Heat of the Moment Page 13
“No,” she murmured. “To escape me.”
He arched a thoughtful brow. “What’s your Paris apartment like?”
“It’s…” She hadn’t bothered to decorate there, either. Stunned realization hit. No place felt like home. She hadn’t been able to settle anywhere. She hadn’t left her problems behind, they’d gone with her. She’d missed Riverside.
She’d missed Liam.
Shaking away the distressing thought, Kate lifted “Man in the Shadows” from the wall, and set it on the comforter. She pulled out her sturdy leather case she kept for transporting artwork.
“The book didn’t do it justice.” Admiration gleamed in his emerald eyes as he stroked a finger down the classic ebony frame that complemented the black-and-white photo, and her heart stuttered. She quivered as though his finger had stroked right down her center. “At the hospital, you were about to explain how you switched to photography before we got interrupted.”
She looked down at the portrait. “Remember when we went back to your place the night we met?”
“I’ll never forget it.” Passion simmered in his deep, mellow voice as he turned his admiring gaze on her.
If he kept up, she’d have to grab a cold shower. “I left for Paris that morning. But you said something that stuck with me. You said, ‘art is an unflinching expression of true self, no matter the medium. It’s anything that arouses an emotional response in the creator and the observer. Anything that pulls both inside the experience and makes them participants.’” She slid the photo into the case. “I mulled that over for days.”
“How did that lead you into photography?”
She snapped down the flap on the case. “Before my hand was damaged, I did renderings. Are you familiar with those?”
“Paintings with accurate perspective and details, where the artist makes the subject appear as realistic as possible.”
“Rendering artists take photos to paint from. Art school profs loved my photo captures of light and shadow, and they raved over my compositions. After I came to grips with the fact that I’d never paint again, I pondered your words…and voilà!”
His intent gaze lingered on her face. “But it came hard.”
Like ripping out my soul. She looked away from him, out the window. “Setting shutter speed and f-stops with my left hand isn’t difficult. Manipulating the focus is a bit trickier, but manageable. Normally, I use a tripod to support the camera’s weight and keep it steady, which leaves my hands free.”
“Nice evade, but no escape. I was talking about emotionally.”
She sighed. Deep down, she’d known he wouldn’t let her get away with it. “The transition required significant emotional adjustment. But I made it. I didn’t have a choice.”
She walked to the opposite wall for Grandma Jane’s painting, and then extracted a second case from under the bed.
His rapt attention focused on her, made her hyperaware. “Have you ever tried to paint with your left hand?”
“Yes.” Under his close perusal, warmth shimmered over her skin. “But I…couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t transfer emotion to the canvas.” She shrugged. “I can’t relate to abstracts.”
He gestured at the painting she was easing into the case. “What do you feel when you see your grandmother’s painting?”
“Inspired. Uplifted. Happy. But that’s different.” She paused, glanced down at the bold splashes of red, orange and gold scattered amidst slender strokes of green. “I’m connected to this painting. From my dad, I know how Grandma struggled. How no recognition didn’t stop her from finding joy in painting. Her canvas isn’t simply random brushstrokes. I see her steadfast hopes and bright dreams, like butterflies dancing over a field.”
“You see it, but you can’t paint it.” His smooth voice went low, and he caressed her cheek. The zing glittered down her spine, clear to her toes. “Stifling your emotions is not only causing you headaches, it’s smothering your creativity.”
Stunned by his insight, she stared at him. She would not discuss this with the man who spun her emotions into wild loop-de-loops. “I’m perfectly happy as a photographer.”
“Could have fooled me.”
She stalked to the closet and yanked out a wheeled carry-on. “Are you going to stand there and drive me bonkers with amateur analysis, Dr. Phil, or do you plan to help?”
“I’m trying to help. You won’t let me.”
Her mouth slanted in exasperation. She was done with this conversation, and wanted him as far away as possible. “If I’m going to a safe house, I don’t want to leave dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Could you start it up, please? Run the tap to prime the hot water first. Otherwise, they don’t get clean.”
