Dance with the Devil Page 4

  Emma's hand was smooth against the stubble on his cheek, drawing him back to the present. Her eyes were soft with compassion - and something else. Warmth flooded the ice in his belly as he realised what it was. She was afraid for him, the worry shadowing her eyes, tightening her brows.

  'You're safe for now. But who stopped him? Who took the nails out? How did you get here?'

  'When he was whipping me, I heard someone crying.' Drew laughed, a harsh sound in the small room. 'I wondered at first if it was me. Then I realised it was a woman. She was telling the devil to stop, that it wasn't what God wanted. But he just said that the sign had come - something about purple lightning - and then he chained me down and started hammering in the nails.'

  He drew in a deep breath. It hadn't been the fear of death that had eaten into him then, but the horrible realisation that it could take days to actually die. The memory clenched fear in his belly again and he almost didn't register Emma's words.

  'We had purple lightning here too. There was a storm before the cyclone started. Weirdest thing I've ever seen. The air was alive with electricity - it drove the horses and the dogs wild. So did the woman set you free?'

  'I think so. I must have passed out - I was still pretty drugged - because the next thing I remember someone, I think it was the woman, was slapping my face and crying, and pleading with me to get up. She helped me into a van. Then I passed out again. I woke up as I was pushed from the van down an embankment. By the time I got the hood off my face, all I could see was a white van, with what looked like a blue stripe on the side, driving away. It wasn't close enough for me to get the licence plate number. The cyclone had started so I found some shelter in a rocky outcrop and waited until the lull. Then I started walking here.'

  'How did you know where to come?'

  'I could see the buildings from where I sheltered.'

  'You must have been dropped close to our property gates.' Excitement shone in her eyes, making them sparkle, and Drew fought the urge to hold her once again to his chest, feel her softness melt into him.

  'Which could mean that whoever dumped me knew you were a doctor - and that means they could be someone local. Do you know everyone in the valley, Emma?'

  It was a relief to start functioning again, to feel his brain click into gear. The drugs were finally leaving his system, allowing his mind to focus. But he couldn't prevent the way his body refused to change focus. Every nerve ending was tuned to Emma's slightest movement, and when she shrugged her shoulders and her shirt pulled against her firm breasts, the resultant flare of heat in his groin had him silently cursing his too-tight shorts.

  'I'm afraid not. I've only been back here a year. Not everyone comes to my surgery. But those that do, I'd swear had nothing to do with hurting you.'

  She raised her hand as though to touch his chest, then stopped. A fleeting tremor rippled through her body, so swift he almost thought he'd imagined it, but when she spoke again her voice was husky.

  'Please lie down on your stomach. I want to check your back. All that digging wouldn't have helped those cuts.'

  Drew resisted the urge to capture her between his thighs and kiss her. It was what his body was screaming for him to do, but now wasn't the time, with someone out there, probably not too far away, who wanted him dead. Someone who might think Emma was expendable if she got in the way. So he turned and lay on his stomach and felt her gentle touch as she removed the dressings. Soon she was smoothing new ones in place.

  'You'll probably have scars. They'll fade in time, but I'm afraid they'll always be noticeable.'

  'Better a scarred back,' he said philosophically, 'than not be alive to work out who caused it.'

  At the little choking sound she made, he realised how insensitive he must have sounded with her father buried only a few minutes ago. He pushed himself into a sitting position.

  Tears glistened in Emma's eyes and Drew cursed his lack of tact. Hell, he might be wounded physically, but she'd been wounded emotionally. She'd looked after him, cared for him, while her father lay in the stables with only the dogs to stand guard over his body.

  Drew felt something tight in his chest slowly dissolve. He reached out and drew her into his embrace, holding her body against his, pressing her cheek against the hard muscles of his shoulder. He muttered soothing, gentle words dragged from childhood memories, brushed silken strands of hair back from her face. Her body shook with sobs, made all the more heart-wrenching because no sound escaped her lips. It was as though she had long ago learned to cry so no-one could hear her.

  Gradually her body stilled, but Drew continued to hold her, to whisper softly into her hair, to gently stroke her back, and breathe in the salt of tears and the woman scent that was uniquely Emma.

