Buch lesen: «Hard To Tame»

“I just wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

“I don’t want your gratitude,” Nick said.

“What do you want?”

The quiet question, no less intense for its lack of volume, snared his attention. Slowly his gaze met hers. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

To her credit, she didn’t flinch. “I told you once…”

“That you wouldn’t sleep with me.”

“It’s not fair….”

“If you’re concerned for my feelings, don’t be. I rarely do anything for altruistic reasons.” His words served a twofold purpose. They held a warning for her, one she would be wise to heed.

And they served as a reminder to himself….

Hard to Tame
Kylie Brant

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KYLIE BRANT

lives with her husband and five children in Iowa. She works full-time as a teacher of learning disabled students. Much of her free time is spent in her role as professional spectator at her kids’ sporting events.

An avid reader, Kylie enjoys stories of love, mystery and suspense—and she insists on happy endings! When her youngest children, a set of twins, turned four, she decided to try her hand at writing. Now most weekends and all summer she can be found at the computer, spinning her own tales of romance and happily-ever-afters.

Kylie invites readers to write to her at P.O. Box 231, Charles City, IA 50616.

For Mary Ann and Harris—

because it’s hard being the “out-laws”!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

Prologue

They were dead. Every one of them.

With an unnatural strength borne of terror, Sara Parker tore away from the female U.S. Marshal and pushed through the apartment door.

“Get her out of here!” Agent Carlson shouted from his position on the floor. Sara felt arms grabbing at her shoulders, trying to yank her away from the bloody carnage.

She fought like a wild thing, adrenaline giving her the power to break free. She rushed into the compact kitchen, stumbling over the bodies on the floor. Carlson was checking one of the agents for a pulse, but Sara knew, in some numb, distant area of her mind, that he wouldn’t find one. Just as she knew the futility of the hope she still harbored.

“Sean!” She dropped to her knees beside the blond man’s chair and took his hand in hers, refusing to consider what the coldness of his fingers meant. He could have been asleep but for the fact that his eyes were open. The round hole in the center of his forehead was a horrifying contrast to his choirboy countenance. Somehow he still managed to exude that sad sweetness that was so much a part of him. Even in death.

There was a soft keening sound that Sara didn’t recognize as coming from her. Unmindful of his blood-soaked shirt, she slipped her arms around his waist, pressed her face to his form. I’m sorry. The words echoed endlessly in her mind. I’m so sorry.

And then the hands were at her shoulders again, drawing her to her feet. Her unnatural strength of a few moments ago had drained away as quickly as it had surged, leaving her feeling empty and weak.

“Don’t. Try not to look at them.” Agent Reindl’s voice was unusually compassionate. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

Sara allowed the woman to guide her out of the apartment, only half aware of the sharp exchange between the two agents, the cell phone conversation between Carlson and his superior. She took no note of the different route they took to the car. Made no observation of her surroundings before Reindl forced her to lie down in the back seat.

The vehicle started, pulled away. Sara lay motionless, her cheek pressed against the cool leather of the seat, eyes open, yet unseeing.

Another safe house. More agents. Leak in the department, had to be. Dammit, Dobbs had four kids.

The words eddied and swirled around her, surreal and unrelated. They made no sense. Nothing did anymore. She started trembling, the shudders racking her body. She could have told them that they were wasting their time. Finding another safe house was pointless.

She’d never be safe again.

“We’ll move you tomorrow, once we get word from the department. You’ll be fine here for tonight.”

Sara gave a listless nod at Reindl’s words, and continued to stare at the wall of the motel room. Carlson was on his cell phone again, after which he’d hold another whispered conversation with his partner. Both were doing their best to maintain at least an outward appearance of control. But Sara knew the truth. The only one in control was Victor Mannen, and he’d just had six people massacred.

She would be next.

The knowledge washed over her like a wave, and fear circled. How had security at the apartment been breached? How had two U.S. Marshals and four young adults been dispatched with such chilling efficiency? Useless to wonder about, really, just as it was useless to harbor a macabre fascination in how she would meet her death. A gun again, or a blade slipped into her back as she walked into the courthouse flanked by guards?