“Sure. But I’d rather stay and pack your lingerie.”
Glad to be back on firmer ground, she chuckled. “What would your mother say if she found out you were a pervert?”
Laughing, he left.
She kept her bureau—heck, her entire life—efficiently organized. In less than three minutes, she rolled her suitcase into the hallway. She tucked her art cases under her arm, pulled her phone from her purse and dialed her studio in Paris.
Liam met her in the living room. “There’s no hot water.”
“That’s weird. I’ve never had problems with it before.”
“Where’s the water heater?”
“Inside the closet in the hallway, by the front door.”
He walked to the closet, opened the door. “Hmm.” Murphy padded out of the kitchen and peered over Liam’s shoulder as he squatted to examine the fittings. “It has juice.”
Finally, her studio number was ringing! The call connected, and a nasal recording announced in French, “The number you are calling has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”
She hung up and squelched a spear of unease. European phone service was often sporadic. Kate tapped in the number for the family-owned bistro across the street. The owners would be up and busy in the kitchen, baking fresh bread and pastries.
“Bon matin,” a breathless female voice answered.
“Margot? It’s Kate. I’m calling from the States, and I can’t get through to my studio.”
“Kate? Mon Dieu! I was just about to call you.” Margot erupted into a frantic tirade.
Kate listened with growing horror. She choked out pertinent questions, and then hung up. Numb with despair, she groped for the wall, found only air.
Liam was instantly by her side. His strong arms reached for her, supported her. “What’s wrong?”
“My— My studio in Paris was bombed. The woman I hired barely escaped by climbing onto the roof. The blaze was so intense that everything…” She gulped. “Even my safe—and all the negatives inside—was destroyed. My apartment, my studio, all my work… The past two years of my life are gone.”
She battled useless tears. “Aubrey!” Her knees buckled, as unsubstantial as cooked spaghetti. “Without the photos or negatives, there’s no auction! No transplant!”
“Easy.” He steered her to the sofa and sat beside her. “We’ll get your photos back. Do they know what happened?”
“The investigator said the bomb was impossible to detect, because it was inside the water heater. It was activated by remote control, they think maybe the telephone. My temporary assistant got a ‘hang up’ call right before the explosion.”
The implications hit home, and she gasped. She stared at Liam in terror-stricken disbelief. He stared back at her, the humming air electrified.
They both turned and stared at the water heater, situated between them and the front door. Between them and the way out.
A soft, ominous click sounded from inside the tank. They wouldn’t have heard it with the door shut. Might not have given it a second thought.
Until Murphy sat on his haunches, his nose and ears pointed, his body quivering. Heads up, partner!
Liam swore. “He just alerted on a bomb.”
Her apartment phone began to ring.
8:00 p.m.
Kate didn’t have a chance to blink. Liam snatched her art cases in one hand and grabbed her with the other.
“Move!” He hustled her to the patio door. Murphy jogged at their heels. Liam slammed open the glass door and shoved her out onto the balcony. He looked down at the pool. “Everybody in!”
He stripped her purse off her arm and tossed it and her picture cases over the iron railing. They banged onto the cement in a drift of dust two stories below. Her heartbeat thundering in her ears, Kate stared down at the tiny aqua rectangle. She gulped. If she didn’t jump wide enough and missed…
Before she could worry, Liam scooped her up and flung her over. Flailing, she fell for forever. Shock crashed into her as her legs hit the cool water, and she inhaled before the waves closed over her head. Stunned, she sank to the bottom.
A splash to her right commanded her attention. Murphy floated down, and then thrashed upward. An ear-splitting kaboom rocked the world. The pool shook, and an orange glow flashed.
Kate bobbed to the surface and gulped in frantic breaths. Murphy paddled beside her. Where was Liam? Had he saved her and Murphy, and run out of time to jump? She’d only heard one splash. Distraught, her gaze tracked the roiling waves as fire rained from the sky.
“Kate!” She spun at the sound of his voice behind her. Weak with relief, she floundered. He grabbed her. “Take a breath!”
