McNaught-E November
To continue our celebration of McNaught-E November, below are excerpts from two of the fourteen Judith McNaught titles newly available in E-Book format. Each E-Book will contain original, new content (a letter) from Judith McNaught.
Excerpts:
To celebrate McNaught-E November and the release of new material from Judith McNaught, here is an excerpt for Miracles ($1.99).
Miracles
1-3
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The roar of music and voices began to recede as Julianna Skeffington fled down the terraced steps of a brightly lit country house in which 600 members of Polite Society were attending a masquerade ball. Ahead of her, the formal gardens were aglow with flaring torches and swarming with costumed guests and liveried servants. Beyond the gardens, a large hedge maze loomed in the shadows, offering far better places to hide, and it was there that Julianna headed.
Pressing the hooped skirts of her Marie Antoinette costume closer to her sides, she plunged into the crowd, wending her way as swiftly as possible past knights in armor, court jesters, highwaymen, and an assortment of kings, queens, and Shakespearean characters, as well as a profusion of domestic and jungle creatures.
She saw a path open through the crowd and headed for it, then had to step aside to avoid colliding with a large leafy âtreeâ with red silk apples dangling from its branches. The tree bowed politely to Julianna as it paraded past her, one of its branches curved around the waist of a lady decked out as a milkmaid complete with bucket.
She did not have to slow her pace again until she neared the center of the garden, where a group of musicians was stationed between a pair of Roman fountains, providing music for dancing couples. Excusing herself, she stepped around a tall man disguised as a black tomcat who was whispering in the pink ear of a petite gray mouse. He stopped long enough to cast an appreciative eye over the low bodice of Juliannaâs white ruffled gown, then he smiled boldly into her eyes and winked before returning his attention to the adorable little mouse with the absurdly long whiskers.
Staggered by the abandoned behavior she was witnessing tonight, particularly out here in the gardens, Julianna stole a quick glance over her shoulder and saw that her mother had emerged from the ballroom. She stood on the terraced steps, holding an unknown male by the arm, and slowly scanned the gardens. She was looking for Julianna. With the instincts of a bloodhound, her mother turned and looked straight in Juliannaâs direction.
That familiar sight was enough to make Julianna break into a near run, until she came to the last obstacle in her route to the maze: a large group of particularly boisterous men who were standing beneath a canopy of trees, laughing uproariously at a mock jester who was trying unsuccessfully to juggle apples. Rather than walk in front of their line of vision, thus putting herself in plain view of her mother, she decided it was wiser to go around behind them.
âIf you please, sirs,â she said, trying to sidle between the trees and a row of masculine backs. âI must pass.â Instead of moving quickly out of her way, which common courtesy dictated they should, two of them glanced over their shoulders at her, then they turned fully around without giving her any extra space.
âWell, well, well, what have we here?â said one of them in a very young and very inebriated voice as he braced his hand on the tree near her shoulder. He shifted his gaze to a servant, who was handing him a glass brimming with some sort of liquor, then he took it and thrust it toward her. âSome âfreshment for you, maâam?â
At the moment Julianna was more worried about escaping her motherâs notice than being accosted by a drunken young lord who could barely stand up and whose companions would surely prevent him from behaving more abominably than he was now. She accepted the glass rather than make a scene, then she ducked under his arm, walked quickly past the others, and hurried toward her destination, the drink forgotten in her hand.
âForget about her, Dickie,â she heard his companion say. âHalf the opera dancers and the demimonde are here tonight. You can have most any female who takes your eye. That one didnât want to play.â
Julianna remembered hearing that some of the Tonâs high sticklers disapproved of masqueradesâparticularly for gently bred young ladiesâand after what sheâd seen and heard tonight she certainly understood why. With their identities safely concealed behind costumes and masks, members of Polite Society behaved like . . . like common rabble!
INSIDE THE MAZE, JULIANNA TOOKÂ the path to the right, darted around the first corner, which happened to turn right, then she pressed her back into the shrubberyâs prickly branches. With her free hand, she tried to flatten the layers of white lace flounces that adorned the hem of her skirts and the low bodice of her gown, but they stood out like quivering beacons in the breezy night.
Her heart racing from emotion, not exertion, she stood perfectly still and listened, separated from the garden by a single tall hedge but out of sight of the entrance. She stared blindly at the glass in her hand and felt angry futility at her inability to prevent her mother from disgracing herself or ruining Juliannaâs life.
Trying to divert herself, Julianna lifted the glass to her nose and sniffed, then she shuddered a little at the strong aroma. It smelled like the stuff her papa drank. Not the Madeira he enjoyed from morning until supper, but the golden liquid he drank after supperâfor medicinal purposes, to calm his nerves, he said.
Juliannaâs nerves were raw. A moment later she heard her motherâs voice come from the opposite side of the leafy barrier, making her heart hammer with foreboding.
âJulianna, are you out here, dear?â her mother called.
âLord Makepeace is with me, and he is most eager for an introduction . . .â
Julianna had the mortifying vision of a reluctant Lord Makepeaceâwhoever he wasâbeing dragged mercilessly by the arm through every twist and turn, every corner and cranny, of the twisting maze and torch lit gardens by her determined mother. Unable to endure the awkwardness and embarrassment of one more introduction to some unfortunate, and undoubtedly unwilling, potential suitor whom her mother had commandeered, Julianna backed so far into the scratchy branches that they poked into the pale blond curls of the elaborate coiffure that had taken a maid hours to create.
Overhead, the moon obligingly glided behind a thick bank of clouds, plunging the maze into inky darkness, while her mother continued her shamelessly dishonest monologueâa few feet away on the other side of the hedge.
âJulianna is such a delightfully adventurous girl,â Lady Skeffington exclaimed, sounding frustrated, not proud. âIt is just like her to wander into the gardens to do a bit of exploring.â
Julianna mentally translated her motherâs falsehoods into reality:Â Julianna is an annoying recluse who has to be dragged from her books and her scribbling. It is just like her to hide in the bushes at a time like this.
âShe was so very popular this Season, I cannot think how you havenât encountered her at some tonnish function or another. In fact, I actually had to insist she restrict her social engagements to no more than ten each week so that she could have enough rest!â
Julianna hasnât received ten invitations to social events in the past year, let alone in a single week, but I need an excuse for why you havenât met her before. With a little luck, youâll believe that rapper.
Lord Makepeace wasnât that gullible. âReally?â he murmured, in the noncommittal voice of one who is struggling between courtesy, annoyance, and disbelief. âShe sounds an oddâer . . . unusual female if she doesnât enjoy social engagements.â
âI never meant to imply such a thing!â Lady Skeffington hastened to say. âJulianna enjoys balls and soirees above all things!â
Julianna would rather have a tooth extracted.
âI truly believe the two of you would deal famously together.â
I intend to get her off our hands and well wed, my good man, and you have the prerequisites for a husband: You are male, of respectable birth, and adequate fortune.
âShe is not at all the sort of pushing female one encounters too often these days.â
She wonât do a thing to show herself off to advantage.
âOn the other hand, she has definite attributes that no male could miss.â
To make certain of it tonight, I insisted she wear a costume so revealing that it is better suited to a married flirt than to a girl of eighteen.
âBut she is not at all fast.â
Despite the low dÊcolletage on her gown, you must not even try to touch her without asking for her hand first.
Lord Makepeaceâs desire for freedom finally overcame the dictates of civility. âI really must return to the ballroom, Lady Skeffington. IâI believe I have the next dance with Miss Topham.â
The realization that her prey was about to escapeâand into the clutches of the Seasonâs most popular debutanteâdrove Juliannaâs mama to retaliate by telling the greatest lie of her matchmaking life. Shamelessly inventing a nonexistent relationship between Julianna and the most eligible bachelor in England, she announced, âItâs just as well we return to the ball! I believe Nicholas DuVille himself has claimed Juliannaâs next waltz!â
Lady Skeffington must have hurried after the retreating lord because their voices became more distant. âMr. DuVille has repeatedly singled our dear Julianna out for particular attention. In fact, I have reason to believe his sole reason for coming here this evening was so that he could spend a few moments with her! No, really, sir, it is the truth, though I shouldnât like for anyone but you to know it. . . .â
*Â Â *Â Â *
Further down the maze, the Baron of Penwarrenâs ravishing young widow stood with her arms wrapped around Nicholas DuVilleâs neck, her eyes laughing into his as she whispered, âPlease donât tell me Lady Skeffington actually coerced you into dancing with her daughter, Nicki. Not you, of all people. If she has, and you do it, you wonât be able to walk into a drawing room in England without sending everyone into whoops. If you hadnât been in Italy all summer, youâd know itâs become a game of wits among the bachelors to thwart that odious creature. Iâm perfectly serious,â Valerie warned as his only reaction was one of mild amusement, âthat woman would resort to anything to get a rich husband for her daughter and secure her own position in Society! Absolutely anything!â
âThank you for the warning, chĂŠrie,â Nicki said dryly. As it happens, I had a brief introduction to Lady Skeffingtonâs husband shortly before I left for Italy. I have not, however, set eyes on the mother or the daughter, let alone promised to dance with either of them.â
She sighed with relief. âI couldnât imagine how you could have been that foolish. Julianna is a remarkably pretty thing, actually, but sheâs not at all in your usual style. Sheâs very young, very virginal, and I understand she has an odd habit of hiding behind draperies âor some such.â
âShe sounds delightful,â Nicki lied with a chuckle.
âShe is nothing like her mama, in any case.â She paused for an eloquent little shudder to illustrate what she was about to say next. âLady Skeffington is so eager to be a part of Society that she positively grovels. If she werenât so encroaching and ambitious, sheâd be completely pathetic.â
âAt the risk of appearing hopelessly obtuse,â Nicki said, losing patience with the entire discussion, âwhy in hell did you invite them to your masquerade?â
âBecause, darling,â Valerie said with a sigh, smoothing her fingers over his jaw with the familiarity of shared intimacies, âthis past summer, little Julianna somehow became acquainted with the new Countess of Langford, as well as her sister-in-law, the Duchess of Claymore. At the beginning of the Season, the countess and the duchess made it known they desire little Julianna to be welcome amongst the Ton, then they both left for Devon with their husbands. Since no one wants to offend the Westmore lands, and since Lady Skeffington offends all of us, we all waited until the very last week of the Season to do our duty and invite them to something. Unluckily, of the dozens of invitations Lady Skeffington received for tonight, mine was the one she acceptedâprobably because she heard you were going to be here.â
She stopped suddenly, as if struck by a delightful possibility. âEveryone has been longing to discover how Julianna and her obnoxious mama happened to become acquainted with the countess and the duchess, and I would wager you know the answer, donât you! Gossip has it that you were extremely well acquainted with both ladies before they were married.â
To Valerieâs astonishment, his entire expression became distant, shuttered, and his words conveyed a chilly warning. âDefine what you mean by âextremely well acquainted,â Valerie.â
Belatedly realizing that she had somehow blundered into dangerous territory, Valerie made a hasty strategic retreat to safer ground. âI meant only that you are known to be a close friend of both ladies.â
Nicki accepted her peace offering with a slight nod and allowed her to retreat in dignity, but he did not let the matter drop completely. âTheir husbands are also close friends of mine,â he said pointedly, though that was rather an exaggeration. He was on friendly terms with Stephen and Clayton Westmoreland, but neither man was particularly ecstatic about their wifeâs friendship with Nickiâa situation that both ladies had laughingly confided would undoubtedly continue âuntil you are safely wed, Nicki, and as besotted with your own wife as Clayton and Stephen are with us.â
âSince you arenât yet betrothed to Miss Skeffington,â Valerie teased softly, pulling his attention back to her as she slid her fingers around his nape, âthere is nothing to prevent us from leaving by the side of this maze and going to your bedchamber.â
From the moment sheâd greeted him in the house, Nicki had known that suggestion was going to come, and he considered it now in noncommittal silence. There was nothing stopping him from doing that. Nothing whatsoever, except an inexplicable lack of interest in what he knew from past trysts with Valerie would be almost exactly one hour and thirty minutes of uninhibited sexual intercourse with a highly skilled and eager partner. That exercise would be preceded by a glass and a half of excellent champagne, and followed by half a glass of even better brandy. Afterward, he would pretend to be disappointed when she felt obliged to return to her own bed âto keep the servants from gossiping.â Very civilized, very considerate, very predictable.
