Promise Not To Tell(21)

“I don’t understand. You were in a fire?”

“Never mind. All you need to know is that a lot of money went missing around the time of that fire. I’m trying to find it. Like I said, I could use your help and I’m willing to cut you in for twenty-five percent.”

“Forget it. Fifty-fifty or nothing.”

“All right, fifty-fifty. Now let’s get out of here.”

“I want fifty percent of your Night Watch project as well, or I’ll make sure Josh Preston finds out exactly why he’s losing money.”

Tucker grunted. “You’ve got me over a barrel. I’m in no position to bargain.”

She gave him another icy smile. “No, you’re not. You see? You really do need me, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I need you.”

“We’re going to make a great team.”

He smiled. “Yes, we are.”

She dropped the pistol rather carelessly into the pocket of her coat. “You’re right about one thing. We should get out of here.”

So fucking predictable, he thought. Except for the part where she showed up with a gun tonight. He had to admit he hadn’t seen that coming.

Crazy bitch.

CHAPTER 12

Virginia snapped awake from the all-too-familiar nightmare. She sat up abruptly, trying to orient her skittering senses. It took a few seconds to remember that she was in a guest room at the Lost Island B and B.

You’re safe. There’s no fire. And even if there were a fire, you’ve got two exits marked – the door and the window. You’re on the second floor. You can use a sheet to get down. The worst that can happen is you’ll break an ankle. You’ll survive a broken ankle.

It was the mantra that she had established back in her teens. Before going to sleep in an unfamiliar environment, she always made certain to locate at least two exits in case of fire.

She had a third option tonight, she reminded herself – the connecting door between her room and Cabot’s. Earlier he had made a point of unlocking it on his side. He hadn’t asked her if she would feel safer that way, he had simply told her that the door was unlocked. She had very quietly unlocked it from her side as well. She knew that neither of them expected to be overcome with uncontrollable lust. There had been no need to discuss the real reason the door was unlocked. It was all about creating a third escape route in case of fire.

So, three exits. It was okay.

Aware that she wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep for a while, she pushed the covers aside and pulled on her robe. Guided by the dim glow of the little night-light that she always brought with her when she traveled, she made her way across the room and pushed the small table out of the way. She needed space for the nightly routine.

It was time to run through the exercise ritual. The alternative was using the meds. She resorted to them when the anxiety overwhelmed her, but usually the exercise worked.

She summoned a vision of a figure dressed in black and reached for the nearest object, an empty flower vase. One by one she went through the series of short, slashing blows designed to smash the vase against the imaginary attacker’s face. She went for the eyes and then the throat.

The old rage welled up within her, washing away the anxiety in a white-hot blaze of energy.

When she was finished with the first series of exercises, she set the vase back down on the table and grabbed the next-nearest weapon, an old-fashioned candlestick holder. Once again, she went through the moves, chopping, slashing, stabbing – letting the fury cleanse her of the panicky sensations brought on by the old dream.

Twelve minutes later she sank down on the end of the bed. The anxiety attack had been quelled, but now, of course, she was too wired to sleep. If she were at home, she would have wandered down the hall to the kitchen and made herself a cup of herbal tea. But she was stuck in a room at the B and B, and she was pretty sure that Rose Gilbert would be unnerved if one of her guests started prowling the halls.

When her pulse settled back to a normal pace, she got up, went to the window and looked out. She always slept with the curtains open. On the bad nights she found it reassuring to be able to look out and see lots of city lights. But on the island there was only the light of the moon, and tonight it was only half-full. The woods that bordered the clearing around the B and B were so dark and thick they might as well have been a jungle.

The soft rap on the connecting door startled her so badly she jumped and uttered a half-strangled yelp.

When she had herself under control, she crossed the room, opened the door a couple of inches and saw Cabot. In the pale glow of the night-light, she could see that he was dressed in trousers and a dark crew-neck T-shirt. His feet were bare.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you,” he said. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, fine. I got up to get a glass of water.”

Okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. She had a right to her privacy.

“Heard you moving around,” Cabot said. “Figured maybe you couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m a crappy sleeper,” she admitted.

“You’re not the only one. I can usually get to sleep for a few hours but I often wake up about now. Takes a while to get back to sleep.”

“It’s one thirty in the morning.” She glanced at the clock. “Make that one forty-five.”