Nightfire. Barbara McCauley
had been…what? Ordinary, was the word that came to mind. She frowned at the thought. What was wrong with ordinary? Absolutely nothing. They’d been nice, interesting men.
And they’d left her feeling tepid as tap water.
What made Kane so different? She casually lifted her chin and slid a glance at him, determined to find fault. He was too tall, she decided. Good Lord, he towered over her. She hated having to crane her neck to meet someone’s eye. And he wasn’t exactly handsome, at least, not in the classical sense, though there were certainly women who were attracted to his kind of rugged masculinity. The men she’d always been drawn to had been good-looking, the type of face you’d see in a men’s fashion magazine. She stared at Kane’s profile, thinking he looked more like an advertisement for a military-commando movie. It was easy to picture this man slashing his way through a steamy jungle, sweat dripping from his half-naked body….
Stop that. She jerked away her gaze and stared at the empty space over the head of the man standing beside Kane. What in the world was she doing, dreaming up silly fantasies about a man she’d met only minutes before? Didn’t she have more important and certainly more serious things to think about? Things like some crazy following her, watching her, taking pictures…
The elevator stopped at the next floor, letting one person off and two more on. The bustling forced Kane’s body flush with hers. Embarrassment burned up her neck and over her cheeks as her breasts pressed into the solid muscle of his back. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart beat low and hard. Instinct had her raising her hands to force some distance between them, but logic had her drop them away again. Something very basic told her that to touch this man was a dangerous thing to do. And most annoying of all, she observed, was that Kane appeared completely oblivious to the intimate contact of their bodies. He seemed much more interested in the control panel over the elevator doors.
By the time the elevator finally reached the lobby, Allison wasn’t sure her legs were sturdy enough to carry her out. She was almost thankful when Kane turned to her and took her by the arm.
“I’ll need your keys.”
“My keys?”
“Keys,” he repeated, leading her across the lobby. “You know, what you use to open doors and start cars.”
Frowning, she dug through her purse and pulled them out. “What do you—”
“Thanks.” He took them from her as they walked outside. It had stopped raining and slivers of blue sky rimmed the once ominous clouds. When they reached her minivan, Kane opened the passenger door and held it for her. Fuming, she got into the car, noticing the almost imperceptible nod that Kane gave the two security men who were getting into a white sedan three parking spaces away.
“I am capable of driving my own car,” she stated when he slid into the seat beside her and started the engine.
“Under normal circumstances, I’m sure that’s true.” He checked the side and rearview mirrors, then eased the van into traffic. “But what would you do if someone pulled up beside you, pointed a gun at you and told you to pull over?”
The idea of anyone pointing a gun at her made her stomach tighten. “I—I don’t know. How can anyone know what they’d do in a crisis?”
“You damn well better know.” He made a sudden U-turn in the middle of the street and headed west toward her apartment. “Your life may depend on it.”
She was still gripping the armrests from his unexpected turn. “Okay.” She thought for a moment. “I’d step on the accelerator.”
“Wrong. You slam on the brakes.”
“What?”
“First lesson, Allison. Listen carefully.” His eyes narrowed with intensity as he glanced at her. “Be aggressive, hit fast, hit hard, then get the hell out.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re actually serious. For God sake’s, Kane, we’re not talking about a military operation here.”
“And we’re not talking about the fairy kingdom of never-never land either, princess.”
Gritting her teeth, she bit back the first response that came into her mind and went with the second. “Don’t call me ‘princess.”’
“Stop acting like one.” Kane checked his rearview mirror again, satisfied that the sedan was still behind him. “You need to understand a few things. I don’t own a pair of kid gloves and I’m not here to hold your hand.”
Hold her hand. Allison wound her fingers so tightly around the armrests that the fabric creaked. “I think you better understand a few things yourself, Mr. Kane. I don’t need or want you to hold my hand. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”
He slanted her a look and smiled. “Hold on to that thought. Lessons begin bright and early.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, nor did she care to ask. Kane pulled up in front of her apartment a few minutes later and after she packed a bag and watered her house plants, they were back on the road again, crossing the bridge over the sound, heading toward Fox Island. They’d be at her father’s house in about ten minutes and all she could think about was getting out of her heels, into a soft, comfortable pair of flats and her favorite sweatshirt.
To say that it had been a long day was putting it somewhat mildly.
“Oh, and one other thing,” Kane said suddenly, breaking the long silence. “I’ll need a list of men you’ve dated and/ or slept with.”
She hadn’t heard him right. She couldn’t have. He’d asked her for a list of lovers as casually as if he’d been asking her the time of day. She turned slowly in her seat and simply stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll need a list of men you’ve—”
“Don’t you dare say it again.” Her jaw was clenched so tight she could barely speak. “Don’t even think it. Whom I’ve dated, or as you so eloquently put it, ‘slept with,’ is nobody’s business but mine.”
She decided it was a good thing after all that Kane was driving. If she’d been behind the wheel right now she probably would have driven off the bridge.
“It’s not uncommon for the victim to have known their abductor beforehand,” Kane said. “Quite often, intimately.”
Allison settled back in her seat. “I guarantee that whoever this creep is, it’s no one I know or who knows me. Sorry, Kane, but I suggest you find a more willing subject if you’re looking for kicks, and while you’re at it, you could certainly use a more creative approach.”
He smiled then, a slow, confident smile that made Allison’s insides churn. “Princess, let me tell you something—When I ‘get my kicks’ as you say, I’m very creative, and the lady is always willing.”
She didn’t doubt for a second what he said was true. She’d already had a firsthand experience with the man’s appeal. Because she didn’t want him to see her cheeks turn red, she turned away and stared out the window. All she could manage to say was, “Don’t call me ‘princess.”’
This was not going to be easy.
Kane stood at the southwest edge of the cliffs behind the Westcott estate and scanned an experienced eye over the luxuriant grounds. Inside a five-foot brick wall surrounding the property, flowering trees and perfectly manicured shrubs nearly engulfed the two-story Spanish-style house. The greenery was aesthetically pleasing, but a virtual haven for uninvited guests, he thought with more than a twinge of annoyance.
And the house had more windows than Seattle had rain.
One specific window on the second story—the bedroom Allison slept in—drew his attention, and he mentally calculated his position. Based on the angle of the shot, Kane was sure this was the spot where their “shutterbug” had been standing when he’d taken his picture. The rocks here were big enough