Strangers in the Night Read online

  She leaned back in her chair, looking around at the silent house. It struck Jackson that she was very comfortable here, alone in the woods, without any of the modern conveniences everyone else thought they had to have. “To begin with, this is my home. I know every inch of the woods, every weed bed in the river. If I had to hide, Thaniel would never find me.”

  Watching her closely, Jackson saw the secret smile lurking in her green eyes and he knew, as sure as he knew his own name, that she doubted she would ever be reduced to hiding. “What about the other stuff?” he asked, keeping his tone casual.

  She gave him a slow smile, and he got the feeling she was pleased with his astuteness. “Oh, just a few little things that give me advance warning. There’s nothing lethal out there, unless you step on a water moccasin or fall in the water and drown.”

  He stared at her mouth, and felt a little jolt, like another kick of adrenaline. Despite the coolness of the house he broke out in a light sweat. God almighty, he hoped she didn’t smile again. Her smile was sleepy and sexy, womanly, the kind of smile a woman gave a man after they had made love, lying drowsy on tangled sheets while the rain beat down outside and there were only the two of them, cocooned in their private world.

  The sexual awareness wasn’t welcome. He had to be careful in situations like this. He was a man in a position of authority, alone with a woman to whose house he had gone in an official capacity. This wasn’t the time or the place to come on to her.

  Silence had fallen again, silence in which they faced each other across the table. She took a deep breath, and the inhalation lifted her breasts against the thin cotton of her blouse. Her nipples were plainly outlined, hard and erect, the darkness of the aureolas faintly visible where they pressed against the fabric. Was she cold, or aroused?

  The skin on her arms was smooth; no chill bumps.

  “I’d better go,” he said, fighting the sudden thickness in his throat, and in his pants. “Thank you for the sandwiches. I was starving.”

  She looked both relieved and reluctant. “You’re welcome. You had that hungry look, so I—” She stopped, and waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind. I was glad to have the company. And you’re right about going; if I’m not mistaken, I heard thunder just a minute ago.” She got up and gathered their glasses, taking them to the sink.

  He got up, too. There was something about her unfinished sentence that pulled at him. He should have let it go, should have said good-bye and got into the boat and left. He hadn’t heard any thunder, though his hearing was pretty good, but that was as good an excuse as any to get the hell out of there. He knew it, and still he said, “So you—what?”

  Her gaze slid away from him, as if she were embarrassed. “So I… thought you must have missed lunch.”

  How would she know that? Why would she even think it? He didn’t normally miss a meal, and how in hell would she know if he looked hungry or not, when she had never seen him before today? For all she knew, ill-tempered was his normal expression.

  Witch. The word whispered in his mind, even though he knew it was nonsense. Even if he believed in witchcraft, which he didn’t, from what he’d read it had nothing to do with telling whether or not a man had missed lunch. She had noticed he was grouchy, and attributed it to an empty stomach. He didn’t quite follow the reasoning, but he’d often seen his mother ply his father with food to gentle him out of a bad mood. It was a woman thing, not a witch thing.

  “Meow.”

  He almost jumped a foot in the air. Now was not the time to find out she had a cat.

  “There you are,” she crooned, looking down at his feet. He looked down too, and saw a huge, fluffy white cat with black ears and a black tail, rubbing against his right boot.

  “Poor kitty,” she said, still crooning, and leaned down to pick up the creature, holding it in her arms as if it were a baby. It lay perfectly relaxed, belly up, eyes half-closed in a beatific expression as she rubbed its chest. “Did the noise scare you? The bad man’s gone, and he won’t bother us again, I promise.” She looked up at Jackson. “Eleanor’s pregnant. The kittens are due any time now, I think. She showed up about a week ago, but she’s obviously tame and has had good care, so I guess someone just drove into the country and put her out, rather than take care of a litter.”

  The cat looked like a feline Buddha, fat and content. Familiars were supposed to be black, weren’t they, or would any cat do, even fat white pregnant ones?

  He couldn’t resist reaching out and stroking that fat, round belly. The cat’s eyes completely closed and she began purring so loudly, she sounded like a motor idling.

  Delilah smiled. “Careful, or you’ll have a slave for life. Maybe you’d like to take her with you?”

  “No, thanks,” he said dryly. “My mother might like a kitten, though. Her old tom died last year and she doesn’t have a pet now.”

  “Check back in six or seven weeks, then.”

  That wasn’t exactly an invitation to come calling anytime soon, he thought. He picked up the shotgun and vest. “I’ll be on my way, Miss Jones. Thanks again for the sandwiches.”

  “Lilah.”

  “What?”

  “Please call me Lilah. All my friends do.” She gave him a distinctly warning look. “Not Delilah, please.”

  He chuckled. “Message received. I guess you got teased about it in school?”

  “You have no idea,” she said feelingly.

  “My name’s Jackson.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “I voted for you. Jackson’s a nice Texas-sounding name.”

  “I’m a nice Texas guy.”

  She made a noncommittal sound, as if she didn’t agree with him but didn’t want to come right out and say so. He grinned as he turned to the door. Meeting Delilah Jones had been interesting. He didn’t know if it was good, but it was definitely interesting. The blue-moon mojo was at full strength today. When things settled down and he had time to think things over, when he could be entirely rational about the weirdness and come up with a logical explanation, maybe he’d come back to visit—and not in any official capacity.

  “Use the front door,” she said. “It’s closer.”

  He followed her through the small house. From what he could tell there were only four rooms: the kitchen and living room on one side, and each of those had another room opening off it. He figured the other two rooms were bedrooms. The living room was simply furnished with a couch and a rocking chair, arranged around a rag rug spread in front of the stone fireplace. Oil lamps sat on the mantel and on the pair of small tables set beside the couch and chair. In one corner was a treadle sewing machine. A handmade quilt hung on one of the walls, a brightly colored scene of trees and water that must have taken forever to do. On another wall a bookcase—also handmade, from the looks of it—stretched from floor to ceiling, and was packed with books, both hardback and paper.

  The whole house made him feel as if he had stepped back a century, or at least half of one. The only modern appliance he saw was a battery-operated weather radio, sitting beside one of the oil lamps on the mantel. He was glad she had it; both tornadoes and hurricanes were possible in this area.

  He stepped out on the porch, Lilah right behind him, still holding the cat. He stopped dead still, staring at the dock. “The son of a bitch,” he said softly.

  “What?” She pushed at his shoulder, and he realized he was blocking her view.

  “The boats are gone,” he said, stepping aside so she could see.

  She stared at the empty dock, too, her green eyes wide with dismay. Her flat-bottom was gone, as well as Jerry Watkins’s bass boat.

  “He must have doubled back and cut the boats loose while we were eating. They can’t have drifted far. If I walk along the bank, I’ll probably find them.”

  “My boat had oars in it,” she said. “I always have them in case I have motor trouble. He didn’t have to cut them loose, he could have rowed mine out, and towed yours. That would save him the trouble of hiking back to his boat