Sleeping Beauty (17 page)

Anne thought she knew just how he felt. She'd been waddling along, feeling as if she had her life fairly well in order. Maybe she'd had a few doubts, wondered where she was heading, but still, she'd been steady on her feet. Then Neill Devlin walked into her life and—bam!—she was suddenly in danger of falling flat on her face. Just like that penguin.

"So, are you seeing Neill tonight?" Lisa asked casually.

"We're having dinner at Luanne's!" Anne disentangled the little toy from the lace and set him back on the shelf, next to a life-sized stuffed chicken.

"If it makes you feel any better, I liked him,"Lisa said.

"It's not a question of liking him. It's just that...I don't know." Anne groped for the words to explain what she was feeling. 'Tor a long time, my life has been pretty smooth. And now, suddenly, things are changing—or I feel like they are."

"And it scares you," Lisa finished for her.

"It scares the hell out of me," Anne admitted with a sigh. "I don't know how he feels about me. I don't know how I feel about him. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow or next week. It's scary."

Lisa let her hands fall idle amid the flowers and ribbon as she looked at Anne seriously. "Nobody knows what's going to happen tomorrow or next week. No matter how safe and settled your life seems, everything can change in the blink of an eye. You should know that better than most."

She didn't wait for a response but continued, one corner of her wide mouth tilting in a half smile. "Let me give you the benefit of my eight extra years on the planet and tell you that I think Neill Devlin is the best thing that could possibly have happened to you, even if he ends up breaking your heart.''

Anne gave her a startled look. "Thanks!"

"You're twenty-five," Lisa said, ignoring the interruption. "And you've been settled in the same rut for the last six years. Nineteen to twenty-five, Anne. Those are the crazy years. That's when you're supposed to have mad affairs and stay up all night talking with a man who might be—but probably isn't—the love of your life. That's when you try weird clothes and change your hairstyle half a dozen times a month, and you go to keg parties and drink too much, then throw up on your shoes."

''Sounds lovely," Anne said dryly.

"Not all of it. You get hurt, and you think your life is over, and then you figure out it isn't and you move on." Lisa reached out and set her hand over Anne's. "This last week, you've done more living than you have in the two years since I came home. Maybe Neill Devlin's going to ride out of town like Shane the minute his bike is fixed. Or maybe the two of you will fall madly in love and live happily ever after. Either way, you're finally waking up a little!"

"What if I fall madly in love with him and he still rides away like Shane?" Anne asked slowly,

"Then you'll pick up the pieces of your heart, glue them back together and move on. But at least you'll have known what it's like to love someone."

The problem, Anne thought, was that she was more than a little afraid that she already did know what it was like. It was a terrifying thought

Half an hour later, when she left Lisa's shop, the rain had turned to a sullen drizzle. The sidewalks were empty, traffic at a minimum. On a night like this, not even Luanne's "guaranteed fine home cooking" could draw many people out. Since the restaurant was only a few doors down from Lisa's studio and across the street, it hardly seemed worth driving, so Anne left Lucy where she was and started walking, her thoughts wavering between her conversation with Lisa and anticipation about seeing Neill.

And the fact that she was feeling such a bubbling sense of anticipation should be a warning, she told herself sternly. It was easy for Lisa to talk about putting the pieces of her heart back together again, but she wasn't the one who would have to find the glue with which to do it. If she had any sense, she would tell him she couldn't see him anymore. But it was hard to think sensibly when her heart was beating double time. Maybe Lisa was right. Maybe it was time for her to do something crazy.

Head down, shoulders hunched against the rain, Anne didn't notice when she crossed in front of a narrow alley, didn't see the thin figure dart from its mouth, so she was completely unprepared when something slammed into her shoulder, nearly knocking her off her feet. Startled and off balance, her hands tightened automatically on her purse when her assailant grabbed for it. Instinct had her hanging on when he jerked at it.

"Give me the fucking purse, lady." The words were spat out at her.

Anne wanted nothing more than to comply. There was nothing in her purse that couldn't be replaced, nothing worth risking her life over. But her fingers were locked in a death grip over the soft leather and didn't respond to her mental orders to let go.

Cursing, her assailant used his hold on the purse as leverage and spun her around. Anne cried out in pain as her shoulder slammed into the brick face of the building. And still she couldn't get her fingers to loosen their hold on the purse.

"Goddanm bitch. Give me the bag.'' She had a flashing impression of a narrow face, red-rimmed, colorless eyes and lank brown hair. And then the thin light caught on a blade and everything else vanished.

Fear clawed at her throat and blurred her vision. She was going to die. Right here, on the sidewalk, in plain sight of anyone who happened to drive by. Only it was past eight and no one was driving by, and, if they were, their attention would be focused on the wet road, on getting home in time to catch their favorite sitcom or tuck the kids in bed. And even if they glanced this way, they might not see what was happening. The light was poor, and the rain made it worse.

In some distant part of her mind she found herself thinking that she'd always known this would happen. Lightning didn't strike twice, people said, but it did. It had. And she was going to die because of it

"Hey!" The shout barely penetrated the white hot fear that filled Anne's mind, but its effect on her attacker was immediate. Cursing viciously, he gave the bag one last frantic jerk, the force of it dropping Anne to her knees on the sidewalk. And then he was gone, swallowed almost instantly by the darkness beyond the alley's mouth. Vaguely, Anne heard someone running toward her but she could only kneel on the concrete, her fingers locked around her purse, her eyes blank with fear.

"Anne! My God, are you all right?" Neill dropped to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he ran them over her shoulders and arms, looking for injuries, offering comfort. "Jesus, I was across the street. I saw you and was walking over to meet you when he—did he hurt you?''

It must have taken just a few seconds, she realized. From the time he grabbed her until Neill's shout made him run couldn't have been more than a few seconds. But it had seemed like hours—a lifetime.