Swallowing hard, Sara barely noticed the concerned glance Carlson sent her way. There was something outrageously self-centered in worrying about her own demise when the deaths of six other people rested on her shoulders. A part of her wondered why she even cared. There was nothing worth living for, at any rate. Not since Sean…

She choked on the boulder-sized knot that lodged in her throat, and pressed a fist to her lips. Agent Carlson ended his conversation and looked at her. “How you doing?” he asked, not unkindly. The big, bespectacled agent had been the favorite of all of them. He’d always been ready with a joke or a quick remark. But now he was as grim-faced as his partner. Two agents and four witnesses dead meant Sara had a target on her back. And so did anyone unfortunate enough to be guarding her.

Launching herself out of the chair, she hurtled toward him, her arms going around his waist, taking him by surprise. After an instant he brought a hand to her back, patted her awkwardly. “Don’t worry, kid. It’ll be okay.”

She appreciated his attempt at reassurance, even as she recognized the lie. Stepping away from him, she avoided his gaze. “I think I’ll take a hot shower.”

He shot a quick glance at Reindl, and when the woman nodded, he said, “Sure. Probably a good idea.”

Crossing to the bathroom, Sara shut the door, leaned against it limply. Then, with a sigh, she reached up her sleeve and withdrew the wallet she’d just lifted from Carlson. She forced herself not to think as she rifled through it, taking out the cash. Folding the bills, she shoved them in her pocket and then laid the wallet on the vanity.

Her actions automatic, she turned the shower faucets on full blast and then climbed up on the vanity, unlocked the window. It was easier, far easier, to act without considering the sense of déjà vu she felt. But as she climbed through the open window it occurred to her that she was following her set pattern for dealing with trouble.

She was running.

Chapter 1

Six Years Later

He was back again. Watching her.

Sara noted the man’s entrance and her muscles tightened, even as she fought to remain expressionless. She laughed at something one of her customers said, made a quick remark, but the awareness, the heightened sensitivity, was already creeping down her spine.

This was the third day he’d come into the café on her shift. The restaurant had plenty of regulars, but none who looked like this man. None who projected a darkly seductive threat merely by his presence. None who moved as though an untamed animal prowled below his smooth, sophisticated exterior.

Moving away, she checked with the people seated at the next table, then turned to go to the kitchen. En route, Candy, another waitress, sidled up to her.

“Your admirer’s back.”

Sara didn’t smile at the woman’s teasing tone. “Promise if he sits in my section you’ll switch with me.”

“Glad to, but we both know it’s not me he keeps returning for.”

Giving her new orders to the cook, Sara loitered as some of her other orders came up. Candy shot another indiscreet look at the dark stranger and lowered her voice even further. “I discovered some information about him, in case you’re interested.”

Loading her arms with plates of steaming food, Sara didn’t look up. “I’m not.” She’d been packed since the first day she’d seen the man—ready, if necessary, to flee at a moment’s notice. The man unnerved her, had from the first. She couldn’t decide whether it was her well-developed survival instincts that quivered to life around him, or something much more elemental. Both were equally dangerous—to her.

Without missing a beat, the woman went on. “He’s a hometown boy by the name of Nick Doucet. Yes, dear—” she began gathering up her own filled orders “—that’s of the Doucet family, from Soileau Street. Very old name, not to mention old money. Comes back to New Orleans a few times a year for a visit, and this time he’s been home over a week.”

“Naw ’Leans.” The woman’s pronunciation pegged her as a native. And even though Sara had lived there only a month, she recognized the family name Candy had mentioned. She wound her way back to her tables fighting a sense of relief. The mysterious stranger had a reason to be here. He hadn’t been sent after her. She wouldn’t have to leave again. Not yet.

With swift precision she unloaded the dishes before four customers seated outside under the awning. It was early, barely seven-thirty, but the air was already thick with a sticky heat. By noon it would be nearly unbearable, and the only ones who would choose seats on the patio would be tourists and other masochists.

“Hey, Amber, you’re sure lookin’ fine this mornin’.” The compliment came from Douglas, fortyish and graying. With no consideration for his bulging middle, he’d ordered steak and eggs with a mound of potatoes covered in cheese. There was a chorus of agreement from the other men. Sara smiled and seamlessly shifted back into her role.