Lately, the sheer predictability of his lifeâand everyone in it, including himselfâwas beginning to grate on him. Whether he was in bed with a woman or gambling with friends, he automatically did and said all the properâand improperâthings at the appropriate time. He associated with men and women of his own class who were all as bland and socially adept as he was.
He was beginning to feel as if he were a damned marionette, performing on a stage with other marionettes, all of whom danced to the same tune, written by the same composer.
Even when it came to illicit liaisons such as the one Valerie was suggesting, there was a prescribed ritual to be followed that varied only according to whether the lady was wed or not, and whether he was playing the role of seducer or seduced. Since Valerie was widowed and had assumed the role of seducer tonight, he knew exactly how she would react if he declined her suggestion. First she would poutâbut very prettily; then she would cajole; and then she would offer enticements. He, being the âseduced,â would hesitate, then evade, and then postpone until she gave up, but he would never actually refuse. To do so would be unforgivably rudeâa clumsy misstep in the intricate social dance they all performed to perfection.
Despite all that, Nicki waited before answering, half expecting his body to respond favorably to her suggestion, even though his mind was not. When that didnât happen, he shook his head and took the first step in the dance: hesitation. âI should probably sleep first, chĂŠrie. I had a trying week, and Iâve been up for the last two days.â
âSurely you arenât refusing me, are you, darling?â she asked. Pouting prettily.
Nicki switched smoothly to evasion. âWhat about your party?â
âIâd rather be with you. I havenât seen you in months, and besides, the party will go on without me. My servants are trained to perfection.â
âYour guests are not,â Nicki pointed out, still evading since she was still cajoling.
âTheyâll never know weâve left.â
âThe bedchamber you gave me is next to your motherâs.â
âShe wonât hear us even if you break the bed as you did the last time we used that chamber. Sheâs deaf as a stone.â Nicki was about to proceed to the postponement stage, but Valerie surprised him by accelerating the procedure and going straight to enticements before he could utter his lines in this trite little play that had become his real life. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him thoroughly, her hands sliding up and down his chest, her parted lips inviting his tongue.
Nicki automatically put his arm around her waist and complied, but it was an empty gesture born of courtesy, not reciprocity. When her hands slid lower, toward the waistband of his trousers, he dropped his arm and stepped back, suddenly revolted as well as bored with the entire damned charade. âNot tonight,â he said firmly.
Her eyes silently accused him of an unforgivable breach of the rules. Softening his voice, he took her by the shoulders, turned her around, and gave her an affectionate pat on the backside to send her on her way. âGo back to your quests, chĂŠrie.â Already reaching into his pocket for a thin cheroot, he added with polite finality, âIâll follow you after a discreet time.â
UNAWARE THAT SHE WAS NOTÂ alone in the cavernous maze, Julianna waited in tense silence to be absolutely certain her mother wasnât going to return. After a moment she gave a ragged sigh and dislodged herself from her hiding place.
Since the maze seemed like the best place to hide for the next few hours, she turned left and wandered down a path that opened into a square grassy area with an ornate stone bench in the center.
Morosely, she contemplated her situation, looking for a way out of the humiliating and untenable trap she was in, but she knew there was no escape from her motherâs blind obsession with seeing Julianna wed to someone of âreal consequenceâânow, while the opportunity existed. Thus far all that had prevented her mother from accomplishing this goal was the fact that no âeligibleâ suitor âof real consequenceâ had declared himself during the few weeks Julianna had been in London.
Unfortunately, just before theyâd left London to come here, her mother had succeeded in wringing an offer of marriage from Sir Francis Bellhaven, a repulsive, elderly, pompous knight with pallid skin, protruding hazel eyes that seemed to delve down Juliannaâs bodice, and thick pale lips that never failed to remind her of a dead goldfish. The thought of being bound for an entire evening, let alone the rest of her life, to Sir Francis was unendurable. Obscene. Terrifying.
Not that she was going to have any choice in the matter. If she wanted a real choice, then hiding in here from other potential suitors her mother commandeered was the last thing she ought to be doing. She knew it, but she couldnât make herself go back to that ball. She didnât even want a husband. She was already eighteen years old, and she had other plans, other dreams, for her life, but they didnât coincide with her motherâs and so they werenât going to matter. Ever. What made it all so much more frustrating was that her mother actually believed she was acting in Juliannaâs best interests and that she knew what was ultimately best for her.
The moon slid out from behind the clouds, and Julianna stared at the pale liquid in her glass. Her father said a bit of brandy never hurt anyone, that it eased all manner of ailments, improved digestion, and cured low spirits. Julianna hesitated, and then in a burst of rebellion and desperation, she decided to test the latter theory. Lifting the glass, she pinched her nostrils closed, tipped her head back, and took three large swallows. She lowered the glass, shuddering and gasping. And waited. For an explosion of bliss. Seconds passed, then one minute. Nothing. All she felt was a slight weakness in her knees and a weakening of her defenses against the tears of futility brimming in her eyes.
In deference to her shaky limbs, Julianna stepped over to the stone bench and sat down. The bench had obviously been occupied earlier that evening, because there was a half-empty glass of spirits on the end of it and several empty glasses beneath it. After a moment she took another sip of brandy and gazed into the glass, swirling the golden liquid so that it gleamed in the moonlight as she considered her plight.
How she wished her grandmother were still alive! Grandmama would have put a stop to Juliannaâs motherâs mad obsession with arranging a âsplendid marriage.â Sheâd have understood Juliannaâs aversion to being forced into marriage with anyone. In all the world, her fatherâs dignified mother was the only person who had ever seemed to understand Julianna. Her grandmother had been her friend, her teacher, her mentor.
At her knee Julianna had learned about the world, about people; there and there alone she was encouraged to think for herself and to say whatever she thought, no matter how absurd or outrageous it might seem. In return, her grandmother had always treated her as an equal, sharing her own unique philosophies about anything and everything, from Godâs purpose for creating the earth to myths about men and women.
Grandmother Skeffington did not believe marriage was the answer to a womanâs dreams, or even that males were more noble or more intelligent than females! âConsider for a moment my own husband as an example,â she said with a gruff smile one wintry afternoon just before the Christmas when Julianna was fifteen. âYou did not know your grandfather, God rest his soul, but if he had a brain with which to think, I never saw the evidence of it. Like all his forebears, he couldnât tally two figures in his head or write an intelligent sentence, and he had less sense than a suckling babe.â
âReally?â Julianna said, amazed and a little appalled by this disrespectful assessment of a deceased man who had been her grandmotherâs husband and Juliannaâs grandsire.
Her grandmother nodded emphatically. âThe Skeffington men have all been like thatâunimaginative, slothful clods, the entire lot of them.â
âBut surely you arenât saying Papa is like that,â Julianna argued out of loyalty. âHeâs your only living child.â
âI would never describe your papa as a clod,â she said without hesitation. âI would describe him as a muttonhead!â
Julianna bit back a horrified giggle at such heresy, but before she could summon an appropriate defense, her grandmother continued: âThe Skeffington women, on the other hand, have often displayed streaks of rare intelligence and resourcefulness. Look closely and you will discover that it is generally females who survive on their wits and determination, not males. Men are not superior to women except in brute strength.â
When Julianna looked uncertain, her grandmother added smugly, âIf you will read that book I gave you last week, you will soon discover that women were not always subservient to men. Why, in ancient times, we had the power and the reverence. We were goddesses and soothsayers and healers, with the secrets of the universe in our minds and the gift of life in our bodies. We chose our mates, not the other way around. Men sought our counsel and worshiped at our feet and envied our powers. Why, we were superior to them in every way. We knew it, and so did they.â
âIf we were truly the more clever and the more gifted,â Julianna said when her grandmother lifted her brows, looking for a reaction to that staggering information, âthen how did we lose all that power and respect and let ourselves become subservient to men?â
âThey convinced us we needed their brute strength for our protection,â she said with a mixture of resentment and disdain. âThen they âprotectedâ us right out of all our privileges and rights. They tricked us.â
Julianna found an error in that logic, and her brow furrowed in thought. âIf that is so,â she said after a moment, âthen they couldnât have been quite so dull-witted as you think. They had to be very clever, did they not?â
For a split second her grandmother glowered at her, then she cackled with approving laughter. âA good point, my dear, and one that bears considering. I suggest you write that thought down so that you may examine it further. Perhaps you will write a book of your own on how males have perpetrated that fiendish deception upon females over the centuries. I only hope you will not decide to waste your mind and your talents on some ignorant fellow who wants you for that face of yours and tries to convince you that your only value is in breeding his children and looking after his wants. You could make a difference, Julianna. I know you could.â
She hesitated, as if deciding something, then said, âThat brings us to another matter I have been wishing to discuss with you. This seems like as good a time as will come along.â
Grandmother Skeffington got up and walked over to the fireplace on the opposite wall of the cozy little room, her movements slowed by advancing age, her silver hair twisted into a severe coil at her neck. Bracing one hand on the evergreen boughs sheâd arranged on the mantel, she bent to stir the coals. âAs you know, I have already outlived a husband and one son. I have lived long, and I am fully prepared to end my days on this earth whenever my time arrives. Although I shall not always be here for you, I hope to compensate for that by leaving something behind for you . . . an inheritance that is for you to spend. It isnât much.â
The subject of her grandmotherâs death had never come up before, and the mere thought of losing her made Juliannaâs chest tighten with dread.
âAs I said, it isnât much, but if you are extremely thrifty, it could allow you to live very modestly in London for quite a few years while you experience more of life and hone your writing skills.â
In her heart Julianna argued frantically that life without her grandmother was unthinkable, that she had no wish to live in London, and that their shared dream that she might actually become a noteworthy writer was only an impossible fantasy. Afraid that such an emotional outburst would offend the woman, Julianna remained seated upon the footstool in front of her grandmotherâs favorite overstuffed chair, inwardly a mass of raw emotions, outwardly controlled, calmly perusing a book. âHave you nothing to say to my plans for you, child? I rather expected to see you leap with joy. Some small display of enthusiasm would be appropriate here in return for the economies Iâve practiced in order to leave you this tiny legacy.â
She was prodding, Julianna knew, trying to provoke her into either a witty rejoinder or an unemotional discussion. Julianna was very good at both after years of practice, but she was as incapable of discussing her grandmotherâs death with humor as she was with impersonal calm. Moreover, she was vaguely wounded that her grandmother could talk of leaving her forever without any indication of regret.
âI must say you donât seem very grateful.â
Juliannaâs head snapped up, her violet eyes sparkling with angry tears. âI am not at all grateful, Grandmama, nor do I wish to discuss this now. It is nearly Christmas, a time for joyousââ
âDeath is a fact of life,â her grandmother stated flatly. âIt is pointless to cower from it.â
âBut you are my whole life,â Julianna burst out because she couldnât stop herself. âAndâand I donât like it in the least that youâyou can speak to me of money as if itâs a recompense for your death.â
âYou think me cold and callous?â
âYes, I do!â
It was their first harsh argument, and Julianna hated it.
Her grandmother regarded her in serene silence before asking, âDo you know what I shall miss when I leave this earth?â
âNothing, evidently.â
âI shall miss one thing and one thing alone.â When Julianna didnât ask for an explanation, her grandmother provided it: âI shall miss you.â
The answer was in such opposition to her unemotional voice and bland features that Julianna stared dubiously at her.
âI shall miss your humor and your confidences and your amazing gift for seeing the logic behind both sides of any issue. I shall particularly miss reading what youâve written each day. You have been the only bright spot in my existence.â
As she finished, she walked forward and laid her cool hand on Juliannaâs cheek, brushing away the tears trickling from the corner of her eye. âWe are kindred spirits, you and I. If you had been born much sooner, we would have been bosom friends.â
âWe are friends,â Julianna whispered fiercely as she placed her own hand over her grandmotherâs and rubbed her cheek against it. âWe will be friends forever and always! When you are . . . gone, I shall still confide in you and write for youâshall write letters to you as if you had merely moved away!â
âWhat a diverting idea,â her grandmother teased. âAnd will you also post them to me?â
âOf course not, but youâll know what I have written nonetheless.â
âWhat makes you think that?â she asked, genuinely puzzled.
