When Twilight Comes Read online

  She swung around, knowing even as she did that no one would be there. Then she glared down at Fred, who had stopped hissing, but seemed to be watching the doorway, as if whoever had been there had left.

  “Honestly, Fred, you’re really starting to annoy me,” she whispered, scratching his ears. He began to purr, pushing against her fingers, golden eyes closed in contentment. “Oh, how quickly you change your tune, you old faker.”

  She moved to the bed to reassure herself that Lexi was sleeping soundly. The child’s face was angelic in sleep. She had Clarice tucked in the crook of her arm. Jenna leaned down, needing to touch her daughter, to assure herself that she was real, that she was here, that she was safe.

  Jenna pressed a soft kiss on her baby girl’s cheek, then remembered the water running in the tub in her bathroom. Closing the bedroom door, she rushed back and hurriedly turned off the faucet before the tub overflowed. Then, unable not to, she looked at the spot Fred had freaked over. Nothing but an empty, sparkling tile bench.

  That’s what she hated about cats. They jumped at nothing and generally spooked her. Darn that cat. She couldn’t help herself, but now she was scared again. She rubbed the back of her neck, unable to throw off the memory of that cold draft, and Fred’s odd behavior.

  But it wasn’t just the cold. Or the cat. It was the feeling of being watched.

  She stared down at the tubful of steamy water and glistening bubbles, smelled the almond-scented bubble bath and yearned to sink into it.

  “You aren’t going to keep me from this bath,” she said to the empty room, then directed a challenging glare at the tile bench.

  Still, she disrobed hurriedly, stepping in and sliding down into the hot water until all but her head was under the bubbles. Her gaze went to the corner of the window seat again as she tried to assure herself that she was alone in the bathroom, that no one was sitting in the corner, watching her.

  HARRY BALLANTINE SAT ON the tile bench, idly watching the woman through the steam.

  The cat had sensed him. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, any more than he was sure why he was here, in this room, with this woman.

  The cat had spooked her. But she was no more aware of him than before, he thought with a disappointment he should have gotten over years ago.

  She didn’t know he was here. No one did.

  Except maybe the cat. But who could tell with cats? They reacted to all kinds of things that weren’t there.

  Harry studied the woman.

  He’d always been good at sizing up people. Had to be in his former line of work. He had been able to tell a lot by the way they dressed, their body language, their actions, the way they talked.

  But his skills were rusty from lack of use.

  She glanced toward him again, her big brown eyes dark and a little afraid.

  What is your story?

  Earlier, he’d watched her search the suite three times. Who did she think she was going to find here? Harry couldn’t help but wonder what monsters she feared were hiding in the closet, waiting for her to turn out the light.

  She was running from something. Someone. He’d bet everything he had on that. If he had anything to bet.

  She was humming softly to herself now. Probably her version of whistling in the dark, since it was a child’s song she was humming.

  He’d seen the way she was with her daughter, love shining in her eyes whenever she looked at the child. He’d felt something like loss as he’d watched her. He couldn’t remember his mother ever looking at him like that.

  Not that she’d been mean to him. She hadn’t. She’d just been too busy cooking, cleaning and taking care of nine kids, along with working in the fields with his father.

  Jenna moved on to Broadway show tunes. He smiled, watching her hum away, her breath making the soap bubbles glide across the water’s surface like tiny white sailboats.

  He could see she was beginning to relax. Steam rose off the water, making her dark hair curl around her face. She brushed it back from her cheek.

  She was pretty with her hair wet, her face bathed in steam. Her eyes were a different brown. He tried to think of the color as she blew out a breath and sent more bubbles scooting across the water.

  He wondered what kind of trouble she’d gotten herself into. And why he felt so strongly drawn to her.

  Harry slid off the seat and moved to the side of the tub. Steam rose from the hot water. She looked soft and lush in all that warmth, her head tilted back against the white porcelain, eyes closed, her dark hair wet and slick, falling like a waterfall down the side of the tub.

