Duplicate Daughter. Alice SharpeЧитать онлайн книгу.
But why this woman?
He said, “Why do you limp?”
“I was in a hit-and-run accident. It had to do with my trying to figure out what happened to my father.”
“And did you figure it out?”
She rolled her head a little as though her neck hurt. “No, my sister figured it out for me. She came from out of the blue and probably saved my life.”
“Does your neck hurt?”
“Yes. Another leftover from the accident.”
He gently turned her around until her back was to him and began rubbing her shoulders with strong hands.
“That feels wonderful,” she whispered.
He realized at once he’d attempted to satisfy his desire to touch her by approaching her in this no-nonsense, impersonal manner. Lots of layers of clothes under his fingers, no eye contact. He said, “What do you mean when you say your sister came from out of the blue?” But, dear God, her hair was soft as it brushed against the back of his hands. And the supple warmth of her neck.
“I’m warning you, it’s a soap opera,” she said softly, leaning into his hands.
“Try me.”
“Okay, but like I said, it’s a soap opera. My parents divorced when Tess and I were barely six months old. Mom took Tess. Dad took me. Neither told us we even had an identical twin sister only a day or two days’ drive away. We didn’t even know we had another parent. Dad told me my mother died giving birth and Mom told Tess she’d never even known Tess’s father’s last name. Then my father, a cop, died in a fire he was blamed for starting. I had to vindicate him. I found a letter from my dad telling me about my sister’s existence. When I was hurt, she was contacted. She found me in a coma and took up my investigation. Now she’s been shot and she’s in the hospital and we’ve only really known each other for a few days.”
“She helped you with your father and now you’re determined to help her with her mother.”
“Our father, our mother. My sister, myself. Yes.”
He stopped massaging her neck and turned her back around to face him. Again, the urges, but this time it went beyond touching. This time he wanted to kiss her.
This is why he’d been annoyed with her from the moment he set eyes on her at the airport. He was afraid of her and not just because she threatened to bring the past crashing down on his home, but also because she’d so effortlessly cracked open doors long ago slammed shut.
“I have a feeling,” she said softly, and it was all he could do to take his gaze from her lips.
He said, “Yes?”
“I have a feeling that your father’s past is catching up with him and that my mother is in the way.”
He caught his hands sliding down her arms and let go of her. She didn’t seem to notice. He said, “You may be right.”
“I’m sorry I came here. I should have kept nagging the Washington police. I’ll go home as soon as I figure out how to get back to Anchorage.”
“I’ll fly you back,” he said, still under her spell, wishing things were different, wishing he could ask her to stay, to forget about her mother and his father, just stay for a while and…
And what?
He said, “I’m sorry I can’t help you, Katie Fields.”
For a moment they stared into each other’s eyes. Nick had no idea what Katie was thinking. He just knew his own thoughts were jumping from pillar to post. Hopefully a good night’s sleep would get him back to normal. It sounded as though the storm was abating a bit; his salvation would lie in the weather clearing so he could fly Katie away from Frostbite.
“I—” she started to say, but a sound outside caught both their attention and they turned as one to face the door.
“Was that—”
“Gunfire,” he finished for her, quickly drawing her away from the fireplace into the deeper recesses of the house. “Yes.”
“Nearby?”
“Yes.” He tore open a closet and shone a flashlight inside. The gun safe was back there and he twirled the combination.
“You any good with a firearm?” he asked over his shoulder.
In a shaking voice, she said, “I’ve shot off a few rounds with my dad.”
He emerged with a Winchester 30-30 and a 20-gauge automatic shotgun. He inserted ammunition into each weapon before pushing the shotgun toward Katie.
She took the shotgun with trembling hands. She looked scared to death but reassuringly resolute. “What’s the plan?” she asked.
“The plan? I go outside and see what’s going on. You stay here and lock the door behind me. That’s the plan.”
“I know how to shoot—”
“Katie? Someone has to stay inside and protect Lily.” He said this while retrieving his jacket and shrugging it on, zipping the front, pulling on his knit cap.
“You’re not going out there by yourself!”
She wanted to go with him? Startled by this realization, he half smiled. He said, “Someone has to go out in that storm and find out who’s shooting at who. I believe I may be the more qualified. Please, Katie, keep Lily safe.”
Before he could consider the wisdom of his action, he brushed her forehead with his lips. “Lock the door behind me,” he whispered, turning off the lantern and sliding the dead bolt back. “Don’t let anyone but me back inside the house.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter Five
As Nick blended into the shadows, Katie heard a new volley of shots, muffled by the snow. She stepped over the threshold into the night. She had a shotgun, she could probably hit something—or someone—and it seemed wrong for Nick to be out there alone with heaven knows what. Or whom.
But his parting words, his overriding need to protect Lily, stopped her mid-step. Another shot, a voice, someone crashing through the brush…
She stepped back inside, stumbling as haste made her clumsy. Pain shot up her leg as she pushed the dead bolt home.
What in the world had she gotten herself into by coming to this house? There had been a man at the window—it was too much of a coincidence to believe that a stranger had peered inside the house just an hour before shots were fired outside. What did she know of Nick’s personal life? Maybe there was a jealous husband out there or someone connected to Helen.
She tried to find comfort in the totally effortless way Nick handled weapons, but comfort was elusive when it came to Nick.
How about the way he looked at you, the way he kissed your forehead, the way your heart battered against your ribs when his lips touched your skin, when his hands clenched your arms, brushed your neck?
No comfort. This place was a nuthouse. And she was turning out to be the biggest nut of all.
Katie limped down the hall to check on Lily and found the child asleep, her pink lips pursed in some dream, her breathing slow and regular. Katie sat down on the foot of Lily’s bed, the shotgun across her knees, straining to hear gunshots over the raucous sounds of the storm.
To her horror, her movement awoke the child, who sat up whimpering, eyes closed.
Katie immediately laid the gun aside and scooted closer to Lily, who held out her arms. Katie wrapped Lily in a warm embrace and smoothed her hair, whispering nonsensical murmurs to comfort her, rocking her in her arms. Within minutes, Lily’s heavy head signified she’d fallen back asleep without actually