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His mouth came crashing down on hers in a deep, blistering kiss—an explosion that involved his tongue plundering hers, the clean taste of him in her mouth, the virile aroma of him in her nostrils. For one uncontrollable, urgent moment, as he strained his hardness against her, his hand dipping inside her robe to stroke the softness of her bare skin, Madeline surrendered to his sensual assault.
Sanity was restored to her at the same time as his own awareness must have surfaced. When he suddenly released her, she felt she was being thrown away. If she experienced any sensation of loss, she denied it to herself. It would have been canceled, anyway, by the look in his eyes as she backed away from him to an area of safety. It was a wounded look, one of naked accusation. Then, without a word, he swung around and strode out of the room.
Shaken, Madeline went to stand by the window. She stared out at the leafless trees against the overcast sky and remembered his kiss. There had been a wild passion in it. There had also been a seething anger. It was the anger that decided her.
Recovering herself, she went back into the bathroom and turned off the water. She was still damp from her shower. She dried herself, fixed her hair and gathered together all of her belongings. When her satchel and suitcase were packed, the bed neatly made, she left the room and went to look for him.
She found him in the kitchen by the back door, hands thrust into his pockets as he gazed out at the barren landscape. Their situation had become impossible, one Madeline could no longer bear. He would have to understand and accept that.
“I can’t stay here any longer. I won’t stay here,” she informed him, managing to keep her voice low and even, though she was trembling with emotion.
He turned away from the windowed door and looked at her. Then, without asking for an explanation or offering any argument, he nodded slowly. That’s when she realized that he, too, could no longer endure this bewildering mixture of stress and sizzle that had been between them from the start.
“Neil will have to make other arrangements for me,” she said. “I don’t care what they are, just as long as he makes them immediately.”
Again he made no objection. He must have known as well as she that they were a mistake together and that giving her back to Neil was the best thing for both of them.
“All right,” he said.
He went to the phone on the wall and dialed. She listened to him speak briefly to someone at the Milwaukee precinct where Neil worked.
“He’s off today,” Mitch reported after he ended the call. “I’ll try him at home.”
Again she waited while he dialed and talked to someone who, by the tenor of the quick conversation, clearly was not Neil. He hung up and turned to her.
“It was the girl who cleans house for him,” Mitch explained. “She’d finished her work and was just leaving. Neil isn’t there. She said he went out to get a paper and coffee and would probably be back in a few minutes. We’ll just have to wait.”
Madeline shook her head, her frustration at an intolerable level. “I don’t want to wait. I want you to drive me to his house.”
Her tone was so insistent that one of his thick eyebrows quirked. “What are you saying? That if we wait I might change my mind, or that if I give Neil the chance, he’ll change it for me?”
“There is that possibility,” she admitted. “But if you deliver me to his door, he’ll have to take me in. Please.”
“Have it your way,” he conceded. But she knew he was relieved by her decision.
Minutes later, with her suitcase and satchel tucked behind the front seat of his pickup, they headed in the direction of Milwaukee. They didn’t talk on the drive. Glancing at him at the wheel, she wondered if he was experiencing either regret or uncertainty. If he was, he didn’t express it by word or look.
Madeline thought about asking him again why he seemed to resent her, and just what had gone wrong between them. But at this stage, what was the point? Turning her attention from the man beside her, she diverted herself with the countryside through which they dipped and wound. Neil had told her on the drive out to the farm that the area was known as the Kettle Moraine. Even under a cold, dismal sky, it was a lovely region with wooded hills and gentle valleys.
When the first snowflakes of the season began to drift down from the darkening sky, Madeline remembered thinking two days ago how a blanket of white would soften the scene, enrich it. It seemed that her longing was being answered.
But as the snowfall thickened, the route began to seem less like a welcome Christmas card and more like a potential problem. She finally voiced her concern to Mitch. “This is getting heavy, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “It’s Wisconsin. It snows.”
There was no reason to be worried if he wasn’t bothered himself. That’s what she told herself, but by the time they reached the fringes of Milwaukee it was snowing in earnest. The wind had risen, driving a curtain of white against the truck as it crawled through the traffic. Snow was piling in the streets faster than the plows could remove it, making the going hazardous.
Madeline was relieved when Mitch pulled into the driveway of the small, suburban ranch house that Neil occupied. There was no sign of life along the quiet street. People were wisely staying indoors.
Mitch left the engine running and turned to her. “I want you to stay here in the cab while I go in and talk to him. Neil isn’t going to be happy about this. I have some explaining to do, and I’m better off handling that without you on the scene.”
Madeline was puzzled. What could he have to say to Neil that he didn’t want her to hear? She started to object but decided that she wanted no more quarrels with him. All she needed was a fast resolution to the problem and a final parting from him.
“You’ll be all right,” he assured her, turning off the blower that had kept the windows clear. They immediately began to cloud over with moisture. “With the fogged windows and all that snowfall out there, no one will know you’re even in here. Just stay in the cab and keep the doors locked. I’ll try to be as quick as I can.”
