Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

C arly could scarcely breathe. She didn't know whether to scream out, praying that someone would come to her rescue, or pretend that she didn't know the truth about Jon. That Jasmine hadn't just been in her room to tell her that the real and tangible man she had fallen in love with wasn't real at all. He was an impostor. He had asked her to trust him, and he was living some fabulous lie.

Jasmine had disappeared. Carly didn't know whether her sister was hiding beneath the bed, in the bathtub, or perhaps in the armoire. There hadn't been time for her to escape out the terrace windows. But Carly knew Jasmine must have been terrified to have run like that. Terrified of this man.

Carly wondered if he had murdered the real Count Vadim. Her heart pounding mercilessly, she stared into his amber wolf's eyes and wondered at the relentless power that lurked there. His hands were on his hips, and he seemed breathless himself. Keenly, swiftly, he scanned the room, then looked back at her. Still in his tux from dinner, he was striking and handsome and deadly, and she sensed the suspicion and danger and tension he emitted.

He was a night person, he had told her. He moved by night; he could see in the dark. Suddenly he seemed part of an evil world, a world where wolves preyed upon the unwary.

She had been very easy prey.

Carly stepped back. She blinked and suddenly realized that she couldn't tell him that Jasmine had been there. Jasmine had been afraid of him and was probably counting on her to steer him away, and quickly.

Where was her sister?

He ran his fingers through his hair, staring at her in sudden confusion. "Why the hell didn't you answer the door?"

Her first attempt at speech failed. She swallowed, and this time, words came out in a whisper, but heated and, at the last, indignant. "What do you think you're doing, breaking down the damned door?"

"What?" he demanded sharply. A moment's silence followed, and then he exploded. "Because I was scared to death, that's why! I called you and called you and called you, and you didn't answer. And you were supposed to be waiting for me."

"Oh," Carly said blankly.

His frown remained. She couldn't move; she felt paralyzed. An inner voice warned her that she must behave normally. She couldn't let him know what she knew. She had to give her sister the chance to escape.

"Carly! What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said lamely. He took a step toward her and she took a step back. He narrowed his eyes and kept coming. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Nothing, I told you!"

He reached her, and she eluded him by leaping onto the bed and then over it. Breathing hard, she stared at him and realized sickly that she was making a fool of herself. A blind man would know that something was wrong. He clenched his jaw as he watched her, and he paused, hands on hips. He walked over to the door and did something with the knob. Carly heard a series of clicks. Then he turned back to her, leaning against the door. Handsome and casual, he gave her a cold grin that offered nothing in the way of humor.

"I didn't break it," he told her. He moved a hand to demonstrate the easy flow of the bolt. "We're locked in here now."

Carly nodded. He stood between her and the door. She could make a mad scramble for the balcony doors, she thought, but he would pounce on her in seconds flat. She just stood still, watching him.

He threw up his arms in disgust. "All right, Carly, come on. Game time is over. What the hell is wrong?"

She shook her head.

He started toward her slowly. There was really nowhere to run. She held her ground.

But he must have heard the echoing thunder of her heart. He must have seen the panic in her eyes and heard the desperate rasp of her breath. He stopped before her. He set his hand against her breast, and she nearly screamed. The touch tore into her, raw and scalding, and even with the truth before her, she wanted to deny it. She was in love with his scent, with how his eyes held her with their hypnotic gaze, and she ached for his touch as fiercely now as she ever had.

It was a lie. He was a lie, and everything he said or felt was a lie.

She wanted to scream, to demand to know who he was. Yet how could she? How could she do anything but allow her heart to pound and ice to weigh down her limbs as she wondered where Jasmine was, and prayed that he didn't find her.

"Your heart is beating like a jackhammer," he observed.

"Is it?"

His gaze grew rueful. "And it most definitely doesn't seem to be in anticipation of my arrival."

"You barged in on me."

"You were expecting me. You invited me. At least I think you did."

"I've—I've changed my mind."

"You've changed your mind."

"Yes!"