âBecause I heard you tell the vicar very bluntly that it is illogical to assume that the Almighty intends to let us lie around dozing until Judgment Day. You said that, having repeatedly warned us that we shall reap what we sow, God is more likely to insist we observe what we have sown from a much wider viewpoint.â
âI do not think it wise, my dear, for you to put more credence in my theological notions than in those of the good vicar. I shouldnât like for you to waste your talent writing to me after Iâm gone, instead of writing something for the living to read.â
âI shanât be wasting my time,â Julianna said with a confident smile, one of their familiar debates over nonsense lifting her spirits. âIf I write you letters, I have every faith you will contrive a way to read them wherever you may be.â
âBecause you credit me with mystical powers?â
âNo,â Julianna teased, âbecause you cannot resist correcting my spelling!â
âImpertinent baggage,â her grandmother huffed, but she smiled widely and her fingers spread, linking with Juliannaâs for a tight, affectionate squeeze.
The following year, on the eve of Christmas, her grandmother died, holding Juliannaâs hand one last time. âIâll write to you, Grandmama.â Julianna wept as her grandmotherâs eyes closed forever. âDonât forget to watch for my letters. Donât forget.â
Miracles (in A Holiday of Love)
9781501145711
$1.99
Now available for the first time ever as an e-novella, New York Times bestselling author Judith McNaughtâs short historical romance Miraclesâwhich ties up ends left open in the Westmoreland Dynasty Sagaâis available for the first time ever as a standalone e-novella. In Regency London, world-weary lord Nicki du Ville receives an outrageous proposal from Julianna Skeffington, who is Sheridan Bromleighâs charge fromUntil You.
Here is an excerpt for Perfect ($7.99).
Perfect
16-20
_____________________________
Snow clung to Zackâs hair and swirled around his feet as he bent his head into the wind. Several trucks roared past him, the drivers ignoring his upraised thumb, and he fought down a panicky premonition of impending doom. Traffic was heavy on the highway, but everybody was evidently in a hurry to reach their destination before the storm struck, and they werenât stopping for anything. Up ahead at the intersection was an old-fashioned gas station/cafe with two cars in the large parking lotâa blue Blazer and a brown station wagon. Carrying his duffel bags, he walked up the driveway and when he passed the cafe, he glanced carefully through the large front window at the occupants. There was a lone woman in one booth and a mother with two young children in the other. He swore under his breath because both cars belonged to women, and they werenât likely to pick up hitchhikers. Without slowing his pace, Zack continued toward the end of the building, where their two cars were parked, wondering if the keys were in the ignitions. Even if they were, he knew it was insanity to steal one of those cars because heâd have to drive it right past the front window of the cafe in order to get out of the parking lot. If he did that, whoever owned the car would have the cops on the phone, describing him and his vehicle, before he got out of the damned parking lot. Whatâs more, from up here, they could see which way he went on the interstate. Maybe he could try to bribe one of the women in the cafe to give him a ride when she came out.
If money didnât persuade her to agree, he had a gun that could convince her. Christ! There had to be a better way to get out of here than that.
In front of him and below, trucks roared down the interstate making mini blizzards with their wheels. He glanced at his watch. Nearly an hour had passed since Hadley had gone into his meeting. He didnât dare try hitchhiking on that interstate any more. Heâd be visible down there from the overpass for a mile. If Sandini had followed instructions, Hadley would be sounding an alert to the local cops in about five minutes. As if his thought had caused it to happen, a local sheriffâs car suddenly appeared on the overpass, slowed down, then turned into the cafeâs parking lot fifty yards away from Zackâs hiding spot, coming toward him.
Instinctively, Zack crouched down, pretending that he was inspecting the tire on the Blazer, and then inspiration struckâtoo late perhaps, but maybe not. Yanking the switchblade out of the duffel bag, he rammed it into the side of the Blazerâs tire, ducking to one side to avoid the explosion of air. From the corner of his eye, he watched the patrol car glide to a stop behind him. Instead of demanding to know what Zack was doing loitering around the cafe with duffel bags, the local sheriff rolled down his car window and drew the obvious conclusion. âLooks like you got a flat thereââ
âSure as hell,â Zack agreed, slapping the side of the tire, careful not to look over his shoulder. âMy wife tried to warn me this tire had a leakââ The rest of his words were drowned out by the sudden frantic squawking of the police radio, and without another word, the cop wheeled the patrol car into a screeching turn, accelerated sharply, and roared out of the parking lot with its siren wailing. A moment later, Zack heard more sirens coming from every direction, and then he saw the patrol cars racing across the overpass, their warning lights revolving.
The authorities, Zack knew, were now aware that an escaped convict was on the loose. The hunt had begun.
Inside the cafe, Julie finished her coffee and groped in her purse for money to pay the check. Her visit with Mr. Vernon had gotten her more than sheâd expected, including an invitation to spend more time with his wife and him that she hadnât been able to refuse. She had a five-hour drive in front of her, longer with all this snow, but she had a fat check in her purse and enough excitement about that to make the miles fly past. She glanced at her watch, picked up the thermos sheâd brought in from the car to be filled with coffee, smiled at the children eating with their mother in the adjoining booth, and walked up to the cash register to pay her bill.
As she emerged from the building, she stopped in surprise as a squad car suddenly made a frantic U-turn in front of her, turned on its siren, then shot out of the parking lot onto the highway, its rear end fishtailing in the thin blanket of snow. Distracted by that, she didnât notice the dark-haired man squatting beside the rear wheel of her car on the driverâs side until she almost stumbled over him. He stood up abruptly, towering over her from a height of about 6â2â, and she took a startled, cautious step backward, her voice shaky with alarm and suspicion. âWhat are you doing there?â she demanded, frowning at her own image as it was reflected back at her from the silvery lenses of his aviator sunglasses.
Zack actually managed a semblance of a smile because his mind had finally started working, and he now knew exactly how he was going to get her to offer him a ride. Imagination and the ability to improvise had been two of his biggest assets as a director. Nodding toward her rear tire, which was very obviously flat, he said, âIâm planning to change your tire for you if you have a jack.â
Julieâs breath came out in a rush of chagrin. âIâm sorry for being so rude, but you startled me. I was watching that squad car tearing out of here.â
âThat was Joe Loomis, a local constable,â Zack improvised smoothly, deliberately making it sound as if the cop was a friend of his. âJoe got another call and had to leave, or heâd have given me a hand with your tire.â
Julieâs fears were completely allayed, and she smiled at him. âThis is very kind of you,â she said, opening the tailgate of the Blazer and looking for a jack. âThis is my brotherâs car. The jack is somewhere in here, but Iâm not sure where.â
âThere,â Zack said, quickly locating the jack and taking it out. âThis will only take a few minutes,â he added. He was in a hurry, but no longer fighting down panic. The woman already thought he was friendly with the local sheriff, so sheâd naturally think he was trustworthy, and after he changed her tire, sheâd owe him a ride. Once they were on the road, the police wouldnât give them a second glance because theyâd be looking for a man who was traveling alone. For now, if anyone noticed him, he would appear to be an ordinary husband changing a tire while his wife looked on. âWhere are you headed?â he asked her, using the jack.
âEast toward Dallas for a long way and then south,â Julie said, admiring his easy skill with the heavy vehicle. He had an unusually nice voice, uncommonly deep and smooth, and a strong, square jawline. His hair was dark brown and very thick, but poorly cut, and she wondered idly what he looked like without the concealing barrier of those reflective sunglasses. Very handsome, she decided, but it wasnât his good looks that kept drawing her eyes back to his profile, it was something else, something illusive that she couldnât pinpoint. Julie shrugged the feeling off, and cradling the thermos in her arm, she embarked on polite conversation. âDo you work around here?â
âNot any more. I was supposed to start a new job tomorrow, but I have to be there by seven in the morning or theyâll give it to someone else.â He finished jacking the car up and began loosening the lug bolts on the tire, then he nodded toward the nylon duffel bags that Julie hadnât seen before because they had somehow gotten shoved under her car. âA friend of mine was supposed to pick me up here two hours ago and give me a ride part of the way,â he added, âbut I guess something happened and he isnât going to make it.â
âYouâve been waiting out here for two hours?â Julie exclaimed. âYou must be frozen.â
He kept his face averted, apparently concentrating on his task, and Julie restrained the peculiar urge to try to bend down and get a longer, closer look at him. âWould you like a cup of coffee?â
âIâd love one.â
Rather than use up what was in the thermos, Julie headed back into the cafe. âIâll get it for you. How do you drink it?â
âBlack,â Zack said, fighting to keep his frustration in check. She was heading southeast from Amarillo, whereas his destination was four hundred miles to the northwest. He stole a glance at his watch and began working even faster. Nearly an hour and a half had passed since he walked away from the wardenâs car, and his risk of capture was increasing every moment he stayed around Amarillo. Regardless of which way the woman was going, he had to go with her. Putting some miles between himself and Amarillo was all that mattered now. He could ride with her for an hour and double back via a different route later.
The waitress needed to brew another pot of coffee, and by the time Julie returned to her car with the steaming paper cup, her rescuer had nearly finished changing the tire. Snow was already two inches deep on the ground and the biting wind was gathering force, whipping the sides of her coat open and making her eyes water. She saw him rub his bare hands together and thought of the new job that was waiting for him tomorrowâif he could get there. She knew jobs in Texas, especially blue-collar jobs, were scarce, and based on his lack of a car, he was probably badly in need of money. His jeans were new, she realized, noticing for the first time the telltale vertical crease down the front of the legs when he stood up. He had probably bought them in order to make a good impression on his future employer, she decided, and the thought of him doing that sent sympathy pouring through her.
Julie had never before offered a hitchhiker a ride; the risks were far too high, but she decided to do it this time, not only because heâd changed her tire or because he seemed nice, but also because of a simple pair of jeansânew jeans. New jeans, stiff and spotless, obviously purchased by a jobless man who was pinning all his hopes on a brighter future that wasnât going to materialize unless someone gave him a ride at least partway to his destination so he could start to work.
âIt looks like youâre finished,â Julie said, walking up to him. She held the cup of coffee out to him and he took it in hands that were red from the cold. There was an aloofness about him that made her hesitate to offer him money, but on the chance heâd prefer that to a ride, she offered anyway. âIâd like to pay you for changing the tire,â she began, and when he curtly shook his head, she added, âIn that case, can I give you a ride? Iâm going to take the interstate east.â
âIâd appreciate the ride,â Zack said, accepting her offer with a brief smile as he quickly reached down and pulled the nylon duffel bags out from under the car. âIâm heading east, too.â
When they got into the car, he told her his name was Alan Aldrich. Julie introduced herself as Julie Mathison, but to make certain he realized she was offering him a ride and nothing more, she carefully addressed him the next time she spoke as Mr. Aldrich. He picked up her cue and thereafter called her Miss Mathison.
Julie relaxed completely after that. The formality of Miss Mathison was completely reassuring, and so was his immediate acceptance of their situation. But when he remained absolutely silent and distant thereafter, she began to wish she hadnât insisted on formality. She knew she wasnât good at hiding her thoughts, therefore heâd probably realized at once that she was putting him in his placeâa needless insult, considering that heâd shown her only gallant kindness by changing her tire.
THEYâD KEN ON THE ROAD for fully ten minutes before Zack felt the strangling tension in his chest begin to dissolve, and he drew a long, full breathâhis first easy breath in hours. No, months. Years. Futility and helplessness had raged in him for so long that he felt almost lightheaded without them. A red car roared past them, cut across their lane to exit the interstate, lost traction, and spun around, missing the Blazer by inchesâand then only because the young woman beside him handled the four-wheel-drive vehicle with surprising skill. Unfortunately, she also drove too damned fast, with the daredevil aggressiveness and fearless disregard of danger that was uniquely and typically Texan in his experience.
He was wishing there was some way he could suggest she let him drive, when she said in a quietly amused voice, âYou can relax now. Iâve slowed down. I didnât mean to scare you.â
âI wasnât afraid,â he said with unintentional curtness.