“And how are the fab four doing this morning? Douglas, how’re the twins? Michael, the haircut looks great.” She swapped banter with the men even as she was aware, much too aware, of Doucet seated several tables away, speaking with the manager, Lowell Francis.

“When you gonna run away with me, Amber, huh?” This from Baldwin, the youngest member of the group of businessmen. With his slicked-back brown hair and soulful eyes, he reminded her of a hound dog begging for affection. She didn’t bother telling him that when she ran away, she always ran alone.

“I guess when your wife gives you permission to leave town without her, Baldwin.”

At the others’ laughter, Sara leaned closer and said soothingly, “If I was married to a fellow like you, I’d keep you on a short rein, too.” She left the table amid their good-natured ribbing, and made a studious effort to ignore the man sitting nearby.

“It won’t work this time.” The words were low and smooth, and Sara’s stomach quivered. Even before turning she knew who the voice belonged to. Nick Doucet. Fixing a smile on her face, she met his dark gaze and said, “Someone will be back in just a moment to take your order, sir.”

She lost no time reentering the restaurant, scanning the place for Candy. But when she found the woman, the other waitress shook her head and threw a look over her shoulder at the manager. “Francis just warned me about staying in my own area. Sorry, girlfriend.” Catching the frown on the manager’s face, she hurried away, and Sara slowly went to the kitchen to check on her orders.

So she wouldn’t be able to avoid Doucet any longer. A shiver worked down her spine as she picked up plates at the kitchen window. The threat she sensed from the man wasn’t directed at her, that much seemed apparent. And so his interest must be personal, and could be dismissed easily. She was an expert at rejecting men, could even, when the spirit moved her, do it without crushing their egos.

But somehow she knew that nothing in her experience had prepared her for a man like Nick Doucet.

After delivering the dishes to customers, she moved to his table, donned her bright waitress smile and took out her pad. “Are you ready to order, sir?”

“Are you angry with me, Amber?”

Her smile froze, but she managed a quizzical lift to her brow. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“For not letting you ignore me any longer.”

Nerves kicked in her stomach. A mental image of the conversation she’d witnessed between him and the manager flickered across her mind. “We rarely allow our customers to starve. Someone would have been along to take care of you.”

“But I wanted you.” The words hung in the air, quivering like a plucked harp string, and that unwelcome shiver shimmied down her spine again. She had the impression that he knew the effect he had on her, which made her all the more determined to hide it.

She reeled off the specials, ending with, “If you’d like variety, the buffet is always good. Ten ninety-five for all you can eat.”

“Just fruit. Wheat toast and coffee. Black.” The ordinary words had greater impact when delivered in that smoky tone, coupled with the intent look in his fathomless ebony eyes. There was nothing ordinary about this man. A well-developed intuition told her that.

He had a presence that commanded attention. Slightly over six feet tall, his broad-shouldered form was lean rather than bulky, with the dangerous stillness of a bomb waiting to detonate. His hair, as dark as his eyes, swept back from a slight widow’s peak. The slashes at either corner of his mouth could have been etched in granite. His brutal handsomeness gave the impression of lethal power, ruthlessly harnessed. And Sara was more grateful than she’d like to admit when she was able to move away from him.

The swelling number of customers in the café gave her a ready excuse should he try to speak to her again. But he seemed content to lounge in his chair, regarding her silently. And no matter how busy her job kept her, that uncomfortable awareness wouldn’t fade.

It was several minutes before she noticed that Doucet had garnered his own share of attention. Candy’s wasn’t the only unsubtle look sent his way, and more than one table of patrons was holding a whispered conversation in which his name figured. As Sara slid plates onto the table before three elderly men, one of their murmured remarks hung suspended in the air.

Bastard. It was impossible to tell whether the word was meant in the figurative or literal sense. She felt an unwilling flicker of sympathy for Doucet, one that was totally unnecessary. If he experienced the same sense of unease that she did at being the recipient of such attention, it certainly didn’t show. The only emotions reflected on his face were ones he allowed to appear there.

And all that showed right now was his continued interest in her.