He closed his eyes, his hands still against her breast. She couldn't bear the touch and slid away from him. She tried to laugh, but despite herself the sound was uneasy. "I'm not in the mood, that's all."

He paused. Carly's knees grew weak, and she sank down on the foot of the bed. She felt a dizzying rush of blood come to her head. Jasmine must be hearing this conversation and wondering what lay between them. She must be sick over it.

He stood before her and wove his fingers through her hair, lifting her face to his.

"Not in the mood?" he inquired politely.

"All right, I'm sorry!" she snapped. "But I'm not! I—I've just decided that this is pointless, and I don't want it to go any further."

She wanted to look down, gaze away, do anything but feel his eyes boring into hers, feel the tension of his frame nearly touching her, feel the power of his fingers upon her.

Again he spoke to her. His voice was a husky whisper, low and sensual and lulling. "How can you forget? How can you change your mind? You said you loved me, and you showed me in every conceivable way that you did. I've never know a woman to give herself so freely, so...intimately."

Something about the sexuality of his voice spelled out almost every move they had made throughout the long day. Carly didn't know at that moment whether she was more frightened or mortified. The room spun. She wished he would move, for she didn't want to inhale his masculine scent. She didn't want him to use his fingers against her so, just lightly massaging her scalp, using a practiced tenderness against her.

"Please..." she said. "I have a headache."

"A headache?" he scoffed, almost laughing.

"Yes! A headache."

"Carly, please, you can be more original than that! And for an excuse like that, aren't you supposed to be married?"

"It's not an excuse. I have a headache. Believe me, I have a piercing headache. Please..." She tugged free from his hold and stared down at her hands. Why couldn't she wield more authority? Why the hell couldn't she get this man out of here?

At last, he started to walk away. She thought he was leaving her, but he was not. He headed for the bathroom. Carly panicked, wondering if Jasmine was in the shower. She leaped up, raced ahead of him and braced herself against the door. He stopped, smiling curiously, brows raised.

"What—Where are you—What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I was just going to wash my hands. I have a smudge of something on my knuckles from the door."

"Oh."

"May I pass?"

Had he killed the real Count Vadim? She trembled, and she couldn't believe it, but she suddenly saw an image of him striding in and sweeping back the shower curtain in a fury. He would find Jasmine standing there, and maybe he would curl his fingers about her throat, because he didn't dare have her around to tell the truth.

"No!" she cried.

"No—I can't pass?" he asked her.

She nodded. He would brush right by her any second, she was certain. Not really knowing what she was doing, she hurled herself toward him with a sudden burst of energy and landed in his arms. She threw her own around him and kissed him. She ran her fingers through his hair and pressed her breasts against his muscled chest.

He held her and returned the kiss, moving his hands down her back, bringing her higher against him, cupping her buttocks. Hot, searing sensations leaped into her and streaked back and forth. Their hips met and ground together. She fought for logic and reason, and tears stung her eyes, because she could still want him so desperately. He had lied to her with every word, but when he touched her he played her like a puppet, and she could not escape his power, the charisma of his kiss.

She was trying to make him forget his quest, she reminded herself. And with a chill in her heart she knew that she had loved him before, and that what had been must meld with what was now. If she touched him again, what difference would it make, for she had touched him so thoroughly before? She had to be with him. She had to let Jasmine escape.

He broke away from her, moving his thumbs over her throat and chin as he searched out her eyes. "What about your headache?"

"It's better. It's miraculously better."

"Hmm. I wonder if headaches disappear so easily for married couples," he mused skeptically. Then he added carefully, "I thought you weren't in the mood."

"What?" She gazed up at him. He kissed her throat, and she wondered if she would really care if he intended to slit her veins. She even wondered in some foggy corner of her mind if he wouldn't become a silver-gray wolf, right before her eyes, and tear into her heart, and soul and mind....

"I, er, I got back into the mood once my headache disappeared," she explained.

