have been hard for her to believe that someone like Johnny Winterhawk would kill anyone, especially someone he had talked to and laughed with...and kissed passionately the day before. He seemed so sane and warm and real, and in spite of what was happening she instinctively trusted him. If she had been reading all this, she would not have believed that trust could so easily turn to gnawing fear and mistrust.
But what did she really know about him? Nothing. Nothing...except that her presence was a threat to him. Except that she would have virtually the power of life and death over him if he set her free. The sentence for kidnapping would be a long one. And she could imagine that for a man like Johnny Winterhawk—for anyone—life behind those cold concrete walls would be death in life. Worse, much worse. Her imagination could not compass it.
The unconscious realization that she herself would do nearly anything rather than go to a life like that was the root now of her fear of Johnny Winterhawk.
"Yes, I'm taking you home," he said, and his jaw tightened. "I've done some stupid things in my time, but nothing I've done compares with the monumentally self-destructive idiocy of kidnapping you in the first place." He looked at her. "Well, I'll have a long time to think about it, no doubt."
Smith swallowed against the hope that was flowering up inside her. "I promise I won't say anything," she said, standing up and crossing to where he stood at the wheel. She laid a tentative hand on his arm. "Truly, I promise," she repeated. "You haven't hurt me, Johnny. I—I couldn't send you to prison."
His glance found hers and locked with it. He bent and brushed her lips lightly with his own, and a soft, melting warmth flowed through her.
"Thank you," he said. "Your father is a strong, ruthless man even in a hospital bed, and he might inspire the police to be very tough with you. If you do decide to press charges against me, Peaceable Woman, I'll deny everything." His dark eyes gazed into hers. "I'll be calling you a liar. There'll be no evidence to corroborate your testimony. I'll do my best to make you look like a woman with rape fantasies." He smiled apologetically at her. She knew he was warning her, trying to prepare her for the ugliness that he foresaw. Smith blinked against the unexpected tears that burned her eyelids. His gaze was full of concern for her, and it had caught her off guard. She swallowed and stared helplessly into the depths of those eyes.
Without warning the odd, compelling force was between them again, making her feel that her whole being burned into his through her eyes. Johnny Winterhawk muttered a curse and turned away as, with a barely perceptible unsteadiness, his hand moved out to the switch of the portable radio behind him. The voice of the news announcer filled the air of the cockpit.
"... police, who were at his hospital bedside when the call came. Shulamith St. John has been missing since early yesterday morning. Police refused to comment on whether the ransom demand would be met."
Smith stood at shocked attention, gazing at the radio. "Ransom demand!" she repeated. "Who...but...."
"Find another station!" Johnny Winterhawk commanded, and with fumbling obedience her fingers spun the dial to CBC.
The national newscast, unlike the local one, had led with a political story, which was just finishing. Then, "In Vancouver this evening, a startling development has apparently confirmed that Shulamith St. John, the lumber heiress missing since the early hours of Sunday morning, has been kidnapped. The kidnapping now appears to be linked to the battle being waged by the Chopa Indian band against Cordwainer St. John, her lumber-baron father. Mr. St. John, who suffered a heart attack early Sunday morning and thereafter reported his daughter missing, received a phone call at his bed in the Royal Georgia Hospital today, demanding that he call off planned lumbering operations in Cat Bite Valley as the price of his
But what did she really know about him? Nothing. Nothing...except that her presence was a threat to him. Except that she would have virtually the power of life and death over him if he set her free. The sentence for kidnapping would be a long one. And she could imagine that for a man like Johnny Winterhawk—for anyone—life behind those cold concrete walls would be death in life. Worse, much worse. Her imagination could not compass it.
The unconscious realization that she herself would do nearly anything rather than go to a life like that was the root now of her fear of Johnny Winterhawk.
"Yes, I'm taking you home," he said, and his jaw tightened. "I've done some stupid things in my time, but nothing I've done compares with the monumentally self-destructive idiocy of kidnapping you in the first place." He looked at her. "Well, I'll have a long time to think about it, no doubt."
Smith swallowed against the hope that was flowering up inside her. "I promise I won't say anything," she said, standing up and crossing to where he stood at the wheel. She laid a tentative hand on his arm. "Truly, I promise," she repeated. "You haven't hurt me, Johnny. I—I couldn't send you to prison."
His glance found hers and locked with it. He bent and brushed her lips lightly with his own, and a soft, melting warmth flowed through her.
"Thank you," he said. "Your father is a strong, ruthless man even in a hospital bed, and he might inspire the police to be very tough with you. If you do decide to press charges against me, Peaceable Woman, I'll deny everything." His dark eyes gazed into hers. "I'll be calling you a liar. There'll be no evidence to corroborate your testimony. I'll do my best to make you look like a woman with rape fantasies." He smiled apologetically at her. She knew he was warning her, trying to prepare her for the ugliness that he foresaw. Smith blinked against the unexpected tears that burned her eyelids. His gaze was full of concern for her, and it had caught her off guard. She swallowed and stared helplessly into the depths of those eyes.
Without warning the odd, compelling force was between them again, making her feel that her whole being burned into his through her eyes. Johnny Winterhawk muttered a curse and turned away as, with a barely perceptible unsteadiness, his hand moved out to the switch of the portable radio behind him. The voice of the news announcer filled the air of the cockpit.
"... police, who were at his hospital bedside when the call came. Shulamith St. John has been missing since early yesterday morning. Police refused to comment on whether the ransom demand would be met."
Smith stood at shocked attention, gazing at the radio. "Ransom demand!" she repeated. "Who...but...."
"Find another station!" Johnny Winterhawk commanded, and with fumbling obedience her fingers spun the dial to CBC.
The national newscast, unlike the local one, had led with a political story, which was just finishing. Then, "In Vancouver this evening, a startling development has apparently confirmed that Shulamith St. John, the lumber heiress missing since the early hours of Sunday morning, has been kidnapped. The kidnapping now appears to be linked to the battle being waged by the Chopa Indian band against Cordwainer St. John, her lumber-baron father. Mr. St. John, who suffered a heart attack early Sunday morning and thereafter reported his daughter missing, received a phone call at his bed in the Royal Georgia Hospital today, demanding that he call off planned lumbering operations in Cat Bite Valley as the price of his
Similar Books