She glanced sideways at him and smiled, a slow, knowing smile. âYouâre holding onto the dashboard with both hands. Thatâs usually a dead giveaway.â
Two things struck Zack at once: Heâd been in prison so long that lighthearted banter between adult members of the opposite sex had become completely awkward and alien to him and Julie Mathison had a breathtaking smile. Her smile glowed in her eyes and lit up her entire face, transforming what was merely a pretty face into one that was captivating. Since wondering about her was infinitely preferable to worrying about things he couldnât yet control, Zack concentrated on her. She wore no makeup except for a little lipstick, and there was a freshness about her, a simplicity in the way she wore her thick, shiny brown hair, all of which had made him think she was in her late teens or very early twenties. On the other hand, she seemed too confident and self-assured for a twenty-year-old. âHow old are you?â he asked bluntly, then winced at the brusque tactlessness of the question. Obviously if they didnât catch him and send him back to prison, he was going to have to relearn some things heâd thought were bred into himâlike rudimentary courtesy and conversational etiquette with women.
Instead of being irritated by the question, she flashed him another one of those mesmerizing smiles of hers and said in a voice laced with amusement, âIâm twenty-six.â
âMy God!â Zack heard himself blurt, then he closed his eyes in disgusted disbelief at his gaucheness. âI mean,â he explained, âyou donât look that old.â
She seemed to sense his discomfiture, because she laughed softly and said, âProbably because Iâve only been twenty-six for a few weeks.â
Afraid to trust himself to say anything spontaneous, he watched the windshield wipers carve a steady half-moon in the snow on the windshield while he reviewed his next question for any trace of the tastelessness that had marred his previous words. Feeling this one was safe, he said, âWhat do you do?â
âIâm a schoolteacher.â
âYou donât look like one.â
Inexplicably, the laughter rekindled in her eyes and he saw her bite back a smile. Feeling completely disoriented and confused by her unpredictable reactions, he said a little curtly, âDid I just say something funny?â
Julie shook her head and said, âNot at all. Thatâs what most older people say.â
Zack wasnât certain whether sheâd referred to him as being âolderâ because he actually looked like an antique to her or if it was a joking retaliation for his ill-advised remarks about her age and appearance. He was puzzling over that when she asked what he did for a living, and he answered with the first occupation that seemed to suit what heâd already told her about himself.
âIâm in construction.â
âReally? My brotherâs in construction work, tooâa general contractor. What sort of construction work do you do?â
Zack barely knew which end of a hammer to use on a nail, and he sorely wished heâd picked a more obscure job or, better yet, had remained completely silent. âWalls,â he replied vaguely. âI do walls.â
She took her eyes from the road, which alarmed him, and regarded him intently, which alarmed him even more. âWalls?â she repeated sounding puzzled. Then she explained, âI meant, do you have a specialty?â
âYes. Walls,â Zack said shortly, angry with himself for having begun such a conversation. âThatâs my specialty. I put up walls.â
Julie realized she must have misunderstood him the first time. âDrywall!â she exclaimed ruefully. âOf course. Youâre a drywall taper?â
âRight.â
âIn that case, Iâm surprised you have any trouble finding work. Good tapers are usually in great demand.â
âIâm not a good one,â Zack stated flatly, making it clear he wasnât interested in continuing that conversation.
Julie choked back a startled laugh at his answer and his tone and concentrated on the road. He was a very unusual man. She couldnât decide whether she liked him and was glad of his company . . . or not. And she couldnât get over the uneasy feeling that he reminded her of someone. She wished she could see his face without those sunglasses so she could figure out who it was. The city vanished in the rearview mirror and the sky turned the heavy, ominous gray of an early dusk. Silence hung in the car and fat snow smacked her windshield, slowly gaining an edge on the carâs windshield wipers. Theyâd been on the road for about a half hour when Zack glanced in the outside rearview mirror on his sideâand his blood froze. A half mile behind them, and closing fast, was a police car with its red and blue lights rotating furiously.
A second later, he heard the siren begin to wail.
The woman beside him heard it, too; she glanced in the rearview mirror and took her foot off of the gas pedal, slowing the Blazer and angling it onto the shoulder. Zack reached into his jacket pocket, his hand closing on the butt of the automatic, although he had no precise idea at that moment exactly what he meant to do if the cop tried to pull them over. The squad car was so close now, he could see there were not one, but two cops in the front seat. They pulled around the Blazer . . .
And kept going.
âThere must be an accident up there,â she said as they crested the hill and came to a stop behind what looked like a five-mile traffic jam on the snowy interstate. A moment later two ambulances came tearing around them.
Zackâs rush of adrenalin subsided, leaving him shaken and limp. He felt as if heâd suddenly exceeded his capacity to react with violent emotion to anything whatsoever, which was probably due to his having been trying to execute for two days a carefully thought-out escape plan that should have been a guaranteed success by virtue of its sheer simplicity. And would have been if Hadley hadnât postponed his trip to Amarillo. Everything else that had gone wrong was a result of that. He wasnât sure even now if his contact was still in his Detroit hotel, waiting for Zackâs call before he rented a car to drive to Windsor. And until Zack was further away from Amarillo, he didnât dare stop to find a telephone. Moreover, although Colorado was only 130 miles from Amarillo, with a tiny piece of Oklahomaâs Panhandle in between, he needed to be traveling northwest to get there. Instead, he was now heading southeast. Thinking his Colorado map might also contain a small piece of the Oklahoma and Texas panhandles, he decided to occupy his time productively by looking for a new route from here to there. Twisting around in his seat, he said, âI think Iâll have a look at a map.â
Julie naturally assumed he was checking his route to whatever Texas town his new job was located in. âWhere are you heading?â she asked.
âEllerton,â he replied, sending her a brief smile as he reached past the folded down back seat for his duffel bag near the tailgate. âI interviewed for the job in Amarillo, but Iâve never been out to the site,â he added so she wouldnât ask questions about the place.
âI donât think Iâve ever heard of Ellerton.â Several minutes later, when he neatly refolded the map with its typewritten sheet on the top, Julie said, âDid you find Ellerton?â
âNo.â To dissuade her from asking any further questions about the location of a nonexistent town, he flashed the typewritten sheet at her as he bent over the seat to put it back into his duffel. âI have detailed instructions right here, so Iâll find it.â
She nodded, but her gaze was on the exit up ahead. âI think Iâll get off the interstate here and take a side road to get past the accident.â
âGood idea.â The exit turned out to be a rural road that ran roughly parallel with the interstate then began angling off to the right. âThis might not have been a good idea after all,â she said several minutes later when the narrow blacktop road began to wind steadily further away from the main highway.
Zack didnât immediately reply. At the intersection up ahead, there was a deserted gas station and at the edge of the empty lot near the road was an open phone booth. âIâd like to make a phone call if you wouldnât mind stopping. It wonât take more than a couple of minutes.â
âI donât mind at all.â Julie pulled the Blazer to a stop underneath the street lamp near the phone booth and watched him walk across the headlightâs beams. Dusk had descended even earlier than usual, and the storm seemed to be outrunning them, dumping snow with surprising force, even for the blustery Texas Panhandle. Deciding to exchange her bulky coat for a cardigan sweater that would be more comfortable while she drove, she turned on the radio, hoping for a weather forecast, then she got out of the car, walked around to the tailgate, and opened it.
With the tailgate down she could hear the Amarillo announcer extolling the wisdom of buying a new car at Wilson Ford:
âBob Wilson will meet any price, anywhere, anytime . . .â he enthused.
Listening for a mention of the weather, she took off her coat, pulled her tan mohair sweater out of her suitcase, and glanced at the map that was sticking out of his duffel bag. Since she didnât have a map with her and wasnât entirely sure what route would intersect with the interstate or if she was taking her passenger so far out of his way that heâd prefer to try to hitchhike with someone else, she decided to look at his map. She glanced at him in the phone booth, intending to hold up the map and ask his permission, but his shoulder was turned to her and he seemed to be speaking into the phone. Deciding he couldnât possibly object, Julie folded the typewritten instructions back and opened the map heâd been studying. Spreading it across the tailgate, she held the ends down while the wind tried to whip them out of her hands. It took a full moment before she realized it wasnât a map of Texas, but of Colorado. Puzzled, she glanced at the neatly typed instructions attached to the map: âExactly 26.4 miles after youâve passed the town of Stanton,â it said, âyouâll come to an unmarked crossroads. After that, begin looking for a narrow dirt road that branches off from the right and disappears into the trees about fifteen yards off the highway. The house is at the end of that road, about five miles from your turnoff, and is not visible from the highway or any side of the mountain.â
Julieâs lips parted in surprise. He was heading not for a job in some unknown Texas town, but for a house in Colorado?
On the radio, the announcer finished his commercial and said, âWeâll have an update on the storm coming our way, but first, hereâs some late breaking news from the sheriffs department . . .â
Julie scarcely heard him, she was staring at the tall man using the phone, and she felt again that strange, slithering unease . . . of shadowy familiarity. Heâd kept his shoulder turned to her, but heâd removed his sunglasses and was holding them in his hand now. As if he sensed she was staring at him, he twisted his head toward her. His eyes narrowed on the open map in her hands at the same instant Julie had her first clear, brightly lit view of his face without the concealing sunglasses.
âAt approximately four oâclock this afternoon,â said the voice on the radio, âPrison officials discovered that convicted murderer Zachary Benedict escaped while in Amarilloââ
Momentarily paralyzed, Julie stared at that rugged, harsh face of his.
And she recognized it.
âNo!â she cried as he dropped the phone and started running toward her. She bolted around her side of the car, yanking her door open and diving across the front seat, slapping at the lock on the passenger door a split second after he yanked the door open and grabbed for her wrist. With a strength born of pure terror, she managed to wrench her arm free and throw herself sideways through her open door. She hit the ground on her hip, scrambled to her feet, and started running, her feet sliding on the slippery snow, screaming for someone to help, knowing there was no one around to hear her. He caught her before sheâd run five yards and yanked her around and back, trapping her against the side of the Blazer. âHold still and shut up!â
âTake the car!â Julie cried. âTake it and leave me here.â
Ignoring her, he looked over his shoulder at the map of Colorado that had blown against a rusty trash container fifteen feet away when she dropped it. As if in slow motion, Julie watched him remove a shiny black object from his pocket and point it at her, while he backed toward the map and picked it up. A gun. God in heaven, he had a gun!
Her entire body began to tremble uncontrollably while she listened in a kind of hysterical disbelief to the newscasterâs voice belatedly confirming that fact as the news bulletin came to an end: âBenedict is believed to be armed and he is dangerous. If seen, his whereabouts should be reported immediately to the Amarillo police. Citizens should not attempt to approach him. A second escaped convict, Dominic Sandini, has been apprehended and taken into custody . . .â
Her knees threatened to buckle as she watched him coming toward her with a gun in one hand and the map and directions blowing from his other hand. Headlights crested the hill a quarter of a mile away, and he slid the gun back into his pocket to keep it out of sight, but he kept his hand there with it. âGet into the car,â he ordered.
Julie flashed a look over her left shoulder at the approaching pickup truck, frantically calculating the impossible odds of outrunning a bullet or even being able to attract the notice of the vehicleâs driver before Zachary Benedict shot her down. âDonât try it,â he warned in a deadly voice.
Her heart thundering against her ribs, she watched the pickup turn left at the crossroads, but she didnât disobey his order. Not here, not yet. Instinct warned her that this deserted stretch of road was too isolated to succeed in anything but getting killed.
âGet moving!â He took her arm and headed her to the open door on the driverâs side. Cloaked in the deepening dusk of a snowy winter evening, Julie Mathison walked unsteadily beside a convicted murderer who was holding a gun on her. She had the chilling sensation they were both living a scene from one of his own moviesâthe one where the hostage got killed.
HERÂ HANDS SHOOK SO VIOLENTLYÂ she had to grope for the keys in the ignition, and when she tried to start the car she nearly flooded the engine because even her legs were jerking with fright. He watched her unemotionally from the passenger seat. âDrive,â he snapped when the engine was started. Julie managed to turn the car around and guide it to the end of the parking lot, but she stopped at the main road, her mind so paralyzed with terror that she couldnât think of the words to ask the obvious question.
âI said drive!â
âWhich way?â she cried, hating the timid, pleading sound of her voice and loathing the animal beside her for making her experience this uncontrollable terror.
