The Rogue (10 page)

Although he wanted Susannah to believe he was relaxed, Killian remained on high alert as they trod the damp path through the orchard back to her home. The sky had turned a pale pink. It wouldn't be long before the sun came up.

Killian felt Susannah's worry as she looked around, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. He wanted to step close—to place a protective arm around her shoulders and give her the sense of security she so desperately needed and so richly deserved. Yet he knew that touching her would melt his defenses. That couldn't happen—ever. Killian swore never to allow Susannah to reach inside him; but she had that ability, and he knew it. Somehow, he had to strengthen his resolve and keep her at arm's length.
At all costs.
For her own sake.

"Maybe if I patch that torn screen in your bedroom and put some locks on the windows, you'll feel better about being there." He saw her flash him a grateful look. "I'll tell your folks what happened when they get up. Then I'll contact Morgan."

Susannah nodded her agreement. She longed simply to step closer to Killian, to be in his protective em
brace again. She couldn't forget the lean power of his body against hers, the way he'd used himself as a barrier to protect her.

She wrestled with conflicting feelings. Why was Killian so unhappy about having to stay out at the house with her? She couldn't help how she felt. She knew that right now, if she went back to her old room at her folks' house, the nightmares would return. Her life had begun to stabilize—until tonight.
If only Killian could understand why she had to be at the old homestead.

"I'll make sure your house is safe. Then I want you to get some sleep. When you get up, you can draw me the face you saw in the nightmare."

Killian saw Susannah's eyes darken.

"Don't worry, I'll be around. You may not know it, but I'll be there. Like a shadow."

Shivering, Susannah nodded. Her life had turned into nothing but a series of shadows. Killian's body against hers had been real, and never had she needed that more. But Killian didn't like her, didn't want to be with her. She swallowed her need to be held, still grateful that Killian would be nearby. Perhaps her mind was finally ready to give up the information it had seen, and that should help in the long run.

Touching her throat, she fervently wished her voice would come back. At least now she could make some noise, and that seemed a hopeful sign. She stole a glance up into Killian's grim, alert features. She'd welcome his company, even though he didn't want hers. Right now, she needed the human contact. Thinking back, she realized that the anger she'd sensed in Killian had been due to his not wanting to take the assignment. It hadn't really been aimed directly at her. Sometimes it was lonely out there at the homestead. He wasn't a willing guest, Susannah reminded herself. Still, if her attacker was really out there, she would feel a measure of safety knowing that Killian was nearby.

After thoroughly checking Susannah's home again, Killian allowed her into the farmhouse. He'd double- check around the house and quietly
search
the acreage around it just to make sure no one was hiding in wait. At the bedroom door, Susannah shyly turned and gave him a soft, hesitant smile. A thank-you showed clearly in her eyes, and it took everything Killian had for him to turn away from her. "I'll be over about noon," he rasped, more gruffly than he'd intended.

Susannah waited for Killian's promised noon arrival as she sat at her kitchen table. She questioned herself. Her real home was in town, near the school where she taught. Why didn't she have the courage to move back there? Glumly she admitted it was because she was afraid of being completely alone. At least this broken-down homestead was close to her parents.

Killian deliberately made noise as he stepped up on Susannah's porch, carrying art supplies under one arm. He knew all about being jumpy. He'd decked more than one man who had inadvertently come up behind him without warning. Wolf had been one of those men, on assignment down in Peru. The others on the team had learned from his mistake and had always let Killian know they were coming.

Susannah was waiting for him at the screen door. She looked beautiful, clothed in a long, lightweight denim skirt and a fuchsia short-sleeved blouse. She'd tied her hair back with a pink ribbon, and soft tendrils brushed her temples. Killian tensed himself against the tempting sight of her.

Stepping into the kitchen, Killian sniffed. "You've got coffee on?" He found himself wanting to ease the seriousness out of her wary eyes. The dark shadows beneath them told him she hadn't slept well since the nightmare.

Placing sketch pad, colored pencils and eraser on the table, Killian eased into a chair. Susannah went to the cupboard, retrieved a white ceramic mug and poured him some coffee. He nodded his thanks as she came over and handed it to him.

"Sit down," he urged her. "We've got some work to do."

Looking over the art supplies, Susannah sat down at his elbow. Somehow Killian looked heart-
stoppingly
handsome and dangerous all at once. His dress was casual, but she always sensed the inner tension in him, and could see some
undefinable
emotion in his blue eyes when he looked at her. But the anger was no longer there, she noted with relief.

"I'd like you to sketch for me the man you saw in your nightmare," Killian said.

Hesitant, Susannah fingered the box of colored pencils. Her throat constricted, and she closed her eyes for a moment. How could she make Killian understand that since the attack her love of drawing and painting had gone away?

"It doesn't have to be fancy, Susannah. Draw me something.
Anything.
I have a way to check what you sketch for me against police mug shots." He saw pain in her eyes, and her lower lip trembled as she withdrew her hand from the box of pencils. He cocked his head. "What is it?" He recalled his sister's pain, and the hours he'd spent holding her while she cried after realizing her once-beautiful face was gone forever. A powerful urge to reach out and give Susannah that same kind of help nearly overwhelmed him, but he reared back inwardly. He couldn't.

