Up in Flames (20 page)

Sophie tried to hang on to the anger that had been keeping her going, but her reserves were gone. All that was left was a horrible feeling of vulnerability and helplessness. She hated being the victim, loathed the fact that someone else could terrorize her and control her emotions. But she didn’t have the strength left to fight it.

She didn’t have to. She was safe with Zane.

The knowledge was so reassuring that the last shreds of her control collapsed. Tears slipped from her eyes, painting hot streaks down her face. A last self-conscious part of her didn’t want Zane to think she was a whimpering baby. He’d toughed out far worse things in his life than a run through the woods, and he’d probably think she should be able to handle this. She sat still and sniffed quietly as the tears came, doing her best to muffle each trembling breath.

On the seat beside her, his hand closed over hers, warm and strong. He squeezed once, then held on, saying nothing.

Gratitude was a sudden, physical ache in her chest. With a hard shudder, a sob tore at her throat, then another. It was like a hole in a dam, and there was no way she could hold back the rest. She covered her eyes with her right hand and let the pent-up sobs flow out with her tears.

With her left hand, she kept a tight hold on Zane.

Her tears faded after a few minutes and she looked up as they pulled into an unfamiliar driveway, then frowned at the dark yard and the modest house that came into view. Wherever they were, it wasn’t anywhere near her apartment complex. She sniffed one last time. “Where are we?”

“My house.” He stopped next to it and killed the engine. “You’re staying here tonight.”

13

C
uriosity wakened every
tired neuron and made her take a second look, noting the dark yard with its mulched planting beds set among tall stands of ponderosa pine and aspen. The ranch house was unremarkable, but the deck she glimpsed wrapping behind the house looked new, its fresh stain gleaming under scattered tiki lights, with a second level dropping down a shadowy slope to what looked like a gazebo. She’d love to stay, to see what he’d built here.

But not because he felt sorry for her, or felt obligated to look after her. “I asked you to take me to
my
house.”

“I heard. That’s not gonna happen.” Stepping out of the truck, he slammed the door.

She swiped at her wet cheeks and tried to reorder her thoughts, but he didn’t give her time to argue. When she didn’t immediately step out of her side, he scooped her up in his arms and set her gently on her feet.

“Can you walk?” he asked, concern puckering his brow.

“Of course I can,” she said, then staggered as her tired legs wobbled at her first step. A blush warmed her face and she pushed his supporting arm away, afraid the solicitousness was pity. “Really, Zane, you can take me home. I’ll be okay.” Lonely and scared, but okay, and those first two weren’t his problem.

“Sophie, stop it.”

She shot him a startled glance.

His expression wasn’t as irritated as she’d expected. In fact, he looked concerned as he brushed her hair away from her face. “You’re still trying to take on the world by yourself. I know what that’s like; I’ve done it all my life. But you don’t have to do it, especially not now.” His eyes narrowed slightly and he cocked his head as if in disbelief. “A man in a ski mask? Who threatened your life? I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but this is not something I’m letting you face alone. You can wash up first, and then you can go to bed, but in between you’re going to tell me everything that happened tonight.” Probably thinking he needed to soften it, he added, “Okay?”

She nodded, amazed at the weight he’d lifted off her shoulders with that simple offer. She reminded herself that he was just being nice, chivalrous, like Manny, but it felt good. Someone had her back. She tried not to think about how glad she was that it was Zane.

Fighting back the tight lump of emotion forming in her throat, she managed a hopeful expression. “I don’t suppose you have lavender bath salts?”

He flashed a smile. “Not even close.”

The bathroom he ushered her to was typically male—a utilitarian sink and a countertop with a can of shaving foam, a hairbrush, and a toothbrush holder. Beige tile covered the floor, blending with the beige toilet and tub. The toilet seat was up, but at least it looked reasonably clean. The bathtub was questionable, but she could tolerate some soap scum and mildew in exchange for all the hot water he had. She intended to use every drop. Shampoo and conditioner stood on the rim of the tub, and a half-used bar of soap was in the soap dish. All were scented with a manly fragrance that didn’t come close to lavender.

“Sorry, I haven’t cleaned in a few days. Uh, maybe weeks. Just give me a minute.”

She stopped him with a light touch on his arm. “It’s fine, Zane.”

