Into the Fire - Anne Stuart [68]
There were three gashes on her leg. At least the bleeding had stopped, though her entire foot was soaked in blood.
“Lie back on the table.”
“I’ve heard that before,” she said in a caustic voice.
“Behave yourself, Jamie.” He pushed her, surprisingly gentle, and she lay back, closing her eyes. It wasn’t the same push that had sent her hurtling forward into that room. Different hands, yet who else could it be? Who else was here?
“Did you push me?”
He was cleaning the scrapes with infinite care, and he didn’t hesitate. “You know I did. And if you try to sit up again I’ll sit on you.”
“I don’t mean now. I mean on the third floor. Did you push me into that room?”
Only the slightest hesitation, so slight that most people wouldn’t have noticed it. “I didn’t want you up there,” he said finally. “Why would I have pushed you in? Especially with the floor rotting away like that. The roof over the place has leaked for years, and I just got it redone this spring. I haven’t had enough money to take care of the damage on that floor, and I assumed no one would be wandering up there or I would have warned you. What in hell made you go up there in the first place?”
“I heard someone moving around up there. I thought you’d gone upstairs for something.”
“I was in the garage.”
“I didn’t hear you down there.”
“You think I’m lying?” The question was very casual, but she didn’t miss the edge.
“No,” she said. Hoping she meant it.
“You know this place has rats. They’ve taken a particular affection for you. You must have heard one moving around up there. The place is probably teeming with them. No one ever goes up there.”
She shuddered. “Why don’t you get rid of them?”
“I told you, there’s plenty of poison lying around. That’s why they suddenly show up dead at your feet. What can I say—you and rats have a certain affinity.”
“Are you talking about Nate or about you?”
“Take your pick. Why don’t you find some nice banker and marry him and make your mother happy?”
“Nothing would make my mother happy,” she said flatly.
“Well, you’ve learned that much over the years. Sit up.”
She actually didn’t want to. She wanted him to climb up on the table and kiss her, to wrap his arms around her and soothe her irrational fears. Because there was nothing to be afraid of, was there?
But she sat up, looking down at her bandaged leg, looking up into his shadowed face. He had her blood on his hands.
“Are you all right?” he asked finally, almost unwillingly. “You look as pale as a ghost.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts, right? Nate’s dead and gone—he can’t come back.”
“He’s dead and gone. I identified his body, Jamie. There wasn’t any doubt, despite the condition he was in.”
“Condition?” she echoed in a faint voice.
“Come on, Jamie, you know what shape he was in. He was beaten to a bloody pulp. The Duchess herself wouldn’t have recognized him, except for the jewelry and the clothes.”
“So there couldn’t have been a mistake?”
Dillon shook his head. “I was here at the time, Jamie. Nate didn’t leave.”
The first trickle of doubt began to form in the pit of her stomach. “What do you mean, you were here? You knew what was happening?”
He didn’t look at her. “I wasn’t Nate’s babysitter. He stayed on the third floor, remember? I work in the garage with the music cranked up.”
It wasn’t an answer, not a real one. He’d gone to the sink, washing her blood from his hands, and she could see the tension in his tall, lean body.
“You’re lying to me,” she said.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “What are you accusing me of, baby girl? Killing Nate? Luring you upstairs to try to kill you? Couldn’t I have just strangled you in bed?”
It shouldn’t have made her blush. Doubt filled her body, and she made herself slide down off the table. Her ankle hurt, but it bore her weight.
“I don’t know what to believe. All I know is you’re lying.”
He turned around, leaning back against the sink. “Yeah?” he said. “And do you want me to show you how much you care?