Kiss of death

CHAPTER THREE

SWEATING AND PANTING, her heart thundering painfully against her ribs, Whitney raced out into the downpour. She managed to reach the cottage, slam the door shut behind her and quickly lock it. She could still feel the brute’s weight crushing her, his huge hands locking around her neck in a death grip. She’d never been forced to physically defend herself until tonight.

Squeezing her eyes shut and leaning back against the door, she willed her body to stop shaking. She hadn’t been able to get a good look at the creep, but even now she could see his fiendish eyes glittering as if he were on some controlled substance. His features had been obscured by the darkness but she had the impression of white teeth the size of tombstones.

Just when she thought her life was turning around this had to happen. She’d counted on living here, but with that monster in the main house, it would be impossible. She could understand him mistaking her for a burglar-after all, the house had been hit during Calvin Hunter’s funeral-but the creep’s marauding hands…inexcusable.

The big goon probably had a felony record for sexual assault. She heaved a sigh, attempting to catch her breath, and assured herself the man was nothing more than a letch. Still, how could she live here with him so close? She would never get a good night’s sleep.

Where could she go? Her bank account was down to less than a hundred dollars. Her only alternative was to hang in there until Miranda returned, then borrow money from her cousin to rent another place.

Whitney gingerly touched the throbbing lump forming on the back of her head from when he’d knocked her down on the hard tile. The bump was so tender that her eyes watered. The salty tang of his blood was still on her lips from biting him. She’d been dead certain he intended to rape and kill her. So what if she’d drawn blood?

“Serves the creep right,” she muttered out loud.

Lexi and Da Vinci were hovering at her feet, tails swishing in the darkness. She slipped out of the lightweight raincoat and let it drop to the floor. All she had on beneath was the sheer nightie. When she’d thrown on her raincoat to get Jasper, she’d never dreamed she would run into anyone.

“Okay, okay, out of the way,” she told the dogs, her voice shaky.

She bumped into a box and stubbed her toe on the way to the chair beside the sofa, which was loaded with clothes and things she’d heaped there while unpacking. She dropped into the welcoming cushions, feeling slightly nauseous. A panicky feeling returned in a wave of fear that surged upward from the depths of her queasy stomach.

The electric power returned with a blinding flash and the cottage lit up. Not being alone in the dark calmed Whitney a little. She checked the locks on the front and back doors. She was safe.

Briiing-briiing. The telephone rang, and Whitney tensed. She let the machine Miranda had left behind pick up the message.

“It’s me again.” Ryan’s disembodied voice filtered across the room. “Call me no matter how late you get in. It’s really important.”

Naturally, Ryan presumed she would do as he told her. Let him rot in hell along with the beauty queen. They’d married two days after his divorce from Whitney became final. She removed the receiver from the hook. If he called back, he wouldn’t wake her. Let the jerk wait.

Whitney sent the dogs out the back door to do their business before going to bed. Clouds tumbled across the moon as the wind herded them inland. The rain had slackened to a mist, but it dripped off the trees and bushes, plopping onto the small used brick patio behind the cottage.

Whitney wiped off Lexi’s paws with one of Miranda’s old towels. “Good girl. Ready for bed?”

Lexi scampered off for her doggie bed at the foot of Whitney’s bed. Da Vinci was still sniffing around and trying to decide which bush to bless by lifting his leg on it. She allowed him to take his time, remembering Miranda’s warning. They’re called Chiwee-wees for a good reason. Da Vinci was evidently prone to boo-boos and often left suspicious stains on the rug. She waited until the Chihuahua finally selected a spot and hoisted one little leg. She dried him off, then put him on the floor.

Whitney knew she’d locked the front door, but she double-checked anyway. Peering through the small panes of glass, she saw the light upstairs in the main house was still shining. Just knowing the pervert was there creeped her out.

Now the rain had stopped, leaving a somnolent dripping from the eaves. The storm had passed, thunder only a distant rumble, lightning a flicker to the east. A lone coyote howled. Its bleak call struck her as overwhelmingly lonely.

Something about the emptiness of the night disturbed her, which was silly. She wasn’t alone. Granted, the place was a good distance from the next house, but this was suburbia, for God’s sake. She flicked off the porch light, unable to shake the feeling her world was no longer familiar. Or friendly.

She went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. As she brushed her teeth, she thought about Ryan’s call. What could he possibly want? They hadn’t spoken in months. Rather than hire expensive attorneys to split what little they had, she’d agreed to arbitration. She’d allowed him to keep the house with the huge mortgage.