She obeyed and he pushed her under, followed her down. He wrapped his arms around her, sheltering her. She clung to him, and they flinched as chunks of flaming wood and blackened shrapnel plunked into the pool and sizzled out.
Just when she thought she’d suffocate, the bombardment stopped. They surfaced, gasped for air. Murphy paddled alongside unscathed. Hungry red flames spewed from the charred, gaping maw of her apartment, and oily smoke churned into the darkening sky.
Treading water, Liam surveyed the wreckage. “Damn! Inside the water heater, where the bomb squad couldn’t find it without an X-ray. Surrounded by cool water, it wouldn’t trigger a heat sensor, either. And impossible for the dogs to track.” His brows winged up. “Man, this pyro is a genius!”
She stared at him, openmouthed with astonishment.
He gave her an abashed, waterlogged grin and towed her poolside. “Ah…in a scary, psycho killer sorta way.”
“You bomb guys really get into your work.” She spat chemically treated water, singed with the bitterness of smoke. “Mr. Wizard almost killed us!”
“Maybe.” He lifted her onto the tiled edge and wrapped tense hands around her thighs. “He could have detonated the remote trigger anytime. If he’d wanted us to die in your apartment, we would have.” He looked up at her, his face ragged with anguish. “It would have been my fault.”
She stroked his cool, bristled cheek. “It would have been his fault. You took every precaution. You saved us.” She brushed water from his dripping brow. “Why didn’t he trip the bomb when we came in? And how did he know exactly when to make it go off?”
He planted both palms on the pool’s edge. His thick biceps flexed below the navy T-shirt plastered to his sculpted pecs as he thrust his long, lean body out of the water like a spear. Standing on the concrete deck, he scooped aside his sodden hair.
Her concentration fractured into glittering shards. Liam O’Rourke wet. Yowza! His soaked, snug jeans left nothing to the imagination. Her imagination was extremely well-endowed. Her mouth went dry.
“Hel-lo. Earth to Just Kate.”
She started. Shock had sent her round the bend. It was the only explanation. “I wasn’t…um… What?”
“Busted, babe. Felonious ogling.” His eyes twinkled, and his glorious mouth twitched into a brief grin. “As I was saying, I’d wager he had your apartment bugged. He’s playing with us.”
“This is his warped idea of play?” She stared at the burning wreckage. The destruction hadn’t registered yet. Kate wiped stinging chlorine from her eyes. She couldn’t afford to dwell on her loss now…she’d think about it later. “Why?”
“Unfortunately, lunatics are rarely stupid. Bombers seek out attention, and get a sexual charge from having power over life and death. They view people as objects to be manipulated, like pawns on a chessboard. It’s a game.” He leaned and hefted Murphy’s front quarters out of the pool. “Winner take all.”
Murphy scrambled out and shook himself. Droplets flew off his heavy fur, pelted her. Kate ducked behind Liam. “Yikes! I already had a shower today, thanks.”
Something stung her upper arm. Puzzled, she glanced down, frowned at the splintered tiles, the thin line of blood trickling to her elbow. What the heck? Water didn’t break ceramic. Water didn’t sting. Didn’t cut skin. A patch of tiles next to her hip blew apart, and fragments exploded into the air.
“Dammit!” Liam yelled. “The bastard’s shooting at you!”
She stared at the small crater inches from her leg. A piece of broken tile must have flown up and scratched her arm. Her numb lips made it difficult to speak. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Silencer.” Liam was already in motion. He yanked her up and towed her to a trio of steel Dumpsters in the alleyway behind the courtyard. Murphy followed at a fast lope.
“Down!” Liam pushed her into a squat. He yanked his gun out of his holster. Knees flexed, he eased around the Dumpster and fired. Bullets pinged off metal as the stalker returned fire.
Liam pivoted, flattened his spine against the Dumpster. He fished in his pocket and tossed her his keys. “Make a break for the car and start her up. I’ll cover you.”
Icy fear snaked into her bloodstream. Not for herself. For him. “Who’s going to cover you?”