âBack the way we came.â
âB-back?â
âYou heard me.â
Rush hour traffic on the snowbound interstate near the city limits was moving at a crawl. Inside the car, the tension and silence were suffocating. Trying desperately to calm her rampaging nerves while she watched for some chance to escape, Julie lifted her shaking hand to change the radio station, fully expecting him to order her not to do it. When he said nothing, she turned the dial and heard a disk jockeyâs voice exuberantly introducing the next country/ western song. A moment later the car was filled with the cheerful sounds of âAll My Exâs Live in Texas.â
While George Strait sang, Julie looked around at the occupants of the other cars, homeward bound after a long day. The man in the Explorer beside her was listening to the same radio station, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel, keeping time with the melody. He glanced her way, saw her looking at him, and nodded sociably, then he returned his gaze to the front. She knew he hadnât seen anything abnormal. Everything looked perfectly normal to him, and if he were sitting where she was in the Blazer, it would have seemed perfectly normal. George Strait was singing, just like normal, and the expressway was crowded with motorists who were eager to get home, just like normal, and the snow was beautiful, just like normal. Everything was normal.
Except for one thing.
An escaped murderer was sitting in the seat beside her, holding a gun on her. It was the cozy normalcy of appearances juxtaposed against the demented reality of her situation that suddenly shoved Julie from paralysis to action. Traffic began to move, and her desperation gave birth to inspiration: Theyâd already passed several cars in ditches on both sides of the road. If she could fake a skid toward the ditch on the right and if she could throw the steering wheel to the left just as they went into the ditch, her door should remain usable while his might very well be trapped. It would work in her own car, but she wasnât sure how the Blazerâs four-wheel drive would respond.
Beside her, Zack saw her gaze flick repeatedly to the side of the road. He sensed her mounting panic and knew that fear was going to drive her to try something desperate at any moment. âRelax!â he ordered.
Julieâs capacity for fear suddenly reached its limits and her emotions veered crazily from terror to fury. âRelax!â she exploded in a shaking voice, whipping her head around and glaring at him. âHow in Godâs name do you expect me to relax when youâre sitting there with a gun aimed at me? You tell me that!â
She had a point, Zack thought, and before she attempted something else that might actually get him captured, he decided that helping her to relax was in both of their best interests. âJust stay calm,â he instructed.
Julie stared straight ahead. Traffic was thinning out slightly, picking up some speed, and she began to calculate the feasibility of ramming the Blazer into the cars around her in an attempt to cause a major pileup. Such an action would cause the police to be summoned. That would be very good.
But she and the other innocent motorists involved in the collision would likely end up being shot by Zachary Benedict.
That would be very bad.
She was wondering if his gun had a full clip of nine shells in it and whether he would actually massacre helpless people, when he said in a calm, condescending voice that adults use on hysterical children, âNothing is going to happen to you, Julie. If you do as youâre told, youâll be fine. I need transportation to the state line, and you have a car, itâs as simple as that. Unless this car is so important to you that you want to risk your life to get me out of it, all you have to do is drive and not attract anyoneâs attention. If a cop spots us, thereâs going to be shooting, and youâll be in the middle of it. So just be a good girl and relax.â
âIf you want me to relax,â she retorted, goaded past all endurance by his patronizing tone and her strained nerves, âthen you let me hold that gun, and Iâll show you relaxed!â She saw his brows snap together, but when he didnât make a retaliatory move, she almost believed that he truly didnât intend to harm herâso long as she didnât jeopardize his escape. That possibility had the perverse effect of subduing her fears and simultaneously unleashing her frustrated fury at the torment heâd already put her through. âFurthermore,â she continued wrathfully, âdonât speak to me like Iâm a child and donât call me Julie! I was Ms. Mathison to you when I thought you were a nice, decent man who needed a job and whoâd bought those d-damned jeans to impress your em-employer. If it hadnât been for those damned j-jeans, I wouldnât be in this messââ To Julieâs horror, she felt the sudden sting of tears, so she shot him what she hoped was a disdainful look and then glared fixedly out the windshield.
Zack lifted his brows and regarded her in impassive silence, but inwardly he was stunned and reluctantly impressed by her unexpected show of courage. Turning his head, he looked at the traffic opening up ahead of them and at the thick, falling snow that had seemed like a curse a few hours ago but had actually diverted the attention of the police who had to deal with stranded motorists before they could begin to search for him. Last, he considered the stroke of luck that had put him not in the small rented car that had been towed away while he watched, but in a heavy four-wheel-drive vehicle that could easily navigate in the snow without getting bogged down on the less traveled route he intended to take up into the Colorado mountains. All of the delays and complications that had infuriated him for the last two days had turned out to be bonuses, he realized. He was going to make it to Coloradoâthanks to Julie Mathison. Ms. Mathison, he corrected himself with an inner grin as he relaxed back in his seat. His flash of amusement vanished as quickly as it had come, because there was something about that newscast heâd heard earlier that was belatedly beginning to worry him: Dominic Sandini had been referred to as âanother escaped convictâ who âwas apprehended and taken into custody.â If Sandini had stuck to the plan, then Warden Hadley should have been crowing to the press about the loyalty of one of his trustees rather than referring to Sandini as an apprehended convict.
Zack told himself that the information on the newscast had simply been jumbled, which accounted for the mistake about Sandini, and he forced himself to concentrate on the irate young teacher beside him instead. Although he desperately needed her and her car right now, she was also a serious complication to his plans. She probably knew he was heading for Colorado; moreover, she might have seen enough of that map and the directions with it to be able to tell the police the vicinity of Zackâs hideaway. If he left her at the Texas-Oklahoma border or a little further north at the Oklahoma-Colorado border, sheâd be able to tell the authorities where he was going and exactly what kind of car he was driving as well. By now, his face was already plastered all over every television screen in the country, so he couldnât possibly hope to rent or buy another car without being recognized. Furthermore, he wanted the police to believe heâd managed to fly to Detroit and cross into Canada.
Julie Mathison seemed to be both a godsend and a disastrous kink in his plans. Rather than curse fate for saddling him with her and the deadly threat to his freedom that she represented, he decided to give fate an opportunity to work out this problem and to try to help them both relax. Reaching behind him for the thermos of coffee, he thought back to her last remarks and came up with what seemed like a good conversational opening. In a carefully offhand, nonthreatening tone, he inquired sociably, âWhatâs wrong with my jeans?â
She gaped at him in blank confusion. âWhat?â
âYou said something about my âdamned jeansâ being the only reason you offered me a ride,â he explained, filling the top of the thermos with coffee. âWhatâs wrong with my jeans?â
Julie swallowed an hysterical surge of angry laughter. She was concerned about her life, and he was concerned about making a fashion statement!
âWhat,â he repeated determinedly, âdid you mean?â
She was on the verge of an angry retort when two things occurred to her at onceâthat it was insane to deliberately antagonize an armed man and that if she could make him relax his guard by indulging in small talk with him, her chances to either escape or get out of this alive would be vastly improved. Trying to inject a polite, neutral tone into her voice, she drew a long breath and said without taking her eyes from the road, âI noticed your jeans were new.â
âWhat did that have to do with your deciding to offer me a ride?â
Bitterness at her own gullibility filled Julieâs voice. âSince you didnât have a car and you implied you didnât have a job, I assumed you must be having a hard time financially. Then you said you were hoping to get a new job, and I noticed the crease in your jeans . . .â Her voice trailed off when she realized with a disgusted jolt that instead of the nearly destitute man sheâd thought him to be he was actually a mega millionaire movie star.
âGo on,â he prodded, his voice tinged with puzzlement.
âI leapt to the obvious conclusion, for heavenâs sake! I figured youâd bought new jeans so you could make a good impression on your employer, and I imagined how important that must have been to you while you were buying them in the store and how much hope you must have been feeling when you bought them, and I-I couldnât bear the thought that your hope was going to be trashed if I didnât offer you a ride. So even though Iâve never picked up a hitchhiker in my life, I couldnât stand to see you miss having your chance.â
Zack was not only stunned, he was unwillingly touched. Kindness like hers, a kindness that also required some kind of personal risk or sacrifice, had been absent from his existence for all the years heâd spent in prison. And even before that, he realized. Shoving the unsettling thought aside, he said, âYou envisioned all that from a crease in a pair of jeans? Youâve got one hell of an imagination,â he added with a sardonic shake of his head.
âIâm obviously a bad judge of character, too,â Julie said bitterly. From the corner of her eye, she saw his left arm swing toward her and she jumped, muffling a scream before she realized he was only holding out a cup of coffee from the thermos. In a quiet tone that almost seemed to carry an apology for adding to her fright, he said, âI thought this might help.â
âIâm not in the slightest danger of falling asleep at the wheel, thanks to you.â
âDrink some anyway,â Zack ordered, determined to ease her terror even while he knew his presence was the source of it. âIt willââ he hesitated, feeling at a loss for words, and added, âIt will make things seem more normal.â
Julie turned her head and gaped at him, her expression making it eloquently clear she found his âconcernâ for her not only completely revolting, but insane. She was on the verge of telling him that, but she remembered the gun in his pocket, so she took the coffee in a shaking hand and turned away from him, sipping it and staring at the road ahead.
Beside her, Zack watched the telltale trembling of the coffee cup as she raised it to her lips, and he felt a ridiculous urge to apologize for terrifying her like this. She had a lovely profile he thought, studying her face in the light of the dashboard, with a small nose and stubborn chin and high cheekbones. She also had magnificent eyes, he decided, thinking of the way theyâd shot sparks at him a few minutes ago. Spectacular eyes. He felt a sharp stab of guilty shame for using and frightening this innocent girl whoâd been trying to be a good Samaritanâand because he had every intention of continuing to use her, he felt like the animal everybody believed he was. To silence his conscience, he resolved to make things as easy on her as he possibly could, which led him to decide to engage her in further conversation.
Heâd noticed she wore no wedding ring, which meant she wasnât married. He tried to remember what peopleâcivilized people on the âoutsideââtalked about for idle conversation, and he finally said, âDo you like teaching?â
She turned again, her incredible eyes wide with suppressed antagonism. âDo you expect me,â she uttered in disbelief, âto engage in polite small talk with you?â
âYes!â he snapped, irrationally angry at her reluctance to let him make amends. âI do. Start talking!â
âI love teaching,â Julie shot back shakily, hating how easily he could intimidate her. âHow far do you intend for me to drive you?â she demanded as they passed a sign that said the Oklahoma border was twenty miles away.
âOklahoma,â Zack said, half-truthfully.
WEâRE INÂ OKLAHOMA,â JULIE POINTEDÂ out the instant they drove past the sign announcing they were there.
He shot her a look of grim amusement. âI see that.â
âWell? Where do you want to get out?â
âKeep driving.â
âKeep driving?â she cried in nervous fury. âNow look, you miserableâIâm not driving you all the way to Colorado!â
Zack had his answer, she knew where he was going.
âI wonât do it!â Julie warned shakily, unaware that she had just sealed her fate. âI canât.â
With an inner sigh at the battle she was bound to wage, he said, âYes, Ms. Mathison, you can. And you will.â
His unflappable calm was the last straw. âGo to hell!â Julie cried, swinging the steering wheel hard to the right before he could stop her and sending the vehicle careening onto the shoulder as she slammed on the brakes and brought it to a lurching stop. âTake the car!â she pleaded. âTake it and leave me here. I wonât tell anyone Iâve seen you or where youâre going. I swear I wonât tell anyone.â
Zack reined in his temper and tried to soothe her with an attempt at levity. âIn the movies, people always promise that same thing,â he remarked conversationally, glancing over his shoulder at the cars flying past. âIâve always thought it sounded asinine.â
âThis isnât the movies!â
âBut you do agree that it is an absurd promise,â he argued with a slight smile. âYou know it is. Admit it, Julie.â
Shocked that he was apparently trying to tease her as if they were friends, Julie stared at him in furious silence, knowing he was right about the promise being ridiculous, but refusing to admit it.
âYou canât really expect me to believe,â he continued, his voice softening a little, âthat youâd let me get away with kidnapping you and stealing your car and then be so grateful to me for doing both that youâd keep a promise to me you made under extreme duress? Doesnât that sound a little insane to you?â
âDo you expect me to debate psychology with you when my whole life is at stake!â she burst out.
âI realize youâre afraid, but your life isnât at stake unless you put it there. You arenât in any danger unless you create it.â
Perhaps it was exhaustion or the low timbre of his voice or the steadiness of his gaze, but as Julie looked at his solemn features, she found herself almost believing him.
