Drake Read online

  "Excuse me," he said as his arm brushed against hers.

  "Uh, no, problem. We are we going?"

  "The wine-tasting room."

  The hall was brightly lit, and as she stared up at him he saw her flicker of recognition.

  "Please," he said warmly, "be my guest."

  She nodded, then moved down the stairs into the tastefully decorated room. It boasted an ornate table with six chairs, and all four walls were lined with bottles.

  "I'm a wine buff," she murmured. "This is beautiful."

  "You are? I can't say I'm the most knowledgeable person in the world, but I've selected one I hope you'll like. It's a Pomerol," he replied, relieved that her nervousness appeared to be fading, "but as you can see we have quite a selection. If you'd prefer something else just tell me."

  "How could I possibly pass up a Pomerol?" she said sitting down.

  "I've been waiting for the perfect justification to open this. I'll decant it and let it breathe for a bit."

  Neither spoke as he performed the centuries-old ritual, and when the wine was expertly poured into the crystal decanter and he settled opposite her, he found himself spellbound by her impenetrable green eyes, the same green eyes that had touched his soul several months before.

  "I know who you are," she said softly.

  "Who I am?"

  "Besides Drake Steele, my hero, the comforting voice on the end of the phone? I thought it was you when you came to the booth, then I knew it for sure in the hallway, but that's not what I mean. I know you're The Victim's Vigilante."

  Her accusation took him completely off-guard, and having no idea how to respond he just looked at her blankly.

  "Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I guess I shouldn't have blurted that out."

  "It was a bit surprising, but you're right," he admitted. "I had to bring us down here before we could start talking. I didn't mean to make things awkward."

  "It was a little strange. It wasn't how I pictured our…uh…reunion."

  "Needs must, I have to be careful, but down here we can talk freely. I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you. I've enjoyed our conversations over these last few months immensely. Are you all right? You still seem a little nervous. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

  "Uh…"

  "Anything, anything at all."

  "Perhaps a hug?"

  He could think of nothing he wanted to do more, and immediately rising to his feet he moved around the table, took her hand, and pulled her gently into his arms. Closing his eyes as she sank against him, the months suddenly felt like days. He never wanted to let her go, and as she clung to him, he chided himself for not taking a risk and asking if they could get together weeks before. Why had he left it to her?

  "Thank you," she breathed as they broke apart. "I needed that."

  "You may not understand this, but I did too."

  "I, uh, I think I do."

  "Did it help?"

  "More than you can know."

  As they settled back into their seats Drake could no longer contain his curiosity, and reaching across the table he took her hand.

  "As I said, I'm so pleased you're here, but tell me, why now, and why did you have Paul ask me? Why didn't you just do that yourself?"

  "I've been wanting to see you for ages and I was getting ready to pluck up the courage, then something happened that pushed me into it. I went through Paul so you wouldn't feel you had to say yes."

  "That was one of my guesses. I'm just sorry I didn't ask to see you before now, but you said something happened?"

  "It did, and I need to talk to you about your vigilante activities. By the way, your disguise is impressive."

  "I can discuss the vigilante business as much as you want," he said with a half-smile. "Our conversation can't be picked up by listening devices down here."

  A dark frown suddenly crossed her face, and she narrowed her eyes.

  "Did you bring me down here because you thought I might be wired? Were you worried the police might be listening? NO! It's true. I can see it by the look on your face. You actually thought I might have reached out to you to flush you out for the police."

  "I'm not going to lie to you," he said quickly. "I know you're a criminologist and work with them. Anything could have happened in the last few months. I didn't mean to—"

  "I'm speechless," she muttered cutting him off. "After what we shared? After you rescued me from the pits of hell you think I would betray you? You saved my life, you carried me away from evil monsters. How could you think such a thing?"

  Her voice had been a harsh whisper, and the look of pain on her face sliced through his heart. Cursing himself for not choosing his words more carefully, he leaned across the table, hoping she would see the abject apology in his eyes.

  "You must understand—"

  "Never mind. This was a mistake. I have to go," she said sharply, her voice cracking as she rose abruptly from the table. "I can't believe this. I thought we had a bond, a bond that—that—"

  "Please, Courtney, don't go," he said urgently as she began marching towards the stairs. "You're right, I'm a complete idiot. I'm so sorry, I'm so truly sorry. I wasn't just worried about me, I was worried about you too, and Paul."

  "Paul?" she repeated, pausing her step and turning around to face him. "What about Paul?"

  "If I get caught they'll uncover his involvement. At the very least he'd be indicted for obstruction and might even go to prison. You do see that, don't you? And it wasn't necessarily that you might be working with the police directly. You know the power of forensic evidence. The police may have learned it was you who had been the poor soul in the woods that night and think your rescuer might also be the vigilante. It's not a stretch when you think about the timing, and it would make sense that we're still in touch. They could be watching you and followed you here. There are listening devices powerful enough to pick up conversations inside the lounge from the street. I'm probably being paranoid, but don't you see? I couldn't take any chances? And Courtney, neither can you."

