No Turning Back Part 11

I could see into the kitchen and the refrigerator door was standing wide open, its meager contents dumped out on the linoleum. Dishes and gla.s.ses had been broken and lay in shards on the floor.

As I stood in shock and dismay, Blane came back into view from my bedroom, tucking the gun back in his waistband. His face was grim and terror gripped me.

"Did you find Tigger?" I asked frantically. I knew I absolutely could not handle it if something had happened to him. Blane shook his head.

"No. We can keep looking though." But I knew that he thought Tigger was probably dead or gone and his image blurred as my eyes filled with tears.

Carefully stepping over the broken gla.s.s, I stood in the doorway of my bedroom. My clothes had been pulled out of the closet and lay in disarray on the floor. I could see they'd been torn. Unable to stomach any more, I turned away.

A knock from the living room made us both spin around. My new neighbor, CJ, was standing there. Her mouth was shaped in an O as she peered around, wide-eyed. But I didn't notice that so much as what she was holding.

"Tigger!" I shrieked, stumbling forward to take him. Thank G.o.d. Tears leaked from my eyes as I felt his familiar rumbling purr. I looked at CJ.

"Thank you so much," I said. "How did you find him?"

"He was wandering around outside," she answered. "I thought he might be yours." She paused. "So, what the h.e.l.l happened in here?"

"Did you see or hear anything unusual today?" Blane asked. CJ shook her head.

"Nah. I work at night so I sleep during the day. Didn't hear a thing. Sorry." I was disappointed, but at least I had Tigger back.

"Well thank you so much for taking care of my cat," I said gratefully.

"No problem. Catch you later."

After she left, I looked around and sighed. What had already been a long day was promising to be an even longer night. And I didn't even want to think about how I was going to replace all of my things. I didn't have any renter's insurance.

"Come on," Blane said, picking his way through the living room to the door. I frowned in confusion.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "I can't leave. I need to call the cops and start cleaning this mess up."

"No you're not," he said curtly. "We'll call the cops from my place. You're staying there tonight." That was such a bad idea. Tempting, in that way that makes you know you'll love every minute and hate yourself in the morning, but still a bad idea.

"I don't think so," I stated firmly. "I can go stay with Clarice or something." Blane's jaw set and I grew wary.

"You can come willingly or unwillingly," he threatened. "But like it or not, you're coming with me." The look on his face made me think he wasn't bluffing.

Somehow I knew that if I went with him, there would be no turning back, a line in the sand would have been crossed. But despite that inner voice shouting at me, telling me going with Blane would be much more dangerous to my well-being than staying here, I gave in and followed him out my apartment door.

Chapter Seven.

I held Tigger in my arms as Blane drove. I felt numb. Mark had been murdered, and it appeared I might be next on their list. I held Tigger closer to me. Suddenly, he seemed like all I had.

The car stopped, Blane turned off the engine, and I looked around curiously. Not having paid attention to where we were driving, I hadn't realized we had arrived. Glancing out the window, I found myself gaping.

We were stopped in a circle driveway and my side faced the house. And what a house it was - a gorgeous, two-story colonial style house with huge pillars in front. A long sidewalk led to the enormous front door and discreetly placed floodlights lit the house at strategic spots. The bottom floor showed lights on inside and I wondered if Blane lived with other family members. Or a new girlfriend.

I took so long staring wonderingly at the house that Blane was already at my door before I had realized he'd gotten out. I gripped Tigger tightly as I stepped out of the car. We turned to the pathway and Blane reached over, lifting my purse strap off my shoulder, and carrying it by his fingers. His hand settled on the small of my back as he guided me up the walk.

Even in the deepening twilight shadows, I could see the grounds were s.p.a.cious and landscaped. We pa.s.sed carefully tended shrubs, and even though the yard was full of trees, I didn't see more than a handful of stray leaves on the ground. Those seemed to be an almost artistic touch rather than normal autumn debris. As we neared the door, it opened and I paused, hesitant.

"It's all right," Blane said rea.s.suringly. "It's just Mona, my housekeeper." Sure enough, a woman stepped into the doorway, smiling widely. She was a bit taller than me and appeared to be in her late fifties or early sixties. Her hair was a s.h.i.+ny silver gray and styled in a sleek bob. Her clothes were very nice and conservative, yet still practical. For some reason, she reminded me of a piano teacher.