  He couldn’t help himself. She looked so young, so appealing, so vulnerable. Her skin was fair, dotted with a faint sprinkling of golden freckles across her cheekbones. He brushed his fingers over her warm, wet cheek, trailing them like falling stars. He’d forgotten what warm skin felt like.

  Her whole body went rigid, her brown eyes widening.

  He touched a finger to her full lips to see if they were as soft as they looked.

  She jerked up into a sitting position, her breasts bobbing above the bubbles, full and round, the peaks dark and dripping wet.

  She had felt his touch!

  He quickly stepped back as she looked in his direction, even though he knew she couldn’t see him.

  Her pulse throbbed in her slim throat. Her eyes were wide and dark, reminding him of a thunderstorm. She pressed a hand to her collarbone. He could see her listening like an animal, alert, prepared to fight. Or run.

  She bit down on her lower lip. Her eyes filled with tears, and after a moment, her fingers came out of the bubbles to cover the spot where he had touched her lips. Tears threatened to spill over just before she ducked under the water and bubbles.

  She had felt him! How was that possible?

  He watched her dark hair float on the surface as he waited for her to come up for air.

  Her head burst up out of the water and she gasped for breath, flipping her mane of wet hair back in a wave of warm scented water that splashed onto the floor.

  Her eyes were closed, the lashes dark on her pale skin, as she wiped soap bubbles from her face.

  In all these years, he’d never wanted to have substance and warmth—all the things that had once made him human—more than he did at that moment.

  He stepped back, surprised not only by the strength of that long-suppressed emotion, but by something else that had been foreign in him: desire.

  He watched her grope for the towel hanging on the rod within inches of her fingers. Without thinking, he pulled it down so it fell into her hands.

  Her whole body went rigid again. Holding the towel out of the water, she sat up, wiped the soap from her face and opened her eyes to look anxiously around the room once more.

  Keeping the towel in front of her, she stood up in the tub. He backed out of the room. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the feel of a woman’s skin. Jenna Dante’s cheek had been soft and warm, just like her lips. God, how he’d missed warmth.

  In her bedroom, the covers were turned down. A long black nightgown lay across the pillow. Silk. He heard her pull the plug in the tub. The water began to drain noisily. Even the bedroom smelled of almond from her bath. He inhaled the last of the scent as if it was water and he was a man dying of thirst.

  He felt a strange intimacy with this woman. Why, after seventy years of a kind of hell?

  Her purse was on the nightstand. He could hear her in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. He knew without looking that she had dried her body quickly and wrapped herself again in the guest robe.

  In her purse he found the usual female stuff, along with two grand in traveler’s checks. Her driver’s license said her name was Jenna McDonald. Not Johnson, the name she’d registered under.

  In a manila envelope in her purse he found copies of vaccinations and medical histories for herself and her daughter. Also in the purse were her birth certificate and one for her daughter, Alexandria, two plane tickets in the nam
es Nancy and Alicia Clark, and two passports with the kid’s and her photographs, in the new names. The woman had to have a connection to get these—a criminal element.

  He glanced toward the bathroom as she finished brushing her teeth and shut off the water. She was running away all right. Far away, from the looks of it, and not planning to come back. From the husband?

  A quick search of her suitcase turned up nothing of interest. He glanced in the closet and spotted a large, heavy-looking, navy blue duffel bag on the floor. Interest piqued, he took a look.

  The duffel was filled with hundred dollar bills, used ones, banded together in what he would guess were ten or twenty thousand dollar stacks.

  He’d never seen that much money in one bag before, but he’d always wanted to. He felt that old pull like a bad ache. Once a thief, always a thief.

  Her black clothing had been thrown over the chair near the bed. He picked up the jacket, wondering what was so heavy that it pulled down one pocketed corner.

  A gun. The woman had a gun! He didn’t need to pick it up to see that it was fully loaded.

  For all he knew she was running from the cops. Or even the feds, given that wad of money in the closet.