Whitney had taken the Grand Cherokee. Although the SUV wasn’t new, it was paid for, and she needed transportation. They’d had little else except a full service of china and a worthless piece of property that Ryan-who didn’t have a head for business-had insisted they purchase as an investment. The land turned out to have toxic waste in the soil and couldn’t be sold without going through an expensive decontamination process. She’d quitclaimed the land to Ryan along with the house in order to keep Lexi.

And to get Ryan Fordham out of her life forever.

WHITNEY AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING with Da Vinci licking her face and wagging his tail. The spoiled little dog had slept on the bed with her.

“No,” she groaned, looking at the alarm and realizing she’d failed to set it properly. She’d overslept. “You have to go out, don’t you?” At the sound of her voice Lexi popped up from her bed and shook her head. The movement made her ears flap, Lexi’s signal that she had to relieve herself.

“Let’s hit it.” Whitney shrugged into a robe and escorted them to the back door. The small fenced patio and patch of grass were still wet from the rain. When they’d finished, she quickly fed them, showered and threw on some clothes. She did not want to be late to Trish Bowrather’s on the first day.

She walked to the carport attached to the single-car garage that was so crammed full of Miranda’s stuff, there wasn’t room for the SUV. Whitney glanced up at the main house. All the curtains were drawn. If she didn’t know better, she would think no one was home. The jerk must still be asleep.

She loaded the dogs and was backing out when she realized a car had pulled in behind her, blocking her exit. She didn’t know anyone who drove a silver Porsche. It might be Adam Hunter, she thought, then wondered why he would be using the back driveway when a four-car garage was located on the other side of the house. Of course, after last night, there was no telling what that maniac might pull. But a man in a suit stepped out of the sleek sports car.

Ryan.

In a heartbeat, her world shifted and became out of focus. Just the slightest patina of sweat sheened her forehead. She could have blamed it on the bright morning sun and the humidity in the air from the storm, but she knew better. How could he have this effect on her? Hadn’t the pain of his betrayal made her a stronger person?

Lexi immediately stuck her head out the window and barked a happy greeting. Why me? Whitney asked herself as she slid out of the SUV. Whatever Ryan wanted had to be really important for him to drive out to Torrey Pines from San Diego when patients would be waiting in his office at nine.

“You didn’t call me back.” Ryan sounded genuinely shocked, but then, he always was when he didn’t get his way.

“What do you want?”

His mouth quirked into a smile, but she knew him too well. He was merely flashing his chemically whitened teeth. The man could turn on the charm like a searchlight, when it suited him.

Tall and imposing, with surfer blond hair and a golden tan, Dr. Ryan Fordham made women’s hearts pound just by walking into a room. He was a shade shy of pretty, Whitney told herself, something mean curdling inside her. A tide of heartbreak rushed in, sweeping away rational thought.

“There’s a little problem.” He reached into the open window of the Jeep and stroked Lexi’s head. The little turncoat couldn’t wag her tail fast enough.

“What’s the matter?” She battled the urge to tell him to get his hand off her dog. Although Lexi adored Whitney, the retriever had always been very fond of Ryan. Why not? He’d never had a cross word for the dog.

He stopped petting Lexi and turned to Whitney. “I’m joining a new practice. I need to sign a lease for an office building and finance some equipment. The credit check showed your name is still on the house and the property in Temecula.”

“I thought the settlement agreement handled the transfer of title on both places. The judge accepted the documents.”

Ryan studied the tips of his highly buffed shoes. “Apparently the judge was in a hurry and didn’t notice it wasn’t notarized. So it couldn’t be recorded. I have the papers in the car. All you have to do is sign in front of a notary. I’ll take them right to the county recorder’s office to be legally registered.”

Whitney was amazed that Ryan could get any credit. He was up to his ears in debt with a huge mortgage. He also had the lease on the office he’d used before switching from general surgery to the more lucrative field of cosmetic surgery. On top of everything was an astronomical malpractice premium that had to be paid quarterly. He walked over to the Porsche and she added expensive car leases to the list of her ex-husband’s debts. No telling what Ashley-his girlfriend, now wife-was driving.

Ryan returned with a bound sheaf of papers in his hand. He flipped it open in front of her to a page with a red Post-it flagging a space for her signature. “All you have to do is sign here.” He zipped to another page. “And here.” He paged to the end of the document. “And here. But you must do it in front of a notary.”

A warning bell sounded in a distant part of her brain. Why were there so many pages? The original document from the arbitrator had been much smaller, hadn’t it?

“Come with me now,” Ryan continued in his smoothest voice. “There’s a notary at American Title who’ll take care of everything. They open at nine.”

“I can’t today. I’m already running late. Besides, I want an attorney to look over everything before I sign.”

“What?” Ryan slapped the side of the Jeep with the document. “Why let a lawyer pad his bill by reading something you’ve already agreed to? Besides, you don’t have the money for a lawyer.”