"Good evening, Blane," she said, as we neared and pa.s.sed by her into the house. She shut the door and turned to us, her eyes resting expectantly on Blane.

"Good evening, Mona," Blane said. "This is Kathleen Turner. She works at the firm. Someone broke into her apartment so she and her cat are staying here." Mona frowned. I smiled nervously, hoping Mona didn't think I was one of Blane's flavors-of-the-month.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, dear," she said, and her eyes were kind. I let out the breath I'd been holding. She glanced down at Tigger, clutched in my arms. "Of course you're welcome here. What is your cat's name?"

"Tigger," I answered, "his name is Tigger." Said cat was still snoozing, his purring so loud it was almost embarra.s.sing. Mona reached over to scratch Tigger's ears, which made him purr more loudly.

"Perhaps Tigger would like some dinner?" she asked, and I nodded. She reached for him, and as I handed over my precious orange lump of pampered feline, Blane spoke to Mona.

"Where's Gerard?" he asked.

"Oh, he's upstairs," she said casually. "One of the bathrooms has a leaky faucet." Tigger seemed content in Mona's arms as she stroked his fur. "It'll be good to have a cat around here again," she said. My eyes widened a bit. This was just for tonight. I opened my mouth to correct her, but she kept talking. "My own cat, Morris, died a few years ago. We still have his litter box and things. You won't mind, will you, Tigger," she said to the oblivious cat. Well, c.r.a.p. Now I didn't have the heart to tell her we weren't staying long.

"Will you let him know that I'm in for the evening?" Blane said.

"Of course," Mona replied. "Let me get Tigger settled and I'll get you two some dinner."

"I'm putting Kathleen in the Garden Room," Blane called after her as she walked away. "Is it suitable?"

Mona stopped abruptly, turning around to look at Blane, and her face registered surprise before she masked it. "Quite," was all she said before resuming her path to the kitchen.

I tried not to gape like a complete hick as I cast furtive glances around the foyer. The whole house had beautiful wood floors with rugs tossed lavishly throughout. A grand staircase, straight out of Gone with the Wind, led to the upper floor. Off to my right on the main level was a grand piano under a chandelier and an archway leading to yet another room. To my left was an identical towering arch that led to a dining room with a dark mahogany table that easily sat twelve.

"This way," Blane said, taking my elbow. My arms suddenly felt bereft without Tigger.

"Mona and her husband Gerard take care of the house and grounds," Blane explained, as we climbed the stairs. "They live in a house that adjoins the property. They decided to come with us when we moved here from back East when I was a child."

"How long have they worked for you?" I asked.

"As long as I can remember," Blane answered. "Mona was also my nanny when I was a child." He'd had a nanny. I'd had after-school specials on the television. I was yet again reminded of the vast differences between Blane's station in life and my own.

The upstairs was just as awe inspiring as the downstairs. A long Persian runner lay on the floor of the hallway and I nearly couldn't bring myself to walk on it, it was so pretty. Blane walked to the end of the hallway and opened a door, pulling me inside. He flipped on the lights and I stared in awe once again.

Now I understood why he'd called it the Garden Room. All four wall featured a magnificent continuous mural. Impressionist painters had always been a favorite of mine and I recognized Monet's Garden at Giverny. Even the bed linen fit the theme. The overall effect was that you were standing in the middle of a beautiful, sun-dappled garden with lavender flowers and a pond with water lilies.

"Do you like it?" Blane asked.

"It's...amazing," I said wonderingly.

"My mother was an artist. She decorated each of the bedrooms in a different artistic style. This room she painted herself." I turned to Blane.

"Your mother painted this?" I said, amazed. He smiled, nodding.

"She was quite talented," he replied, and I thought I detected a hint of pride in his voice. He gestured to a doorway in the far corner.

"There's a bathroom through there," he said. "In case you want to freshen up before dinner." His kindness suddenly hit me and I was humbled by it.

"Blane," I began, "I don't know how to thank-" but I was cut off when he placed a finger on my lips.

