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

until she was safely buckled into the front seat of the plain gray sedan that her instincts came alive.
    “What’s back at the house?” she asked.
    James had already started the car, and he pulled into the narrow, rutted road without glancing in either direction, driving too damned fast. He didn’t answer her, but she saw him glance down at the clock on the dashboard.
    “James.”
    “What?”
    “What’s back at the house?”
    An explosion answered her question. The force of it shook the road, sending the car skittering sideways before James ruthlessly straightened it. He didn’t waste a look at the billowing tower of smoke in the distance where his cottage had been.
    Annie swallowed her shock. The cool efficiency of it was almost worse than the destruction, and she felt anxiety eating into her stomach. It took her a moment to speak.
    “Wasn’t that a little extreme?” She managed to sound deceptively wry.
    “No,” James said. After an endless moment he continued. “There’s always the remote possibility that they’ll think we died in the explosion. At least it’ll slow them down for a while.”
    “What are you talking about? Slow who down?”
    He did turn to look at her then, and she almost wished he hadn’t. “The people who killed your father. Isn’t that what this is all about? You said you wanted to find out. You put yourself right in the middle of it when you came down to find me, and now there’s no backing out. This is the way the game is played, Annie. Time to grow up and face the music.”
    “I don’t feel like dancing.”
    “It’s a funeral dirge.”
    After that she hadn’t said a word. They’d taken a small boat off the island, and he’d handled it with the same cool dexterity with which he did everything, and she’d followed him blindly.
    This was the third plane they’d been on that day. He’d paid for this one with an American Express gold card under a name she’d never heard before. She’d said nothing.
    But now, as they flew into the sunset, she took a glass of cool champagne, downed it in one gulp, and stared at the man sitting next to her.
    “Why are we flying west? I thought we were going to Washington. Last I knew, it was on the East Coast. Or has the CIA managed to change things around?”
    “I’d watch my mouth if I were you,” he said pleasantly enough, but there was no missing the light of warning in his eyes. “You never know who might be listening.”
    “I don’t believe in your Cold War paranoia.”
    “You don’t have to. You just have to do as I say.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “To find the answers. We’ll start in Los Angeles and go from there.”
    “Any particular reason for the detour? Or isit just that three planes in one day aren’t enough for you?” She reached out for the second glass of champagne, knowing she shouldn’t do it. She was too tired, too edgy, too hungry to be scarfing down champagne.
    “I like-southern California.”
    “You always said you hated it. I remember you and Win bemoaning the fact that you were going to have spend three months there.”
    “You have too good a memory,” he said casually. “I lied.”
    “When? Now or then?”
    “All the time, Annie,” he said gently. “All the time.”
    It took five glasses of champagne to put her to sleep. He was about ready to give her a little help—the CIA version of the Spock pinch—when she finally closed those damnably astute blue eyes of hers.
    Damn, she was trouble. It didn’t matter how tired she was, how much pressure he brought to bear. With Win’s death the veil had been lifted, and she saw everything he didn’t want her to see.
    He could have used a little of that free champagne himself. Scratch that—he could have used a couple of bottles of the stuff, washed down with a fifth of tequila. He didn’t dare touch anything harder than Pellegrino.
    He was back in the real world now. On the island he had controlled his environment. No one could get close to