KIT WOKE in front of the fire to the smell of coffee, surprised to find it was morning and that she’d apparently slept the entire night curled in the chair. The last thing she remembered was Luke saying she should go to bed. She wondered who’d covered her with the quilt.

  She glanced over at the crib, expecting to see Andy still asleep, and sat bolt upright when she saw the crib was empty. Then she heard his little laugh and turned to see Luke sitting at the table next to the high chair, feeding her son.

  “Good morning,” Luke said. Andy let out a squeal, and Luke smiled at him, the first real smile she’d seen from the man. The effect was amazing and unsettling.

  Kit shrugged off the quilt and got up, feeling guilty for having slept so late. Normally she woke to Andy’s cries. She wondered how she’d slept through them this morning, then realized she hadn’t. Luke must have gotten Andy the moment the baby stirred. Luke had purposely let her sleep.

  “Do you want me to help with that?” she asked as she headed for the table.

  He glanced up, the lines of his face softer somehow, less darkness in the gray of his eyes. “Not unless you’re worried I can’t handle it.”

  “You seem to be doing just fine,” she said, going into the kitchen to help herself to a cup of coffee. Luke did seem to know what he was doing. Andy let out a squawk and beat wildly on the high chair tray with his tiny palms.

  “All right, buddy, I’m paying attention now,” Luke said, getting the baby another bite. Kit noticed with surprise that he appeared to be enjoying himself as much as Andy was. She watched him put applesauce on the tip of the spoon, camouflaging the cereal behind it. Then he flew the spoon like a dive-bomber toward the baby’s eagerly awaiting mouth, making Andy squeal again in delight.

  Kit smiled. “How did you know he doesn’t like cereal much?”

  Luke shrugged and scooped up a spoonful to examine more closely. “Who would?” he said, making a face that made Andy laugh.

  She took a chair across from Luke, remembering his expertise in buckling up the car seat yesterday, and his obvious experience in feeding babies. A thought struck her. “You must have children of your own.”

  He shook his head. “Just lots of nieces and nephews.”

  Kit watched him feed her son, amazed at the change in Luke. Had this been what he was like before his brother’s death? Yes, she thought, remembering the photo of him. Watching him, she could almost convince herself that the other Luke St. John, the man filled with the desire for vengeance had never existed. But she glimpsed a sadness in Luke that seemed to pierce his very soul. And she knew the revengeful Luke would be back, and probably before very long, because, as his aunt had said, he wouldn’t rest until he made Derrick pay. But at what cost to himself? she wondered. What cost to her and Andy?

  Lucille came in, kissed the top of Andy’s towhead and stopped behind Kit, her hand on Kit’s shoulder.

  “I’ve been doing some thinking,” Lucille said.

  “So have I.” Luke looked up at her, the baby spoon in midair. “We can’t stay here any longer.”

  Kit felt Lucille’s fingers dig into her shoulder.

  “Where are we going?” Lucille asked.

  “Not we. I’m going back to Montana,” he said, his tone taking on that hard edge again. “I’m going after Killhorn, just like I planned.” His eyes moved to Kit’s face. “Kit’s going with me.”

  SANDERS FOUND Matthew Rustan in his office chair, looking like he’d had a rough night.

  “Have you found Jason St. John?” Sanders inquired expectantly as he drew one of the straight-backed chairs up to the P.I.’s cluttered desk.

  Rustan got up to make coffee. “No, and we’re not going to find him until he gets a job. We need a paper trail. This kid has no credit cards, bank accounts, checking or savings, no electricity, water, sewage bills, no phone or address, and either is still unemployed or working off the books.”

  “Is there any way to prove he isn’t dead?” Sanders asked and instantly regretted the question.

  Rustan’s head bobbed up. “Dead? You think he’s dead?”

  “No, I just asked if there was any way to prove he wasn’t.”

  He hated the gleam that came into the P.I.’s eyes as he poured a cup of watery coffee and motioned to Sanders with the dirty cup. Sanders shook his head.