"Don't thank me yet," he said, and his voice had taken on an edge that made me wary. "When it comes to you, my motives aren't exactly..." he paused, his eyes skimming down my body and back up. "...altruistic," he finished. My mouth went dry.

"I'll be back to get you shortly," he said, pulling the door closed as he left. I sank down onto the bed and nearly groaned. The beautiful quilt was soft and luxurious; the mattress perfect between too soft and too hard. I felt a bit like Goldilocks and couldn't resist scooting back and lying down. A sigh escaped me as my head hit the down pillow. Blane hadn't said how long he'd be and I thought maybe I could rest for just a few minutes.

When I opened my eyes, I knew instantly that it had been more than a few minutes. The room was cloaked in the deep shadows of night and someone had covered me with a blanket. I rubbed my eyes, then glanced at my watch. It was after midnight. I'd slept for over six hours. Some guest I was, I thought with chagrin. I'd slept through dinner and hadn't even gone to see about Tigger.

Speaking of dinner, I realized I was starving. And sleeping in my clothes, which I hated doing. The house was pretty big, maybe it wouldn't disturb anyone if I snuck down to the kitchen and got a snack. I had no idea how many people lived here with Blane.

Swinging my legs out of bed, I realized someone had removed my shoes as well. I tried not to think about who that might have been as I searched for them in the dark but couldn't find them. Oh well. Less dirt to get on the Persian rug.

A quick stop in a bathroom, no less luxurious and as pretty as the bedroom, to brush my teeth and splash some water on my face and I was ready to go.

The house was like a well-oiled machine no doors squeaked when opened and no floorboards creaked under my footsteps. It was dark but there was enough ambient light for me to see. I crept down the stairs and through the dining room to where I thought the kitchen might be. Jackpot! And, like every other kitchen I'd ever been in, a small light had been left on.

A huge, stainless steel refrigerator stood in the corner and I went right to it, stomach grumbling along the way, as if sensing food was near. I pulled open the door to survey the contents and was somewhat disappointed with what I saw. It was a very healthy refrigerator with lots of vegetables, cheese, yogurt and eggs. I wondered if I should dare to try and make eggs, but then decided that would be too much trouble.

I opened the freezer and peered inside, grinning in delight at what I saw. As luck would have it, and I'd had precious little luck lately, a pint of Ben & Jerry's Rocky Road sat on the shelf just waiting for me. Without thinking twice, I grabbed it, fished a spoon out of a nearby drawer, plunked myself down in a chair at the small kitchen table and dug in.

My eyes closed in pleasure as the first bite of chocolaty gooeyness. .h.i.t my tongue and I sighed. I ate slowly, savoring each spoonful. This was turning out to be the best part of my rotten day. My thoughts turned to Mark and I felt embarra.s.sed and guilty at my own self-pity. He'd certainly had a much worse day than me.

I thought about the things he had told me yesterday. Something kept niggling at the back of my mind, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Trying to focus on what was bothering me made it more elusive and finally I gave up. With a jolt, I remembered that he'd given me his backpack. I'd forgotten about it after everything that had happened today. Now I was thankful that I'd left it in the trunk of my car and not in my apartment. My car was still at the firm so it should be safe.

"I see you woke up," Blane said, and I nearly choked on my ice cream.

Blane moved into my field of vision and leaned against the granite counter in his favorite pose, arms and ankles crossed as he surveyed me. My hand automatically reached up to smooth my hair and then I self-consciously jerked it back down. The last thing I wanted was him thinking I was preening for him, though I knew his eyes had missed nothing.

"Ice cream?" he asked, gesturing to the now nearly empty container.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly, "I've eaten nearly all of it." I'd considered getting a bowl, but realistically had known I would probably finish the whole pint. It was dark but I thought I saw his lips twitch slightly. "It was Rocky Road," I elaborated, as if that explained everything.

"Rocky Road," he repeated. I took another mouthful, swallowing before I spoke again.

"Chocolate covered nuts wrapped in marshmallowy goodness in chocolate ice cream, what's not to love?"

"Indeed."

I ate in silence for a few minutes. He surprised me by pulling out a chair and sitting opposite me. The loaded spoonful I'd taken stuck in my throat and I swallowed heavily. Feeling the need to fill the silence, I started talking.

