In the Arms of Danger

ELEVEN

Taylor closed her eyes and sighed, letting the shower spray massage her face. She should have turned the water cooler to help wake her, but instead she let the relaxing warm stream stroke her skin. With her hands braced on the tile, she tilted her head and allowed the spray to do its magic.

Too bad the magic didn't include wiping away her memory, or creating an alternate past. If she could relive her past, would she do things differently? Perhaps she should have stayed to find out if he'd died and then talked to him about what she had seen.

Or maybe not.

She'd been so sheltered as a child that seeing what she had scared her to death. Never had she witnessed a man shot right before her eyes. She'd also never been in love as she had back then and had her heart ripped out when she discovered his career. Because she'd been told he was a hit-man, she didn't want to stick around to see if he lived or not.

She pulled away from the water and grabbed the shampoo bottle, poured a small amount in her palm and rubbed it over her hair until it created suds. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the lilac scent... the same smell Cory had loved during their time together in Bermuda. So, why was she washing her hair with this now? To torture him... or her?

Sighing heavily, she shook her head. How in the world could she stop these memories from consuming her? Would she ever be able to get on with her life without remembering the way Cory had been? The way he'd held her head over the toilet bowl one night when she'd been so sick she didn't have the strength to do it herself. He'd been by her side placing cold-packs on her forehead as she lay in bed with a fever. The caring and loving way he'd looked into her eyes with worried lines etched around his mouth and forehead.

No! She must remember the monster he'd turned into. The hit-man who ruthlessly killed for money and drugs.

Cory could very well be dangerous. Or had he changed? Had he paid for his crimes already? She seriously doubted it because he was walking free.

After rinsing her hair, she took the soap and lathered her hands with the lavender scented bar. Perhaps she should call Uncle Stephen. If she explained to him about Cory, maybe he'd be able to help her out of this mess. Even if she told her stubborn father what happened while in Bermuda, he'd still insist on doing it his way no matter how much she protested. It'd been like that since her mother walked out of their lives when she was ten-years-old.

She stuck her face under the spray and closed her eyes. A headache had consumed her since realizing Cory Ross was still alive. Even now, the booming in her skull grew. She shook her head. The beat didn't come from her head but from outside the shower.

She turned off the shower and stepped out. She grabbed a towel off the rack and wrapped it around her wet hair before taking another towel to wrap around her body. Just then, the bathroom door opened. A rush of air slapped against her still damp limbs, and she shivered. Cory rushed inside the room with Meggie in his arms.

Angrily she tightened the towel around her mid-section. "Cory, what are you doing here?" she shouted. "You have no right to barge in while I'm taking a shower."

"Get dressed now." He reached for another towel and handed it to her, even though he could see she had two wrapped around her. "We need to leave as soon as possible."

She huffed. "No, we don't have to leave as soon as possible."

"Quit arguing." His expression was serious, even as his gaze slid over her quickly, from the top of her towel-wrapped head, down to her bare, wet feet. "Hurry and get dressed. I need you to pack a few things for you and Meggie, and then we're getting out of here."

Her heart hammered as she glanced from his flashing eyes to the unresponsive gaze of her daughter who obviously didn't know what was happening either. What is going on? Why did he act as if he's never seen me like this before? He looked at her as if she were fully dressed in winter clothes, for heaven's sake.

Then again, perhaps she should be grateful for that.

"Cory, you're talking nonsense. I don't appreciate you barging in on my private..."

"If you'll get dressed, I can show you why it's time to move on." He took a heavy breath. "There's a message painted on your fence in the backyard."

She sucked in a quick breath.

"Will you please do as I ask without arguing?"

"Pwease, Mommy?"

Taylor's heart twisted at her daughter's plea. Meggie glued her wide eyes on her, and the slight pull on her daughter's bottom lip made Taylor rethink her decision. She nodded.

Cory's gaze lowered again, skimming over the now wet towel molding against her. She folded her arms as if trying to stop him from seeing too much. However, it didn't stop the heated shivers dancing over her body that brought with it intimate memories. His gray eyes turned darker, almost black.

Awareness shone on his face moments before he shook his head. "Meggie and I will be waiting for you downstairs." He turned and hurried out the door.

She sighed and relaxed against the chilly black and white marbled wall. Cursing, she hit her fist against the tiles. Will this torture ever end?

It would. She'd see to it.

After toweling her body dry, she slipped on a terry cloth robe and tied it at the waist. She pulled a brush through her hair, and then hurried out the door.

What kind of message had someone painted on her fence? By the determined look of Cory's hard expression, and the way his jaw had tightened, it could not be good. She rushed down the steps and into the kitchen. Cory paced the floor, holding a cell phone to his ear as Meggie sat at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal. He'd closed all the curtains and blinds. Only the kitchen light was on.

Grumbling, he clicked off his cell phone and turned to her.

"Who'd you call?" she asked.

"The police."

"What's wrong?"

He heaved a sigh and raked his fingers through his hair. "They're not coming as quickly as I'd hoped." He nodded toward the window. "Are you ready to see?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes."

His hand slipped into hers before he led her to the big picture window. Opening a section of the blinds, he nodded toward the backyard. She moved closer and looked through. The sight of the message painted across her fence made her stomach lurch.

"Ohhh..." She placed her hand over her mouth. Tears gathered in her eyes.

Cory turned toward her and rubbed her arms. "Do you understand now why we need to leave? And especially why I couldn't wait until you'd finished your shower?"

She hated that he was right. "Yes." Her voice shook.

Cory's cell buzzed, making her jump. He quickly answered.

"Ross here."

He paused, but she detected her father's voice from the other end. Cory's eyes locked with hers.

"Yes, I know, Sir. I've already called the police," he told her father. "We are waiting for them to arrive."

Once again, mumbling came from the other end of the phone. Cory's forehead creased and he shook his head.

"I don't think that will work, Sir." Another short pause. "Because you see, if we were not safe staying at your estate, what makes you think we'll be safe staying at the family mountain ranch located near the Oregon border?"

Curious, she stepped closer, keeping her gaze on him. Why had her father suggested their mountain retreat? The many acres they owned surrounding the log cabin was wide open space. Not even the wild animals could be stopped from coming near the cabin.

Concern was evident on Cory's tight lips and cheeks. Even his gray eyes held a touch of distress almost as if he actually cared about her.

No. He probably hated her as much as she feared him.

Her father's voice grew louder, but she couldn't hear exactly what he was saying.

"Oh, I see." Cory nodded. "All right then, we'll head there as soon as we can get packed, and after the police leave."

He clicked off his cell and slid it into his pocket.

"What did my father say?" she asked. "Why does he think the cabin in the mountains will be safe?"

"Your father assured me that nobody knows about this place."

She shrugged. "He's right. Whenever we go there, nobody bothers us. Not even the guy who owns the ranch next to us." She paused before asking, "But what if we're followed on our way there?"

His worried expression relaxed as he stroked his thumb along her cheek, down to her chin. "I'll make sure we're not."

Tingles of apprehension spread over her. She wrapped her arms around her middle. Why did his warm touch have to affect her this way?