It took more fortitude than it should have to collect his order from the kitchen, approach his table with it. But when she entered the patio area Doucet was no longer alone. Douglas Fairmont had left his party to address him, and she felt a ridiculous wave of relief that his presence would provide a buffer between them.

“I’d really like to lay it all out for you.” At a gesture from Nick, Douglas looked around, saw Sara. He shifted his girth to allow her room to set the plates in front of the man, but it was clear he had no intention of leaving. “If I could have just a half hour of your time, I promise you’ll see for yourself the possibilities for future growth.”

She quickly unloaded the tray, giving far more concentration to the act than was warranted. As she set down the linen-wrapped silverware, Doucet reached for it. Their hands touched and she snatched hers back with a suddenness that had his attention shifting from Fairmont to her.

“I might be interested.” Although still addressing the other man, his dark gaze was fixed on Sara. “You can stop by and give me the details this evening, say, at seven?” Nick’s eyes traced her features as Fairmont stuttered out an agreement. “On the condition, of course, that you bring Amber with you.”

“No way, Douglas.” Sara gripped her purse and hurried more quickly down the sidewalk, unmindful of the heat. She worked a split shift that day, with a couple hours off before she was needed for the lunch crowd. She’d planned to spend that time dropping by the library, maybe picking up a few groceries. But the man glued to her side wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“Be reasonable. And slow down, for God’s sake.” He pulled out an embroidered handkerchief and wiped his broad forehead, which was already gleaming. “All I’m asking for is an hour of your time.”

“How many ways can I say it?” She never broke stride. “I’m not going.”

“There’s a hundred dollars in it for you.”

That stopped her. The look she fixed on him was fierce enough to have him backing away a step, raising his hands in mute surrender. “I meant no disrespect, Amber, honest.”

Forcing a lid on her roiling emotions, Sara took a deep breath, reached for calm. “I don’t mind doing you a favor, Douglas, but Nick Doucet…” She shook her head. “I don’t want to have anything to do with him.”

“But you won’t. Not really.” Seizing the opportunity to make his case again, Douglas went on eagerly. “My appointment is for seven. We’ll arrive, maybe have a drink, then he and I will discuss some business. Afterward, I’ll take you home. You won’t even have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”

Sara started walking again. The man’s wheedling tone couldn’t begin to quiet the alarm shrilling in her mind. Doucet was trouble. Maybe not the kind of trouble she’d originally imagined. At least she no longer feared he’d been sent to kill her. But he presented a different kind of danger. She was much too aware of the man for it to be otherwise. “You can just show up without me. He heard me say I wasn’t coming. He won’t blame you.”

“I can’t take that chance.” Fairmount reached out to take her arm, and she pulled away in an involuntary response that no amount of acting could effectively disguise.

He balled up the handkerchief in his hand, his fingers clenching and unclenching around it. “This is important to me. I have a deal in mind that could make my career—all I need to do is line up the financing. I’ve been to everyone else in town, but Nick Doucet might be the only one with the vision to take a risk on my venture. I know you don’t owe me a thing, but he may be my last chance. C’mon, Amber, whaddya say?”

People strolled past them on the sidewalk, parting for the drama being carried out between the pair. Seeing the cautious hope mirrored on Fairmont’s face, Sara felt suddenly ancient. She could have told him that hope was as dangerous an emotion as need or trust. Far better to have no expectations at all than to risk having them shattered.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself to do just that. “I’m sorry, Douglas. I’d like to help you. If it were anybody else…but there’s no way I’m going to have anything to do with Nick Doucet. Not even for you.”

An hour later she was ensconced in a comfortable chair near the entrance of the New Orleans main library, reading the newest selection from a popular horror writer. The cool, quiet environment was a welcome balm after the outdoor heat, and from the nerves that quivered to life whenever Nick Doucet got too close.

Sara turned a page, squelching a twinge of conscience as she remembered the crestfallen look on Douglas’s face when he’d realized that no amount of persuasion was going to convince her to change her mind. But she’d learned long ago the folly of allowing emotion to dictate her actions. Her instincts were keen, honed by years on the streets, and those instincts came screaming to life every time Doucet was in the vicinity. She knew better than to ignore them.

