Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems

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Authors: Anne Stuart
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Romance
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go look for her. If I find her, I’ll drive her to the airport and get her away from here.”
    â€œYou won’t do any such thing. If she’s still here, she’s staying.”
    â€œEthan…”
    He rose, a tall, lean figure in the murky darkness. “I’ll find her. You take the Jeep and get Dr. Bailey. If he’s drunk, sober him up. If he refuses to come, use your gun. But bring him and whatever medicine he might need.”
    â€œYou know where she is?”
    â€œLet’s say I have a fairly good idea. I also know this place better than anyone, even you. I have a better chance of finding her faster. Go ahead, Sally. If she’s as sick as you think she is, we don’t have time to waste.”
    It had been a long time since he’d seen Sally move that quickly. He didn’t move for a moment, wondering what he had gotten himself into. He’d taken one look at Meg Carey in one of the ubiquitous television monitors and thrown good sense to the wind.
    Salvatore was right; he should let her go. He should make sure Doc Bailey didn’t kill her with one of his quack cures, keep out of sight, and the moment she was able to travel, send her on her way. And maybe there was a chance in hell he’d do just that.
    He’d been alone for too long, had his own way for too long. He’d started thinking he was some sort of god, some invulnerable ruler of his twisted kingdom. He needed a dose of reality.
    But first, he needed to find where Meg Carey had disappeared to. And the very first place he was going to check was Joseph’s garden.
    Â 
    T HE MAN WHO CAME TO HER IN the darkness wasn’t the same man. In the driving rain, she couldn’t see his face, but he was younger, stronger. He picked her up in his arms with an effortlessness that made her grimace and curse her extra ten pounds. She opened her mouth to apologize, but the faint croaking sound didn’t carry above the wind and rain.
    She had no idea who was carrying her into the pitch black house, finding his way with the surefootedness of a night-stalking animal. It wasn’t Salvatore—this man was leaner, with deft hands tucking her shivering body against him. Hadn’t Salvatore said there were only the two of them in the house? Who, then, was the old man she’d met in the garden? Who was the man carrying her through the inky darkness?
    And who the hell cared? She’d never hurt so much in her life. She didn’t care if he was Jack the Ripper on his way to fling her from the turret. If it stopped the raging pain in her chest, it would be worth it. All she wanted was peace and safety. And for some odd reason, in the dark stranger’s arms, she felt just those feelings. And with an absurd flash of trust, she closed her eyes and surrendered to the darkness that surrounded her.

Chapter Five
    Ethan stood in the corner of the turret room, out of range of the candelabra Salvatore had carried up to light old Doc Bailey’s way. Doc kept his head turned carefully from the man he knew was watching him. The old drunk knew well enough that he wouldn’t go blind or crazy from looking at Ethan Winslowe. He’d been forced to face him enough times to know he’d survive. But like most people, he didn’t look forward to the prospect and avoided it at all cost.
    Which suited Ethan just fine, he thought with the faintest trace of humor. The fewer people who wanted to intrude on his privacy, on his physical space, the better.
    Except for the woman who lay on that high bed, her breathing labored, her color, even in the candlelight, ghastly. She’d intruded, unannounced, unwelcome, and he was damned if he was going to let her go easily. Even in death.
    â€œShe’s got pneumonia,” Doc said, and it was lucky for him his voice wasn’t slurred. “Expect we got it in time, but she ought to have a chest X-ray.”
    â€œShe’s staying here,” Ethan said, and

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