margot was having a devil of a time remembering. “I—I—”

“I swear he’ll regret the day he touched you.”

“Touched?” she croaked. God. Stupid questions, but she couldn’t seem to get her brain working right. Jake oozing such fury didn’t help things either. Those sunglasses of his didn’t hide his clenched jaw or ridged posture. He looked ready to jump up, go after her ex-husband and use his flashlight on Malcolm.

“No... It didn’t happen like that.” Her encounter with Malcolm came back to her with far too much clarity.

Using her elbows, Margot twisted around and tried to sit up, and then wished she hadn’t. Her head felt about ready to explode from the rest of her body.

“Here, let me.”

Before she had a chance to protest, Jake set down the flashlight, gently grasped her beneath her arms and eased her gently up against the armrest. He sat back on his heels and frowned. “How’s your head?”

Margot lifted a hand to touch the back of her skull and stopped in mid-air when she saw and remembered the condition of her hands. The last thing she wanted to do was get her hair tangled in them. “It feels like someone took a baseball bat to it. That or a battle ax.”

“You probably have a concussion.”

She laughed somewhat self-consciously. “I guess I’m more of a klutz than I thought.”

“I saw you struggle with Malcolm.”

“Yes, well. He was provoked. I hit him with a milk carton. He didn’t take too kindly to that.”

“Hmmm.”

Jake didn’t sound convinced...if she could go by that growl of his. In fact, he sounded angrier than before.

“Here, let me see your hands.” He snapped on the flashlight and shoved it back between the sofa’s cushions to shine on her hands. “I need to get this glass out.”

Margot offered both her palms. “Yes, well. He didn’t hurt me. He might have wanted to, but then again maybe he didn’t. I’ll never know now. Anyway, before he had a chance to touch me, I slipped and fell.” God, she was rambling. But she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. “I might have grabbed him for balance. Maybe that’s the struggle you saw. So, I’m the one that banged up my head, not Malcolm.”

She hadn’t a clue way she was protecting Malcolm. Goodness knew, he didn’t deserve it. Then it dawned on Margot—she wasn’t protecting Malcolm. She was protecting Jake. She didn’t want him going after Malcolm and getting hurt.

“Hmmm.”

That sounded a little less angry, Margot decided in some relief, as she watched Jake’s bent head in silence. He might be upset, but his hands, encased in black leather, were gentle. How he worked so easily with those gloves was beyond her.

Only last night he’d used those same hands on her. Then they’d been naked, supple and so very knowledgeable as to how to please her. But it was so much more than just his touch that had left her shattered. It was the way he’d touched her, the emotions behind his caresses and just as importantly—how they’d made her feel.