Chosen by Desire (14 page)

To hit emptiness.

“Damn it.” Max looked left and right. He had to be somewhere.

But there was nothing. No signs of anyone. No footprints in the sand below. No sounds disturbing the night, except for the dull murmur of the ocean.

C
arrie dragged herself out of bed and tried to force some enthusiasm for the day’s work as she tugged on her jeans. She loved the work. It was the early hour that she wasn’t thrilled about.

Okay, eight wasn’t especially early. Unless you stayed up late reading, which was what she’d done. But she’d been making good headway into Wei Lin’s journal, and she couldn’t pass up studying the Book of Water. There seemed to be a correlation between certain meteorological events and that particular scroll. In fact—

“Stop,” she told herself, opening the dresser for a shirt. She needed to concentrate on Max’s translation for the next eight hours. She could come back to her own research this evening.

Maybe after a nap. And a walk—she’d overslept and missed her usual morning stroll on the beach.

Yawning, she settled on the first T-shirt she touched. She was still having trouble sleeping—the dreams hadn’t abated.

In fact, every night they just got stronger, with Max doing unspeakable things to her, always in and around water. With his hands, his mouth—even his toes. She woke up in the wee hours of each morning, twisted and tormented. Worse, the ache remained no matter how she tried to relieve herself.

If the dreams weren’t bad enough, two nights ago she woke up thinking she heard a sound outside. When she looked, there was nothing. Until she looked closer and saw a half-naked Max prowling in the night.

The sight of him in his white boxer-briefs was forever burned on her eyelids, more fuel for her sex dreams. She didn’t know how she was going to face him without imagining his powerful legs and impressive—

Her phone’s ringing startled her out of the lascivious thoughts. She pulled her shirt over her head on her way to grab it from the nightstand.

Her mom? Probably. Carrie had forgotten to call when she’d arrived. Mom was probably calling to see if she’d had sex yet. She picked up her phone. Restricted caller. Was Mom calling from the clinic? She flipped it open. “Hello?”

“
I’m watching you.
”

The electronic voice caused a chill to go up her spine. Carrie froze, hand on her zipper, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. She looked around the room, up at the ceiling, and out the balcony window. “Who is this?” she asked, wincing at the lame question. Like the guy was going to answer.

“You can’t escape me,” the person went on, every breath a Vader-esque hiss. “I know where you are.”

Fear raced through her system. She stumbled over to the windows and drew the curtains tightly shut. “What do you want?”

“What you have. What doesn’t belong to you.”

Carrie glanced at her bag, which held Wei Lin’s journal and the Book of Water, as well as the other scrolls she hadn’t inspected yet. Which one did he mean?

The Book of Water. It had to be.

“Give it up and you’ll be spared. Refuse to cooperate and I’ll make you regret taking it.”

Was risking her life worth this?

This
was
her life. Anger surged through her, stronger than the fear before. She wasn’t going to let some punk dictate how she lived her life. “Listen, you—”

“I’ll wait until you’re alone and catch you unaware.”

“No, you won’t,” she replied with more assurance than she felt.

“Are you willing to die for this?”

The call ended.

Carrie stood there, stunned. He had threatened her.

Who? Who could want the scroll so badly that they’d be willing to kill for it?

She snorted. Anyone. She herself had risked everything to get her hands on it. Of course, she wanted it for scholarly purposes, not the nefarious.

Maybe she’d done a bad thing, unearthing all this.

No, she’d make sure it all worked out. She’d cite the journal for her proof and make sure the Book of Water was returned to its safe haven.

She rolled her eyes. “Piece of cake.”

At least she was ensconced in Max’s citadel. He probably had all kinds of security—the fancy high-tech kind of systems that even experienced burglars couldn’t crack. She was probably safer here than anywhere.

Unless he was the one after her. Then she was in the spider’s web.

But he seemed to go out of his way to avoid her—except those few times he hovered close, like he wanted to kiss her. If he wanted the scroll, why didn’t he just make a move?

In any case, whoever was threatening her appeared to be all talk and no action. Maybe she didn’t have anything to worry about, after all.

The realization was reassuring, but the situation was still sobering. She gathered her things and went down to the library. If she finished the work she had scheduled for today quickly, she could get to her own research earlier. The sooner she got what she needed from the journal and Book of Water, the sooner she could return them.

Francesca arrived shortly thereafter, settling onto a couch next to Carrie instead of the stiff chair she typically used. “Good morning, Ms.—uh, Carrie. You look nice today.”

Carrie glanced down at her worn jeans and plain black T-shirt. What kind of crack was the woman smoking?

“I trust you slept well,” she said, setting her laptop on the coffee table.

Don’t encourage her—she’ll give up and let you work.
“Hmm.”

“Did you enjoy your walk this morning? The pier at the end of the property is a pleasant lookout, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t go this morning.”

“Perhaps you can go out this afternoon,” Francesca said, pulling out her ever-ready Blackberry. “The weather promises to be pleasant.”

Shrugging, Carrie bent her head over her work, figuring the woman would understand she wanted to be left alone.