He glanced doubtfully around the small bathroom, but nodded. “Can I get you anything else? I’m not used to having guests, so just ask if there’s anything I forgot.”

She looked at the fluffy white towel and washcloth he laid on the counter along with a comb, brush, and hair dryer. He’d even dug through a drawer and come up with a new toothbrush that he laid alongside a half-used tube of toothpaste.

Fingering the gray maid’s uniform, she asked, “Do you have a robe I could borrow? I’d rather not get back into this.”

He froze, as if realizing a momentous failure. “No.” His gaze darted to the hallway as he thought. “I’ll be right back.”

She heard drawers open and close in the bedroom down the hall, and he came back carrying a T-shirt and a pair of jogging shorts with a drawstring waist. “It’s not much,” he said, looking uncomfortable about it, “but it’s better than that . . . thing.” He gestured at the uniform, then set the clothes on the counter and backed toward the door. “If you need anything else, just yell.” The door closed with a click.

She smiled at his awkward hospitality, then put a hand to the row of buttons down the front of the uniform and felt suddenly awkward herself. Stripping quickly out of her clothes, she tried not to think about the fact that she was naked in Zane’s house, with Zane a mere twenty feet away. A few days ago it would have sounded erotic, but the reality, complete with scratches and sore muscles, was not nearly as good as the fantasy.

Stepping into the tub, she decided on a quick shower to wash off the dried sweat and dirt, followed by a long bath. The first spray hit her chest and arms, stinging like a thousand tiny needles on the scratches. She gasped, then moved more gingerly into the water, letting her body get used to the hot stabs of pain. It took a couple of minutes before she stopped wincing in pain at every new place the water touched.

Soap was a whole new world of hurt, burning each tender red scratch all over again, but the warm water soothed them. She shampooed and soaped quickly, then switched off the shower and filled the tub. Easing into the heat, she stretched out her legs and leaned her head against the back of the tub.

Every part of her ached. She let her muscles soak in the heat for a couple of minutes, then sat up and used the washcloth to rub gently at dotted lines of blood on her hands and arms, wincing with each one. The backs of her hands looked like she’d stuck them in a box of feral cats, and she imagined her neck looked the same. For a moment she brightened at the thought that the man with the knife must look the same, something he wouldn’t be able to hide. Then she remembered the ski mask that had covered his face and neck, and realized he’d probably worn gloves, too. Maybe even a jacket. If he’d intended to use that knife, he would have worn something to protect his skin and clothes from blood. She winced—
dressed to kill
took on a whole new meaning.

Thinking of the man with the knife made her tense up again. Sinking deeper into the soothing heat, she let her mind go blank.

It worked for a few blissful minutes. Her world narrowed to a bathtub full of hot water and the clean scent of soap and shampoo.

Zane’s soap. Zane’s shampoo.

It was impossible to block the spicy scent. It filled the humid air and clung to her hair. It was also impossible to stop the associations in her mind. She’d smelled the same faint aroma on Zane when he’d pressed her against the Jeep and set her body on fire with his kisses. She flushed at the memory, and the sudden heat between her thighs had nothing to do with the warm water.

She remembered hearing that smell was a powerful trigger for memory, possibly the most powerful. But she could control this; it was simply a matter of choosing the right memories. Like the one that came
after
the steamy kisses, when he’d rejected her and made her feel like dirt. That was the Zane she needed to remember, especially if she was going to stay in his house all night.

She stepped from the tub and dried off, then slipped into her new wardrobe and examined herself in the mirror. Then white shirt proclaimed,
MACEY’S MOTOR OIL, THE BEST FOR YOUR ENGINE
. It fell to her thighs, nearly covering the shorts even with the waistband riding on her hips. Not the least bit sexy. But it was somehow too familiar, as if their relationship had become intimate. Like they’d just had sex, and she’d slipped into something afterward for a quick trip to the kitchen.

No! She’d never even shared a real bed with Zane, much less a house. She couldn’t recall what had never happened. But she shivered at the prickles of awareness that raced across her breasts and between her legs at the thought. Her mind had no trouble imagining it.

Obviously, she needed practice in pushing aside her erotic memories.

She rinsed her underwear in the sink and hung it over the shower curtain rod to dry. Then, holding the crumpled maid’s uniform in front of her like a shield, she stepped into the hall.

Zane was pacing in the living room, and stopped abruptly when she came in.

