Between Dusk and Dawn Read online

  It was close to three o'clock by the time he finished wir­ing the motion detector he'd modified for his purposes. It now buzzed inside the house and out in the barn. And it buzzed over everything. Small animals. Bugs. The wind stirring the branches of the bush he'd hooked it under.

  Weary, uncertain what to do next or how to fix it, he crumpled in the chair in the dining room where Jonna had sat.

  Jonna. Thinking of her revived him. Completely. Every inch of his body came alive. Thoughts of what he wanted to do to her crawled over him, like an ache, like an itch. At least those thoughts had nothing to do with caring, the ter­rifying feeling that paralyzed and made the bearer a victim.

  And the damn buzzer went off again, but he didn't care.

  He went through the motions, taking the infrared scope into the living room and studying the virtual peace and quiet at the end of the drive. Nothing.

  The warning lasted sixty seconds. He waited impatiently for it to go away. He could almost feel the second it would quit now.

  He thought of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart" and sympathized with the poor, crazy sap in the story. Lis­tening, anticipating, hoping without hope that this, in his case, the outrageous alarm he'd rigged up, wouldn't be the thing that gave him away.

  Insanity. So this is how it feels.

  He thought about Jonna again, ambivalent about which was worse, wondering whether he had crossed the line into total madness or torturing himself with his desires.

  God, he'd enjoyed her this evening. Much too much. Yet not enough. He wished it had gone further, warm skin against warm skin, the weight of her soft breast against his hand. She'd practically issued him an engraved invitation. Would she have pushed him away if he hadn't held back?

  However uncomfortable the physical desire, it was ten times safer to think about than some of his other longings. How he longed to absolve himself of any responsibility, to go about life as he wanted to and refuse to feel any of the guilt or pain.

  He jumped a mile as the alarm sounded again. Damn! He brushed a weary hand through his mass of heavy hair.

  Grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, he strode out of the house, thankful for the fresh nip in the air that jolted him awake. With a deft movement, he zipped out the night breeze and went back to work.

  Finish, he promised himself, and you can have a reward. He could think of only one that suited him. But that one was terrific incentive. He'd test the keys he'd had made... and check on Jonna.

  He rearranged the detector. Now to check it.

  He was in fair shape, an above-average athlete, but that didn't make him an Olympic-class runner. With more than a quarter of a mile between here and the end of the drive, he had to be completely certifiable if he thought he could set it off and be back in the house to hear it in under a minute.

  He waited fifteen minutes to see if every little movement the size of a blade of grass would set it off. Nothing.

  Then he went back, taking his car. Might as well test the sucker with what he wanted it to spot. Jonna's house was still dark and lifeless but to be on the safe side, he didn't turn on his headlights.

  At the end of the drive, he let the car idle while he scur­ried up the tree to reset the time. Then he drove slowly up the drive. Plenty of time, he assured himself.

  The alarm pitched a fit for a full minute and a half after he got back in the house.

  One more trip to reset it back to the one-minute spot, and he would claim a well-earned night’s reward.

  * * *

  Something disturbed Jonna's restless dreams. She held her breath for a moment, listening.

  A car? She frowned. She rarely heard cars going by on the highway, only occasionally in the summer when her win­dows were open wide, and then only if the car was espe­cially noisy.

  A glance at the clock told her it was after three in the morning. Shuffling Magic off her legs, she threw back her heavy comforter and slipped out of the toasty-warm bed.

  The hardwood floor was cool against her bare feet as she stepped off the throw rug. She hugged herself and stopped near the window. The cold radiated and permeated her bones.

  It was a starless, quiet night—no headlights weaving in and out of the far hills even on well-traveled Highway 50. She'd been dreaming, she decided, and headed to bed again.

  Then something caught the corner of her eye. Something at Sam's house. She turned back to the window, searching the deep shadows beneath the trees and around the corners of the old homestead. It was as dark and silent as the rest of the night.

  The huge yard light perched between the house and the barn was out, she noted, giving the landscape a haunting quality, like the difference between a dull watercolor of a familiar scene being replaced by a sepia drawing of the same scene.

  One more thing to add to the growing list she'd have to tell Sam in the morning—assuming, of course, she could face him. Right now, all she wanted was to get him out of her mind. He wouldn't leave it even while she slept.

  What was it her grandmother had always said? Sleep comes easy to a guiltless mind? Well, it sure hadn't come easily to this mind earlier.

  She crept back to bed, feeling weak and oh so foolish. Heat invaded her cheeks as she tugged the covers back over her chilled feet.

  Why? Why had she acted so irrationally? Because you thought it was rational at the time, her forgiving side an­swered. She barely knew Sam. If you're going to make sex­ual overtures to an employee, you'd better know him well enough to know what to expect, her chastising side piped in.