“I’ll meet you in front. Stay low.” He slid around the corner again, fired another series of shots. Who knew a firefight was so loud? “Go!”
A deadly hail of bullets zinged overhead. Heart pounding in her throat, she crashed through prickly bushes and tore around to the parking lot.
Fumbling with the unfamiliar gearshift and clutch, she killed it twice before the powerful engine rumbled, vibrating the entire car. Finally! Kudos to the conscientious driver’s ed instructor who’d insisted on teaching manual transmissions!
She twisted to look behind her, but saw only the deserted parking lot. The roar of distant gunshots told her Liam was still behind the Dumpsters. With no one to cover his escape, the shooter had him pinned!
He would run out of bullets soon. Did he expect her to save herself and leave him to die? She gritted her teeth. She’d dance onstage with the topless vampires at the Stratosphere first!
It took so long she nearly had heart failure, but she eventually wrestled the gearshift into Reverse with her left hand. Peering behind her, she wheeled the car in a three-sixty and backed down the alley as fast as she dared. She screeched to a halt beside the Dumpster. Half straddling the seat, she flung open the passenger door. “Taxi service. Anytime, anywhere.”
Liam’s astonished face appeared in the doorway. He grinned. “You talkin’ to me?” He sounded more like De Niro than De Niro. Crouched low, he boosted Murphy onto the floorboards in the back, and then tossed in her art cases and purse.
“You went back for my stuff? While he was shooting at you?”
“I do love a challenge.” Rounds whined over the roof as Liam leaped into the front seat. “Keep your head down.”
Huddled over the wheel, her stomach pitched. She cursed her disability. Had she put him in worse danger by attempting a rescue? “We have to trade places. I can’t shift and drive.”
Bullets punched holes into the wooden wall of the building on her left. “No time.” He grabbed the gearshift. “You work the gas and clutch, I’ll shift. On the count of three.”
Together, they finagled the car into first gear, then second. Liam grabbed two clips out of the glove compartment.
“Leave it to you, Ace, to travel armed to your eyeballs. Thank God,” she added fervently.
He laughed. “
Gunfighter’s rules. Never go into a firefight without more ammo than the other guy.” With his upper torso propped in the passenger window, he squeezed off departing shots as she sped out of the alley.
She charged through the parking lot and hastily assessed oncoming traffic. “Liam.” She drove for several hair-raising beats while he shot behind them. “Liam! I need another gear!”
“Coming.” He dropped back into his seat. “Stay cool.”
“Sure thing. It’s a hundred and ten degrees in Las Vegas and raining bullets!”
He helped her shift, and she merged into the stream of cars. Oncoming red lights strobed, and a convoy of shrieking fire engines rocketed toward her blazing apartment complex.
Anxiety niggled. “I hope none of my neighbors were hurt.”
“The squad evacuated the surrounding buildings, remember?”
“Right. I’d forgotten in the melee.” She released a sigh.
He fished his phone out of his pocket. “Crap. My cell drowned.” He hung over the seat, giving her an exquisite glimpse of a tight, muscled tush hugged by damp denim. Wow. She yanked her gaze back to the road.
He emerged gripping her purse. “Damn good thing I rescued it.” He extracted her phone and dialed 9-1-1 to report shots fired, and warned the firemen to wait for police backup.
He hung up and pointed to a sign for a park ahead. “Nobody followed us. Pull into that park and we’ll switch.”
Their motions perfected by practice, he shifted and she coordinated the pedals. They made a smooth left turn, and ended up safely slotted behind a screen of palms in the deserted park.
Kate rested her forehead on the steering wheel. “That was an experience I hope never to repeat in this lifetime.”
“We outsmarted Psycho.” Liam patted her shoulder. “We make a great team, Kate. Thanks for pulling my butt out of the fire.”
They were a great team. Unaccustomed pride winged through her. She’d mastered a physical challenge. She’d rescued Liam. “Thank you for saving me, my purse and my pictures.” If he hadn’t, she’d literally have nothing left.