She held out the uniform. “They told me they don’t want this back. You might as well toss it in your garbage.”

His gaze traveled down her bare legs, then jerked back to the gray uniform. Without a word, he took it and walked to the kitchen. When he came back he avoided eye contact and nodded at the couch. “Have a seat.”

She sat, but didn’t feel comfortable. Nothing about this felt comfortable. Not the uneasy flip in her stomach every time the T-shirt or shorts rubbed intimately against her bare skin, reminding her that they must have rubbed against him the same way. Not the way he stood there with his hands in his pockets, as if accidentally touching her was too unpleasant to risk. And not the stiff way they were speaking, staying clear of dangerous emotions. It wasn’t normal. But she’d get through it, then go to bed, grateful for a safe place to stay. At least he cared enough to see to her well-being.

“So start at the beginning. Tell me what happened tonight.”

“I guess that would be the accident. It happened on the highway when I was on my way home from Blackstone after I saw the spider kid.”

“Whoa.” Zane held up one hand, then made a rolling motion. “Back it up. Who’s this spider kid?”

She started with Cal’s phone call. He listened without expression as she told him about her trip to Artie’s and the rain that had made the road so slick on her drive home. When she described how the wet pavement had caused her to lose control and slide down the embankment, followed by a wild chase through the woods, she said, “All this probably wouldn’t have happened without the rain. It was just my bad luck that we had thunderstorms all afternoon.”

“It was your good luck,” he corrected grimly. “You’d have been dead otherwise.”

She frowned. “How do you figure that?”

“He probably didn’t plan to chase you through the trees, Sophie. He’d just force you into a sudden stop, walk back to your car as if he’s checking to see that you’re all right, then kill you without making a sound, and without even leaving a bullet that could be matched to a gun. Fast and easy.”

She winced at the horrifying but simple scenario, and knew it could easily have happened that way. “But I ran,” she said, as if needing to reaffirm that she’d survived. In a tight voice, she finished the story. “He chased me, and he wouldn’t give up, and I thought I’d have to run until I was exhausted and he caught me, but then I saw the Greystone. I walked inside, and it was like everyone had just been looking for something to do. They swarmed me, offering towels and bandages, and food and water, and calling the police. And that’s all I know. The cop said he’d take me home when he was done, but I didn’t want to wait that long, so I called you. End of story.”

“No. It isn’t.” He said it slowly, with a deceptive softness, making sure he had her complete attention. “Someone tried to kill you. I don’t think he’ll be that easily dissuaded.”

She swallowed. “Except for that.”

He just watched her for several seconds. “Why didn’t you take the job with Reznick?”

She blinked in surprise. “What did he do, ask you to use your powers of persuasion on me?”

“Something like that. Sophie, it’s not a bad job, much better than laying tiles and moving rocks around. And it would get you away from whoever is trying to kill you. You need to call him back and take the job.”

“You need to stop telling me what to do.”

It didn’t go over well. His jaw worked as if he was crunching gravel. “I need to stop being around you, period. Why did you call me tonight?”

She hadn’t expected that, and instead of her carefully reasoned selection of who to call, the truth popped into her mind, blindsiding her.
I didn’t want anyone else. I wanted you.

The thought was so alarming it threw her off her stride and left her floundering for an answer. She couldn’t think. Not because it might be true, but because she
knew
it was true. With the world crashing down around her, and a strong need inside her to just be held close and loved, she wanted Zane.

It proved what a pathetic fool she was. She’d gotten nothing but abuse from him, and a clear indication that he wanted her to stay far away. Forever. She had to be a masochist to keep pretending he was the introspective, tender man she’d met ten years ago. That man was gone. Hell, maybe he’d never been real. She was probably delusional as well.

He was waiting for an answer. “My sisters weren’t home,” she mumbled, the only lie she could think of. “There was no one else to call.” She looked at the floor, purposely avoiding his eyes.

He looked even more uncomfortable than before. “You can’t stay here forever. You need to be someplace safer.”

He regretted taking her in already? She snapped her gaze back to his, about to protest that coming here was his idea, not hers, when the rest of his statement registered. “I’m not safe here?”

“I don’t know.”

He looked even more distressed, and she suddenly realized why. “Because of Emmett?” His troubled look sent a chill through her as she followed its implication. “You think the man in the ski mask was Emmett?”