  “Why don’t you just tell me what’s really going on,” Rustan said as he sat back down. “First your brother has me looking for his wife, then you hire me to look for Jason St. John. Supposedly the wife gets found, but no sign of Jason. Then we’ve got you being bugged right before you start inquiring about Luke St. John.” He took a sip of the coffee and made a face. “Come on, I know this isn’t a simple missing person’s case. We’ve got a few too many people missing and—” Rustan leaned toward him “—and too many with the same last name.”

  Before Sanders could tell him to mind his own business, the fax machine purred on and Rustan swiveled around in his chair to watch the paper roll out.

  “I thought you said you had something for me,” he reminded the P.I.

  Rustan plucked up the paper the moment the machine freed it, scanned the page and swung back around, smiling. “Last night I cashed in a lot of old debts trying to get something on this Luke St. John. What happened four years ago? I got the answer.” He held up the sheet of paper. “What’s it worth to you? Or do you think your brother would be more interested?”

  Sanders fought the urge to take the sheet of paper and cram it down the P.I.’s throat. He realized he was starting to act like his brother. A frightening thought.

  “I’d fire you right now, but I don’t think that would have much impact on you, would it?” Sanders said.

  “No, I’d just dig a little deeper in the family’s skeleton closet.”

  Sanders tossed a couple of twenties onto the P.I.’s desk. Rustan looked offended. Sanders threw down a hundred and started to pick up the twenties, but Rustan already had them in his greedy hand. The P.I. dropped the fax on a corner of the desk and sat back, waiting for Sanders’s reaction.

  KIT STARED at Luke in amazement. How could he sit there and feed her child, laugh with him and tease him, and not even consider Andy’s life? She felt sick. Was she wrong about the things she sensed in Luke St. John? “What about my baby?” she asked, her voice breaking.

  He scraped the last of the applesauce from the baby food jar and fed it to Andy. But the mood had gone sour and even Andy seemed to sense it.

  “You have to come with me,” Luke said more softly to her. “I’m sorry, but I need you if I hope to prove Derrick killed my brother. You know which room Jason was killed in. The only way we can find it is to retrace your steps. If the crowbar is still there, I have to find it.”

  She heard the plea in his voice. He needed her to help him find the evidence. But it was more than that. What else did he want from her? “What about Andy?” she asked again.

  Luke pushed back his chair and took the dirty spoon and baby food jars to the sink, limping. Sometimes his limp seemed more pronounced. When he was tired, she thought. When he was upset. He came back with a warm washrag.

  She took it from him and began to clean the smears of applesauce and cereal from Andy’s face. He wriggled and giggled, making her smile although her heart felt made of lead. When his face again glowed, shiny and bright, she leaned down to plant a kiss on his damp, chubby cheek and felt tears leap to her eyes.

  “I won’t take my son back to Montana,” she declared and looked up, aware of the heat of Luke’s gaze on her.

  “You won’t have to.” He glanced toward his aunt. “I think I’ve come up with a way to protect your son.”

  “You know I’ll do whatever you ask,” Lucille said quickly.

  He motioned for them both to sit down.

  “I was thinking about that houseboat of Vernon’s,” Luke said as he took a chair across from Kit. “Do you think he would take you and the baby on a little trip if I asked him?”

  Lucille nodded. “Vernon would do anything for you and Jason.” Her eyes welled with tears.

  “Wait a minute,” Kit interrupted. “What are you thinking about doing with my son?”

  Luke reached across the table and secured her hands together on the table with one of his large ones. “You and Andy aren’t safe anywhere right now. Am I wrong?” He continued before she could respond. “The only way to keep you safe is not to stay in one place too long. If Andy is with Lucille and Vernon on his houseboat, traveling around the inland waterways, Derrick won’t be able to find them. And believe me when I tell you, Vernon would die before he’d let anything bad happen to that baby.”

  Lucille nodded in agreement and looked to Kit.

  Kit could see Luke inspired that kind of loyalty in friends. She had sensed that in him and was glad to see that she had at least been right about that.

  But that didn’t mean she could leave her son behind. “I don’t think you realize what you’re asking me to do.”