But that didn’t work. In fact, the quieter Carrie got, the more insistent Francesca’s questions became. They seemed almost timed—in fifteen-minute intervals.

“Do you also take walks on the beach in San Francisco?”

“Maybe you have a walking buddy?”

“What do you do for fun, Carrie?”

Carrie looked up from her notes. What was up with the nonstop chatter?

Maybe nonstop was an exaggeration. She thought about it and then shook her head. No—for Francesca, Ice Queen of Santa Monica, the multitude of awkward questions she’d asked this morning equated to nonstop. Today, of all days, when all Carrie wanted to do was buckle down and finish her work.

“You must do something for fun. Perhaps movies.” Francesca’s brow furrowed as she picked up her beeping Blackberry. “Perhaps you have a boyfriend.”

Carrie tapped her pencil against the desktop and studied the woman. “You’re awfully talkative today.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You’ve spoken to me more this morning than the entire week I’ve been here.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Francesca motioned to the carafe on the table. “Would you like more tea?”

“No, thanks.” And it was true. Since when was the woman interested in
her?
She’d been frosty from the beginning, and Carrie couldn’t think of anything that would have changed that.

Eyes narrowed, she watched Max’s assistant take a gulp of tea as if it were a shot of whiskey. The woman set the cup down and looked up. “You must meet many men working in a pub. Many foreign men.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Carrie tossed the pencil down and sat up at attention. “What’s going on here?”

“I don’t understand. Did my question offend you?”

“They’re almost the type of questions a friend would ask. Only we’re not friends.” Carrie frowned, confused. “You don’t like me, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going on.”

“Maybe I’m lonely,” the woman said after a moment of silence.

Carrie noted she didn’t deny the “not liking her” part.

“We should do something. Something girls do together,” Francesca said, her lip curled as if the thought itself was as distasteful as actually doing it.

She closed her laptop. She didn’t know what was going on here, but obviously Francesca wasn’t going to let her get anything done. “I’m taking a break.”

“Now?” Francesca clicked a few buttons on her phone. “If you wait forty-five minutes, I have—”

“No, I need a break now. I’m going swimming,” she improvised, gathering her notes and shoving everything in the desk.

Francesca stared at her like she’d lost her mind. But then she shut her mouth, snapped her portfolio shut, and stood ramrod straight, as if she was on her way to face a firing squad. “I’ll change and meet you on the landing.”

Carrie mentally groaned as she picked up her bag. “You’re coming, too?”

“Yes,” the woman said with determination rather than enthusiasm.

“Fine.” At least submerged she wouldn’t have to listen to Francesca’s stilted attempts at conversation. “See you in a sec.”

Booking it up the stairs, she tore into her room. The thought of warm water all over her made her skin tingle in anticipation. It’d wash away all her apprehension—about her dissertation, the threatening calls, Francesca, and Max.

She contemplated her bag. Leave the scrolls here, or take them with her?

“To the pool?” She shook her head. Kneeling next to the bed, she pulled out her suitcase. Taking all the texts out of her messenger bag, she tucked them away in the luggage and stuffed it back under the mattress.

“Not a Swiss bank vault, but the best I can do for the moment.” Hurrying, she changed into her old bikini, wrapped a bath towel around herself, and went to the landing down the hall from her room.

Francesca waited for her there, a shell-shocked look on her face. She wore a short robe that hit her midthigh, showing off miles and miles of leg. But even as fabulous as Francesca was dressed, she didn’t look like she wanted to be there.

Carrie sighed. “You don’t have to come along if you’re worried about missing work.”

“No, I want to come,” she said halfheartedly, casting a glance at the door next to Carrie’s.

“What’s in there?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.” Carrie glanced at it. “Is it where he hoards his treasure?”

“I thought—” The woman swallowed whatever she’d been about to say. Then she frowned. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Why would he?”

Francesca shook her head. “This way.”

Carrie looked back at the door. Would it be impolite to check it out later? With Francesca acting this way, she had to know what was in there.

Francesca led her down the stairs out to the back and pushed open a door, holding it open for her. Carrie followed, sighing at the tropical paradise.

Max’s pool area rocked. Right off the house, the pool was long and rectangular. Lush plants filled the space around it, and a couple of reclining lounge chairs and low tables angled toward the ocean. To one side was a round pool, too small to be a swimming pool.

“The whirlpool,” Francesca said. She walked to one side and kneeled down. With the push of a button, jets began to agitate the water. “The controls are here. Feel free to use it whenever you’d like.”

Carrie wanted to point out that the tub in her bath had Jacuzzi action, but she supposed she should embrace the luxury of having two whirlpools at her disposal. Taking out her elastic, she shook her hair. She sure wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Or Iowa, as it were.

Dropping her towel, she turned to the pool and dove in.

The water welcomed her, engulfing her in its warmth. She surfaced, letting it buoy her. Her hair floated around her like seaweed, alive and free, and she luxuriated in the sensation.

So it took her a moment to realize she was still alone in the pool. She glanced up.

Francesca looked at her like she’d lost it, but the woman was too reserved to comment.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” Carrie asked halfheartedly, propelling herself forward.