His Little Girl. Liz Fielding
feet, illuminating a police car parked a few yards away and picking up the rain spots soaking into the policeman’s jacket.
‘They seem to light up every time something bigger than a mouse walks by. It makes me jumpy,’ she told him, and added a suggestion of a giggle at her own foolishness.
She was careful to keep any special emphasis out of her voice, careful not to do or say anything that might cause the man behind her to lose his nerve and bolt with Sophie into the darkness. Not that there appeared to be anything wrong with his nerves. But still, she wasn’t taking any chances.
‘Would you like me to come in and check the cottage for you, just in case?’ the young man offered.
He took a step forward but she didn’t unhook the chain. ‘There’s no need, really.’
‘It wouldn’t be any trouble,--’
‘Pete?’ his partner called from the patrol car. ‘If you’ve finished, we’ve got another call.’
‘I’ll be right with you.’ Pete turned back to her. ‘As I said, it was probably the lightning that set off the alarm, Mrs Marriott.’ He nodded towards the car. ‘I expect this is another one.’
‘How trying for you. I’m terribly sorry that you’ve had a wasted journey.’
‘No problem. Just get the alarm checked out in the morning.’ He glanced up again. ‘And keep the lights on. They do make opportunist thieves think twice.’
Too late for that. ‘I’ll do that,’ she assured him. ‘And thank you for coming to check up on me.’
‘It’s what we’re here for. Goodnight, ma’am.’
She could scarcely believe that she was letting him walk away. What on earth was she thinking of? She ought to call him back—
‘Shut the door, Mrs Marriott. Now.’ Gannon’s voice was barely audible from the other side of the door. Too late. She pushed it shut and turned to lean against it as her legs buckled a little at her own stupidity. ‘I can’t believe I just did that.’
‘Don’t worry. You played the dumb blonde so well that the poor kid will break his neck to get back and check up on you the minute that lightning and burglar alarms permit. I’ll just have to rely on the fact that you’re a respectable married lady who will swiftly send him about his business.’
Married? For a moment Dora couldn’t think what John Gannon was talking about, then she realised he had picked up on the young policeman’s mistake. She glared at him. It was what any respectable married lady would do under the circumstances, wasn’t it?
Who was she kidding? Under the circumstances any respectable married lady would have screamed the place down, not offered a burglar the comfort of her home.
‘We’ll see. If you’re really such a good friend of Richard’s, I’ve got nothing to fear.’ She stared pointedly at his hand, still in his pocket. ‘Have I?’
‘No, Mrs Marriott,’ he said, taking his hand carefully from his jacket pocket and pulling the lining out with it, to show her that it was quite empty. ‘Nothing at all.’ The truth of the matter was that Gannon, his ribs giving him hell, his shoulder protesting at the weight of Sophie as she slumped against him, felt incapable of raising a sweat on a nervous fly. And he had no wish to frighten her; what he wanted was her help. ‘Besides, if I hurt you, Richard would probably hunt me down and kill me with his bare hands.’
Dora didn’t anticipate raising that kind of passion in Richard for herself, but she had a pretty good idea of what he would do to anyone who even considered hurting her sister. And, because her intruder had picked up the policeman’s mistake, he was now under the impression that she was Richard’s wife. Well, if that impression was going to keep her safe, she wasn’t about to disabuse him.
‘Only probably, you think?’
He met her gaze head on, for a moment meeting her challenge. Then there was the tiniest contraction of lines fanning out from his eyes, softening his face in an oddly seductive smile that made her catch at her breath. ‘No, not probably, Mrs Marriott. Without question.’ And his voice, back to silken velvet, did nothing to help.
She swallowed hard. ‘I’m glad you realise that,’ she said, with commendable briskness under the circumstances. ‘Now, if you’re staying, hadn’t you better give Sophie her milk?’ He glanced down at Sophie, but she had finally fallen asleep across his shoulder and Dora’s heart went out to the little girl. ‘Poor soul. Look, why don’t you take her upstairs and tuck her up in my bed? I’ll bring up the milk. In case she wakes,’ she added.
His smile deepened slightly. ‘Whilst I admire your initiative and appreciate your kindness, I think we’ll revert to me giving the orders and you carrying them out. I feel safer that way.’ He eased Sophie gently away from his shoulder, his expression tender as he placed the child into Dora’s arms, brushed a strand of hair back from her face. She didn’t stir. Then he looked up and caught Dora’s thoughtful expression. ‘You might have sent the police about their business, but I’m sure you must have plans to call for reinforcements of some kind. Plans that involve using a telephone?’
Dora hadn’t given the telephone a thought—not that she’d had an opportunity to use it even if she had. Well, he might have wildly overestimated her ability to think on her feet, but it wasn’t too late to start doing just that. Richard’s sister lived a couple of miles away with her husband. They would know exactly what to do in a situation like this. ‘Perhaps I have,’ she said, rewarding him with a smile for such cleverness. ‘I suppose you’ll want to disconnect it?’
He considered the matter. He would need a telephone if he was going to sort out Sophie’s papers, make things right with the authorities, but he couldn’t do that tonight, and this woman was too much of an unknown quantity to risk leaving it connected. ‘I suppose I will.’
‘It’s in the living room,’ she informed him, as he poured the warm milk into a mug. ‘Please try not to make a mess of the wall when you yank it out. It’s only just been decorated.’
The last thing he wanted to do was yank it out of the wall. ‘Find me a screwdriver and I’ll reconnect it before I leave,’ he promised. ‘Are there any extensions upstairs?’
‘None. Although I’m sure you’ll insist on checking for yourself.’
‘Oh, yes, I’ll check.’ Gannon’s grin was unexpected, deepening the lines carved into his cheeks, sparking his warm brown eyes with golden flecks of light, lifting one corner of his mouth as if self-mockery was second nature to him. ‘Although I can understand Richard’s unwillingness to install a telephone in the bedroom. If you were my wife I wouldn’t have a telephone within twenty miles of the place.’
Dora, usually capable of putting down a flirtatious male at thirty paces, with one hand tied behind her back, for a moment floundered helplessly while her brain scrambled to formulate an appropriate response. But nothing had prepared her for an encounter with a man like Gannon. There was a predatory edge to him that stirred the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck, warning her that he would do anything to get what he wanted. And a little part of her that thought she might rather like it
‘How fortunate that I’m not,’ she replied, as coldly as she could. Somehow it didn’t sound cold, just a little breathless. Not very convincing. She tried again. ‘Just think how inconvenient it would be not to have a telephone.’
‘I’d consider it worth any amount of inconvenience to have you all to myself, Mrs Marriott. Without interruption.’
Now that was convincing. The man could give lessons in the subject. It was a long time since anyone had managed to bring Dora to blushing point, but the heat tingling along her cheekbones was unmistakable. John Gannon might not have shaved for two days, but somehow, when he smiled, it was very easy to forget that fact.
She was sure now that he had no intention of hurting her. But he was still a dangerous man.
And