Still Lake - Anne Stuart [103]
“And he’s got us both locked up in here.”
“But he doesn’t have Sophie. With any luck she’s off with that young man, and he’ll have figured out what’s going on.”
“Why should Mr. Smith care?”
“Because he’s not Mr. Smith, you little ninny. He’s the boy who was convicted of the murders twenty years ago. The rest of you were too dumb to recognize him, but I could tell right away. I even left a copy of the old newspaper with his picture in it so Sophie would find it and figure it out. But she didn’t.” Grace’s voice was sharp with disgust. “I told her she should read the books I read. She would have picked up on it in a flash.”
Marty shivered, suddenly afraid. She didn’t want to die. Not with Patrick Laflamme’s kiss still sweet on her mouth. “What are we going to do, Gracey?” she asked in a meek voice.
Grace slid out of the chair, putting her arms around Marty’s shivering body. “I’ll tell you one thing, love. I’m not going to let him hurt you. I promise you that.”
Grace’s thin arms held her tightly, but Marty had no illusions. Grace’s mind might be clear as a bell, but she was still only a slender, middle-aged woman. If it came to a showdown between her and Doc, there was no question who would win.
But she didn’t say anything. She just hugged Grace back. “Sophie’s gonna kill you when she finds out you were faking,” she muttered.
“That’s the least of my worries right now,” Grace said with ghoulish complacency. “She’ll forgive me.”
“I just hope she gets the chance,” Marty said gloomily.
“She will, love. She will.”
Griffin didn’t sleep. The moon scudded behind the clouds, spreading a shadow over the clearing, and he felt a sudden chill. The evening had grown cooler, and in a few minutes he’d be freezing his ass off. As would Sophie, since her delectable ass was still pointing upward as she sprawled across his body.
He wasn’t about to move her, wake her up. Her skin was cooling, but she seemed so peaceful that he didn’t want anything to change that. And then she sneezed, twice, lifting her head to stare at him.
“Something bit my butt,” she said.
“It wasn’t me. Not that I wouldn’t be more than happy to, but you’ve been lying on top of me….” Before he could finish his sentence she’d rolled off him, scampering off the picnic table too fast for him to stop her. He could have kicked himself.
“Where are my clothes?” she asked in a worried voice, not looking at him now, intent on searching the night-shrouded clearing.
Damned shame about the moon, he thought, sitting up. He could still see her fairly clearly in the night—her pale skin and lush curves moved through the shadows with hurried grace. He reached behind him for the scattered clothing, tossing the petticoat in her direction.
“Here you go,” he said amiably.
She pulled it on, and she looked quite fetching bare-breasted, barefooted in a white lacy petticoat. He really hated giving up the bra, but she was holding out her hand, so he handed the rest of her clothes over to her, with the exception of the skimpy panties. He saw his jeans come flying at him, and he caught them before they hit him in the face. He’d had every intention of walking back to the house bare-assed, but Sophie clearly had other ideas, and he climbed off the table and pulled them on. As he moved, the unused condom fell on the ground, and he just barely stifled a groan.
“What’s wrong?” she said sharply.
“Nothing. Where do you think you’re going?” It was a simple-enough question.
“Back home, of course. I need to check on my mother.”
“Your sister can look after your mother. We haven’t finished.”
“We haven’t?” she said, momentarily distracted. “What else were we going to do?”
“Well, I thought we could try it standing up….”
“I didn’t mean that,” she said hastily. “Besides, we don’t need to do it tonight.”
“I do,” he said. “Your mother’s sound asleep, Sophie. Wouldn’t you like to do it in a bed for a change? Mattresses have a number of advantages, not the least of which is it’s easier on the knees. Yours and mine.”
He didn’t need the moonlight to know she was blushing. “Come on,