Still Lake - Anne Stuart [104]
She was wavering, he knew it. He’d managed to turn a prim-and-proper spinster into a healthy animal almost as hungry as he was. He wanted her in his bed, now.
“I can’t,” she said. “My mother had a bad spell tonight, and Doc’s watching her. I have to make sure Marty’s home and that Grace is sleeping. And Doc should be able to go home and take care of Rima, and…”
“Go check on them and come back to me. They’ll be fine. And when you do, find something slinky to wear,” he said wickedly. “It’s a crime to keep covering yourself up in those stupid ruffles.”
“I like ruffles.”
“You’re crazy,” he said flatly.
“Actually, it’s my mother who really went crazy tonight, accusing people of murder, saying that the flowers were talking to her.”
A sudden chill settled over him that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature. “Flowers?”
“Doc brought me some pretty yellow flowers, and Grace started insisting that the flowers were talking to her, telling her he was a murderer. Sweet old Doc, who wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
“Sweet old Doc,” Griffin echoed in a hollow voice.
“I really have to check on her,” Sophie said. “But I’ll come back.”
“Sure,” Griffin said absently, his brain working feverishly. Pretty yellow flowers, in Sophie’s kitchen, on the graves of the women who’d died. Pretty yellow flowers talking to crazy old women, telling them who killed.
He didn’t even notice when she left. He was trying to remember something, and it kept eluding him. He couldn’t even begin to guess what it was, he only knew it was important. A matter of life and death. And if he didn’t capture that long-lost memory then disaster would flow down over all of them. One more time.
He looked up and realized Sophie was gone. She was going to be pissed, he thought. She wouldn’t like the fact that he’d gone off into some kind of trance, ignoring her. He wouldn’t be surprised if she went home, locked the doors to keep him out and went straight to bed, furious with him.
He’d learned more than prelaw in prison. He’d learned how to hot-wire cars and jimmy most locks. As soon as he figured out what was preying on his mind he’d pay Miss Sophie Davis a little moonlight visit. Her bed was as good as his for what he had in mind, though she was going to have to be a little quieter when he made her come. Which he intended to do, any number of times.
He headed back to the cottage, making his way through the dark woods unerringly. He hoped Sophie hadn’t gotten lost again, but he imagined he’d hear her if she did. She was about as delicate as a stampeding elephant.
He chuckled to himself. She wouldn’t like that comparison. She didn’t seem to have the faintest idea how completely gorgeous she was. It was a crime to hide a body as fine as hers in all those layers. Though he had to admit it kept other men away, making her nicely vulnerable when he showed up.
He’d give her half an hour, and then he was going after her. He took a fast shower, threw on a clean pair of jeans and an old flannel shirt, this time pocketing half a dozen condoms. Nothing like locking the barn door after the horse was stolen, but with any luck they were still safe.
And if they weren’t? He wasn’t going to go there, not now. He couldn’t even begin to think about what his reaction might be, and besides, he had other things occupying his mind, like talking flowers and Doc, and…
It hit him so fast he almost fell over. A shock of memory so intense, so unexpected, that he felt dizzy. He stumbled into a chair by the empty fireplace, staring sightlessly into the ashes.
Lorelei had flowers in her hair. Yellow flowers, that he’d never seen before, and when he’d questioned her, full of adolescent jealousy, she’d laughed and told him she’d gotten them from a gentleman admirer.
Things had gone from bad to worse then. He’d been angry, shouted at her, and she’d shouted back. She’d always had a fondness for rough sex, and that night had been no different, tinged with the knowledge that he was leaving her, getting the hell out of Colby with the morning sun.