His coat strained against him as he opened the door and started to slide out of the truck, revealing an unmistakable bulge beneath the leather. He must have brought his gun with him. He couldn’t have anticipated trouble, not here. He must simply be exercising caution, feeling a responsibility for her until he handed her back to Neil.
But before she could ask him about it, he was gone. Scrubbing the mist off a spot on the window, she could just make out through the swirling snow the dim shape of his tall figure disappearing around the back corner of the house.
Making sure the doors on both sides were secure, Madeline turned on the radio to hear a weather forecast. It was something they should have done on the drive in, but both of them had been too preoccupied to think of it.
She found a news station and learned what she already feared—that the snow was rapidly developing into a major winter storm. When the station started to announce early school closings and cancellations of public meetings, she switched off the radio.
She went on waiting, wondering what was taking him so long. It seemed forever before a sudden rap on the window of the driver’s door startled her. Leaning over, she rubbed away the condensation and discovered Mitch’s face pressed against the glass. She unlocked the door.
There was an urgency about the way he flung open the door and climbed behind the wheel, bringing a rush of snow and cold air into the cab with him.
“Is something wrong?”
He didn’t answer her. Without bothering to buckle up, he turned the blower on full blast, threw the gear into Reverse, gunned the engine and backed out of the driveway. The wheels spun in the snow on the turn. Then, digging in, the pickup leaped forward and tore up the street.
Madeline stared at him. His face was granite hard and grim. “What is it?” she demanded. “What’s happened?”
“Not now,” he muttered, biting the words, each syllable uttered on a note of harshness.
They roared recklessly around a corner, the pickup skidding dangerously on the slick snow. Rocked against her seat belt, Madeline caught her breath and waited for an impact. But the pickup righted itself and went on speeding through the blinding whiteness.
“Slow down before you kill us,” she pleaded.
He didn’t seem to hear her. His hands tightened on the wheel. Her own hands clenched the seat. She felt sick. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Why were they fleeing?
“Tell me,” she insisted.
And he told her, bluntly and without looking at her.
“Neil is dead.”
Chapter Three
Mitch knew he couldn’t go on risking their necks like this, that he had to pull over somewhere long enough to tell her the rest. He didn’t trust himself to do that while they were rolling. He just wasn’t steady enough.
There. A strip mall. The snowstorm had nearly emptied the parking lot. They should be safe for a few minutes.
Slowing, Mitch swung into the lot and tucked the pickup between a large van and a panel truck. It was a spot where their presence wouldn’t be obvious but where he could still keep an eye on the street. He left the engine running and turned to her. She was frightened, of course, and looked it. He was sorry about that, but there had been no time to waste on explanations. They had needed to leave the scene as quickly as possible.
Hell, Mitch was badly shaken himself. Still so jolted by the whole thing that he had yet to take it in, to realize his terrible loss. Nerving himself, he waited for her questions.
“What do you mean, dead?” she whispered, voice husky with emotion, amber eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
There was no way to soften it, no time for niceties. He had to make her understand. “Dead,” he said, managing not to choke on the words, “as in lying on his kitchen floor with a bullet in him.”
Madeline stared at him, numb and silent. He was aware of the snow hissing against the windows, of the wipers slashing across the glass. Then he was conscious of something else. There was a disturbing expression in her eyes as she searched his face, and Mitch knew she was remembering he’d insisted on going into the house alone. She had no way of knowing it was because he hadn’t wanted her to hear him tell Neil that he could no longer protect the woman he held responsible for Julie’s death.
Her expression was followed by something even more unsettling. He saw her gaze drift in the direction of the place where he kept his pistol in the belt holster under his coat. The pistol that was no longer there. Then that same gaze flew back to his face in horror.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t kill him.”
She shook her head, not in denial but as if to throw off the initial shock. “I—I’m sorry. It was just that for a second I thought—” She paused to clear her mind. “Then, why did we run like that?”
“It was necessary. Look,” he explained, “I knew something was wrong when I got to the back door. I could see someone lying facedown on the floor of the kitchen. That’s why I went into the house with my gun drawn. It was Neil on the floor. I was kneeling beside him, checking for life signs, when something heavy came down on the back of my skull. By the time I came to, the pistol was no longer in my hand, and Neil had a bullet hole in his head that hadn’t been there before.”
“What are you saying?” Madeline whispered. “Are you telling me—”
“Yeah, the bastard must have used my gun to kill him, because I don’t think Neil was dead when I knelt beside him. I think he was just unconscious, knocked over the head like I was. I don’t suppose you heard the shot?”
“Nothing. I had the radio on. What about the gun? What happened to it? Do you think the killer took it with him?”
“What I think is that it’s still in that house, hidden someplace where I wouldn’t easily find it but where the police are certain to after a thorough search.”
“Did you look for it?”
“Yeah, and without luck. I would have looked a lot further if she hadn’t waltzed into the kitchen with a casserole in her hands.”
“Who?”
“Claire, his next-door neighbor. She was forever doing favors for Neil, trying to win his attention.”
