Into the Fire - Anne Stuart [54]
He grabbed her purse and her shoes from the safe. It was already growing dark, but he didn’t turn on the lights.
He didn’t bother muffling his footsteps as he climbed the stairs—this time he wanted her to know he was coming. Give her enough time to hide. If there was one thing he knew, it was that he absolutely never wanted to see Jamie Kincaid again. For some reason he couldn’t see her without touching her, and he couldn’t allow himself that kind of weakness. All he did was hurt her, anyway—the sooner she was out of here, the better. After all those years he was finally ready to put that part of his life behind him.
The door was still tightly shut, but there was no sound of tears from behind the thin pine. No sound at all.
Maybe she’d already left, but he didn’t believe it for a minute. He’d developed a sixth sense about her, and he knew she was just on the other side, holding her breath, probably closing her eyes and praying for him to move on.
Which he would, in just a moment. He rapped on the door, loudly.
“Go away!” Her voice was still husky with tears, and he found he could smile. Fighting to the end. What would it feel like to finally be done with her? Liberating? Or empty?
He set the bundle down on the floor outside the door. “Your purse and shoes are here,” he said. “The Volvo’s parked out front, with Nate’s things in the trunk. Just a little word to the wise—if you’re going to drive such an old car you might at least keep up the maintenance on it. Your plugs and points hadn’t been changed in years. You should have no trouble getting back to Rhode Island in one piece—it’s running better than it has in a long time.”
No answer from the other side of the door, but he hadn’t expected it. “If you need any more cash you’ll find it in the safe in the garage. I left it open for you. And don’t worry about having to see me again. I’ll keep out of your way until you’re gone.”
Nothing. He hadn’t really expected a word, and God help him if she opened the door.
He walked the rest of the way down the hall, noisily, and closed his bedroom door behind him.
Jamie sat cross-legged on the thin mattress. The sound of his footsteps in the hall, his voice outside her door, only made things more complicated. She heard the thump of her shoes and purse on the floor, the sound of his door slamming, and then everything was silent.
She stared at the door in disbelief. It had to be a trick, but she’d heard him walk away, heard the sound of the slamming door.
Just when she thought she’d begun to understand him he’d thrown her a curve. She opened the door cautiously, half expecting him to be lying in wait for her, but the hall was dark and empty. And at her feet were her shoes and purse.
She scooped them up before he could change his mind and shut the door behind her, scarcely believing her luck. He was letting her go, and nothing on God’s green earth would make her ever see him again.
Except that God’s earth was white with early December snow, not green at all, as she peered out her window. The Volvo was sitting in the alleyway, just lightly dusted with snow, and if she hurried she’d get away from there before it was completely dark, before the snow came down harder, before she changed her mind….
How could she possibly change her mind? Dillon Gaynor was the most dangerous thing in the world as far as she was concerned. He ruined her defenses, he didn’t take no for an answer, he terrified her, stole from her, lied to her. Why wasn’t she shoving her feet into her shoes and running out of there as fast as she could?
If only Mouser were around, she could talk to him. Not that she had the faintest idea what she’d say. Tell him to watch over Dillon, maybe. Take care of him.
Not that she cared. Not that it mattered. Not that she was going anywhere that night—she knew it with