  At least when she fell for Jeffrey, she'd known him a good six months. By the time he betrayed her, she had had every reason to trust him. She didn't even know Sam—and if she dwelt again on him, she wouldn't sleep.

  "I refuse to think about him," she said aloud, using the same technique she'd used to get the ghosts out of her closet when she was younger.

  Like a programmed robot, Magic moved back to one of his two resting places, choosing her stomach instead of her legs this time. Jonna nudged aside the covers, releasing one arm, and stroked the kitten's soft fur, but she didn't try to fool herself about whom, exactly, she was comforting. She knew she derived more from the soothing motion than Magic ever would.

  "You don't think I'm an idiot, do you, Magic?" she crooned, realizing immediately she had broken her own rule.

  "I refuse to think about him," she repeated quickly, then concentrated on deep breathing. She relaxed her big toe, then her foot. With a little luck, by the time she relaxed her nose, she'd be lost in deep, forgetful sleep.

  * * *

  Every footstep seemed to echo. Sam paused after each one, letting his eyes adjust to the dark room, waiting al­most unbearably long before taking another. It seemed like hours passed before he reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Should he go up? He'd used a lot of excuses to rational­ize this mission and the excuses were gone. He'd discovered the one thing he really needed to know, that the keys would let him in and that she had taken some of what he'd told her seriously. She'd locked her doors. Any move past this point was strictly a fool's errand.

  So do I care if no one ever considers me wise?

  Admitting that he wouldn't turn back now for anything less than an earthquake, he shifted his weight. He planted his foot close to the side of the bottom riser to avoid squeaks. Jonna was up there—sleeping, he prayed—and going on seemed as inevitable as the fast-approaching dawn.

  The second stair creaked noisily when he settled there. By the time he felt secure that she hadn't heard him, his mus­cles ached from the strain of trying to turn himself into a statue.

  Then he heard a soft snore—like a message from God or a welcome from Jonna herself—and the rest of his trip didn't take nearly so long. One more anticipated obstacle evaporated as he approached her room. The door stood wide open.

  She was a lump near the edge of the king-size bed in the dim predawn light.

  A small shape rose from the rumpled blankets and
Sam's heart stopped beating.

  The cat. The damn black cat. Two bright eyes pinned him. They stared at each other unblinkingly for what seemed like eternity. Then the animal moved in that sleek, almost motionless cat way, gliding, then leaping from the edge of the bed. Magic stood, sizing him up, several feet away.

  Another movement from the bed grabbed Sam's atten­tion and the cat was forgotten.

  Jonna turned to her side. Her features blended in shadow as her hand came up to rest beside her face on the pillow. Again, be held his breath as the kitten brushed against him and strolled on out the door.

  Sam walked softly toward her, stopping only inches away. Jonna's breasts rose and fell gently. She stirred, tugging the pillow deeper into the curve of her neck.

  He heard the lapping of sedate waves as she repositioned herself. "Refuse ta thin.. .bou’.." she murmured, her voice dissolving into a weak feminine snore. She talked in her sleep.

  He smiled, froze and watched for a long, long time.

  The dark red pillowcase rendered her brownish hair a pale flowing mist fanning around her.

  God, he wanted to touch her. His fingers felt stiff and swollen with the effort of holding back. He gave himself ten points for his control and inched backward, stopping when she tossed again.

  His heart thudded frantically, forcing the air from his lungs. He watched her resettle, her back to him, her face to the growing light in the sky.

  He gave her a few moments to get comfortable. He was at the door when she lifted the covers and flipped them away. She deftly swung her feet out and over the side.

  His pulse pounded so loudly in his ears, he expected her to turn to find the source of the clatter. It would only take one glimpse to spot him standing there. He cursed himself and tasted blood as he bit his tongue.

  She rose. Her long white gown flowed behind her as she wandered to the window.

  The moonlight silhouetted her slender form beneath the old-fashioned frilly gown. The air his lungs needed caught between his throat and his chest.

  He watched in paralyzed fascination. Idiot.

  He had a heck of a lot to lose—and not a lot to gain—if he stayed rooted to the spot. He crossed his fingers and took a careful step. He planned to keep right on going until he was outside.

  Two steps. Three steps. One more and he would be out of the room, out of sight. He felt rather than saw her freeze. Her hand came to her chest in consternation as if she sensed his presence.

  Don't turn around, Jonna Sanders. Don't turn and force something drastic. It's not time. I came to make sure I could get in. And to convince yourself you were still firmly in control, another voice added in his head. What a delusion, the same voice shrieked with maniacal laughter.

  The kitten weaved a wide arc around Sam and rushed to­ward its mistress.

  Sam scurried through the door with little caution. Only when he was plastered against the wall beside the door did he breathe again, amazed that she couldn't hear his blood coursing through his veins or his heart thundering in his ears.