“And when she found you like that with his body—”
“That’s right, she figured I killed Neil. I could see that much in her face. And she wouldn’t listen. Too scared to stop for any explanation. The next thing I knew, the casserole was all over the floor and she was out of there. By the time I got outside, she was back at her own house barricaded inside—and you can be sure she was calling the cops.”
“But if you had stayed there and waited for them to come, then explained—” She broke off in sudden understanding. “But, of course, you couldn’t, could you. The gun that killed Neil would be registered in your name.”
“Not to mention my fingerprints on it. The murderer would have made sure of that. All the evidence is there, pointing straight to me. I had no choice but to run.”
“And we can’t trust the police, anyway, can we? Any one of them could be the man or woman in Griff’s pay.”
And if I’m arrested, sweetheart, that leaves you at the mercy of the enemy. I have to stay free, because right now I’m all you’ve got.
Mitch hated this. Hated suddenly having to behave like a guilty fugitive. All he had wanted was to be rid of this woman, give her back to Neil—but that could never happen now. Neil was gone, leaving Mitch with the maddening memory of the promise he had made. That he would protect Madeline, make sure she stayed healthy until it was reliably safe for him to do otherwise. It was a promise he continued to owe his friend. No choice, then. Madeline Raeburn was still his responsibility.
She was still gazing at him, looking more troubled by the moment. “Who could have killed Neil? This—this bad cop?”
“Don’t know. But it must have been someone he knew, someone he even invited into the house. He was too good an officer to let a stranger take him by surprise.”
“But why kill him?”
Mitch didn’t answer her.
“Oh, yes,” she said in a small, shaken voice, “I see. It was because of me, wasn’t it. Because Neil refused to tell him where I was, and once he’d revealed himself to Neil, exposed his identity like that, he had no choice but to—”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“But it’s the most likely explanation.”
Mitch could see that probability deeply distressed her, maybe just because it emphasized her own danger. He wasn’t ready to credit her with any less self-interested motive than that.
“And all the time,” she murmured, “what he was after was sitting out there in the driveway.”
“Yeah, and if he hadn’t slipped out the back and across the yard without looking around the corner of the house—which is how he must have made his exit—then…”
“I’d be dead.”
In the silence that followed, those incredible eyes of hers, thick-lashed, beautifully shaped, remained fastened on him. Then she asked him slowly, softly, “What are we going to do?”
Before he could tell her, they both tensed in alarm at the sound of a siren far down the block. The siren could have been in response to any emergency, and even though the wail receded in the distance, it was a grim reminder to Mitch that they couldn’t go on sitting here in this exposed lot.
“We need to go someplace where we can think this thing through and not be caught while we’re doing it.”
“Where?” she demanded, as he backed the pickup out of the parking space and headed for the street.
He had an idea. He’d once accompanied Neil and his grandson to the spot. “There is a place,” he said. “It’s not far from here. Providing I can find it.”
The weather didn’t help. Even if he’d been comfortably familiar with the area, the swirling snow hindered his vision while the streets grew more treacherous with every mile.
Madeline was quiet while he concentrated on the route. She waited until they were stopped at a traffic light. And then in that low voice that never failed to stir his senses, even when he knew it shouldn’t, she said something completely unexpected.
“I’m sorry. Deeply sorry.”
She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t have to. Mitch knew that she was offering her sympathy for the loss of his best friend. He wasn’t sure how genuine her expression was until he turned his head and saw that those alluring amber eyes were misty with sorrow.
All right, so it surprised him that in this moment, when she had to be frantic about her plight, she could grieve for Neil. It still didn’t make her an angel, even if she had the face of one.
“Yeah,” he muttered hoarsely. It was all he could manage by way of acknowledgment. Any further effort would have cost him his self-control. He was already torn up inside—and he meant to keep it there.
Faye, he thought as the light changed and the traffic moved forward again. It was going to kill her to hear about her father. And there were Neil’s friends on the force back in Frisco. The news would be hard on them.
But Mitch knew he had to stop worrying about Neil’s daughter and his friends. Had to put his own grief on hold. All he had time for now was to get them out of this mess.
A PLOW HAD BEEN THROUGH HERE recently, Mitch noticed, so the snow wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. He was able to negotiate the winding lane without difficulty. The lot was understandably empty when they reached it. He parked the pickup facing the lagoon.
On any other occasion Mitch would have admired the setting. The dark waters of the lagoon, which for some reason was still unfrozen, were rimmed with evergreens. Their somber green boughs drooped with snow, making a scene that an artist might have effectively borrowed for a Christmas card.
But all he could appreciate was the seclusion of the place. Nothing stirred in the vicinity of the lagoon or on the equipment of the children’s playground behind them. The park was as deserted as he’d anticipated, offering them a reasonably safe haven. For now, anyway.
Madeline had been silent for most of the drive. But her mind must have been very busy, because the instant he shut off the engine and turned to her, she gave voice to her decision.
“There’s only one thing for me to do. I’m going to turn myself over to the Milwaukee police.”
