Read The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love Online
Authors: Erin Quinn
The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love (39 page)
Ryan stood as well, reaching in his pocket for his phone. “Calm down. You’re safe now, but you seem a little disoriented. I don’t know what happened but maybe the police can help you get it worked out.”
“No police.”
With a determined look, she turned and moved to the door he’d banged out of just moments before.
“Wait,” he said. “Sibelle Whoever-You-Are. Wait.”
She seemed more alert, more focused, but there was still a dazed air about her that worried him. He followed as she gingerly picked her way through the glass and gravel of the parking lot, ignoring him until she stepped on something sharp and gasped.
“Hold up. Would you stop?” he said, exasperated. “Let me help you.”
She was tall but light as he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the door. Adrian escorted them like a devoted admirer, her wet nose brushing Sibelle’s feet whenever the dog could reach them. Inexplicably nervous
about letting her in, Ryan jockeyed her weight as he fumbled his key in the lock. Sibelle wrapped her arms around him, pressing all those soft curves against him as he tried valiantly not to notice.
Once inside he set her on her feet again, but she continued to hold on, staring into his face as if to memorize his features. She lifted one fine-boned hand and brushed her fingertips over the bruise on his cheek. He winced and she stilled.
“It hurts,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Why do you do it, then?”
Fight, she meant.
Why did he fight?
Some people inherited fortunes. Ryan had inherited a mean right hook, a keen sense of body language, and a failing pub he was desperate to keep afloat. But that wasn’t any of her business.
Ignoring her questions, he took her shoulders in his hands to set her away from him. He felt the loss of her heat instantly and decided then and there that he needed to keep this strange, unsettling woman at a distance.
Adrian raced up the stairs ahead of them and waited on the landing. Ryan followed Sibelle, eyes averted from the long, silky legs and the hem of his shirt, which twitched with each step she took.
He didn’t know who she was, how she had gotten here, or what had happened to her, but he knew he needed to get her help. She didn’t act injured or even afraid, but shock affected people in different ways.
The front door stood open and Sibelle entered without waiting to be asked. She padded past the breakfast bar, trailing fingers over the back of the couch as she took in her surroundings. The microwave’s clock read 1:30. He saw her note it with a deep breath and a nod. She said
something in a low voice that sounded like “there’s still time,” but he couldn’t be sure.
“Sibelle?” he said, drawing the startled blue gaze. “What happened? Why were you in the parking lot”—
naked—
“in the middle of the night?”
Adrian sat at her feet and leaned into her legs. Sibelle’s fingers moved aimlessly over the dog’s head as she gave him an unwavering look.
“I was sent, Ryan.”
“By who?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
It did if that person was the reason she’d screamed.
“What happened to your clothes? Why weren’t you wearing any?”
“They didn’t travel with me,” she said. “It makes sense, but I didn’t think of it.”
Ryan shook his head. “Back up. Start from the beginning. How did you get here?”
“I was sent to save you.”
“
Me?
”
A dozen questions populated that one syllable. Like, who had sent her? Why? Save him from what? Was she off her meds? How could this slip of a woman save him from anything?
But he couldn’t get any other words out because playing in the back of his head like a booming overture was the memory of the last couple of days. The lights. The cell phone. The front door gaping open, the swinging punching bag . . . her scream so close on the heels of all of it.
Sibelle glanced at the clock again and said, “I don’t have time to explain things to you. But we need to leave this place. Quickly.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then you will die and I will have failed.”
Ryan blinked in surprise.
She went on before he could speak. “Are you listening? You have twenty-two minutes to live if that clock is set correctly.”
He cut his eyes to the clock and back to Sibelle.
“Did you hit your head?” he asked.
Ryan had always had an uncanny ability to hear a lie, and for all her crazy talk, she spoke with conviction. Still, he knew this woman had been traumatized. Her perceptions couldn’t be trusted.
“You know I’m telling the truth. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I know you believe you’re telling the truth,” he countered. “Not the same thing.”
She moved to his guitar and pointed. “You’ll need this.”
“That’s a guitar,” he said. “Why would I need it?”
“Because it helps you think. And later, you’ll want to do that.”
She was right. Playing cleared his head and helped him organize his thoughts. He could use a few minutes alone with it right now, actually. But how could she know that?
“The money you have stashed under the floorboards. You’ll need that, too. You won’t be able to use your credit cards.”
His mouth fell open.
“Clothes, of course. And Adrian. We’ll need her.”
“We?”
She gave him a frustrated look. “Eighteen minutes. That’s all you’ve got. Unless you want to die?”
“Listen, I don’t know where you came—”
“You don’t need to know. The fact is I’m here. To help you. To save you. You can stand there and argue with me, or you can cooperate.”
She moved into his bedroom. Dumbfounded, Ryan followed, watching her open his closet. Yanking his duffel off the top shelf, she began to stuff clothes in it. She rifled through his belongings with a familiarity that stunned him. Her fingers unerringly selected his favorites. She pulled a pair of basketball shorts from his dresser and stepped into them without asking.
“Can I borrow some shoes?” she inquired calmly, then spotted a pair of flip-flops on the floor of the closet and put them on before he had the chance to respond. They looked huge on her, but she didn’t seem to care.
“Get the money, Ryan.”
“You think you’re going to rob me?”
The irritation in his voice finally penetrated her focus. She faced him.
“I know this probably seems—”
“Crazy?”
“Surreal. But why not humor me? There’s no way I can hurt you. I’m not armed. I’m wearing
your
clothes and nothing else. Are you afraid I’m going to overcome you?”
He almost laughed. “No.”
“Humor me, Ryan,” she repeated and smiled in a cajoling way that did little to reassure him.
“Get your money, grab the guitar and your dog, and wait it out on the sidewalk with me. If nothing’s happened by two thirty, you can call your police and be done with me.”
“Or I could do that now and save myself the trouble.”
She crossed to him and settled her hands on his arms,
locking those baby blues on him. “Please. You’re going to die if you don’t trust me.”
She was all in when it came to her belief in what she said. The elfin face was earnest, the eyes determined. And incredibly, he felt his skepticism waver. He couldn’t even imagine any type of threat this woman might save
him
from. He knew she must be nuts. That meant the only lurking danger was the one she might put herself in while she acted out her delusions.
And yet . . .
“Ryan, this isn’t the kind of danger you can fight your way out of, no matter how big and strong you are,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. Her warm hands gripped his bare arms tightly. “This danger you can’t dodge.”
Frowning, he said, “So what makes you think I can run from it?”
“I don’t think that. You have one hope, Ryan.”
“And I suppose that would be you?”
She shook her head. “Your fate has been measured, cut, and woven. The only hope you have is to change it.”
“Lost me again, sweetheart.”
She moved back to his duffel, zipped it up, and dropped it at his feet. “My fate is tied to yours now. Either we both die in the next few minutes or we live. It’s your choice. Our fate is in your hands.”
“I don’t believe in fate,” he said, turning away.
Sibelle stopped him with a touch.
“That doesn’t matter. Fate doesn’t require your belief, Ryan Love. Only your life.”
ERIN QUINN
is an award-winning romance author whose critically acclaimed works span the paranormal, historical, and suspense genres.
The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love
is the seductive first tale in a thrilling new series for Pocket Books. Erin lives in Arizona with her family. Visit her online at
erinquinnbooks.com
.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR:
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Erin-Quinn
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Erin Grady
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First Pocket Books paperback edition September 2013
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Designed by Lewelin Polanco
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Cover art by Craig White
ISBN 978-1-4767-2747-9
ISBN 978-1-4767-2751-6 (ebook)