Someone To Watch Over Her. Margaret WatsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
When you wake up, we’ll figure out how to help you.”
She moaned in her sleep, but it didn’t sound as frantic and fearful as her earlier cries. Her forehead wrinkled as if she was trying to figure something out. Then she was quiet and still again.
“It won’t be long before you’re awake,” Marcus said, familiar enough with injuries to know when someone was regaining consciousness. “I’ll be close by when you do.”
He stood, intending to walk to the living room. But he was oddly reluctant to leave her alone. She would be frightened when she woke up. She wouldn’t know where she was. Maybe he should stay with her.
“She’ll think you’re one of the people who hurt her, you idiot,” he growled to himself. “Get out of here.”
He moved into the other room, but couldn’t sit down to read. He paced the small room, then went and stood on the tiny porch.
The sounds of the tourists’ voices were lower, muted and more intimate. It was the end of the evening, and soon everyone would be returning to their cottages and rooms. The time for shared gaiety and laughter had passed. Now couples would be dancing more slowly, their bodies touching, hands twining together. Men and women would exchange heated glances, allow their hands to linger just a little longer. Soon everyone would steal away and the resort would be silent and still.
Marcus scowled and walked inside, closing the door firmly behind him. He had a job to do, and the woman on his bed had become part of his job. He’d damn well better remember that.
He threw himself onto the couch and picked up his book again. After staring at the same page for too long, he closed the book and leaned back, willing himself to get some rest.
He had just fallen into a restless sleep when he heard a noise from the bedroom. It sounded as if someone was walking around. He leaped to his feet and ran into the other room.
The woman was no longer lying on the bed. She was standing next to it, swaying, gripping the chest of drawers for support.
Panic leaped into her eyes when she saw him. She grabbed a nail file that had been on the dresser. “Stay away,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I have a weapon.”
Chapter 2
Jessica Burke gripped the chest of drawers with one hand and held the pitifully small nail file tightly in the other. Fear and anger throbbed inside her, and she welcomed it. Her head ached and her legs wobbled, but she wasn’t about to give an inch to the man who stood in the doorway.
He hadn’t been one of the two men who had grabbed her in her workshop, but that didn’t mean a thing. He was probably the one who’d ordered her kidnapping, the Simon that her two kidnappers had talked about.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice deep and quiet. He stood and watched her, making no effort to come any closer.
“You expect me to believe you?” Jessica tried to put as much scorn as possible in her voice.
To her shock, the man smiled at her, and Jessica felt her stomach swoop toward her toes. She scowled and gripped the nail file more tightly. She must have gotten a blow on the head, she told herself. How else could she explain her reaction to a man who had kidnapped her?
The man’s smile disappeared. “You have no reason to trust me,” he said, his voice still quiet, “but I mean you no harm. My name is Marcus Waters and I found you on the beach just before dusk this evening. You looked as if you’d been washed ashore.”
Jessica studied the man in front of her. Rangy and tall, at least a head taller than her own petite five feet four inches, he looked like any other tourist in the Caribbean islands. His blond hair was a little too long. He was dressed casually, in shorts and a T-shirt, and he had sandals on his feet. But his blue eyes burned into her with the intensity of a laser. Those were not the eyes of a casual tourist.
“Are you taking me to Simon?” she demanded.
His face tightened for a moment, and she saw a flare of shock in his eyes. Then it was gone and his face looked no different than it had a moment ago. But there was a new wariness in his eyes.
“Who’s Simon?”
“I was hoping you could tell me that.”
He shook his head slowly. “I told you, my name is Marcus Waters. I have no idea who Simon is.”
“You’re lying.” He’d reacted to the name, she was certain of it.
He watched her for a moment, then he nodded toward the bed. “Why don’t you sit down? I promise not to come any farther into the room. But I’m afraid you’re going to fall.”
Jessica damned her rubbery legs and spinning head, but she knew he was right. If she didn’t sit down, she would fall. And she would lose any advantage she had over him. Gingerly she moved to the bed and perched on the edge, realizing she wore nothing but an unfamiliar T-shirt. Her lack of clothing, and the knowledge that this stranger had undressed her, made her feel even more vulnerable.
“Where am I?” she demanded.
“You’re on Cascadilla,” he said promptly. “At the Westwind Falls Resort. This is one of their beachfront cottages.” He paused, then asked, “Do you know where Cascadilla is?”
“Of course,” she began, then stopped abruptly. Until she knew more about this man, she wasn’t going to answer any of his questions. “I know where Cascadilla is. But how do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
Marcus nodded at the telephone. “Pick it up and dial zero,” he said. “The front desk will answer.”
Without taking her eyes off him, she reached for the phone and fumbled it out of its cradle. She punched in zero, then held it to her ear. When the operator said, “Westwind Falls Resort, front desk, how may I help you?” she hung up the phone.
“All right, so you’re telling the truth about that. That doesn’t mean I trust you about anything else. Even a criminal can stay at the Westwind Falls.”
“But he would have to be a very wealthy criminal,” he said smoothly. “Since you know about the Westwind Falls Resort, can I assume that you live on Cascadilla?”
She clamped her lips together. “I’m not going to tell you anything. In fact, I’m not going to stay here. I’m going to walk out the door, and you’d better not try and stop me.”
“Or you’ll stab me with the nail file?” His eyes softened, and she saw a glint of admiration in them. “I’m not trying to keep you here against your will. You’re welcome to go. But before you do, maybe you ought to think about how you got here. Who hurt you? And are they still out there, waiting for you?”
Jessica bit her lip as the fear crashed over her again. For the past few minutes, as she was sparring with the man in the doorway, she had forgotten her ordeal. Her eyes slid to the telephone again. “Maybe I’ll just call the police.”
“Go ahead, if that would make you feel better. But how do you know they’re not involved?” His eyes took on a cynical glint. “Money can buy just about anything in the islands.”
She knew that far better than most. And he was right. “Then I’ll call my family.”
“Why don’t you let me help you?” he said softly. “At least tell me your name and what happened to you.” He paused, and his eyes hardened. “And how this man Simon is involved.”
“Why are you concerned?” she retorted. “Why would you want to help me? And what do you know about Simon?”
He shrugged. “I’m in law enforcement. And I’m the one who found you. I’m curious about what happened to you.”
“You recognized the name Simon,” she said, watching him carefully.
She saw the jolt of surprise in his eyes and felt