âI donât want you to get hurt,â he continued, âand you wonât, as long as you donât do anything that attracts attention to me and alerts the lawââ
âIn which case,â Julie interrupted bitterly, snapping out of her trance, âyou will blow my brains out with your gun. Thatâs very comforting, Mr. Benedict. Thank you.â
Zack held his temper in check and explained, âIf the cops catch up with me, theyâll have to kill me, because Iâm not going to surrender. Given the vigilante mentality of most cops, thereâs a good chance youâll be hurt or killed in the fray. I donât want that to happen. Can you understand that?â
Furious with herself for being subdued by empty gentle words from a ruthless murderer, Julie jerked her gaze from his and stared out the front window. âDo you actually think you can convince me youâre Sir Galahad and not a depraved monster?â
âEvidently not,â he said irritably.
When she refused to look at him again, Zack gave an impatient sign and said curtly, âStop sulking and start driving. I need to find a roadside telephone at one of these exits.â
The moment his voice chilled, Julie realized how foolish sheâd been to ignore his âfriendlyâ overture and antagonize him. What she probably ought to be doing, she belatedly decided as she pulled back out onto the highway, was fooling him into believing she was resigned to going along with him. As the snowflakes danced in front of her headlights, her mind began to calm and she thought carefully about possible ways out of her predicament, because it now seemed horribly likely that he was going to force her to drive him through Colorado as well as Oklahoma. Finding a means to foil his plan and get away became not only a necessity, but a downright challenge. To do that, she knew she had to be objective and to keep all traces of fright and fury from clouding her thoughts. She should be able to do that, Julie reminded herself bracingly. After all, she was no sheltered, unworldly, pampered hothouse flower. Sheâd spent the first eleven years of her life on the streets of Chicago and done just fine! Chewing on her lower lip, she decided to try to think of her ordeal as if it were merely a plot in one of the mystery novels she loved to read. Sheâd always felt some of the heroines in those novels behaved with sublime stupidity, which was what sheâd been doing by antagonizing her captor, she decided. A clever heroine would do the opposite, sheâd be devious and find ways to make Benedict relax his guard completely. If he did that, her chances to escapeâand get him returned to prison where he belongedâwould be dramatically increased. To accomplish that goal, she could try to pretend she was coming to think of this nightmare as an adventure, maybe she could even pretend to be on the side of her captor, which would require a stellar performance, but she was willing to try.
Despite her grave misgivings about her ability to succeed, Julie suddenly felt a welcome calm and determination sweep through her, banishing her fear and leaving her head clearer. She waited several moments before speaking, so that her capitulation wouldnât seem too sudden and suspicious to him, then she drew a steadying breath and tried to inject a rueful note into her voice: âMr. Benedict,â she said, actually managing to cast him a slight, sideways smile, âI appreciate what you said about not intending to hurt me. I didnât mean to be sarcastic. I was afraid, thatâs all.â
âAnd now you arenât afraid?â he countered, his voice laced with skepticism.
âWell, yes,â Julie hastened to assure him. âBut not nearly so much. Thatâs what I meant.â
âMay I inquire what brought about this sudden transformation? What were you thinking about while you were so quiet?â
âA book,â she said because it seemed safe. âA mystery.â
âOne youâve read? Or one youâre thinking about writing?â
Her mouth opened, but no words came out, and then she realized heâd inadvertently handed her the perfect means to his own defeat. âIâve always wanted to write a mystery someday,â she improvised madly, âand it occurred to me that this could be, well, first-hand research.â
âI see.â
She darted another glance at him and was startled by the warmth of his smile. This devil could charm a snake, she realized, recalling that same smile from the days when it had flashed across movie screens and raised the temperature of the entire female audience.
âYou are a remarkably brave young woman, Julie.â
She choked her irate demand to be called Ms. Mathison. âActually, Iâm the worldâs greatest coward, Mr.ââ
âMy name is Zack,â he interrupted, and in his impassive tone she sensed a return of his suspicion.
âZack,â she hastily agreed. âYouâre quite right. We ought to use first names, since weâre apparently going to be together forâ?â
âA while,â he provided, and Julie made a Herculean effort to conceal her frustrated fury at his oblique reply.
âA while,â she agreed, careful to keep her tone neutral. âWell, thatâs probably long enough for you to help me with some preliminary research,â she hesitated, thinking of what to ask him. âWould you, well, consider giving me some insight into what prison is really like. That would be helpful for my story.â
âWould it?â
He was scaring the hell out of her with the subtle, ever-changing nuances in his voice. Never before had she known a man or woman who could convey so much with imperceptible changes in his voice, nor had she heard a voice like his in her life. It had a rich baritone timbre that could switch instantly and unaccountably from polite to amused to icy and ominous. In answer to his question, Julie nodded vigorously, trying to counteract his skeptical tone by injecting energy and conviction in her own. âAbsolutely.â In a flash of inspiration, she realized that if he thought she might be on his side, heâd be even more likely to lower his guard. âIâve heard that a lot of innocent people get sent to prison. Were you innocent?â
âEvery convict claims heâs innocent.â
âYes, but are you?â she persisted, dying for him to say he was so she could pretend to believe him.
âThe jury said I was guilty.â
âJuries have been wrong before.â
âTwelve honest, upstanding citizens,â he replied in a voice suddenly iced with loathing, âdecided I was.â
âIâm sure they tried to be objective.â
âBullshit!â he said so furiously that Julieâs hands tightened on the steering wheel under a fresh onslaught of fear and dread. âThey convicted me of being rich and famous!â he snapped. âI watched their faces during the trial, and the more the district attorney raved about my privileged life and the amoral standards of Hollywood, the more that jury wanted my blood! The whole damned, sanctimonious, God-fearing bunch of them knew there was a âreasonable doubtâ I didnât commit that murder and thatâs why they didnât recommend the death penalty. Theyâd all watched too much Perry Masonâthey figured if I didnât do it, I should be able to prove who did.â
Julie felt the perspiration break out on her palms at the rage in his voice. Now, more than ever before, she realized how imperative it was to make him believe she sympathized with him. âBut you werenât guilty, were you? You just couldnât prove who really murdered your wife, is that it?â she persevered in a trembling voice.
âWhat difference does it make?â he snapped.
âIt m-makes a difference to me.â
For a moment he studied her in frozen silence and then his voice made one of its abrupt, compellingly soft turns. âIf it truly makes a difference to you, then no, I didnât kill her.â
He was lying, of course. He had to be. âI believe you.â Trying to heap more reassurances on him, she added, âAnd if you are innocent, then you have every right to try to escape from prison.â
His answer was an uncomfortably long silence during which she felt his piercing gaze examining every feature on her face, then he said abruptly, âThe sign said thereâs a phone up ahead. Pull over when you see it.â
âAll right.â
The telephone was beside the road and Julie pulled off into the drive. She was watching the outside rearview mirror in hopes of seeing a trucker or some other driver she could flag down but there was little traffic on the snowy road. His voice made her snap her head around just as he pulled her car keys from the ignition. âI hope,â he said in a sardonic voice, âyou wonât think I doubt your word about believing Iâm innocent and wanting to see me escape. Iâm simply taking the car keys because I happen to be a very cautious man.â
Julie amazed herself by managing to shake her head and say convincingly, âI donât blame you.â With a brief smile, he got out of the car, but he kept his hand in his pocket with the gun as a deliberate menacing reminder to her, and he left the passenger door open, undoubtedly so he could see what she was doing while he made his call. Short of trying to outrun him and a possible bullet, Julie had no hope of escaping right now, but she could start preparing for the future. As he stepped into the snow, she said with all the meekness she could muster, âWould you mind if I get a pen and paper out of my purse so that I can make some notes while youâre on the phoneâyou know, jot down feelings and things so that I can use them in my book?â Before he could refuse, which he looked about to do, she reached cautiously for her purse on the back seat while pointing out reasons he shouldnât deny her request. âWriting always calms my nerves,â she said, âand you can search my purse, if you like. Youâll see I donât have another set of keys or any weapons.â To prove it she opened the purse and handed it to him. He gave her an impatient, preoccupied look that made her feel as if he didnât believe her story about writing a novel for a moment and was simply going along with it to keep her docile.
âGo ahead,â he said, handing the purse to her. As he turned away, Julie pulled out a small note pad and her pen. Keeping an eye on his back, she watched him pick up the telephone and put coins in it, then she quickly wrote the same message on three different slips of paper: CALL POLICE. IâVE BEEN KIDNAPPED. From the comer of her eye, she saw him watching her and she waited until he turned away to talk to whoever he was calling, then she tore off the first three sheets, folded them in half and tucked them into the outside pocket of her purse where she could easily reach them. She opened the notebook again and stared at it, her mind frantically searching for ways to pass the notes to people who could aid her. Struck with a plausible idea, she stole a glance at him to be sure he wasnât looking, then she quickly took one of the notes from her purse and folded it into a ten-dollar bill from her wallet.
She had a plan, she was executing it, and the knowledge that she was now taking some control of her future banished much of her lingering fear and panic. The rest of her newfound calm owed itself to something besides having a plan in mind. The feeling came from an instinctive but unshakable conviction that one thing Zachary Benedict had said was true: He did not want to harm her. Therefore, he wasnât going to shoot her in cold blood. In fact, if she tried to escape now, she was certain he would chase her, but he wouldnât shoot her unless it looked as if she were going to flag down a passing car. Since there were no cars coming, Julie saw no point in flinging open her door and making a break for it right nowânot when he could outrun her, and all she would gain was to put him permanently on his guard. Better by far to appear to cooperate and lull him into relaxing as much as possible. Zachary Benedict might be an ex-con, but she wasnât the gullible, easily intimidated coward sheâd been acting like until now. Once, sheâd had to live by her wits, she reminded herself bracingly. While he was a pampered teenage movie idol, Julie was lying and stealing and surviving on the streets! If she concentrated on that now, sheâd be able to hold her own with him, she was absolutely positive! Well, almost positive. So long as she kept her head, she had an excellent chance of winning this contest of wits. Taking her notebook out, she began jotting down saccharine comments about her kidnapper in case he asked to see what sheâd written. Finished, she reread her absurd commentary:
Zachary Benedict is fleeing from unjust imprisonment caused by a biased jury. He seems to be an intelligent, kind, warm manâa victim of circumstances. I believe in him.
The commentary was, she decided with an inner grimace, the worst piece of pure fiction ever written. So engrossed was she that she experienced only a momentary jolt of dread when she realized heâd finished his call and was climbing into the car. Quickly closing the notebook and shoving it into her purse, she asked politely, âDid you talk to whoever it is youâre trying to call?â
His eyes narrowed sharply on her smile and she had an uneasy feeling she was overdoing her âcomradelyâ performance. âNo. Heâs still there, but he isnât in his room. Iâll try again in a half hour or so.â Julie was digesting that tidbit of useless information when he reached for her purse and took out her notebook. âJust a precaution,â he said in a sardonic voice as he flipped open the notebook. âYou understand, Iâm sure?â
âI understand,â Julie averred, caught between nervous hilarity and chagrin as she watched his jaw slacken when he read what sheâd written.
âWell?â she said, widening her eyes with sham innocence. âWhat do you think?â
He closed the notebook and slid it back into her purse. âI think youâre too gullible to be turned loose in the world if you actually believe all that.â
âIâm very gullible,â she eagerly assured him, turning on the ignition and pulling out onto the highway. If he thought her stupid and naive, that was great, terrific.
FOR THE NEXT HALF HOUR, they drove in silence with only an occasional desultory comment about the bad weather and worsening driving conditions, but Julie was watching the side of the road for a billboard that would enable her to put her plan into action. Any billboard that advertised a fast food restaurant at an approaching exit would do. When she finally saw one, her heart doubled its beat. âI know you probably donât want to stop and go into a restaurant, but Iâm starving,â she said carefully, pleasantly. âThat sign says thereâs a McDonaldâs up ahead. We could get some food at the drive-through window.â
He glanced at the clock and started to shake his head, so she hastily added, âI have to eat something every couple of hours because I have . . .â she hesitated a split second, thinking frantically for the right medical term for a problem she didnât have â . . . hypoglycemia! Iâm sorry, but if I donât eat something, I get very ill and faint and . . .â
âFine, weâll stop there.â
Julie almost shouted with nervous triumph when she pulled off on the exit ramp and the McDonaldâs golden arches came into view. The restaurant was between two open lots with a kiddy playground on the side of it. âWeâre stopping just in time,â she added, âbecause Iâm feeling so dizzy that I wonât be able to drive much longer.â
Ignoring his narrowed look, Julie flipped on the turn indicator and pulled into the McDonaldâs entrance. Despite the storm, there were several cars in the parking lot, though not nearly so many as Julie wished there were, and she could see a few families seated at the tables inside the restaurant. Following the directions on the sign, she drove around behind the restaurant to the drive-through window and stopped at the speaker. âWhat would you like?â she asked.