  It was subtle at first, the change in the feel of their bodies, like the first warm days after a cold winter. Then it began to blaze as Drew became aware that Emma could feel the demanding bulk of his erection pressed against her jeans-clad stomach.

  He eased her away a fraction, tilting her head so he could look at her face. Suddenly it didn't matter that someone could be lurking in the rain with intentions of killing him. Only this woman, with her beautiful eyes wide in her pale face, and her hands trembling as they pressed against his chest, mattered in any way.

  He intended his kiss to be gentle, undemanding, but the moment his lips touched hers and he tasted the intoxicating flavour of her, he lost all restraint. He plundered her mouth, his tongue demanding entry, tasting sweetness. Tasting Emma.

  It was like nothing he'd ever experienced. It flooded through him, wild and hot and strong yet incredibly sweet. Emma was a living flame in his arms, her tongue answering his thrusts, her hands roaming the wide planes of his chest.

  He wanted to take her, there in the surgery, plunge into her, and feel her heat and moisture pull him in until he lost himself inside her. He needed to watch her cry in ecstasy as he took her to the height of pleasure.

  There was a terrible sense of urgency in his need as though his body demanded to stamp its claim on this woman, to possess her in all ways, for all time.

  And it was that very sense of urgency that had him draw his head back from hers. How could he lose control like this? He'd never been one to deny his normal male feelings of desire, but he'd always been able to stay in complete control before. But this…almost primeval…need was a shock. It was an urge to conquer, to possess, to brand Emma as his. But underlying the urgency was the astounding realisation that she would only need to express the slightest hesitation and he would die rather than force himself on her.

  It was this depth of caring that shook him the most. For the first time in his life, Drew Jarrett, a man who lived by his wits and his words, was rendered speechless.

  Emma felt as though her world had splintered. Her body trembled with passion. Her hands, where she touched Drew, burned with the need to touch more than just the smooth skin and dark curls covering the hard muscles of his chest. She ran her tongue over her lips, tasted the heat and the flavour of Drew, the graze from his stubbled whiskers.

  She saw the blazing desire in his eyes and felt the constrained passion in the hands that held her.

  'I barely know you…' The words in her mind flew from her mouth. She bit off the rest of the thought…but I want you more than any man I've ever known.

  'I could say I'm sorry,' Drew's look denied the words, 'but I'd be lying. I don't know what it is between us, Emma, but I want you more than I've ever wanted another woman.'

  Emma jerked back as he echoed her thoughts. She knew her eyes widened as his deep, resonant voice continued. 'You might not want to hear that, but you can't deny the chemistry between us.'

  'I'm not some coy teenager, Drew,' she retaliated, stepping away from him. 'I won't deny I'm attracted to you. But I'm not looking for a relationship. I'll be going back to my work as soon as it's possible. Besides, I know nothing about you. For all I know, you could be as demented as whoever tried to kill you.'

  To
her surprise, he smiled. 'I've been called a lot of things, Emma, but "demented" is a new one.'

  'Then why would someone do this to you? What sort of people do you mix with? Why would anyone want to kill you?'

  She watched a frown chase the smile from his face. He opened his mouth to answer when the front door shook under a pounding fist. He grabbed her arms, and she was startled by the blaze of anger in his eyes as he growled, 'Do you have a gun?'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'Answer me, Emma! If it's your demented killer out there we're both in trouble!'

  Emma realised Drew was right. She'd thought he was safe here with her, cocooned by the torrential rain, but perhaps the killer had found out where Drew had been dumped and was now bent on finishing what he'd started.

  'There's a rifle - but I took the bolt out. I couldn't trust Dad with it, he - '

  'Emma! Karl! Are you in there?' A deep male voice sounded from the front veranda.

  Emma sighed with relief. 'It's okay,' she reassured Drew, 'it's J.D. He owns the adjoining property.'

  'Can you trust him?'

  'With my life.' Emma watched Drew's frown deepen and wondered at the cause, then walked to the front door. She felt a rush of affection for the big man standing on the veranda, shaking rainwater from his coat and hanging it beside hers. Without his help this past year she wouldn't have been able to keep the property from deteriorating even further than it had.

