"Feehan, Christine - Lover Beware 03 - Brand, Fiona - After Midnight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feehan Christine)
She paused before entering the kitchen to toe off her sneakers and ease out of the old bib overalls she was wearing over her tank top and cut-offs. Breathing a sigh of relief to be free of the heavy drill cotton, she bundled up the paint-stained garment and carried it through to the laundry, before pouring herself a glass of lemonade from the fridge.
As she slowly sipped the lemonade, enjoying the feel of the sweet, icy liquid sliding down her throat, her gaze was caught by the blinking light of her answering machine.
Her stomach contracted. Someone had left her a message.
In contrast to the wary apprehension she'd felt in the barn, this time her alarm was close to panic, which was crazy considering that half an hour ago she was coping with the fact that she could possibly have a killer stalking her. Setting the half-empty glass down on the bench, she approached the answering machine and pressed the playback on the single message that was recorded.
Abruptly, the room filled with low, dark, masculine tones.
"It's Michael. I know you're there, Jane. You've got my number. Call me."
The terse statement was laced with impatience that she hadn't bothered to return his previous calls, and followed by a pause, as if he was debating saying something more, then the faint hum of static terminated with a click.
Jane drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. She felt hot and cold, wary and electrified. For a pulse-pounding moment,
After Midnight 183
Rider's presence had been so palpable she'd had the unnerving sense that he was in the room with her. After weeks of numbness, the intensity of her reaction, simply to the sound of his voice, was as intrusive and unsettling as the man was himself lately, as hard as she'd tried, she couldn't stop thinking about him, couldn't stop prodding at the past.
She'd been running away like a frightened rabbit ever since she'd realized he was back. Too afraid to face him, too afraid to touch on what she felt, because her feelings for Michael Rider were, and had always been, raw and confused.
He turned her on-it was that plain, that simple. She didn't have a clue how it had happened, or why. She had been happy with Patrick-she should have been immune-but when they'd bought the farm and moved to Tayler's Creek shortly after Patrick was diagnosed, she'd looked into Rider's dark gaze for the first time and felt like the ground had been cut away from beneath her. The tension had been instant and acute, and they'd been warily circling each other ever since.
Michael's wife, Clare, had left him within months of that first meeting, and Jane had been sharply aware of Michael living alone in the house. She'd made a practice of never walking in the direction of his place, never bumping into him if she could avoid it. She was married, and her husband was dying, and she was appalled that she'd been weak enough to fall in instant lust with her neighbour.
What had happened was out of character, and way out of line. For Jane her wedding vows were sacrosanct. She had married for love, and she had married for life. All the statistics might be against lifelong marriages, but she had wanted that with Patrick, and she'd been careful to never allow him to suspect that she was even remotely affected by their neighbour.
Rider's dark face drifted into her mind again, and she stiffened. Ever since he'd come back, she'd been on edge, waiting to run into him, and dreading it. It was cowardly, but she'd spent more time away from the farm in the past three days than she had in the past three months.
When Patrick had been alive, the protection of her married state had been absolute and she hadn't had to address the problem of how she felt, but now the buffer of her marriage was gone. Like it or not, she was alone and single, and, her confused emotions aside, the stubborn fact remained that even
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with Patrick gone, Michael Rider still felt forbidden.
She pressed the rewind button on the answering machine, then on impulse let the message play again, steeling herself against the effect of that dark voice.
A shiver skimmed her spine at the low demand to call him. It was ridiculous to feel... hunted. The odds that Rider was still interested in her as a woman were so remote as to be practically nonexistent. Years had passed since the initial shock of attraction. In that time he had been away more than he'd been home, and he'd probably had a string of gorgeous girlfriends.
If she'd had any sense she should have replied to the first message instead of panicking. Rider had probably just wanted to give her his condolences and offer his help if she needed it. He'd helped Patrick out a number of times with the heavier jobs on the farm. Apart from one occasion when he'd caught Jane alone, he'd never betrayed by a word, or a look, that he felt anything beyond friendship and compassion.
She rewound the tape, and this time, erased it with a stab of her linger-consigning the message to the ether along with all the others. The finality of the action sent a pang of cold through her that felt suspiciously close to loss. Irritated that she should feel anything that profound, or that wimpy, in conjunction with Rider, she spun away from the machine, finished her drink, and headed for the shower.
She had to get a grip, get a life.
She had to go into town to get groceries, and she also intended to drive to Winslow and get a security alarm. When Patrick had been alive, she'd felt safe and secure in her home, which only went to prove how people could fool themselves, because, as ill as he was, for the last few years Patrick had been physically incapable of defending himself, let alone her.
Whether she wanted to believe it or not, Tayler's Creek was no longer a safe haven. Somebody had broken into the Dillons' home and committed both murder and rape. Her imagination may have got out of hand this morning, but imagination or not, those moments in the barn had convinced Jane that getting an alarm was more than a good idea, it was a necessity.
After Midnight 185
TUCKER PULLED A warrant from his shirt pocket and handed it to Michael. "We'll also be searching your house and property."
"On what grounds?"
"Your truck was parked on Linford Road just four doors down from the Dillons' place two nights ago. One of the neighbours took your license plate.
Michael briefly closed his eyes. Linford Road was long and windy, a country lane lined with the latest craze in subdividing-small "lifestyle retreats" ranging from five to ten acres for the well-heeled who wanted to live in a farmlike setting and commute to work in Winslow. A lot of city people from Winslow had bought into the deal. Initially, there had been a lot of excitement about the subdivision, because it brought an injection of funds into an area that wasn't so much depressed as slow and sleepy. But it looked like the Linford Road subdivision had attracted something else that wasn't so positive for the small town. "That would put me at least half a kilometre from the scene of the crime. I went to see Jake Robertson about doing some fencing for me."
"At eight o'clock at night?"
Michael's gaze was steady. "He's at work during the day."
Tucker flushed. "We're trying to get hold of Jake," he admitted. "He's working over toward Winslow at the moment."
"That's right. On a government block. His cell phone cuts out over there. Just out of interest, have you got any other suspects, or am I it?"
"I'm not at liberty to reveal-"
"I am all you've got." Michael eyed Tucker in disbelief. He could feel the fury building. It generally took a while to get him well and truly riled, but Tucker and the Keystone brigade were getting him there.
Parker approached with a set of cuffs.
Michael's expression grew colder. "You won't need those."
"Winslow Central advises differently."
"Because I'm SAS?" Michael swore beneath his breath and allowed himself to be cuffed. "Didn't anyone tell them we're supposed to be the good guys?"
Tucker retrieved his warrant and took a half step back, as if, even cuffed, he was afraid Michael might harm him. Mi-
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chael decided that was the first sensible thing Tucker had done in the last half hour.
"I know you're SAS, Rider. And I don't like this any more than you do, but there's a man dead, and a woman hurt in hospital. I have to play it as it comes."
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