His lips touched her flesh. There was nothing but tenderness in his caress. He put his arms around her. She was floating, remembering that she loved him. Jasmine must be wrong. There couldn't be anything evil about this man, Carly knew; she loved him.

She moaned softly as she felt the mattress underneath her. She tangled her fingers in his hair and held him as he pressed kisses against her throat and collarbone and the lobe of her ear. She locked her fingers around his neck, meeting his kisses and returning them with sweet seduction.

Surely Jasmine would understand the sacrifice. She would slip from her hiding place and escape. She would have the sense to realize that Carly was covering for her.

"I love you," he whispered to her, his lips but an inch from hers.

Aching, she nodded. He loosened his tie, then drew it from his collar, staying close to her as he did so. Then he moved, and she watched through half-closed eyes as he shed his jacket. He turned again and headed for the bathroom.

His spell had been strong, she lay there for endless seconds before she realized that she had not seduced him—he had seduced and tricked her, and now he was on the prowl again. With a sharp cry she leaped to her feet and raced after him. He had already drawn back the shower curtain.

No one was in the tub.

"What are you doing now?" Carly demanded even as she breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't answer but cast her a withering glare and pushed past her to return to the bedroom. On his knees, he ripped at the bed coverings. Carly gasped, thinking, This is it! He will drag her out and we will both be at his mercy and he will know that we know....

"Don't, please! Don't! Wait—" she began, but he was tossing back the covering and glaring at her once more as he got to his feet.

Jasmine was not under the bed.

He strode over to the armoire. Carly knew that had to be it. Jasmine couldn't have disappeared into thin air. Carly couldn't let him find her sister.

"No!" she yelled, and pitched herself forward. She fell at his feet and wound her arms around his legs. He stared down at her, his golden gaze sharpened by disdain.

If Jasmine was all right, if they both lived through this, Carly decided, she would definitely kill her sister. "Don't, please..."

He reached down for her hands and dragged her back to her feet. "Stop it, Carly," he told her harshly. "By God, I am going to know what is going on." He pushed back the armoire's sliding doors. This time Carly swallowed her panic and terror and made no sound. Feeling her knees shake, she was afraid that they would give again.

"Damn!" he yelled.

Jasmine was not in the armoire.

"What are you doing?" Carly cried out as he headed for the balcony doors. He threw them open, and the cold night wind rushed in upon them. Carly shivered, but he seemed not to notice. He stepped out into the mist and the moonlight. The glow fell on the starched white of his shirt and the harsh planes of his handsome face. She barely dared to breathe a sigh of relief.

The balcony was empty. Somehow Jasmine had managed to disappear into thin air, so it seemed.

The man Carly had known as Jon Vadim moved back into the room. He stared at her with no tenderness.

"What the hell is going on?"

"You're asking me?" she demanded, incredulous.

"Who were you talking to?" He strode toward her with menace.

This wasn't the lover she had known, not in any way, she thought.

"I wasn't talking to anyone!" She was frightened by his total ruthlessness. She cried out, evading him again, running. She had to run, but there was nowhere to go. She went out to the balcony and gazed at the stones of the courtyard, far, far below. As she leaned over the ancient balustrade, gasping for breath, she closed her eyes and thanked God that Jasmine hadn't fallen.

Then her prayers ceased, for she realized that he was behind her, and that his arms were sweeping around her waist.

She opened her mouth to scream.

He clamped his hand down upon her, and she barely got out a whimper.

"Damn it to hell, Carly, what is the matter with you tonight?" Holding her mouth closed, he picked her up off her feet so that her toes dangled just off the floor. He whispered into her ear, "Do you hear me, my love ?" There was a great deal of bitterness in the endearment.

Carly couldn't answer him; she could scarcely breathe.

"Do you hear me? Ah, hell!" he spat the words out in disgust. "I'm not trying to hurt you—"

She bit into his fingers with all the fear and vengeance that were high in her heart. He cried out savagely and eased his hold on her. But before she could draw breath for a new attempt at a scream, he wound his left hand around her. He pressed the injured fingers to his mouth and swore, then dragged her into the room single-handedly and secured the balcony doors.

