The Silent Witness. Dani Sinclair
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you been gone so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to live in a small town, Alex? I knew you were back an hour after you breezed in on that motorcycle, acting like the world owed you big time. I can’t believe you’re still thumbing your nose at the police. I would have thought you’d have outgrown that phase years ago. Think your father would be proud?”
The carefully chosen barb struck its target. She heard his indrawn hiss. He reached forward suddenly and grabbed her forearms in a grip she couldn’t break.
The moment his rough palms touched her skin, her body seemed to go wild. The rush of sensual memories mixed with an undercurrent of new fear. Why had she pushed him? Ilona had described the murderer clearly. Alex fit the killer’s description right down to the clothes he’d been wearing.
“You always did have more guts than brains,” he said softly. “Let’s leave my father out of this. I haven’t got a lot of time right now. Tell me what you saw.”
Fear raised the hair on her forearms. Alex could kill her right here and no one would know. There wasn’t a thing she could do to stop him. The implacable hardness she sensed in him went deeper than she would have thought. Where was the young man she had loved so desperately? Didn’t any of him remain?
“I’m not telling you anything.” She refused to be cowed by Alex. Part of her didn’t believe he would harm her no matter how much he’d changed. But there was another part that wasn’t quite so certain.
“Stubborn. My God, you’re stubborn.” His hand stroked her cheek. The caress made her shiver. “But you’re still as soft as midnight.”
“Don’t.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
She didn’t want to respond to his touch, but it would have been easier to stop breathing. She stared into the darkness of his eyes and tried not to want him anymore.
“We aren’t the same people, Alex.” But the remembered feel of his hands on her was erasing time and stirring forgotten yearnings to life.
“Yes we are.”
His mouth descended, covering hers. Firm, hard lips demanded a response. For an instant, she yielded. Only, this wasn’t the kiss of her dreams, or even the kiss of her memory. This was an assault of raw, hard passion.
Nicki went still, even though her body clamored in instant recognition.
Alex broke away the moment he realized she wasn’t reciprocating. Rife with self-loathing, he leaned back, running a hand through hair that was already tangled and windblown from his ride over here.
What was he doing? For one crazed second, the exotic scent of her had driven him over some edge. He’d lost control in a way he hadn’t done since that summer all those years ago. One taste. One incredible taste, and it was fifteen years ago all over again. He wanted her with a longing that stunned him.
Alex stood and stepped away from the bed. Now he was the one who was shaking. He slicked his hands down his jeans, trying to still the crazy waves of desire that demanded more.
He’d always had excellent night vision, so despite the darkness, he saw how wide her eyes were. Wide and accusing. The sheet had slipped to reveal most of one rounded breast. She’d wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. She was still shaking as well, he realized.
“What do you want, Alex?”
The soft question lashed him with the barbs of her fear. He’d scared her.
Alex cursed. He felt dirty—like he’d never be clean again. The months of rough living were taking their toll. He was so tired of it all. Staring at her, he couldn’t help but feel he’d just soiled something important. The thought wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t afford to care, but he did.
“Thad Osher wants my neck in a noose, Nicki,” he said quietly. “He doesn’t care what he has to do to put it there.”
“Was it something you said?”
A tremor lay beneath her sweetly mocking voice. He hated knowing he had put it there. But he was secretly relieved that she wasn’t backing down. She had spunk. He should have remembered that about her. She never had backed away from anything. Not even when running with “that Coughlin boy” was the sort of reputation a nice girl didn’t want.
“Nicki, I’m sorry. I know you won’t believe this, but I’ve stayed away for good reason. In fact, I wouldn’t have come to see you at all if—”
“Gee thanks, that’s just what a woman wants to hear.”
“—you hadn’t begged me.”
He’d hurt her again, and he hadn’t meant to.
“What did you say?!” she demanded.
She yanked on the sheet, holding it beneath her chin as she sat up straighter. The action only drew his attention to the womanly shape of her. He’d wanted her when she was jailbait. Pure poison for a boy whose father was labeled a thief and a murderer. And he wanted her now when he was perilously close to being branded himself.
“Why did you call, Nicki? What do you want from me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wouldn’t call you in a million years.”
He wished he dared turn on a light. Her words sounded so sincere. What was she trying to pull?
A possibility exploded in his mind. He hated the very idea. But. Was there the slightest chance Nicki had been trying to set him up?
His Nicki? No. She’d never do that. But she wasn’t his anymore. Hadn’t been his for a very long time. She’d been in love with him once. And what did they say about a woman scorned?
For crying out loud! Nicki wasn’t like that. Was he going to start seeing bogeymen around every corner?
But what did he really know about her anymore?
He couldn’t turn loose of that thought. Maybe she’d known Thorton Biggs. They could even have been lovers for all he knew. Hadn’t he wondered why the man had driven into that alley last night? So much would be explained if Biggs had come there to see her.
The truth was, for all Alex knew, she’d killed Biggs herself and set Alex in place to take the fall. He might not like the idea, but he couldn’t dismiss it on the basis of what had happened between them fifteen years ago.
“So you wouldn’t call me in a million years, huh?” Her taunt rankled. “Well, I’m sure the feeling is mutual, but the fact is, you did call, Nicki. You said we had to talk, and like a fool, I agreed.”
Tired from too little sleep and the stress of the last few months, he was suddenly angry. Nicki had been the only good thing he could remember about Fools Point, and she’d used their relationship to set him up.
“You asked me to meet you at five minutes after nine behind your shop,” he snapped. “In fact, you pleaded—quite fetchingly. Ring any bells?”
“No!”
He ignored her protest, warming to his theme. The memory of that phone call was sharp and clear. She had called him.
“I came early. Don’t pretend you didn’t see me standing across the street.”
He’d known the moment that she saw him. He’d leaned back against the rough bricks and simply watched her. Anticipation had brought him there early. Caution had kept him waiting. He should have paid more attention to the caution.
“The way you kept watching me, I figured you couldn’t wait for a trip down memory lane,” he said, waiting to see how she’d react.
“In your dreams!”
“Fantasies.” He lowered his voice. “You were always part of my fantasies, remember, Nic? I never forgot. I almost walked across the street early, but you said to meet outside. I figured it was shades of yesterday.