  Desperate for her to stay the words had gushed out of him, and when she didn't respond he was sure he'd just made things even worse, but then he saw a lone tear slipping down her cheek.

  "Hey, this was about protecting both of us," he said lowering his voice as he moved towards her, "but I should have told you my concerns the minute you sat down. I handled this so badly. Please forgive me. Please stay."

  "No, I'm the one who should be apologizing. You were right to be so cautious. I'm still a bit overly sensitive about things," she sniffled. "I react emotionally at the drop of a hat. I wasn't like this before."

  "Courtney, you have no reason to apologize," he murmured, hating to see her in such pain, "and I'm sure your sensitivity to things will pass in time. Your body may have healed, but your psyche will take a little longer, that's all."

  Feeling a wave of heat in the back of his throat, he tenderly wiped the tears from her face then opened his arms, praying she'd accept the invitation. As she moved into his hold, he found himself wishing he'd killed the bastards who had hurt her so badly. The rage welling up inside him was almost more than he could bear.

  "I'm okay now, and I do understand why you were so cautious," she mumbled, her head in the crook of his shoulder. "I really am sorry I overreacted. It's weird. I think I'm getting better, then something happens and I lose it."

  "You don't have to explain anything to me. I was there. I know what happened. I'm amazed you can leave your house, let alone step out into the world looking so beautiful."

  "B-beautiful?" she stammered, shifting in his arms to stare up at him.

  "Very. When I saw you sitting in the booth that's the first thing I thought. What a beautiful woman."

  "Really?"

  "Really!"

  "I haven't thought of myself like—that. Not since…"

  "You mean, like a woman? A beautiful woman? Maybe it's time you did, because that's what you are. That's what the worl
d sees. A beautiful woman."

  "I, uh, don't know what to say."

  "Say you're ready for that glass of Pomerol."

  He saw her gulp back the fresh wave of emotion as she nodded, and leading her to the table he pulled out her chair, then began to pour the wine.

  "I think a toast is in order," he declared, and handing her the bulbous glass he clinked it with his. "To new beginnings."

  "Yes, new beginnings," she repeated managing a smile, then taking a sip she rolled her eyes. "Good grief. That is indescribable."

  "Mmm, it's excellent, and I'm very happy to be sharing it with you," he said as he sat in the chair next to hers. "So, tell me, what brought you here? Why did you need to see me?"

  "I wasn't sure if I'd be able to ask you this—sorry— I'm getting ahead of myself. Before I get into that, you were right. I am working with the police on The Victim's Vigilante case. I have been for about six weeks."

  "I don't understand!" he exclaimed, his heart suddenly jumping in his chest. "What are you saying?"

  "I knew it was you. I've known from the very beginning. Don't ask me why, I just did."

  "Please explain, I'm very confused."

  "When they first asked me to work with them I declined, I was in no fit state to do anything. When I started feeling better I agreed, provided I could work from home, but it wasn't to help them catch you. It was so I could send them in the wrong direction. I've been working to keep them away from you."

  "Courtney…"

  "I pushed the idea that the M.O of the vigilante didn't match the man who had reported the crime at Fairfield Park. The vigilante was working in the streets, not isolated areas, and I suggested he got the idea to rescue women from that original case. I also used your disguise to suggest the vigilante was probably unemployed or a part-time laborer. The scraggly hair suggested a non-professional, and with the incidents happening so late at night it meant he'd couldn't have a day job starting at 9 a.m. He'd never be on time."

  "I don't even know what to say," Drake said shaking his head, "except, thank you."

  "I figured you probably live near the park and that's why you were jogging there, so I've told the police you almost certainly live in the city, or very close to it."

  "I really am at a loss, and very grateful."

  "Watching out for you helped me, it helped me a lot," she said with a soft smile.

  "So…what is it you want to ask me? What's the favor?"

  Her expression suddenly changed and he could see she was struggling, so he gently placed his arm around her shoulders.

  "Go ahead. Whatever it is we'll deal with it together. I'm here for you, I'll do anything I can."

  "Anything?"

  "Anything."

  "Those evil scumbags have been released," she abruptly declared, her voice trembling as she fought her fear and rage. "Some legal technicality."

  "Nooooo, that's not possible! My God, Courtney, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

  "I'm absolutely terrified. Beyond terrified."

  "Wait," he said taking a breath. "Are you saying they know who you are?"

  "They do," she replied picking up her wine glass, "and where I live. They know everything about me. They'd been stalking me for weeks when they grabbed me."

  "Oh, my God," he mumbled as he watched her take a drink. "I have so many questions."

  "I'm sure you do, and I'll answer them, but later if that's all right."

  "Of course, in your own time. We never talked about those men, or the crime, or that night, and that's fine, but now it matters. Now I need to know everything, but only when you feel comfortable sharing it with me."

  "Anyway, the first thing…Paul mentioned you're a bodyguard. I was wondering if you'd, uh, consider doing that for me."

