LITMIR.BIZ

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They're mountain fed and it's been raining like this for…' she glanced at her watch, 'almost five hours. You slept deeply.'

      'How do you make contact with the outside world during the wet season?' His frustration made his voice harsh, and his head ached with the lingering effects of the drugs.

      'We don't. It's a fact of life here and you plan accordingly. We have plenty of food, rainwater in the tanks, wood stove, kerosene lamps and candles. It might seem a little primitive but I've been in places where this would be thought of as luxury.'

      Although her tone was still soft, Drew felt appropriately rebuked. 'I'm sorry if I sounded churlish,' he said, 'but - '

      'Don't apologise. If I were in your position I'd be so damn angry and frustrated I'd probably try to walk back to Cairns.' She glanced down at his feet, the white bandages stark against the wooden floor. 'But you won't be able to do much walking for a while.'

      Emma finished cooking the meal, acutely conscious of his scrutiny, and even more conscious of her reaction to it. She kept telling herself she was only feeling this way because she was emotionally strung out - too much had happened in too short a time for her to come to terms with it all.

      'Will you be all right with the spoon?' she asked as she set the bowl of steaming soup in front of him.

      'I'll manage.'

      Emma watched him eat. He was awkward at first, then gradually he manoeuvred the spoon so it balanced between his fingers. Long, strong fingers. Capable hands. His chest gleamed bronze in the lamplight, dark hairs lightly sprinkled across hard muscles, tapering down to where she knew the towel covered what Nature had amply endowed.

      Heat flushed through her body, creating an ache she hadn't felt for a long, long time. She gave herself a mental shake, forcing her thoughts onto more practical matters. Clothing - she'd have to find some for him. He couldn't spend the next few days wearing nothing but a towel. Not if she wanted any peace of mind he couldn't.

      'We'd better find some clothing for you,' she said as she put the empty dishes in the sink, 'and a bed. You look exhausted.' She smiled tiredly. 'And I feel it.'

      He picked up the lamp, hoping he wouldn't ask her to help him up. She was starting to feel frazzled around her emotional edges, her usual iron control slipping under the events of the day. But he only nodded and levered himself upright, awkwardly tightening the towel around his waist as he did so.

      Mellow lamplight moved their shadows along the hallway. Emma paused briefly at the doorway to her bedroom and sighed with relief to see no damage. But as she opened the door into the spare bedroom her heart fell. A large tree limb had crashed through the window, showering glass over the room. The curtains hung ragged and dripping, ornaments shattered, a bookcase toppled across the bed, and books scattered like broken birds.

      She felt the heat of Drew's body as he limped closer to her, his breath warm on her hair as he gazed at the chaos. Her skin tingled as though he had touched her.

      Sighing, she closed the door. There was only one bedroom left. She squared her shoulders, took a deep, slow breath, subconsciously following a routine which had helped get her through other difficult situations.

      Reluctantly she walked to the end of the hallway and into the last bedroom. Somehow she expected it to look different, as changed and marked as she felt. But the old silky oak dresser, wardrobe and matching ends on the double bed looked as solid and substantial as they always had. The bedspread was a serviceable brown and gold check; a man's hairbrush and an old-fashioned alarm clock the only items on the dresser. The cream lace curtains were the sole feminine touch in a decidedly masculine room.

      Emma felt a lump form in her throat, but swallowed determinedly. She placed the lamp on the dresser and opened a drawer. Her hand shook slightly, but she picked out briefs and a pair of shorts, took a shirt from the wardrobe, and placed them on the bed. She turned back to Drew, hoping he wouldn't ask whose room he was taking, but his expression was carefully neutral and she wondered what he was thinking.

      'I'll leave you the lamp. I'll use the candle I left in the bathroom.' Still he didn't speak. 'Do you need anything else?'

      'A toothbrush, if you have a spare. I've learned that the proper answers to the question, "What would you take to a deserted island?" have more to do with hygiene than good books and a fine Scotch. Although,' he gave a wry grin, 'I don't think the gorgeous female part was too far off the mark.'

      The appreciation in his eyes stopped Emma's breath in her lungs. She stood speechless for a moment, then walked past him to the doorway. 'I'll leave a toothbrush and paste in the bathroom for you. Goodnight.'

      'Emma,' his hand lightly gripped her arm, stopping her. He seemed to hesitate, then his hand fell to his side. 'Thank you.'

      She nodded, acknowledging and dismissive in the one motion, and walked back to the bathroom. As she washed her face and brushed her teeth, her mirrored reflection showed a wild-haired woman whose face was lined with exhaustion. Gorgeous female indeed.

      She found a new toothbrush in the drawer and placed the packet next to the toothpaste.

      In her bedroom, she quickly undressed and pulled a cotton nightgown over her head. She opened the windows and listened to the steady beat of the rain on the verandah roof. The faint tang of eucalyptus mingled with the rain's freshness. The air was no longer oppressive as it had been before the cyclone, but it was still warm. She picked up her brush and gently stroked the tangles from her hair, brushing until the light brown strands flowed softly on her shoulders. She rubbed moisturiser over her face, lay down on the bed and blew out the candle.

      Should she have asked Drew more questions, tried to learn more about him? Was he a criminal who'd cheated on his cohorts? What did a criminal look and sound like anyway? Emma had been too long away from the veneer of civilisation to even hazard a guess.

      Why would anyone want to kill another human being in such a bizarre manner? Was Drew mixed up with some weird religious cult? Was he mentally disturbed? Emma considered this last possibility but decided that, although he was obviously trying to keep his emotions under control, he was probably more stable than most people would be under the circumstances.

      But fear and suspicion still lingered. She rose and pushed her rocking chair under the handle of the door. Then she sank back onto the bed, hers since she was a child, and wriggled into the familiar shapes of it.

      Exhaustion rolled over her in waves. She forced herself to concentrate on the task that lay ahead of her in the morning, where she could safely store the lifeless body in the stables for the next few days. Guilt ate into her heart but she fought against it, trying to find the strength to face what had to be done.

      And overlaying all other sensations was her foreboding chill that somewhere out in the darkness was a man with murder on his mind.

      CHAPTER THREE

      Drew sat straight up in bed, his heart thumping, every nerve tense.

      He listened for the noise that had jerked him from sleep so abruptly, but heard only the steady drum of the rain. At least this morning his head felt a lot clearer, but he wondered how long it would be before the drugs left his system.

      Stretching his long body, he became conscious of aches in every bone, in every muscle. A week of forced inactivity, of lying all day without being able to turn over, and he could feel the difference in his physical strength. In the small periods of time when the effects of the drugs had eased, he'd forced himself to do what little exercise was possible, but he knew it was nowhere near enough.

      He flexed his shoulder muscles, felt the stinging sensation as the crusted wounds tore from the dressings. He'd found it hard to sleep on his stomach last night, but eventually he'd become too tired to feel the pain if he rolled onto his back.

      The noise came again.

      Howling. A dog's howling, eerie and mournful, piercing the incessant downpour. Through the lace curtains Drew could see daylight, bleak and grey though it was, and a glance at the clock told him it was a little after nine.

      He

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