Ice Blue - Anne Stuart [61]
“Not really. You were out cold. You must have needed the rest.”
“I didn’t get much sleep last night.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she choked, and if she could she would have slapped her hands over her betraying lips. But trying would only bring her closer to him, and she wanted to keep as far away as possible.
“No, you didn’t,” he said in a neutral voice that was almost worse than a leer. “Are you ready to go?”
“So polite. What if I said I wasn’t?”
He was reaching for the straps that bound her. “I would do my best to persuade you otherwise. Come here.”
She wasn’t moving any closer to him, not if she could help it. “No.”
“I can’t untie your wrists unless you do.”
“I can manage…” She was already trying to work her fingers into the knot when he muttered a curse beneath his breath and she felt the straps begin to pull. It was a simple enough matter to drag her next to him—there wasn’t that much play in the rope.
“Stop fighting me,” he said, undoing the knot with insulting ease.
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen anytime soon,” she retorted.
“You weren’t fighting this morning.”
Silence filled the darkened belly of the plane as it rocked gently on the water. “Everyone makes mistakes,” she said finally.
“Yes,” he said. “They do.” He moved past her, pushing open the door. It was dark outside, and the smell of the sea was strong. Could she shove him out the door and slam it shut, like Hansel and Gretel tossing the wicked witch into the furnace? He wasn’t likely to end up being gingerbread.
“Are we going to swim for it?”
“We’re tied up at a dock—you won’t even get your feet wet. Come on.”
“Lucky me,” she muttered, trying to stand. There was just enough room do so, but her knees were wobbly, and there was nothing to hold on to as she felt herself falling.
Nothing but the arm that caught her, wrapped hard around her waist, bringing back the memory of that morning with shocking swiftness. She could even hear his words in her head—soft, seductive words.
“I’d rather you didn’t drown,” he said, lifting her over the threshold of the plane and setting her on the broad dock. He followed after her before she even had time to consider running.
“That’s right, you’ve already saved me from a watery grave, haven’t you?” she said, pulling herself together. “Why?”
“To find the urn.”
Ask a stupid question, get the wrong answer. He was still holding her, and if she thought she had a chance in hell of shoving him into the icy-cold waters of Puget Sound she would have tried.
“How far do we have to walk?”
“I have a car.”
“Of course you do. Where’s the pilot? Did you cut his throat and dump him in the sound?”
“I’d have a hard time finding pilots if I made a practice of doing that.”
“Maybe you were just taking out your frustrations on him, since you can’t kill me.”
Silence, deep and dark like the Pacific night stretched between them, and a light mist began to fall. “I can kill you, Summer. If I have to.”
She could see him now. There were no houses around to provide light, an oddity in itself. She would have thought every single inch of waterfront on Bainbridge would have been developed. But a slender quarter moon was out, and she could see his face, as expressionless as his voice. And she had no doubt at all he could do just as he said.
He took her arm, and she didn’t bother trying to free herself. He led her up the steep incline to the road, not much more than a narrow dirt track, and she barely looked at the car he bundled her into. The numbness was slowly beginning to recede, the numbness that had taken over her body from the moment he’d let her go in the bedroom, the numbness that had shut her down completely on the small plane. Anger was spiking through, shards of fury splintering the dazed calm. He’d lied about everything: why shouldn’t he be lying about her sister, as well? Maybe Jilly was still stuck in the Shirosama’s pudgy white claws, and maybe Summer would have to take desperate steps to