  "I won't just be your bodyguard, you're staying with me. You guessed right, I do live near those woods. The only reason I drove to the parking lot that night was because it was supposed to rain, and the field I have to cross to get to the jogging track gets muddy fast."

  "You'd do that?" she gasped staring at him, her eyes wide in surprise. "You'd let me stay with you?"

  "Let you? I insist. There's no way you're going to be alone, no way in hell."

  "Drake! Thank you. Thank you so much. I packed a bag because I thought I'd be checking into a hotel."

  "No, no hotel for you, and those bastards will not get away with this. I'll move heaven and earth to make sure they get what they deserve. You may be the criminologist, but I'm going to figure this out. I swear to God I will."

  "I've already figured it out," she whispered, "and that's the favor."

  "What can I do?"

  "I want you, or rather us to…uh…"

  "To what? You want us to what?"

  "Kill them."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  For the first couple of weeks after her attack Courtney had stayed with Paul. She had flatly refused hospital care, and was adamant that she did not want to go to the police. She couldn't abide the thought of anyone finding out about her assault, and being a criminologist she knew the hell victims could sometimes face. There was the medical examination, the endless questioning, and the trial, during which an aggressive defense team would smear the victim and rip them apart on the stand. Just the thought of it was enough to send her into hibernation.

  Paul had been dealing with a messy divorce, and having her in his house helped to take his mind off the distressing demands of his former wife. When Courtney had been physically well enough to leave, he'd tried to persuade her to stay, but she'd wanted to return to her own bed and be comforted by the precious antiques she'd spent so many happy hours collecting. Though she was still badly shaken she didn't feel any trepidation about going home. The monsters had been arrested, she lived in a gated community, and had a state-of-the-art alarm system.

  But emotionally she hadn't been ready to face the world.

  Her family lived in another state, so avoiding them had not been a problem, and she'd used the excuse of a book she'd been writing as a reason to turn down offers of work and decline social invitations. She'd had her groceries delivered and left on her doorstep, and spent her days zoning out in front of the television set and napping. She was always tired, always, but as the days became weeks, and the weeks turned into months, the deep fatigue began to wane.

  But in those early days, from the very first report of The Victim's Vigilante, she'd had no doubt the brave man was her hero. When she'd seen the images of the scraggly blonde hair, beard, mustache, and beefy body, though she'd been impressed by the disguise it hadn't fooled her. Determined to keep him from being captured, she'd called the station and asked for the detective handling the vigilante case. She'd offered her services, and he'd immediately accepted. It had been that same detective who casually mentioned the dreadful news that the evil beasts who had attacked the mystery woman in the park were being released with all charges dropped. He'd simply been passing along the news, but for Courtney, it had been her worst nightmare.

  Throughout her recovery she'd had vivid dreams in which she been brutally murdering the despicable men. She'd envisioned slicing their throats and shooting them between the eyes. The fantasies had scared her. She'd never considered violence in her past, but she'd managed to work through the uncharacteristic imagery with her therapist. For the most part the deeply disturbing visions left her, but only minutes after hearing about the release of the two savages they had come flooding back, only this time they felt different.

  They weren't fantasies.

  She felt it in every fibre of her being.

  She wanted them dead!

  She wanted to be the one to kill them!

  She wanted revenge.

  They deserved to die.

  If she didn't stop them committing their frightful acts, who would?

  She was a criminologist. She could create the perfect murder, but she'd need help. There was only one person who would understand, one person who might possibly join her in her mission to se
nd the monsters to hell. With a sense of purpose she'd not felt since before the attack, she'd picked up the phone and called Dr. Paul. While it was Drake she needed to see, she had to make sure he really did want to meet up with her. He'd be able to decline her invitation through an intermediary. If she asked Drake personally he'd feel obligated to accept. Now he was sitting in front of her, and she'd just told him she wanted to commit murder and she needed his help to do it.

  He didn't answer, and though his hesitation made her hold her breath, she was grateful he hadn't immediately refused.

  "I'm not surprised to hear that," he said slowly. "I have to admit I harbor similar feelings, but I'm not sure this is the time or place to discuss something so…"

  "No, of course it isn't," she said hastily, interrupting him as he searched for the word. "I just had to get it out before I lost my nerve."

  "I need to get back behind the bar. I work until midnight, but I'm happy to give you the keys to my house. After everything you told me I'm not worried that you're being watched, let along being followed anywhere"

  "You don't have to worry. Right now Skipper, that's the detective in charge of the case, has men staking out a construction site on the other side of town, and he has no clue that I was the victim at Fairfield Park. None!"

  "You're a very naughty, very clever lady," he grinned.

  "I have my moments," she quipped, flashing him an unexpected sassy smile.

  He suddenly saw a glimpse of the person she used to be, a sparkling witty woman with a bright personality, a woman he was sure charmed everyone she met.

  "I have no doubt," he remarked, and impulsively leaned forward and pecked her on the cheek.

  "What did I do to deserve that?"

  "Just being who you are. I hope that's okay."