Before his imprisonment, Zack wouldnât have stopped at a fast-food restaurant like this if he had to go all day without eating. Now he discovered his mouth was watering at the thought of a simple hamburger and french fries. Freedom did that, he decided after telling Julie what he wanted to eat. Freedom made the air smell fresher and food sound better. It also made a man more tense and suspicious, because there was something about his captiveâs over bright smile that was making him extremely wary. She looked so fresh and ingenuous with those big blue eyes and soft smile, but sheâd switched much too quickly from terrified captive to furious hostage to her current attitude of friendly ally.
Julie repeated their order into the microphoneâtwo cheeseburgers, two french fries, two Cokes.
âThatâll be $5.09,â the voice said over the microphone. âPlease drive around to the first window.â
As she pulled up alongside the first window, she saw him dig into his pocket for money, but she shook her head adamantly, already reaching into her purse. âIâll buy,â she said, managing to look straight into his eyes. âItâs my treat. I insist.â
After a momentâs hesitation, he took his hand out of his pocket, but his dark brows drew together into a baffled frown. âThatâs very sporting of you.â
âThatâs me. Iâm a good sport. Everyone always says so,â she babbled mindlessly, removing the folded ten-dollar bill with her handwritten note saying that she was being kidnapped folded inside of it. Unable to meet his unnerving gaze any longer, Julie hastily looked away and focused all her attention on the teenage girl in the drive-through window, who was regarding her with bored impatience. The girlâs name tag said her name was Tiffany.
âThatâll be $5.09,â Tiffany said.
Julie held out the ten-dollar bill and stared hard at the girl, her face beseeching. Her life depended on this bored-looking teenager with a frizzy ponytail. As if in slow motion, Julie saw her unfold the ten-dollar bill . . . The small notepaper floated to the ground . . . Tiffany bent and picked it up, popping her gum . . . She straightened . . . She glanced at Julie . . . âThis yours?â she asked, holding it up, peering into the car without reading what it said.
âI donât know,â Julie said, trying to force the girl to read the words. âIt might be. What does it sayââ she began, then stifled a scream as Zachary Benedictâs hand clamped on her arm and the barrel of the pistol dug into her side. âNever mind, Tiffany,â he said smoothly, leaning around Julie and holding out his hand. âThatâs my note. Itâs part of a joke.â The cashier glanced at the note, but it was impossible to tell if sheâd actually read it in the instant before she held it in her outstretched hand toward the car. âHere you are, sir,â she said, leaning forward past Julie and handing it to him. Julie ground her teeth as Zachary Benedict gave the girl a phoney, appreciative smile that made Tiffany blush with pleasure as she counted out the change due them from Julieâs ten-dollar bill. âHereâs your order,â she said. Julie automatically reached for the white bags of food and Cokes, her frightened face silently pleading with the girl to call the police or the manager or someone! She passed the bags to Benedict without daring to meet his gaze, her hands trembling so violently she nearly dropped the Cokes. As she drove away from the window, she expected some sort of repercussions from him, but since her plan had failed miserably, Julie was not prepared for the eruption of raw rage she heard: âYou stupid little bitch, are you trying to get yourself killed? Pull over in the parking lot, right there where she can see us, sheâs watching.â
Julie obeyed automatically, her chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow little breaths. âEat this,â he commanded, shoving the cheeseburger in her face. âAnd smile with every bite, or so help me God . . .â
Again, Julie obeyed. She chewed without tasting, every fiber of her being concentrated on calming her shattered nerves so that she could think again. The tension in the car grew into a taut, living thing that added to her strained nerves. She spoke simply to break the silence. âC-could I have m-my Coke,â she said, reaching for the white sack of drinks on the floor near his feet. His hand clamped on her wrist in a vice that threatened to break the fragile bones. âYouâre hurting me!â Julie cried, assailed by a fresh onslaught of panic. His hand tightened more painfully before he flung her wrist away. She reared back in her seat, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes, swallowing and rubbing her throbbing arm. Until a few moments ago, he hadnât actually tried to inflict pain on her, and sheâd lulled herself with the misconception that he wasnât a depraved indiscriminate killer but rather a man whoâd taken revenge on his unfaithful wife in an act of jealous insanity. Why, she wondered desperately, had she allowed herself to think that he wouldnât be just as likely to murder a woman whom heâd taken captive or a teenager who could sound an alarm and get him captured. The answer was that sheâd been fooled and deluded by her memoriesâmemories of all those glamorous stories about him in magazines, memories of countless hours spent in theaters with her brothers and, later, with her dates admiring him and even fantasizing about him. At eleven years old, she hadnât understood why her brothers and all their friends thought Zack Benedict was so special, but within a few years, sheâd understood it perfectly. Ruggedly handsome, unattainable, sexy and cynical, witty and tough. And since Julie had been away on a summer scholarship in Europe during his famous trial, she had no knowledge of any of the sordid details, nothing concrete to offset all those lovely on-screen images that had seemed so real to her in theaters. The shameful truth was that when heâd told her he was innocent, sheâd believed it might be possible he was telling the truth because it then made sense for him to try to escape so he could prove it. For some incomprehensible reason, a tiny part of her still clung to that possibility, probably because it helped her control her fear, but it didnât lessen her desperation to get away from him. Even if he was innocent of the crime for which he was sent to prison, that didnât mean he wouldnât kill to prevent being sent back there, and that was if he was innocentâa very big, highly unlikely if.
Her whole body jerked in alarm when the bag on the floor crackled. âHere,â he snapped, shoving a Coke toward her.
Refusing to look at him, Julie stretched her hand out and took it, her gaze fastened on the view through the front windshield. She now realized her only hope of escaping without getting anyone hurt or killed was to make it easier for him to take off in her car and leave her behind than it was to stick around and try to shoot his way out of his predicament. Which meant she had to be out of the car and in full view of onlookers. Sheâd blown her first attempt to escape; he knew now she was desperate enough to try again. Heâd be waiting. Watching. When she tried again, everything would have to be exactly right. She knew instinctively she wasnât likely to live to have a third chance. At least there was no further need to carry on any nauseating charade that she was on his side.
âLetâs get going,â he snapped.
Wordlessly, Julie turned on the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot.
A quarter of an hour later, he ordered her to pull over at a roadside phone again, and he made another phone call. He had not spoken a word except to tell her to pull over, and Julie suspected he knew that silence wreaked more havoc on her nerves than anything else he could do to intimidate her. This time when he made his phone call, he never took his eyes off her. When he got back into the car, Julie looked at his impassive features and couldnât endure the silence another moment. Giving him a haughty stare, she nodded at the phone booth and said, âBad news, I hope?â
Zack bit back a grin at her rigid, unremitting rebellion. Her pretty face belied a stubborn courage and acid wit that continually caught him off guard. Instead of replying that the news was very good, he shrugged. Silence ate at her, heâd noticed. âDrive,â he said, leaning back in his seat and stretching out his legs, idly watching her graceful fingers on the steering wheel.
In a few short hours, a man who looked very much like Zack would drive from Detroit through the Windsor Tunnel into Canada. At the border, he would make enough of a nervous spectacle of himself to cause the customs officials there to remember him. When Zack remained at large for a day or two, those customs officials should remember him and notify U.S. authorities that their escaped convict had probably crossed into Canada. Within a week, the hunt for Zack Benedict should be mostly centered in Canada, leaving Zack much more free to continue with the rest of his plan. For now, for the next week, it rather looked as if he had nothing whatsoever to do except relax and revel in his freedom. It seemed like a delightful notion and it would have put him rather in charity with the world if it werenât for his troublesome hostage. She was the only kink in his relaxation. A very big kink, since she apparently wasnât half so easily subdued as heâd thought she would be. At the moment, she was driving unnecessarily slow and casting angry looks at him. âWhatâs the problem?â he clipped.
âThe problem is that I need to use a bathroom.â
âLater!â
âButââ He looked at her then and Julie realized it was useless to argue.
An hour later, they crossed the Colorado state line and he spoke for the first time. âThereâs a truck stop up ahead. Get off at the exit and if it looks all right, weâll stop there.â
That truck stop turned out to be too busy to suit him, and it was another half hour before he found a service station that was relatively empty and laid out to please him with an attendant positioned in the island between the pumps so he could pay for gas without going inside and with rest rooms on the outside of the building. âLetâs go,â he said. âTake it slow,â he warned as she got out of the car and started toward the rest room door. He grasped her elbow as if to help her walk through the snow, his feet crunching the crusty powder in perfect rhythm with hers as he matched her stride for stride. When they reached the rest room. instead of letting go of her arm, he reached out and opened the door, and Julieâs temper exploded. âDo you intend to come in here with me and watch?â she burst out in furious disbelief.
Ignoring her, he looked around the tiny tiled room, checking for windows, she supposed, and finding none, he let go of her arm. âMake it quick. And, Julie, donât do anything stupid.â
âLike what?â she demanded. âHang myself with toilet paper? Go away, damn you.â Yanking her arm free, she marched inside, and it was as she was closing the door, that the obvious solution of locking the door and staying inside hit her. With an inner cry of triumph, she turned the lock with her fingertips and slammed the door at the same time, throwing her shoulder against it. The door slammed into the jamb with a satisfying metallic thud, but the lock didnât seem to catch, and she had a sickening feeling he was holding the doorknob on the other side to prevent it from happening.
From the other side of the door, he twisted the knob and it turned in her hand at the same time his tone of amused resignation told her she was right. âYou have a minute and a half before I open this door, Julie.â
Great. He was undoubtedly a pervert too, she thought as she hastily finished what sheâd gone in there to do. She was washing her hands in freezing water in the sink when he opened the door and said, âTimeâs up.â
Instead of getting into the Blazer, he hung back, his hand in his pocket with the gun. âPut gas in the car,â he instructed, lounging against the side of the car and watching her while she obeyed. âPay for it,â he ordered when she was done, keeping his face turned away from the man in the booth.
Julieâs outraged sense of thrift momentarily overrode her frustration and fear, and she started to object when she realized he was holding two twenty-dollar bills in his outstretched hand. Her resentment was compounded a dozen times by the realization that he was biting back a half-smile. âI think youâre starting to enjoy this!â she snapped bitterly, yanking the money out of his hand.
Zack watched her rigid shoulders as she turned away and reminded himself that it would be far wiser and far more beneficial if he could neutralize some of her hostility as heâd intended to do earlier. If he could put her in a decent humor, that would be even better. And so he said with a low chuckle, âYouâre absolutely right. I think I am beginning to enjoy this.â
âBastard,â she replied.
*Â Â *Â Â *
Dawn was edging the gray sky with pink when Julie decided he might have fallen asleep. Heâd made her stick to the back roads, avoiding the interstates, which made traveling in the deep snow so treacherous that sheâd only averaged thirty miles per hour for long stretches. Three times theyâd been held up for hours because of accidents on the highway, and still he made her go on. All night long, the radio had been filled with news bulletins about his escape, but the further into Colorado they traveled, the less was being made of his disappearance, no doubt because no one expected him to be traveling north, away from major airports, trains, and buses. The sign sheâd passed a mile back said there was a picnic-rest area five miles ahead, and Julie was praying that this one, like the last one theyâd passed, would have at least a few trucks pulled off into it, their drivers asleep in the cab. The most feasible idea sheâd been able to come up with during the endless, exhausting drive was the only one that fulfilled the dual criteria of forcing him to take the car while leaving her behind. It seemed as foolproof as anything under the circumstances: She was going to pull into the rest area and when she was alongside the parked trucks, she would slam on the Blazerâs brakes and jump out of the car, screaming for help in a voice loud enough to wake up the trucksâ occupants. Then, if her entire fantasy came true, several burly truck driversâpreferably gigantic men holding guns and wearing brass knucklesâwould lurch awake and jump out of the trucks, racing to her rescue. They would wrestle Zachary Benedict to the ground, with Julie pitching in to help, then theyâd disarm him and call the police on their CB radios.
