Read Online Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems by Anne Stuart - Free Book Online

Salvatore had taken her to the left when she’d had her audience with the local phantom. She’d head toward the right, toward the sound of rain. As soon as she found a door, or failing that, a window, she’d head out into the night. The sooner she escaped from this bizarre mansion, the better off she’d be.
    She almost gave up hope of finding a way out. She must have stumbled for hours in the blinding dark, groping along walls that changed from stone to plaster to wood paneling. The sound of the rain, not far beyond the maze of hallways, was maddening, promising a freedom that seemed unattainable. She found she was weeping, and when her hands touched cool glass, she almost didn’t recognize it.
    She sank her head against it for a moment, peering into the darkness beyond, into the rain. She had to get out as quickly as possible, the pain in her chest was growing unbearable, the heat was smothering her. She needed the cool rain or she’d die.
    She tried to smash her fist against the pane of glass, but it simply bounced off, too weak to shatter it. And then she realized she hadn’t stumbled against a window. It was a French door with an ornate latch. A latch that was unlocked.
    She fell outside, into the rain, stumbling a few steps before collapsing on some sort of slate terrace. In the inky, water-soaked darkness, she could smell fresh earth and spring flowers. Someone was out there with her, someone was moving across the garden toward her, but she wasn’t afraid. It wasn’t a wheelchair carrying some vast form of evil, and it wasn’t the hulking, villainous Salvatore. The man approaching her was tall, thin and old, moving toward her through the rain oblivious of the downpour.
    He knelt beside her and she blinked up at him, into a lined, ancient face and the kindest eyes she’d ever seen. She reached out a hand toward him and tried to say something, but the only sound that came from her throat was a helpless little croak, and her hand touched nothingness.
    â€œDon’t try to talk,” the old man said, his voice soft and soothing. “I’ll go for help.”
    â€œDon’t leave me,” she choked. “Don’t let them find me.”
    â€œThey won’t hurt you. I promise, I won’t let them hurt you.”
    What could a frail old man do against the combined forces of evil, she thought wearily. And yet, she believed him. She knew she should get to her feet, but her muscles refused to obey her command. With an almost imperceptible nod, she dropped her head back to the cool, wet slate and closed her eyes.
    Â 
    â€œE THAN , SHE’S GONE !” Sal’s voice broke through the fitful dozing that gave Ethan what little sleep he enjoyed. He sat up, staring at the bank of monitors in front of him. The turret room was empty, the door left open, her shoes still resting on the floor beside the bed.
    He kept himself firmly in check. “She escaped faster than we thought. That fever must have been feigned. She’s as adept a liar as her father ever was.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Salvatore said doubtfully.
    â€œDon’t you? I’d think you’d be relieved at this turn of events. You didn’t really approve of me keeping her here. And you were right—it wasn’t a particularly prudent idea. But since when have I been prudent? It doesn’t matter now. We can concentrate on Reese Carey without having his daughter distract me.”
    â€œI don’t think she was faking it, Ethan. And I don’t think we can simply assume she’ll make it out of here safely. It’s raining cats and dogs, the temperature’s below fifty and she’s not wearing any shoes or sweater. Not to mention the fact that I think she was sick to begin with.”
    Ethan stared at him. “What do you expect me to do, ask the townspeople to help?”
    Salvatore snorted. “Fat lot of help they’d be. I’m going to