  Relief filled her voice as she greeted the pet. "Oh, Magic." The words whooshed as she bent, Sam was sure, to pick up the animal. "You're beginning to make a habit of that," she crooned. "I thought you were—" He could pic­ture her shaking her head. "Never mind. It's just leftover images from ridiculous nightmares.

  "You wouldn't believe... well, maybe you would. Was I thrashing around? Is that why you deserted me?"

  A barely discernible rustle of fabric told him she was on the move again. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes.

  Her words were louder as she came nearer the door. "Is there such a thing as daymares?"

  He somehow managed to stifle a groan. How was he go­ing to get out of here? He sidestepped to the corner, slip­ping around it into her work space.

  "Magic, dammit, you are freaking me out."

  Keep talking, Jonna Sanders, just keep talking.

  With every fiber of his being, he listened to hear her soft footsteps. He thought he heard waves in the water bed, thought he heard the covers rustling again. It was probably wishful thinking but he didn't hear anything else for a long, long time. His knees nearly gave way as some of the tension finally eased.

  Get out of here, Sam. The words became a rhythmic lit­any in his head.

  He gave himself a second to catch back his breath, then took two giant steps toward escape.

  "Meow."

  The damn cat startled him so badly he almost lost his balance. It stared at him from a foot away.

  "Meow."

  Sam suddenly didn't care whether Jonna was asleep again or not. He hurtled for the stairs, treading as softly as pos­sible without giving sound a high priority. The importance right now was getting out. Getting away.

  He sped down the stairs. He didn't slow, didn't stop until he was outside, with the door firmly locked behind him.

  The crisp dawn air pierced his lungs, exhilarating him. He wanted to laugh.

  Damnation! What insanity possessed him? Did he want to be discovered?

  No, he realized, he wanted her to share the haunting, in­capacitating terror that made you question where reality left off and madness began. It was all beginning to feel so heavy, he'd longed to share it, give her a personal stake. Let her wrestle with the demons for a while. He wanted to break his promise.

  He leaned against the door, bracing himself in a semi-crouch, his hands on his knees.

  When he'd checked into Jonna's life-style and back­ground, and then decided on this scheme, he'd believed he could handle it sanely, methodically. He'd convinced him­self he could control the situation. All he'd proved tonight was how well be could delude himself, how close to the edge he really was. And that it wasn't the situation out of con­trol—it was him.

  Lifting himself away from the door, he slipped his fin­gers into the pockets of his loose-hanging jeans and trudged wearily toward the steep decline of the drive.

  "And it's Friday." He had to prepare for the hired man Jonna was really planning to hire. You've finally figured out what you have to do to regain your life. Don't blow it by acting insane.

  * * *

  Jonna showered, ate a light breakfast, drank a pot of coffee and restlessly straightened the house. Then she worked on the house plan she'd been playing around with the past couple of weeks—all before seven-thirty in the morning. It had to be a record for someone who was nor­mally a zombie until at least nine.

  Without seeing any of it, Jonna gazed out over the gentle wave of hills and valleys expanding as far as one could see. Movement caught the corner of her eye, jolting her back to her drafting table and the land of the living. Sam walked across the flat, open yard behind the farmhouse, intent on the barn.

  She was relieved to see him, to know she wouldn't have to call him to make sure he was over his bug. She felt she should automatically know how he was. She felt as if she'd spent the night with him—he'd been so firmly entrenched in her dreams and her mind.

  She threw her pencil into the large cup on the desk be­hind her—a habit born of picking pens and pencils that rolled off her drafting table's slanted surface—and settled her chin in her palm.

  She didn't know why she let him haunt her. Maybe be­cause he had played her like a gifted musician played a vi­olin. Just as Jeffrey had.

  Oh, Jeffrey.

  She didn't want to think about him but maybe she should. His betrayal didn't hurt any longer, she realized, letting her thoughts probe that used-to-be-tender place in her heart— except maybe for her pride. Maybe it was pride that made her believe, down deep in her heart, that Jeffrey had been basically a good man. He was just weak and she'd been too foolish to see. Maybe if she reminded herself what a fool she'd been, she wouldn't be in such a rush to do it all over again.

  But thoughts of Sam wouldn't leave her alone even while she slept. Seductively, he'd entered her dreams, made her want him, then stalked her and finally turned the dreams into nightmares.

  She swiveled a
nd flounced out of her chair, irritated with herself. She wasn't making much progress this way.

  Monica had called last night to say her tickets were ready and waiting at the travel agency. Jonna had to pick them up sometime; it might as well be now.

  A half hour later, she sat in her little pickup at the end of the drive. Darn, but she hated it when her conscience kicked in. She really shouldn't leave Sam to his own devices, and she had to face him sometime.

  Reluctantly, she turned around and slowly drove back to his house.

  A strange buzzing, like one of the high school bells that used to ring when it was time to change classes, emanated from inside the house as she stepped onto the porch. It stopped almost immediately.