  What kind of trouble was this woman in?

  She came out of the bathroom wrapped up tight in the bathrobe, just as he’d known she would be. Nor was he surprised when she checked the suite again. He watched her open her daughter’s bedroom door.

  He could see the relief in Jenna’s body as she knelt over her child, tucking the little girl in with a tenderness that touched him.

  All these years he had felt nothing. Why now? And for a woman who was in more trouble than Harry wanted to know about?

  He hovered beside her bed, watching her fall asleep. Watching the rise and fall of her chest, the slight flutter of her eyelashes on her pale skin.

  Her cheeks were still flushed from her bath. She smelled heavenly. At least what he thought heavenly would smell like.

  He’d never really noticed her mouth before. It was bow-shaped. There was a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose and a tiny brown spot, like a fleck of chocolate, just below her left ear.

  He wanted to touch her. He felt drawn to her in ways he didn’t understand. But something told him he’d been waiting a lifetime for her.

  He joined her on the bed, lying next to her, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, content for the first time in seventy years.

  Chapter Five

  Lorenzo was disappointed when he woke to realize that Jenna was still alive, still had his daughter and his money. Killing her had only been a dream.

  Unfortunately, his current situation wasn’t a dream, but a nightmare. Franco was dead. Valencia’s money was gone. And the clock was ticking. Lorenzo needed that money found one way or another. And soon.

  He also needed to make sure that if Franco really did have a girlfriend she wouldn’t be talking to Valencia.

  Getting up, he pulled a red silk robe over his naked body and went to the top of the stairs, stopping to survey the living room. He’d cleaned up last night. There was no sign of anything out of place—just the way Lorenzo liked it. He couldn’t have gone to bed without sweeping up the glass and scrubbing the blood off the tile.

  While he’d taught Jenna to keep his house immaculate, the way he insisted, Alexandria had driven him crazy with her toys and dropping food on the floor at the table. He’d blamed Jenna for not making their daughter behave better.

  He had to admit his life was easier without Jenna and Alexandria. But once he had his daughter to himself he would teach her not to make messes. Jenna had always been too easy on the child. Lorenzo saw now that he should have been stricter with both of them.

  He went to the drawer where he’d put Franco’s wallet and cell phone—and the plastic gloves he’d worn to remove them from Franco’s body.

  Donning the gloves again, he went through the wallet, finding only cash and one gas credit card, in Valencia’s name. No photographs. Nothing personal.

  Lorenzo pocketed the seventy-five dollars in cash, thinking what a two-bit thug Franco had been. Didn’t even carry enough cash to buy a decent meal.

  Booting up the cell phone, he checked Franco’s phone directory. Only one number in it. Not surprisingly, it was Valencia’s. He checked the list of calls Franco had received. All from Valencia. Sheesh, Franco had no life.

  Or at least no life he wanted anyone to know about.

  Lorenzo then checked numbers dialed. For a moment it looked as if all of those would be to Valencia, as well. All except one.

  He dialed the number, not holding out much hope. A woman answered and tore right in. “Franco. I was worried about you. I waited up half the night for your call.” She stopped. “Franco?”

  Lorenzo hit End and put the wallet and cell phone into a plastic grocery bag. He pulled off the gloves and disposed of them in his garbage.

  Getting the woman’s address proved easy. The number Franco had called was to a land line. He found her through his computer’s cross directory. Her name was Rose Garcia. She lived on Beacon Hill. While still on the Internet, he called up a map directory and printed out a route to the woman’s house—and ordered a rental car.

  Jenna had taken his only form of transportation. The memory did little to improve his mood. Worse, she’d left her car behind—but he no longer had a key for it.

  The rental agency promised to bring him a car at once, something big and black.

  He then called a towing service. The sooner he got rid of Jenna’s car the better.

  Under normal circumstances, he would have had a leisurely breakfast and taken a soak in his whirlpool bath before going out. But thanks to Jenna, nothing was as it should be. Since he couldn’t put off getting to Rose Garcia before Valencia did, he’d be lucky to get something to eat before noon.