  'I found your horses on my land, Emma, so I brought them back. I put them in the stables.' There was no smile on his face. The brooding question in his eyes made Emma realise he must have seen the grave.

  'You'd better come in, J.D. There's someone I think you should - ' she broke off as his gaze swung up behind her and she saw the tensing of his shoulders under the denim work shirt, the tightening of his jaw. She knew she would see Drew behind her if she turned around. She gestured over her shoulder.

  'Drew Jarrett - meet John Devlin O'Connor.'

  Ten minutes later they were seated in the kitchen with Emma making coffee and toast as she filled J.D. in on her father's death and Drew's arrival.

  J.D. ran a hand through his thick brown hair. 'I'm sorry about your father, Em, but maybe it was better for it to happen this way.'

  Emma caught Drew's puzzled look. 'My father had Alzheimer's,' she explained. 'It was getting very hard to look after him - he had few lucid moments.'

  'And the rest of the time he was an abusive bastard,' J.D. broke in. He held up a placating hand at Emma's protest. 'I know you loved him, and he was a good man before, even if he was too hard on you and your mother, but he made your life hell this past year, Emma.'

  He switched his attention to Drew. 'You look familiar, Drew. What do you do for a living?'

  'I'm a lawyer.'

  J.D. raised an eyebrow. 'That might make you a more likely candidate for crucifixion, but that's not where I've seen you before.' Suddenly he smiled, strong white teeth brilliant against the weather-tanned skin of his face. 'State triathlon titles last month. You came third. It took a lot of guts to keep going after that spill you took in the bike leg.'

  'Triathlon?' Emma echoed.

  'You know, Em - twenty-kilometre runs, two-kilometre swims and thirty-kilometre bike rides to see who's the fittest of the fit.'

  'I know, J.D., I just didn't think…'

  'Would you mind if we concentrated on working out who in this valley might want me dead?'

  Emma saw the embarrassment on Drew's face. 'The man who came fourth?' she joked, and tried to stop her smile at the look he flashed her.

  She was grateful J.D. had come. Grateful not to be alone with Drew after that devastating kiss. It had shaken her - right to her toes. But it was Drew's caring, his tenderness, that made her feel vulnerable. And vulnerable wasn't a feeling she was comfortable with.

  'Have you any idea what this man - you said you thought of him as the devil - looks like, Drew?'

  Drew described his unsuccessful attempt to escape. The impression he had from the brief feel of the man as he'd grabbed him, was of an extremely tall man, heavily muscled, with longish hair.

  'There was something about his skin texture…' Drew closed his eyes, let his mind, his body, remember.

  'His neck…the skin was loose, not firm like a young man's. He could be in his late forties - perhaps older.'

  'Well, I know everyone in this valley, Drew,' J.D. spoke with conviction, 'and no-one fits that description.'

  'He couldn't live too far away, J.D.,' Emma broke in. 'Drew was still chained up when the storm with the purple lightning started. So if you take out fifteen minutes by the time this man whipped and nailed Drew - ' she stopped, the empathy which made her such a good doctor seeming to work overtime where Drew was concerned. Her flesh cringed with the pain he must have endured.

  'The storm lasted about twenty minutes here. It had moved in slowly from the north-east. Then it was about two hours before the winds reached cyclonic force.' J.D. rubbed his jaw. 'It could mean they live in the valley north of this one, or further to the east. But if that storm was widespread, it would be possible you were brought here from the south-east.'

  'And we're only assuming the woman who saved me knew Emma was a doctor. It could have been pure coincidence I was dumped here. And maybe…maybe he didn't want to kill me. Just inflicting psychological and physical pain might have been his idea of revenge.' Frustration gnawed at Drew. There had to be some way of working out where he'd been held prisoner. If only he hadn't lost consciousness in the van. Ten minutes or two hours - he didn't have a clue.

  'What I can do is radio the police in Cairns and let them know.' J.D. said. 'The only road out of here is cut by the floodwaters from the river so you won't be able to get back for a few days at least. And the rescue helicopters will be too busy with the victims of the cyclone to have time to take you out.'