  He squeezed her hands. “You’re wrong. I understand the bond between a mother and her child. This may be the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do. But it’s also the only way you can guarantee your son’s safety for the future. Are you willing to leave him for a few days to do that?”

  She looked into Luke’s gray eyes and knew the answer to her next question before she even asked it. “Do I have a choice?”

  “No. But I’m trying to give you as much of a guarantee as I can that your son will be safe.” He let go of her hands. “I can’t give you the same guarantee about yourself. All I can tell you is that I will do everything in my power to keep you out of Derrick’s hands. Both are better guarantees than what you would have gotten if you’d taken the limo Sanders sent for you, or just kept running. Let’s get packed,” he said, as if that ended the discussion. “I’ll call Vernon.”

  Kit couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat as she pulled her son from the high chair and hugged him to her. She felt Lucille’s arms come around them both.

  “Please try not to worry about Andy,” the older woman said. “I’ll take good care of him.”

  “I know,” Kit cried. “It’s just so hard.”

  “Of course it is, but how else are you going to end this terrible thing? Once it’s over, you and Andy can be together and have nothing to fear.”

  Kit wondered. She’d lived in fear for so long, she couldn’t imagine no longer being afraid.

  She heard Luke hang up the phone. “Vernon will be by in ten minutes to pick up you and the baby,” he told his aunt.

  Lucille nodded. “I’ll pack a few things, not much, because I know you won’t be gone long.” She stepped to her nephew and hugged him. “Be careful. Take care of Kit.” Then she went to pack.

  Kit took Andy to the crib to get him dressed for his trip, but tears blurred her eyes and her fingers trembled so hard that she gave up trying. Luke gently stepped in and changed Andy, dressing him in one of her favorite outfits: a little sailor suit.

  She turned away to keep from sobbing and went to change out of her borrowed sweats into a pair of jeans and a light sweater of her own. When she came back, Luke handed her Andy and stepped away.

  She held him, looking into his perfect little cherub face. He laughed and touched her cheek with his hand. She kissed his palm, holding it to her lips for a long moment. How could she not be with him? She couldn’t even bear the thought. They’d never been apart.

  “I will miss you so much, but I will be back,” she told her son in a quiet whisper. “Be a good boy for Aunt Lucille and don’t let anything happen to you, all right?”

  A horn honked out front. Kit looked up to find Luke waiting to take the baby. Lucille stood by the front door, tears in her eyes, her overnight bag in her hand.

  Kit hugged her son tightly, then kissed her own tears from his cheek, before she handed him to Luke. She followed them to the door and watched, choking back sobs, as Lucille and Andy climbed into a light blue van. She caught a glimpse of a nice-looking older man behind the wheel—and then her baby was gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Shortly after Lucille and the baby left, another car pulled up out front and a man, probably the same one who had disposed of the limo, appeared at the door with an armload of packages. Luke didn’t introduce him, and the man quickly left, leaving the tan, nondescript car behind.

  “Here,” Luke said without preamble.

  Kit opened the boxes he handed her and stared at the winter clothing inside. “What do you want me to do with all of this?” she asked.

  “Wear it,” he said. “It’s December in Montana and cold. Since you left in June, I would assume you don’t have any warm clothing, right?’

  She raised a brow. “How did you know my size?”

  His gaze roved over her, almost intimately. “I have a good eye.” He smiled. “Actually I guessed on some and cheated and looked in your suitcase on others, like shoe size. You’d better change and get ready,” he said, opening the other boxes. “We have to leave soon.”

  At Luke’s insistence, Kit put a dark brown rinse on her hair and pulled it back into a French roll. He’d had his friend pick up a pair of tortoiseshell glasses with clear lenses for her and a beautiful hunter-green sweater and tan wool slacks that accentuated not only her figure but her long legs.

  She thought she’d feel self-conscious. But when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t recognize the woman who peered back at her. Just a stranger in a beautiful outfit, a woman who looked confident and self-assured and—sexy. Not a woman who’d never owned clothing like this in her life and who’d never thought of herself as alluring.