That was the best possible scenario, Julie knew, but even if only a fraction of that happenedâif only one driver woke up and got out to investigate the cause of her screamsâshe was still relatively certain sheâd be free of Zachary Benedict. Because from the moment she raised an alarm and attracted notice, his only sensible choice would be to take off in the Blazer. Heâd have nothing to gain by hanging around to shoot her and then walking from truck to truck to shoot the drivers, not when the first gunshot would only alert all the other drivers. Any attempt on his part to reenact the final scene from Gunfight at the O.K. Corral would be just plain stupid, and stupid was one thing Benedict was not.
Julie was so certain of that, that she was going to bet her life on it.
She slanted another searching look at him to make certain he was sleeping; His arms were crossed over his chest, his long legs were stretched out in front of him, his head rested against the side window. His breathing was steady and relaxed.
He was asleep.
Elated, Julie gently eased her foot off the accelerator slowly, imperceptibly, watching the speedometer drop from forty-five miles per hour to forty-two, then very slowly to forty. In order to pull into the rest area without a sudden change in speed that would alert her passenger, she needed to be traveling at no more than thirty miles an hour when she reached the exit. She held the speed at forty for a full minute, then she eased up on the accelerator again, her leg trembling with the effort to make each change undetectable. The car slowed to thirty-five miles an hour, and Julie reached out and turned the radio a little louder to compensate for what seemed like a quieter atmosphere inside the car.
The rest area was still a quarter mile away, shielded from view of the highway by a stand of pine trees, when Julie reduced her speed to thirty and turned the steering wheel a fraction of an inch at a time to begin angling off the highway. Uttering a disjointed prayer that sheâd find trucks there, she held her breath as she drove around the trees, then expelled it in a silent rush of gratitude and relief. Up ahead, three trucks were parked across from the small building that housed the rest rooms, and although there was no one moving about in the early dawn, she thought she could hear one of the diesel engines running. Her heart racing like a trip hammer, she ignored the temptation to make her move now. To maximize her chances, she needed to be directly beside the trucks, so that she could reach the door of one before Benedict could catch her.
Fifteen yards behind the first truck, Julie was absolutely certain she heard the engine, and her toe angled stealthily toward the brake, all her other senses so focused on the cab of the truck that she yelped in shock when Zachary Benedict suddenly sat up. âWhere the hellââ he began, but Julie didnât give him a chance to finish. Slamming on the brake, she grabbed the door handle and flung open the door, throwing herself out of the moving car, landing on her side in the snowy ruts. In a blur of pain and terror she saw the Blazerâs rear tire roll past, missing her hand by inches before the car lurched to a jarring stop. âHELP ME!â she screamed, scrambling to her knees, her feet sliding as they fought for traction in the slush and snow. âHELP ME!â
She was on her feet, running toward the cab of the closest truck when Zachary Benedict exploded from the Blazer, cutting around the rear of it and running straight toward her, blocking her path to help. Julie changed direction to avoid him, âPLEASE SOMEONE,â she screamed, cutting across the snow in an effort to make it into the rest room and lock the door. Off to her left, she saw a truck door being flung open and a driver stepping down, frowning at the commotion; close behind her she heard Benedictâs feet pounding into the snow. âHELP ME!â she yelled at the driver, and she glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Zachary Benedict scoop up a handful of snow.
A snowball hit her hard in the shoulder and she screamed as she ran, âââSTOP HIM! Heâsââ
Zachary Benedictâs laughing shout a few feet behind her drowned out her words: âCUT IT OUT, Julie,â he yelled at the same time he launched himself at her in a running tackle. âYOUâRE WAKING EVERYONE UP!â
Trying to drag in enough air to scream again, Julie twisted, landing underneath his sprawled body in the snow, the breath knocked out of her, her terrified blue eyes only inches from his enraged ones, his teeth clenched into a fake smile designed to fool the truck driver. Panting, Julie jerked her head aside to scream, just as he smashed a handful of wet snow onto her face. Choking and blinded, she heard his savage whisper as he caught her wrists and yanked them above her head. âIâll kill him if he comes any closer,â he bit out, tightening his grip on her hands. âDamn you, is that what you want! Does someone have to die for you?â
Julie whimpered, unable to speak, and shook her head, her eyes clenched shut, unable to bear the sight of her captor, unable to endure knowing sheâd come within a few feet of freedom, and all for nothing, for thisâto end up on her back in the snow with his body crushing her, her hip throbbing from her deliberate fall from the Blazer. She heard his swift intake of breath, the furious urgency. âHeâs walking over here. Kiss me and make it look good, or heâs dead!â
Before she could react, his mouth crushed down on hers. Julieâs eyes flew open, her gaze riveting on the truck driver who was cautiously walking toward them, frowning as he tried to peer at their faces. âGoddammit, put your arms around me!â
His mouth was imprisoning hers, the gun in his pocket was jabbing into her stomach, but her wrists were free now. She could struggle, and very possibly, the truck driver with the jovial face beneath a black cap that said PETE on it would see that something was very wrong and come to her rescue.
And he would die.
Benedict had ordered her to put her arms around him and âmake it look good.â Like a puppet, Julie moved her leaden wrists from the snow and let them drop limply onto his shoulders, but she could not make herself do more than that.
*Â Â *Â Â *
Zack tasted her stiff lips beneath his; he felt her body, rigid as stone beneath his weight, and he assumed that she was trying to gather her strength for the next moment when she, with the help of three truck drivers, would put an end to his brief freedom and his life. From the corner of his eye, he saw the driver slow down, but he was still coming toward them, and his expression was growing increasingly cautious and skeptical. All this and more raced through Zackâs mind in the space of the three seconds they lay there, pretending âunconvincinglyâto kiss.
In a last helpless effort to stop the inevitable from happening to him, Zack dragged his mouth to her ear and whispered a single word he hadnât let himself use in years: âPlease!â Tightening his arms around the rigid woman, he said it again with a groaning urgency he couldnât suppress. âPlease, Julie . . .â
Feeling as if the world had suddenly gone insane, Julie heard the plea wrench from her captor as if it were torn from his chest a moment before his lips seized hers and he said in a tormented whisper, âI didnât kill anyone, I swear it.â The pleading and desperation sheâd heard in his voice were eloquently alive in this kiss, and it accomplished what his threats and anger could not: It made Julie hesitate and waver; it made her believe that what she heard in his voice was truth.
Dazed by the confusing messages racing through her brain, she sacrificed her immediate future for the safety of a truck driver. Driven by the need to spare the manâs life and by something less sensible and completely inexplicable, Julie blinked back tears of futility, slid her hands tentatively over Zachary Benedictâs shoulders, and yielded to his kiss. The moment she did, he sensed her capitulation; a shudder ran through him and his lips gentled. Unaware of the footsteps crunching to a stop in the snow, Julie let him part her lips and of their own volition, her fingers curved around his neck, sliding into the soft, thick hair at his nape. She felt his swift, indrawn breath when she tentatively returned the kiss, and suddenly everything began to change. He was kissing her in earnest now, his hands shifting, sliding over her shoulders, and then burying in her wet hair, lifting her face closer to his hungry, searching mouth.
Somewhere far above her, a manâs bewildered Texas drawl called out, âLady, you need help or not?â
Julie heard him, and she tried to shake her head, but the mouth that was slanting fiercely over hers now had robbed her of the ability to speak. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was only a performance for the driverâs benefit; she knew it as clearly as she knew she had no choice but to participate in the performance. But if that was true, then why couldnât she at least shake her head or open her eyes.
âI guess you donât,â the Texas drawl said on a lewd chuckle. âHow âbout you, mister? You need any help with what youâre doinâ? I could spell you for a bit down there . . .â
Zackâs head lifted just enough to break contact with her mouth, his words husky and soft. âFind your own woman,â he joked with the driver. âThis one is mine.â The last word was breathed against Julieâs lips before his mouth touched hers, his arms sweeping around her, his tongue sliding tentatively across her lips, urging them to part, his hips hard and demanding against hers. With a silent moan of surrender, Julie gave herself up to what became the hottest, sexiest, most insistent kiss sheâd ever tasted.
Fifty yards away, a truck door opened and a new male voice called, âHey, Pete, whatâs goinâ on over yonder in the snow?â
âHell, man, what does it look like? A couple of grown-ups is playinâ at beinâ kids, having snowball fights and neckinâ in the snow.â
âLooks to me like theyâre goinâ to be makinâ a kid if they donât slow down.â
Perhaps it was the new male voice or the sudden realization that her captor was becoming physically aroused that snapped Julie into reality or perhaps it was the slamming of the truck door followed by the roar of an engine as the big semi began to pull away from the rest area. Whatever the cause, she put her hands against his shoulders and exerted pressure, but it took an unnatural effort for her to move, and her shove was puny at best. Panicked by her inexplicable lethargy, Julie shoved harder. âStop it!â she cried softly. âStop it. Heâs gone!â
Stunned by the sound of tears in her voice, Zack lifted his head, staring at her dewy skin and soft mouth with a hunger that he was finding difficult to control. The exquisite sweetness of her surrender, the way she felt in his arms, and the gentleness of her touch almost made the notion of making love in the snow at dawn seem plausible. Slowly, he looked around at where they were and reluctantly levered himself up off her. He didnât completely understand why sheâd decided not to warn the truck driver, but whatever her reasons, he owed her more than an attempted rape in the snow as repayment. Silently, he held his hand out to her, suppressing a smile when the same woman whoâd melted in his arms a moment ago rallied her defenses, pointedly ignored his gesture, and shoved herself up and out of the snow. âIâm soaking wet,â she complained, scrupulously avoiding his gaze and swatting at her hair, âand covered with snow.â
Automatically, Zack reached out to brush the snow off her, but she jumped out of his reach, avoiding his touch as she brushed off her arms and the back of her jeans.
âDonât think you can touch me just because of what happened just now!â she warned him, but Zack was preoccupied with admiration for the results of their kiss: Her huge, dark-lashed eyes were lustrous, her porcelain skin tinted with roses at the high cheekbones. When flustered and a little aroused, as she was now, Julie Mathison was absolutely breathtaking. She was also courageous and very kind, for although heâd not been able to subdue her with threats or cruelty, sheâd somehow responded to the desperation in his plea.
âThe only reason I let you kiss me was because I realized you were rightâthereâs no need for anyone to get killed just because Iâm scared. Now, letâs get going and get this ordeal over with.â
Zack sighed. âI gather from that sour tone of yours that weâre adversaries again, Ms. Mathison?â
âOf course we are,â she replied. âIâll take you wherever youâre going without any more tricks, but letâs get one thing straight: As soon as I get you there, Iâll be free to leave, right?â
âRight,â Zack lied.
Perfect
9781439140710
$7.99
A rootless foster child, Julie Mathison has blossomed under the love showered upon her by her adoptive family. Now a lovely and vivacious young woman, she is a respected teacher in her small Texas town and is determined to give back all the kindness she has received, believing that nothing can ever shatter the perfect life she has fashioned. Zachary Benedict is an actor whose Academy Award-winning career was shattered when he was wrongly convicted of murdering his wife. After the tall, ruggedly handsome Zack escapes from a Texas prison, he abducts Julie and forces her to drive him to his Colorado mountain hideout. Sheâs outraged, cautious, and unable to ignore the instincts that whispers of his innocence. Heâs cynical, wary, and increasingly attracted to her. Desire is about to capture them both in its fierce embrace but the journey to trust, true commitment, and proving Zackâs innocence is just beginning. âA mixture of virtue and passion that is almostâahemâperfectâ (Kirkus Reviews) this is a captivating tale that fans will adore.
Judith McNaught Historical Romances:
Let New York Times bestselling author Judith McNaught who âis in a class by herselfâ (USA TODAY) sweep you off your feet and into another time with her sensual, passionate, and spellbinding historical romance classics, featuring her âunique magicâ (RT Book Reviews)!
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