  He stood up. 'Em, I'll get the police to tell your mother about your father's death and let her know you're all right. And I'd be happier if you both came and stayed with me.' J.D. sighed his frustration as Emma began to protest, then continued, 'Do you want me to let anyone know you're safe, Drew?'

  'Just ask them to contact my office and tell my colleagues what's happened. Ask if they could arrange for someone to pick up my vehicle from the fishing shack.'

  J.D. nodded and said to Emma, 'Get your dad's rifle, Em. You'd better get it working just in case.'

  As Emma walked from the room, J.D. turned to where Drew sat at the table. 'I wish Emma wasn't so stubborn about staying here. I don't like the idea of some lunatic looking for you, and Emma getting in the way and being hurt.' His expression darkened. 'And I don't want Emma hurt by you, either. Understand?'

  'No-one will hurt Emma while I'm alive.' Drew spread his bandaged hands on the table. 'And I'd nail myself to this table before I'd deliberately hurt her.'

  J.D. nodded, apparently satisfied. Then his right eye closed in a slow wink. 'I'll come back with some clothing for you. Seems to me Karl's shorts aren't doing a good enough job.'

  Emma slipped the safety catch on the rifle. Her fingers caressed the worn timber butt. It felt like a lifetime ago she'd fired at a cardboard target on a tree, her father's rough voice both encouraging and criticising her.

  She'd never been good enough, no matter how hard she'd tried, never been the son he'd always wanted. Even when, after months of practice, she could hit the bullseye nine out of ten shots. She wondered bitterly if ten out of ten would have been good enough.

  'Did you come home to look after your father? You said you'd only been back here a year.' Drew's voice brought her back to the present.

  She nodded. A year. The longest year of her life. The constant strain of looking after an adult who behaved like a petulant child one minute and a tyrant the next, had been exhausting.

  'Where were you before?'

  'Africa. Europe before that. I work for Médecins sans Frontières - Doctors without Borders - or I did until I found out how quickly Dad had deterio
rated.'

  'Did you resent having to give up work to look after him?'

  'Resent?' She considered the word. 'Not really. In a way I was pleased to come home. I thought for once Dad might need me.' She laughed bitterly. 'I thought he might even be grateful. For once, just once, he might even tell me he loved me, might even say he was proud of me, that I'd done something…'

  She broke off, embarrassed. Her father's lack of ability to display his love had hurt her deeply, a hurt she had never confided to anyone but her mother.

  'Fathers aren't very good at that sort of thing, are they. My father wouldn't give one word of praise, let alone say he loved me. My mother used to say I had to accept him for what he was because he didn't know any different, but I figured he was just too stubborn to change.'

  Emma nodded her agreement. Then she blinked in surprise at Drew's next words. 'After my mother died, my father changed. It was almost as though he no longer had a reason for being so tough, so macho. It was only years later he told me that Mum had made him promise to change, to break the pattern he'd learned from his father.'

  'Do you have a good relationship with him now?'

  'He was killed in a work accident a few years ago.' There was a world of sadness in Drew's eyes. 'I would have liked to have told him how much it meant to me to know he loved me, but I always thought there'd be time. There never is, is there.'

  Emma bit back a reply. There was a terrible anger burning inside her. A deep, festering anger and resentment she thought she'd buried long ago. Perhaps it was her grief, perhaps the overwhelming futility of wishing and hoping for something that could now never be possible, but suddenly it burst out. She jumped to her feet.

  Her anger was a wild beast inside her. A beast that demanded release. She picked up a plate from the sink and flung it across the room. It shattered with a crash that helped to abate the storm within her.

  'I had a brother…' Hell, why tell Drew her problems? He had enough of his own, didn't he? But the blue eyes that focused on her gave Emma the distinct feeling that explaining her feelings was exactly what Drew wanted her to do. She sighed. 'An older brother. When I was six years old, we both came down with viral meningitis. Matthew developed complications. He died. I don't think Dad ever forgave me for being the one who lived.'