  She came out of Lucille’s studio and stood nervously waiting for Luke’s reaction.

  He turned, his eyes widening at the sight of her, and let out a low whistle. “Wow. You look…sensational.”

  She blushed and brushed at the hem of the sweater with trembling fingers. “You’re sure it isn’t too—”

  “It’s not too anything,” he said.

  She smiled at him. He’d changed into slacks and a wool shirt.

  “You look…” He looked very masculine, very virile, very strong. She was at a loss for words to describe what just the sight of him did to her. But she realized he’d look masculine in anything he wore—or nothing at all. The thought shocked her. She blushed again and ducked her head, but not before she’d seen a slow smile curl his lips.

  “I take it I look all right?” he said and laughed softly. “Are you ready?”

  Ready? She’d forgotten for a moment why they were doing this, what would happen when they reached Montana and, worse yet, what would happen when they went back to Big Sky. It was fun playing dress-up, pretending she was someone else, someone mysterious and sexy and self-confident.

  On the ride to the airport, she felt like plain old Kit again. She missed Andy terribly and worried about what would happen when Derrick found out she was back in Montana. And she had no doubt that he would.

  “Are you all right?” Luke asked as they took their seats together on the plane. He held her hand as if they were husband and wife, just another couple going to Montana for Christmas or a ski holiday.

  She nodded, too close to tears to speak.

  “Don’t worry about Andy. He’s in good hands.”

  “I know.” She remembered her son’s immediate reaction to Lucille. And her own sense of comfort. She’d felt safe and warm in the woman’s hug, enveloped in the rich smells of her kitchen, cradled in the homeyness of the fishing cottage. It had made her realize how much she needed such a place—and not just temporarily. She needed it for her own peace of mind, but for Andy as well. And she wasn’t going to get it until Derrick Killhorn was behind bars. That much she agreed with Luke about. The only way she and Andy could ever be free—or safe—was for her to help Luke get the evidence against Derrick.

  But she also knew Derrick and what he was capable of. “I just want this to be over.”

  Luke said nothing. She glanced at him. He seemed deep in thought. Was he too wishing it was over? Or would it ever be over for him?

  Luke played the role of attentive husband on the flight back to Bozeman. He almost looked relaxed, at ease with himself and her. And she enjoyed the reprieve, sitting with him as if they were husband and wife. The flight attendant had already assured them that they would be having a white Christmas.

  Christmas. Kit couldn’t believe it was just days away. She was thankful that Andy was so young. He wouldn’t know if she wasn’t there on Christmas morning. He would think it was no different from any other day. But Kit would know. They had only a few days. That didn’t seem like enough time to trap a murderer. Especially one as ruthless as Derrick Killhorn.

  It was early afternoon when they landed at Gallatin Field just outside of Bozeman. The moment they touched down, Kit saw what she’d originally believed to be a permanent frown crease Luke’s brow again. His eyes took on that cold hard sheen of steel and she felt him draw away from her as if she were again Mrs. Derrick Killhorn, the wife of his enemy.

  LUKE WAS SORRY when they landed. He’d enjoyed the flight, enjoyed Kit. Enjoyed talking to her. Enjoyed just looking at her. He’d known she would look beautiful in hunter green.

  As she came out of the airport ladies’ room, he watched her move through the small group by the baggage pickup. She looked good. Too good. The slacks hugged her buttocks nicely and the sweater accented the fullness of her breasts. She still wore the glasses, making her blue eyes seem very large and wide. Her hair hung down around her shoulders in waves of rich auburn brown. The woman was a walking distraction.

  He frowned as he handed her the ski jacket, hat and mittens he’d had purchased for her along with the other clothing. “Let’s get going,” he said brusquely, resenting the way other men were looking at her and not really happy with the way she made him feel. All too well he remembered the jolt he’d felt when he’d brushed her arm on the plane. And she’d felt it too. He’d seen it in the way her eyes had widened. In the rapid beat of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. In the shocked, scared expression on her pretty face.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20