"Anne? Honey, are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm all right." The three words seemed to come from someone else.

"Thank God." Still kneeling on the concrete sidewalk, Neill put his arms around her, dragging her against his chest, holding her tight enough to hurt. In a heartbeat, he was pushing her away, his fingers digging into her shoulders. "Goddammit, why didn't you give him the fucking purse? You could have been killed!"

"That's what he called it!" she murmured, blinking against the drops of rain caught in her lashes.

''What?"

"A fucking purse." Her tone was almost dreamy. "That's what he called it. It's actually a Coach purse. My parents gave it to me for Christmas last year."

Neill stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. "I don't care if it was handmade by Santa's elves and delivered to you personally by Rudolph on Christmas morning," he said, gritting the words through clenched teeth. "You should have let the little scumbag have it."

"My fingers wouldn't let go," she said simply. "They still won't."

"Jesus." Neill's anger vanished as quickly as it had come. He lowered his forehead to hers and wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, honey. I was never so scared in my life."

Oblivious to the drizzling rain, he held her, letting the feel of her—warm and alive—seep into him. He knew he would never forget the way he'd felt when he saw that shadowy figure dart out of the alley. Rage that someone would dare to attack her. Frustration that he was too far away to stop it from happening. And fear that she might be hurt before he could get to her.

He didn't know how long they knelt there, but it was the feel of the rain on his back that finally brought him to a sense of where he was. They were both soaked to the skin. She needed a hot bath and dry clothes. He needed a chance to get his hands on the slimy little sonofabitch who'd done this to her, but he would settle for getting her warm and dry. He eased reluctantly back and looked down at her. ''Are you sure he didn't hurt you?"

She nodded. Her shoulder ached where he'd slammed her into the wall, and her knees throbbed from their impact on the sidewalk, but those were minor complaints.

"I'm going to drive you to the sheriff station," Neill said, his fingers gently prying hers loose from her purse. "You need to talk to your brother, file a report."

"No!" The word exploded from her, her head jerking up so quickly that she nearly smashed into his chin. "I don't want anyone to know."

"Anne, the guy attacked you, tried to steal your purse. You can't just let him get away with it."

"He has gotten away with it," she said bluntly. "He's gone. Talking to Jack, telling him what happened, isn't going to accomplish anything." Her fingers dug into his forearm, and, even in the poor light, he could see the plea in her eyes. "Please, Neill. If I tell Jack and he files a report, everyone will know. They'll remember Br—they'll remember, and it will make them look at me again. Please, I just want to go home. Just take me home."

"Okay. It's okay." He stood, bringing her up with him. "You don't have to tell anyone." He swung her up into his arms as easily as if she were a child, cradling her against his chest. He didn't understand why she was so adamant about not talking to her brother, but she was right about it being a largely futile gesture. It wasn't worth upsetting her over. He brushed a kiss over her forehead. "I'll take you home, baby."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Neill asked as he took her keys from her and unlocked the cottage door.

She hadn't said a word during the short drive but had simply sat in the passenger seat of the 'Vette, her hands lying limp in her lap, her eyes wide open and staring at nothing.

"I'm fine." she said, but he wasn't sure he believed her.

Neill pushed the door shut and guided her into the house. She would feel better now that she was home, he thought. She'd been frightened, but she wasn't really hurt. He wished she would cry. Tears would probably help. But she remained dry-eyed, looking around the small living room a little blankly.

"Is there someone you want me to call? Your Mend Lisa, maybe?" He'd seen enough of her mother; guessed enough about their relationship, that he didn't bother to suggest calling Olivia.

"No." Anne shook her head slowly. "I don't want anyone. I don't want anyone to know."

"Okay." Neill set his hand gently on her shoulder, feeling the rigidity of her muscles. She was wound so tight that a wrong word might be enough to make her shatter. "Okay. I won't call anyone if you don't want me to. I'll just stay until you're settled."

His soft, soothing tone made Anne aware of her own unnatural stillness. He must think she was nuts. It wasn't as if she'd been hurt. She hadn't even lost her purse. Her fingers knotted over the soft leather until the pressure made her knuckles ache. It was stupid to be so upset. Nothing had happened. She had to pull herself together.

Reaching deep inside herself, Anne found a small pool of calm to draw on as she turned to look at him, forcing a small smile. "I'm okay. Really. You don't have to stay. I'm fine."

Looking at her, Neill thought "fine" was an overstatement. Her skin was the color of parchment, and there was a bruised look about her eyes that made his hands ache for the feel of her attacker's throat beneath his fingers. Fine? Under other circumstances it would have been funny. What she looked was fragile. Breakable. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her until the shadows went away, but something in the rigid way she held herself made him think that, if he touched her now, she might fall apart, and he wasn't sure that would be a kindness.

"I'm not going anywhere." He silenced her protest with a lift of his brow. "I'm not leaving you alone right now."

"Okay." She looked away before he could see how pathetically grateful she was.

"Why don't you go take a hot shower while I see what I can come up with by way of something hot to drink?''

Anne nodded and moved toward the stairs. Her movement felt stiff and clumsy, as if her muscles weren't working quite right but she forced herself to climb the stairs, away from Neill's too-observant gaze. Panic—unreasoning and uncontrollable—was welling up inside, knotting her stomach and making her throat ache. She didn't want him to see her like this. She'd spent most of her life learning to lock the fear away in a little compartment inside herself, but now the lock was broken and it was slithering out, threatening to swallow her whole. She just needed a few minutes alone to force it back.

Neill watched her out of sight, his forehead creased. She would do better to let go of some of that damned self-control. And he wished she would let him call her brother, file a report. What was it she'd said? Everyone will know and they'll look at me. What the hell was that about?