Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [81]
“Hush, Jilly,” he said softly. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, hold it for some kind of comfort, but he didn’t trust his left hand with the wheel. “You didn’t imagine it. And whether or not it’s incest, it’s wrong. He’s the only father she’s ever known. Rachel-Ann knows it’s sick. I think Jackson knows it, too, and he doesn’t give a shit.”
“Oh, God,” she said in a quiet voice.
“He’s not going to get her, Jilly. He’s not going to put his hands on her again.”
He had no idea what she made of his steely voice. It didn’t matter. He’d wrap his hands around Jackson Meyer’s carefully tanned throat and squeeze the life out of him if he ever put his hands on his sister again.
Jilly was silent. “I trust you,” she said finally.
“Don’t. I’m not someone you should ever trust. Just because I won’t let your father touch Rachel-Ann doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous on my own. Don’t ever forget that.” He had no idea why he was warning her. Particularly when he had every intention to taking her to bed within the next hour.
“Big bad man,” she murmured sleepily.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I consider myself warned. You’re not nearly as evil as you’d like to think you are. I’m on to you. I should have realized when Roofus liked you so much. He has excellent instincts when it comes to people.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“It’s been a long night—cut me some slack,” she said sleepily. “Don’t worry, I’ll hate you tomorrow. In the meantime I like the novel sensation of someone taking care of me. Are you really going to carry me upstairs when we get home?”
“It’s either that or you crawl up on your hands and knees.”
“I think I prefer the Scarlett O’Hara scenario,” she said dreamily.
“Just don’t punch me when I’m carrying you.”
“I’ll try to resist the temptation,” she said.
It wouldn’t do her any good, but he didn’t bother to tell her that. She’d already had a hard time resisting him, and tonight she was far more vulnerable. He wasn’t going to leave her until he’d taken everything he wanted from her, wasn’t going to leave her until she was so bone weary she’d sleep for weeks.
And he’d just have to hope that Rachel-Ann was safe somewhere. Far away from her father.
When Rachel-Ann ran from the house she didn’t stop to think, to hesitate, to question. She ran blindly, down the path circling the terrace to the garage, only to find her car trapped by her father’s G-Wagen. On instinct she grabbed her useless keys, then turned to look for another avenue of escape. Coltrane’s Range Rover was parked beside it, and in a panic she tried the door. He hadn’t locked it, and the beeping noise signaled that he’d left the keys in the ignition. She didn’t bother to question her sheer good luck, she simply jumped in, started the car and took off down the long, winding driveway. She was shaking so badly she could barely keep the car on the road, and it slid into a side street, just barely missing an oncoming car.
She pulled over to the side, fastening the seat belt with shaking hands. “You’ll be fine, Rachel-Ann,” she whispered. “Just drive carefully and you’ll be fine.” She pulled into the street once more, after carefully checking the traffic, and began to drive, putting all her concentration into the simple act of keeping the Range Rover moving in a straight, steady line. She didn’t want to think about them. About the voices, the hands that touched her.
“Run away,” the ghostly apparition had said. “Your brother will stop him. Get out of here, quickly!”
And Rachel-Ann, numb with terror, had said, “Yes, I will.”
She had no idea where she was driving, she simply drove, concentrating on the traffic, the lights, the simple mechanics of the car.
She should go to a hotel, book a room and hide there. No one could find her there, not ghosts, not her father. She’d be safe, alone.
She didn’t want to be alone. And she’d run out without her purse, even