Whitney realized she was dealing not with the charming Ryan Fordham but the imperious Ryan Fordham. Once she’d thought this persona was authoritative. Now he merely sounded arrogant. She manufactured a smile and bluffed. “Miranda is marrying Broderick Babcock. He’ll read the papers for nothing.”

That stopped him. Ryan stared at her slack-jawed. Broderick Babcock was a legend in San Diego, in the state. He’d successfully defended several high-profile clients that most people believed were guilty and didn’t have a prayer of avoiding prison.

“Why bother Babcock?” Ryan asked, his voice smooth again. “This isn’t any big deal.”

“I still want him to review the document. But it’ll have to wait. He took Miranda to Fiji for a two-week honeymoon.”

“What?” The word exploded out of Ryan. “Wait two weeks? No fucking way! You come with me right now. We’ll be at American Title when they open.”

He was shouting now, the way he occasionally did when things didn’t go his way. Ryan had a hair-trigger temper that rarely surfaced. Between his charm, good looks and assertive attitude, people usually gave in to him. Whitney always had-but not anymore.

“I’m not signing anything until Rick has read and approved the document.” She said this as if she knew the attorney, even though she’d never met the man. “Now move your car. I’m late for work.”

Ryan grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. “You bitch. You’re doing this to get back at me for falling in love with Ashley.”

She told herself this wasn’t true. It was only prudent to have an attorney read what appeared to be a complicated document-a different document than she’d originally signed. But she had to admit Ryan had put her through hell. His betrayal had been acute, devastating. She’d sacrificed her dream of becoming a veterinarian to put Ryan through medical school. Now she was penniless and forced to start over.

“Let go of me.” She tried to wrench away, but he only tightened his grip and began to shake her with even more force.

“I want you out of my life forever. This has to be settled today.”

“Leave me alone,” she snapped as she struggled to control the quaver in her voice. A bolt of fear shot up her spine. She’d seen Ryan upset many times, but never like this. Something else was wrong besides the improper transfer of property.

“Come with me now or else-”

“Don’t threaten me. Let me go this instant.”

Ryan shook her so hard that her head snapped back, wrenching her neck and shoulders. Pain lanced down her neck into her upper arm.

“You heard the lady. Let her go.” The order sounded like the crack of a whip.

Ryan instantly released her, and they both whirled around to see who was speaking. A tall, powerfully built man stood in the trellised opening of the bridal wreath hedge that separated the main house from the caretaker’s cottage. He must be Adam Hunter. The air whooshed out of Whitney’s lungs as if the brute had tackled her again.

Head cocked slightly to one side, Adam Hunter gazed directly at Whitney. His arresting eyes were marine blue. If he was on something-the way she’d thought last night-it was an overload of testosterone. His eyes weren’t fiendish at all; they were alert, predator’s eyes. There was nothing more exciting to a natural-born hunter than vulnerable prey. Last night, clad in little more than a nylon raincoat, she’d been an easy mark.

In the utter darkness, she’d assumed him ugly. He was far from it, but she wouldn’t call him handsome, either. He was attractive in an edgy, masculine way that said he was world-weary but aching to throw a punch if given any excuse. She imagined him clobbering Ryan and smiled inwardly.

Adam was dressed in well-worn navy Dockers and a gray polo shirt, but she had the impression he played the hand life dealt him. He would be at home in a boardroom, wearing Armani or dressed as a hit man in black, brandishing a gun fitted with a silencer. She would bet her life that the hit-man mode would be his choice.

His straight nose was slightly long, his square jaw was stubbled with hair the same shade as the black mop that was long overdue for a haircut. He had a well-toned body that she doubted came from hours at a gym. Somehow she couldn’t see him on a treadmill or pumping iron beside a bunch of other guys.

“Look,” Ryan began in his most placating tone. “My wife-”

“Ex-wife,” she corrected, then didn’t know what else to say. How could she expect the guy who’d manhandled her to be much help? The endless moment stopped when she managed to say, “He’s trying to force me to sign papers that I want my attorney to review first.”

Adam’s take-no-prisoners glare said this was more than he needed-or wanted-to know. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, but his stance remained just as defiant.

“She’s just being stubborn.” Ryan gave Adam a man-to-man look.

“You were way too rough with the lady,” Adam replied in a tone that could have frozen vodka. “Leave-now.”

Ryan opened his mouth, set to argue, thought better of it and stomped off to his car. His wimpy exit showed Ryan for what he was-a pretty boy who relied on charm. When that failed he turned into a bully. With a screech of tires, the Porsche shot out of the driveway.

Whitney turned, but Adam Hunter had vanished as stealthily as he’d appeared.