With a helpless shrug, Susannah swallowed against the lump and shakily opened up the sketch pad. She had to try. She believed in Killian, and she believed he could help her. Suddenly embarrassed, she took her pad and pencil and wrote:

I'm rusty at this.
I
haven't drawn since being wounded.

He grimaced. "I'm no art critic, Susannah. I can't draw a straight line. Anything you can do will look great to me. Give it your best try."

Susannah picked up a pencil and began to sketch. She tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but she found her senses revolving back to Killian's overwhelming presence. All morning she'd thought about him staying here with her. It wasn't him she couldn't trust, she realized—it was herself! The discovery left her feeling shaken. Never had a man influenced her on all levels, as Killian did. What was it about him? For the thousandth time, Susannah ached to have her voice back. If only she could talk!

Quiet descended upon them. Killian gazed around the kitchen, keenly aware of Susannah's presence. It was like a rainbow in his dismal life. There were at least forty colorful drawings tacked to the kitchen walls, obviously done by very young children.
Probably her class.
Peace, a feeling that didn't come often to Killian, descended gently around him. Was it the old-fashioned house? Being out in the country away from the madding crowd? Or—he swung his gaze back to Susannah and saw her brows drawn together in total concentration, her mouth pursed—was it her?

Unconsciously Killian's shoulders dropped, and he eased the chair back off its two front legs, loosely holding the mug of coffee against his belly.
Birds, mostly robins, were singing and calling to one another.
The sweet scents of grass, ripening fruit and clean mountain air wafted through the kitchen window. Susannah had a small radio on in the corner, and FM music flowed softly across the room, like an invisible caress.

His gaze settled on Susannah's ponytail, and he noted the gold and red glints between the sable strands. Her hair was thick and luxurious. A man could drive himself crazy wondering what the texture of it was like, Killian decided unhappily. Right now, he knew his focus had to be on keeping her protected, not his own personal longings.

The sketch of the man took shape beneath Susannah's slender fingers over the next hour. Frequently she struggled, erasing and beginning again. Killian marveled at her skill as an artist. She might consider herself rusty, but she was definitely a professional.

Finally her mouth quirked and she glanced up. Slowly she turned the sketch toward him.

"Unsavory-looking bastard," Killian whispered as he put the coffee aside and held the sketch up to examine it. "Brown eyes, blond hair and crooked front teeth?"

Susannah nodded. She saw the change in Killian's assessing blue eyes. A fierce anger emanated from him, and she sensed his hatred of her attacker.

He reminds me of a weasel, with close-set eyes that are small and beady-looking.

Killian nodded and put the sketch aside. "I'll take this to the police department today. I called Morgan. He knows you've remembered what your attacker looked like, so he's anxious to get this, too. He'll know what to do with it. If this bastard has a police record, we'll be on the way to catching him."

Chilled, Susannah slowly rubbed her arms with her hands.

Killian felt her raw fear. But he stopped himself from reaching out to give her a touch of reassurance. Gathering up the sketch, he rose. "I'll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, you stay alert."

The warning made another chill move through her as she looked up at him. Somehow, some of the tension around him was gone. The peace that naturally inhabited the farmhouse had always worked wonders on
her own
nervousness, and Susannah realized that it might be doing the same for him. She nodded in agreement to his orders.

"It would be best if you went down to your parents' house while I'm gone. They know the truth now, and they'll be more watchful for you. In the long run, it's best this way."

Susannah couldn't disagree with him. The more people who were on guard and watchful, the less chance of the killer's finding her. Rising, she left with him.

"Maybe," Killian told her as they walked across the top of the hill, "this will be over soon."

At his words, Susannah's eyes sparkled with such fierce hope, combined with
gratitude, that
Killian had to force himself to keep from reaching out to caress her flushed cheek.

He'd give his life for her, if necessary, he realized suddenly. Susannah was worth dying for.

Susannah was helping her mother can ripe figs in the kitchen when she saw Killian return from Glen. She stood at the counter and watched him emerge from the four-wheel-drive Land Cruiser. The vehicle seeming fitting for a man like Killian, she thought, a man who was rugged, a loner, iconoclastic. Though his face remained emotionless, his roving blue gaze held her, made her feel an inherent safety as he looked around the property. Her heart took a skipping beat as he turned and headed into the house.

"Killian's home," Pansy said. She shook her head as she transferred the recently boiled figs to the jars
awaiting
on the counter. "I'm so nervous now." With a little laugh, she noted, "My hands haven't stopped shaking since he told us the truth this morning."

Wanting somehow to reassure her, Susannah put her arms around her mother and gave her a hug.

Killian walked into the kitchen and saw Susannah embracing her mother. He halted, a strange, twisting feeling moving through him. Mother and daughter held each other, and he remained motionless. It was Susannah who sensed his presence first. She loosened the hug and smiled shyly in his direction.

Pansy tittered nervously when she realized he was standing in the doorway. "I didn't hear you come in, Mr. Killian."

"I should have said something," he said abruptly. Killian felt bad for the woman. Ever since he'd told the Andersons the truth, it had been as if a shock wave had struck the farm. Sam Anderson had promptly gone out to the barn to fix a piece of machinery. Pansy had suddenly gotten busy with canning duties. Staying occupied was one way to deal with tension, Killian realized. His gaze moved to Susannah, whose cheeks were flushed. Her hair was still in a pony tail, the tendrils sticking to her dampened temples with the heat of the day and the lack of breeze through the kitchen. She looked beautiful.