"You have a really beautiful home," I said. "Do you live alone?" I wondered where his parents were or if they were no longer around.

"Thank you," he replied. "And yes, I live alone." I scooped up some more ice cream.

"Your brother?" I asked, but he shook his head. "Your...parents?" I said hesitantly, and left the rest of the question unasked. He shook his head again.

"They're no longer with me." I felt a twinge of sympathy for Blane and thought, ruefully, that we finally had something in common. I, too, was without my parents.

"Do you know why anyone would have done that to your apartment?" Blane asked. I ignored the emotion that surged inside me at the mention of my apartment and tried to think. It occurred to me then that the only new thing in my possession was Mark's backpack, but considering how easily Blane had taken Sheila's phone from me, I wasn't about to tell him about it.

"No, I don't," I answered. "I don't really have any enemies here and I don't own anything of any real value." I thought of Diane but dismissed her. She wasn't the type to do something like that, even disliking me as much as she did.

"Maybe someone with a vendetta," Blane persisted. "A jilted lover?" My cheeks flamed in the dark and it seemed the tension in the room notched upwards at his words. I cleared my throat before answering.

"Um, no, that couldn't be, I mean, there's not...just...no." I winced at my stammering explanation, really not wanting to go into details that my last "lover," if you could even call him that, had been years ago and I was quite sure was not carrying a torch for me. Blane didn't say anything to that and I busied myself licking the spoon clean.

Blane took the empty carton and spoon from me, tossing the carton away before putting my spoon in the sink. I faced Blane awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. He didn't help matters, merely watching me as I made to move past him.

"Well, good night," I said, but his hand closed on my arm.

"I'll walk you back upstairs," he said. "It's dark and I don't want you to trip and fall."

I could feel my skin tingling from where his fingers touched me. I swallowed and allowed him to lead me from the kitchen.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep and missed dinner," I said as we walked. "That was rude of me."

"You were tired," he responded in an emotionless voice. I couldn't tell if he was upset or could care less. He was so difficult to read, it was frustrating. His thoughts and emotions always seemed to be kept very carefully under wraps. Whereas I felt like I was an open book.

The house seemed darker now, perhaps because I'd been in the brighter kitchen, and I was glad Blane was guiding me. We walked up the stairs and to my bedroom door.

"Mona put some clothes for you in the bureau and closet," Blane said. "They should fit well enough until your apartment is back together."

At his words, I felt my eyes sting with tears and this time I didn't have the strength to fight it. I'd been unwilling to deal with the feelings of violation and fear that filled me when I thought about what had happened. Now that came rus.h.i.+ng in and I fought to maintain control. I didn't want to cry in front of Blane. He'd leave in a minute and I could have my emotional breakdown in privacy.

"Thank you," I squeezed past my throat thickened with tears, blinking my eyes rapidly to press them back.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, sensing my distress. His hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb lightly brus.h.i.+ng my skin.

"It's all right," I managed, fighting the urge to tilt my head towards his hand and the comfort he offered.

"It's not all right," he said fiercely, and my eyes widened in surprise at his tone. "You need someone to take care of you."

Those words shocked the h.e.l.l out of me and also ignited my independent streak. I drew back from him and his arm fell to his side.

"I don't need anyone to take care of me," I said stiffly. "I can take care of myself." Blane's eyes narrowed and I instinctively stepped back further.

"Because you're doing such a great job?" he said wryly. I ignored his words. A small, frightened part of me thought he might be right, but I refused to acknowledge it. It wasn't like he was volunteering for the job. That thought took the heat from my anger and depressed me. I was alone, whether I liked it or not.

I didn't have anything more to say and didn't want to hear anything he might say, so I warily slipped past him into the room. He allowed me to pa.s.s, his eyes intent on mine as I closed the door. After a moment, I heard his footsteps moving down the hall and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

I decided I would feel and sleep better if I showered, so after a quick examination of the drawers and closets, I turned up a few under things and a t-s.h.i.+rt that would work for me. The choice of panties made me blush. I didn't want to think about whose they were or why Blane had them in his house when he'd said he lived alone. I grabbed the one plain white satin pair I found and headed into the bathroom.