Nora Roberts - The Stars Of Mithra

“What the hell for?”

“For…whatever.”

“Well, that sure covers it.”

“Just get out of my way. I’m going for a walk.”

“No,” he said precisely, “you’re not.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

He estimated he was close to twice her weight and had a good eight inches in height on her. His lips curved grimly. “Yes, I can. You’re hysterical.”

That snapped it. “I certainly am not hysterical. If I were hysterical, I’d scratch that nasty smile off your face, and poke those smug eyes out, and—”

To simplify matters, he simply picked her up and carried her inside. She wiggled, sputtered, kicked a little, but he managed to drop her into a kitchen chair. Putting his hands on her shoulders, his face close to hers, he gave one pithy order.

“Stay.”

If he didn’t have coffee, immediately, he was going to die. Or kill someone.

“You’re fired.”

“Fine, great, whoopee.” He let her fume while he poured coffee and downed it like water. “God, what a way to start the day.” He grabbed a bottle of aspirin, fought with the childproof cap while the headache that was brewing insidiously burst into full-blown misery.

“I’m not going to tolerate having a woman yell at me before my eyes are open. Whatever’s got you going, sweetheart, you just hold on to it until I—” He cursed again, slamming the stubborn cap on the edge of the counter, where it held firm.

His head was throbbing, his knee wept where it had hit the ground, and he could easily have chewed through the plastic to get to the aspirin.

Swearing ripely, he grabbed a butcher knife out of the wooden block on the counter and hacked at the bottle until he’d decapitated it. His face tight with fury, he turned with the bottle in one hand, the knife in the other. His teeth were clenched.

“Now you listen…” he began.

Bailey’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she slid from the chair onto the floor in a dead faint before he could move.

“Sweet God.” The knife clattered on the floor, and aspirin rolled everywhere as the mangled bottle hit the tiles. He gathered her up, and for lack of anything better, laid her on the kitchen table while he dampened a cloth. “Come on, Bailey, come around, sweetheart.”

He bathed her face, chafed her wrists and cursed himself. How could he have shouted at her that way, manhandled her like that, when she was so fragile? Maybe he’d go out and kick some puppies, stomp on some kittens, for his next act.

When she moaned and shifted, he pressed her limp hand to his lips. “That’s the way. All the way back.” Her eyes fluttered open while he stroked her hair. “It’s okay, Bailey. Take it easy.”

“He’s going to kill me.” Her eyes were open, but blind. She clutched at Cade’s shirt as terror strangled her breath. “He’s going to kill me.”

“No one’s going to hurt you. I’m right here.”

“He’s going to kill me. He’s got a knife. If he finds me, he’ll kill me.”

He wanted to gather her up, soothe it all away, but she’d trusted him to help. He kept his voice very calm, uncurled her fingers from his shirt and held them. “Who’s got the knife, Bailey? Who’s going to kill you?”

“He…he…” She could see it, almost see it, the hand hacking down, the knife flashing again and again. “There’s blood everywhere. Blood everywhere. I have to get away from the blood. The knife. The lightning. I have to run.”

He held her still, kept his voice calm. “Where are you? Tell me where you are.”

“In the dark. Lights are out. He’ll kill me. I have to run.”

“Run where?”

“Anywhere.” Her breath was coming so fast, the force of it scored her throat like nails. “Anywhere, away. Somewhere away. If he finds me—”

“He’s not going to find you. I won’t let him find you.” He cupped her face firmly in his hands so that her eyes met his. “Slow down now. Just slow down.” If she kept panting like that, she was going to hyperventilate and faint on him again. He didn’t think he could handle it. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me. Understand that?”

“Yes. Yes.” She closed her eyes, shuddered hard. “Yes. I need air. Please, I need some air.”

He picked her up again, carried her outside. He set her on the padded chaise on the patio, sat beside her. “Take it slow. Remember, you’re safe here. You’re safe.”

“Yes, all right.” With an effort, she evened out the air that seemed to want to clog and burst in her lungs. “I’m all right.”

Far from it, he thought. She was sheet white, clammy and shivering. But the memory was close, and he had to try to dislodge it. “No one’s going to hurt you. Nothing’s going to touch you here. You hang on to that and try to tell me everything you remember.”

“It comes in blips.” She struggled to breathe past the pressure in her chest. “When you had the knife…” Fear clawed through her again with razored talons.

“I scared you. I’m sorry.” He took her hands, held them. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes again, let the sun beat hot on the lids. “There was a knife. A long blade, curved. It’s beautiful. The bone handle is deeply carved. I’ve seen it—maybe I’ve used it.”

“Where did you see it?”

“I don’t know. There were voices, shouting. I can’t hear what they’re saying. It’s like the ocean, all sound, roaring, violent sound.” She pressed her hands to her ears, as if she could block it out. “Then there’s blood, everywhere there’s blood. All over the floor.”

“What kind of floor?”

“Carpet, gray carpet. The lightning keeps flashing, the knife keeps flashing.”

“Is there a window? Do you see lightning through the window?”

“Yes, I think…” She shivered again, and the scene fighting to form in her mind went blank. “It’s dark. Everything went dark, and I have to get away. I have to hide.”

“Where do you hide?”

“It’s a little place, hardly room, and if he sees, I’ll be trapped. He has the knife. I can see it, his hand on the hilt. It’s so close, if he turns—”

“Tell me about the hand,” Cade said, interrupting her gently. “What does the hand look like, Bailey?”

“It’s dark, very dark, but there’s a light bouncing around. It almost catches me. He’s holding the knife, and his knuckles are white. There’s blood on them. On his ring.”

“What kind of ring, Bailey?” His eyes stayed intent on her face, but his voice remained calm and easy. “What does the ring look like?”

“It’s heavy gold, thick band. Yellow gold. The center stone’s a ruby cabochon. On either side there are small diamonds, brilliant-cut. Initials. T and S in a stylized sweep. The diamonds are red with blood. He’s so close, so close, I can smell it. If he looks down. If he looks down and sees me. He’ll kill me, slice me to pieces, if he finds me.”

“He didn’t.” Unable to bear it any longer, Cade drew her up, held her. “You got away. How did you get away, Bailey?”

“I don’t know.” The relief was so huge— Cade’s arms around her, the sun warm at her back, his cheek pressed to her hair—she could have wept. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s all right. That’s enough.”

“Maybe I killed him.” She drew back, looked into Cade’s face. “Maybe I used the gun that was in the bag and shot him.”

“The gun was fully loaded, Bailey.”

“I could have replaced it.”

“Sweetheart, in my professional opinion, you wouldn’t know how.”

“But if I—”

“And if you did—” he took her shoulders now, gave her a quick shake “—it was to protect yourself. He was armed, you were terrified, and it sounds as if he’d already killed someone. Whatever you did to survive was right.”