  Jenna, now that she had the duffel bag of money, was probably eating a nice big room service breakfast in some fancy hotel.

  The thought ruined his day.

  JENNA WOKE TO RAIN. It plinked against the window, driven by a harsh wind.

  She rose at once and went to check on Lexi. Her daughter was sleeping like an angel, and Jenna felt such relief it brought tears to her eyes.

  She climbed into bed next to her and snuggled close, breathing in the sweet scent.

  Lexi stirred, rolling over, her big brown eyes widening in surprise to find her mother in her bed.

  “What are you doing here?” the little girl asked, smiling.

  “I got cold and got in bed with you,” Jenna said. It was one of the excuses that Lexi used when she didn’t want to sleep alone.

  Lexi smiled, recognizing it, and gave her an I-know-better look. “I had a dream about the ocean,” she said, and proceeded to tell about swimming in the salty surf. “I had a big dog that ran in the water and splashed me. The dog was black and white and had floppy ears and a big tongue.” Lexi giggled at the memory.

  Jenna smiled at her daughter, thankful that the dream had been a pleasant one. Her own dreams had been disturbing. “That sounds like a wonderful dog. But what did Fred think about that?”

  As if on cue, Fred crawled over them to let out a loud meow, making it clear he wanted his breakfast.

  Jenna hated that they had to get up and get going. She would have loved to stay in the bed, talking and giggling with Lexi.

  Or go back to sleep. Back to the dream. It felt unfinished. She flushed with heat at the memory of the man in it. The dream had left her frustrated and aching for fulfillment. For release. Worse, she’d dreamed about the man from the old photograph.

  How odd was that? But she knew she’d probably conjured him up because he was safe. The photo had been taken seventy years ago. The man had been about her age then. He was long dead, long forgotten. Safe.

  Jenna swung her legs over the side of the bed and stretched. Her body felt too alive, her skin tingling as the dream refused to fade.

  “I put some clothes out fo
r you to wear,” she said over her shoulder to her daughter as she headed for her own bathroom. “And no bouncing on the bed!”

  The bedsprings instantly quieted, making her smile.

  As she walked through the living area, she noticed that the hotel suite seemed less ominous in daylight.

  She went to the window and looked out at the rain-drenched mountainside. The courtyard itself was still shrouded in fog. She dreaded just the thought of driving off this mountain in such poor visibility. Or was it leaving the dream that she dreaded?

  She called for a rental car—and wrecker—and was told both would be sent as soon as possible.

  “I don’t want to leave,” Lexi moaned from the bed. “Clarice and Fred don’t, either.”

  Jenna looked back at Lexi’s pouty face.

  It was so cute, she had to smile. “We’ll play a game on the way into town. We can have breakfast at the first café we see.” She thought of Lexi’s dream of running on the beach with a dog. She didn’t see why they couldn’t have a dog someday. Or why they couldn’t live on the beach. “How would you like to go to the ocean?”

  Lexi’s eyes lit up as she scrambled to her feet and began to bounce on the bed again. Fred dug his claws in to hang on, making them both laugh as Lexi bounded off the bed, then jumped back on to retrieve her doll.

  “We’re going to the ocean,” Lexi told Clarice. “That’s where we’re going to live. We’ll have a new daddy, a nice daddy, and a dog.” She turned to Jenna. “What is the name of our dog?”

  Jenna could only shake her head, her heart breaking all over again at Lexi’s wish for a new daddy. “You’ll have to pick a name for your dog. Now hurry and dress so we can get going.”

  Lexi did so, mumbling under her breath to her doll things Jenna was sure she didn’t want to hear.

  As she padded to her bedroom, the dream hung around her like a cocoon, images flitting in and out, vague and muddled. But that desperate feeling of wanting, of needing, made Jenna ache.

  The harder she tried to remember the dream, the more it evaded her. But she could still almost feel him. His presence, his touch, his essence.