A woman hurried by, grasping a young child by the hand. She spared Sara only a cursory glance, a fact that relieved a measure of the tension that had been building in her for the last several days. She knew what the woman saw when she looked at her—a medium tall, slender woman with badly cut hair, twisting a cheap locket around her index finger as she read the latest offering from a popular horror author. The picture was exactly the one Sara meant to present, accentuated by the gaudy, obviously cheap costume jewelry. The image fit Amber Jennings, and would be easily shed when she decided to move on to another city. Another state. She never kept any of her identities more than a few months.

The next half hour meandered by, the pace a welcome contrast to her usually hectic work schedule. When voices interrupted her concentration, she looked up, frowned slightly. A group of women in filmy, flowery dresses was trooping out of an inner room toward the exit, their goodbyes disturbing the relative quiet of her sanctuary. They strolled out the door, trailing expensive perfume in their wake.

Returning to her book, Sara was once again lost in the author’s imaginary world when a slight movement to her left disturbed her again. This time it was a solitary female, upwards of eighty, she’d guess, with the patrician bone structure that reflected beauty regardless of age, and pale, almost translucent skin.

But it wasn’t the older woman’s beauty that held Sara’s attention; it was the way she was clutching the edge of a table, swaying slightly on her feet.

Hesitantly, Sara asked, “Are you all right?”

“Quite all right, thank you.” The crisp words were delivered with just an air of haughtiness, and usually would have been enough to deter Sara from inquiring further. She guarded her own privacy too zealously to be at ease poking into others’. But for some reason memories picked that moment to swarm to the surface. Sean had had a grandmother he’d loved dearly. She’d been, he’d often claimed, the only member of his family who’d given a damn about him. Hundreds of times over the years Sara had reached for a phone, longing to dial that rest home in Illinois just to hear someone else mention his name. Each time realization of the risk had overpowered the emotion. Sara still made sure the woman knew she hadn’t been forgotten, but she did so anonymously. It was safer, far safer for all involved.

The flicker of memory was enough to have her rising. Pulling up a chair, she said, “Why don’t you sit down until it passes?”

The elderly lady aimed one fierce look at her, visibly battling her infirmity through sheer force of will. Then, the struggle obviously decided for her, she sank into the chair with a frustrated sigh. “Darn dizzy spells,” she muttered, her eyes closing for an instant. “There’s little I despise as much as the weakness that comes with the years.”

“I suppose none of us like to show our vulnerabilities, regardless of age.”

The woman’s eyes snapped open again. “No,” she murmured, studying Sara closely. “I imagine not. What’s your name, young lady?”

“Amber.”

“I’m Celeste. And since I’ve inconvenienced you this much, perhaps you wouldn’t mind lending me your arm and walking me to my car.”

Sara leaned forward and Celeste rose, clinging to her arm for support. “You aren’t expecting to drive, are you?” she asked dubiously.

The older woman gave a surprisingly strong laugh. “Good heavens, no. My husband considered it extremely gauche for women to drive themselves, and although times have certainly changed, I suppose it’s a bit late for me to learn driving skills.” As they spoke they moved slowly through the door and down the wide steps outside. At their appearance, a gleaming black Rolls pulled to a stop beside the curb, and a uniformed driver got out, opening the back passenger door to the vehicle.

Once Celeste was ensconced in the back seat, she looked up at Sara. “I’d like to repay you for your kindness. Would you care to accompany me home for tea?”

The invitation took Sara aback. “I…I’d better not. I have to get back to work soon.”

Celeste waved a hand and the driver went around to the other side of the car, opening the passenger door. “I’ll have Benjamin drive you when you have to go. Please don’t waste time arguing, dear. I make it a point to get my own way. It’s one of the few pleasures left to me.”

Studying the woman, Sara noted the flush in her cheeks, which couldn’t be blamed on the heat. They’d merely exchanged one air-conditioned environment for another. No doubt Celeste had a full staff and a family at home to see to her health. But Sara still felt compelled to accept, if only to see her home safely. There was little risk. Surely this sweet, frail woman wouldn’t lead her to danger.

So she engaged in uncharacteristic small talk with the woman as the car made its way across town. After several minutes it turned off the street through an open gate and up a long winding driveway.

