Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [89]
He was getting the hell out of La Casa, out of Los Angeles, before he lost whatever trace of decency he had left in him. He had no idea where he was heading, only that he had to get out of there.
But he had to finish off Meyer before he went. Or Rachel-Ann would never be safe.
It was no longer justice, it was no longer revenge. It was much simpler than that. His arrival in L.A. had set too many things in motion. He needed to salvage what he could.
He packed, throwing his clothes in his suitcase with a total lack of respect for their price tags or labels. The sun was just coming up over the edge of the trees when he heard the noise. A soft, slightly shuffling sound, and his blood froze.
The ghosts, he thought, knowing that he didn’t believe in them. Knowing they were coming, anyway. Moving slowly, almost silently, only the faint, whispery sound announcing their approach.
He was too damned tired to think straight. He could hear a clicking sound—click click, click click—and he moved toward the French doors instinctively. Rachel-Ann wasn’t even there—she was safe from them. And Jilly couldn’t even see them—they’d wish her no harm.
But he deserved any kind of punishment he could get, in this world or the next, and he waited as the door slowly opened into the room, ready to face the walking dead.
Roofus leapt toward him in canine delight, his paws clicking on the marble floor. Behind him came Jilly, moving gingerly on her bandaged feet. Coltrane looked at the two of them and almost wished they’d been ghosts.
Jilly halted just inside the room. The pain pills must have been weaker than he thought, because she looked wide-awake. She’d changed out of her bloodstained clothes into what she probably thought wasn’t provocative. On most people a baggy T-shirt and jeans wouldn’t have been arousing. Right now all Jilly had to do was breathe and he was aroused.
Her hair was hanging loose, down around her hips in a dark curtain, and her face was pale in the murky light of dawn. She looked at the suitcase on the bed, then glanced up at him. “You’re leaving?” she said in an even voice.
“I told you I was.”
“Why? Don’t you want to cause more trouble?”
“What I love most about you, Jillian Meyer, is your sweet nature,” he said wryly. “I’m getting out before I make things worse. I’ve got a couple of things to take care of and then you never have to see me again. Count your blessings.”
“I don’t want you to go,” she said flatly. “I need your help.”
He looked at her, not bothering to hide his shock. “You need my help?” he echoed in disbelief. “Strong, powerful Jillian, ruler of the universe, protector of the weak, defender of the family, needs the help of a snake like me? I thought you could do everything.”
She limped across the room, over to the bed and sat down beside his suitcase. There wasn’t any other place to sit in the derelict room, and her feet had to be hurting. But seeing her sitting on his bed unnerved him.
“I can’t do everything,” she said in a quiet voice. “I can’t fix things, I can’t save things, no matter how hard I try. I can’t make my father love Dean more, I can’t make him love Rachel-Ann less. Hell, I can’t make him love me at all.” Her faint grin was self-mocking. “Not that I care, mind you. Jackson’s very good at being charming when he wants something, but I learned years ago just how little that counts for. And that’s why he hates me. I’m the one person who sees him for what he is, and nothing he does can fool me.”
“I wouldn’t say you’re the one person,” Coltrane said. “I’m not particularly deluded about him.”
“And you still work for him? Then you’re worse than I thought,” she said.
“Impossible. You think I’m pond scum. Not unlike the stuff that’s growing over your abandoned swimming pool.” He said it on purpose, just to test her reaction.
She shuddered visibly. “I don’t…like the swimming pool,” she