Read Online Moonrise by Anne Stuart - Free Book Online Page A

demanded.
    “Don’t worry about me, Annie,” he said, waiting for her. “I can take care of myself.”
    She shrugged, stepping off the porch. And then her perfect, freckled nose wrinkled in sudden distaste. “What’s that smell?”
    “There are some pretty rank tropical flowers growing around here. That’s probably the blood lily you’re smelling.”
    “Never heard of it.”
    “They’re endangered.”
    “Good thing,” Annie muttered. “Anyway, it smells more like a septic tank.”
    She was too damned observant. “There’s that too,” he said. “Are you going to stand around sniffing the toxic waste or are you coming with me?”
    “I’m coming with you,” she muttered. “Whether I want to or not, I trust you.”
    For some reason he didn’t find that reassuring.
    *       *       *
     
    He had had the strangest expression on his face when he’d come up on her in the bedroom, Annie thought as she trudged along behind him, the tiny cottage receding in the distance. It had been dreamy, erotic, and oddly threatening, and it had taken all her force of mind to say something sharp.
    It had vanished, that expression, and she’d let out her breath. It was only now, following him through the thick undergrowth, that she realized how unnerving it had been. His black, empty eyes staring down at her, his hand upraised.
    Had he been about to make a pass at her? It was the only logical explanation, and she was experienced enough to recognize that part of the tension that stretched between them was probably sexual. She didn’t want to remember thinking of James in a sexual light. She was much safer thinking of him as older, unthreatening, as she had for the past few years. For a while she’d even wondered if he was politely, discreetly gay, but then she’d decided he didn’t have even that outlet.
    For some reason it had been important to her to see James in an asexual light. Plight now, looking at his strong back, she wondered how she’d ever managed to do it. Memories tugged at the back of her mind, things shewasn’t ready to remember. She’d had no more than an adolescent crush on him, for heaven’s sake, one she’d outgrown swiftly enough when she met a real man, an appropriate man for her. Even if it hadn’t worked out, her marriage to Martin had been reasonable.
    She looked ahead at James, and a stray shiver crept over her. She didn’t want to remember. James was empty. Soulless. He was a machine, one of Win’s making.
    Once more she tried to shut off that disloyal thought. Those harsh judgments were creeping in when she least expected it, and no matter how vigilant she was in trying to wipe them out, they always trickled back, in new and disturbing form.
    Her father hadn’t been a saint, for God’s sake. He’d been a clever, admittedly manipulative man, good at controlling his surroundings and making everyone dance to his tune. Annie had been his puppet, and so had James. But the puppet master was gone, the strings were cut. And she was still struggling to stay upright.
    “James,” she said. “Who do you think killed my father?”
    She waited for him to deny it again. He kept walking, his gait smooth and graceful. “Someone he loved,” he said finally. “No one else could’ve gotten close.”
    Annie sucked in her breath. Round one. “Do you think he knew?”
    James glanced back over his shoulder. “Without a doubt,” he said. And he walked on, head bent, shoulders taut.

Chapter Five
     
    H e didn’t drink on the plane. She noticed that right off, though she had the tact not to mention it. Their seats were first-class, the liquor flowed freely, and James McKinley drank mineral water, without lime.
    Annie was amazed at how efficiently he’d got them there. The hike to the car had been the worst part, what with mosquitoes ravaging her skin, that awful stink lingering in the air, overpowering the fresh ocean breeze. He hadn’t allowed her to take her time, and it wasn’t