Sara fell silent in something approaching awe. The sprawling, ancient mansion was white, with small dormers marching along the roofline proclaiming its French architecture. She could almost imagine the centuries falling away to reveal hoopskirted ladies and gentlemen in cutaway coats sipping mint juleps on the wide veranda.

“Impressive, is it not?” Celeste said as the car drew to a stop before the house. “It was built by my ancestor Claude in 1722 for his wife, Pauline Fontenot.” Simple pride rang in the woman’s voice as she was helped from the car by the driver. Sara rounded the vehicle, and Celeste set her hand lightly on her arm as they climbed the steps. “Claude brought his young bride to New Orleans, after it was settled for King Louis XV. This house was damaged by the fire in 1794, but my great-great-grandfather, Jean-Paul, presided over the restoration himself, and made sure the structure was duplicated exactly, rather than allowing the Spanish style of architecture to influence the rebuilding. My grandson is the ninth generation to live here, although—” she made a moue of disappointment “—he doesn’t spend nearly enough time here.”

The long lineage the woman cited was difficult for Sara to comprehend. She hadn’t known her own grandparents. Family hadn’t meant a whole lot to her mother. Janie Parker had been most concerned with good times and handsome, fast-talking men. She’d made it her business to fill her life with both.

When they reached the huge, double front doors, Celeste showed Sara inside to a graceful tiled hall with vaulted ceilings supported by carved beams. After ordering iced tea from the servant who met them at the door, the older woman led Sara into an old-fashioned parlor, complete with furniture that looked as though it had traveled from France with Claude himself.

Celeste waved her to a chair facing the tall narrow windows gracing one wall. “This is my favorite room, partly because of its view of the gardens. If I were feeling more stable today I’d take you on a tour of them. It’s this awful blood pressure medication I’m on, of course. It sometimes causes the worst dizzy spells.”

“The gardens look lovely.” There was a note of wistfulness in Sara’s tone.

“They can be very peaceful.”

“Sometimes peace can be hard to find.”

“You are quite young, I think, to be so wise.”

“I’m twenty-one.” The lie came to her lips automatically as she shaved two years off her age. Amber Jennings was twenty-one. And Sara Parker’s age no longer mattered, since she’d ceased to exist six years ago.

“Ah, to be twenty-one again.” Celeste smiled at her, a dazzling display of charm that transcended her years. “I would be tempted to envy such youth had I many regrets.”

“But you have no regrets, have you?” The words came from behind them, the voice amused. Sara stilled, finding something about it ominously familiar. “Shall we credit that to clean living or a convenient conscience?”

“Nicky!” Delight sounded in Celeste’s tone, sparkled in her eyes. As the older woman offered a cheek for the tall, dark-haired newcomer to kiss, Sara stared, her feeling of foreboding changing to disbelief. Life, she’d often found, contained the cruelest of ironies. That had never been so apparent as right now.

Because the man straightening to greet her was none other than Nick Doucet.

“Amber, I’m thrilled that you will get to meet my grandson. Nicky, this is—”

“Amber Jennings,” Nick murmured, an arrested look on his face. Sara’s pulse tripped, and it didn’t escape her that he used the last name she was currently going by. She had little time to reflect on that fact, however. With his dark gaze fixed on her, he crossed to her chair, took her hand in his. Raising it, he brushed his lips across her knuckles. “What a delightful surprise.” The old-fashioned courtliness of his gesture was at odds with the pure wickedness in his eyes. “Welcome to my home.”

Heat flashed through her, owing nothing to the temperature and everything to the simmering, latent sexuality he exuded. His voice was as smooth as velvet, meant for dark steamy rooms and rumpled satin sheets. The image that description conjured up was just a little too real, and had tension spiking through Sara’s muscles.

“You know each other?” Puzzlement was evident in Celeste’s voice as she watched their byplay.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Their simultaneous but contradictory responses had the older woman’s brows climbing.

Sara felt compelled to explain, “Your grandson has come to the café where I work on a few occasions. That’s all.”

“For some reason Amber seems anxious to avoid me,” Nick added, taking a seat next to his grandmother. “What a delightful surprise to find her here this afternoon, especially after she turned down my earlier invitation.”