"As I was saying to you," he hissed through gritted teeth, "I'm not trying to hurt you!"

He slammed her down onto the bed. Even as she tried to rise, he straddled her and with his palm pressed her lips against her teeth. Panic sizzled through her. She felt the cold anger in his gaze and admitted at last that Jasmine was right; this was a man with something to hide.

"I'm going to let you breathe," he told her curtly. "How is that for starters? But don't scream. Do you understand?"

His thighs were tight about her hips. He kept his weight off her, but she felt the power of his hold. He was in control, so she had to fight another way. She nodded.

He moved his hand away. "Who were you talking to? Who was in here?"

"No one."

"Don't lie to me."

"Why not? You're adept at the art!"

"What?" He sat back slightly and eyed her as he might a particularly difficult puzzle that he was just beginning to unravel. "Ah...well, something at last."

"Yes, something!" Carly retorted. It hurt so damn badly. She'd wanted to believe in him more than she had ever wanted anything.

Jasmine was safe, so Carly could meet him with the truth, she realized.

Anger gave her a surge of strength. She freed her hands from the prison of his body and pounded suddenly against his chest. "You liar! Just who the hell are you?"

"What?"

"You aren't Jon Vadim."

Startled, he grabbed her wrists and secured them high over her head, a slow smile starting to play at his lips. She didn't know whether his smile was evil and menacing—or simply amused.

"Who said I wasn't Jon Vadim?"

"You aren't, are you?"

"Who told you?"

"So it is true!" she whispered in dismay.

"Your clandestine visitor has been bearing tales, I see. Damn it, Carly, tell me. Who the hell was here?"

"Admit it! You aren't Jon Vadim."

His eyes narrowed, he released her and rocked back on his haunches. For a man still half dressed in evening clothes, he was very agile, she thought. He could move with great coordination, and at the whisper of a sound. Her heart sank further. He had practiced the art of silent and supple stalking; he was some beast of the night who was at home with crimes in the moonlight.

"What's the matter, Carly? Were you that desperate for a title? Were the name and the money and the castle what really mattered to you?"

"What?" she shrieked.

He placed his hands over her mouth again. "Shut up, will you?"

She slammed his hand away. "You're the crook, and you dare to say something like that to me?"

"It seems true enough."

"You stupid liar! I don't even like this castle, and I hate the horrible basement! Titles don't mean a damn thing to me. I'm an American. But lies and murder, yes—whoever the hell you are!—they do bother me. Tremendously!"

"Murder?" He eyed her warily.

"The real Count Vadim!"

He leaped off the bed as nimbly as a wolf and dragged her along with him. "Come on!" he said roughly. He had her hand.

Panicking, Carly tried desperately to free herself from his hold, but he was striding toward the wall and she couldn't begin to ease the vise of his fingers around her wrist. "Oh, my God! What are you doing?"

He'd seen what she had seen on the balcony, the hard stones far below, and he meant to toss her over. "No!" she cried.

He came to the wall. He touched the light sconce, and a panel silently opened and gave way to a dim corridor beyond.

Carly gasped. She stared at the secret panel, and then at him. He didn't mean to kill her. Not immediately.

He couldn't kill her, she decided. He couldn't have held and touched and loved a woman as he had done with her and intend to snuff out her life.

But he had been in her room before; he had come through the panel in the night.

She kicked him. He swore and stared at her in new fury. "What the hell was that for?"

"You've been in here before at night."

"Yes—"

"Oh! As well as being a liar and an impostor, you're also a—"

"I came in to see that you were all right. That you were alive and well, you little fool. Now, let's go." He jerked on her arm, pushing her forward into the passage.

She stopped inside. There was a hint of perfume still on the air here. She knew now where Jasmine had disappeared to. She could see, too, how she had missed the narrow little alley when she'd looked at the structure of the building. It ran the length of the hallway and beyond, but the stones of the castle were so thick as to make the passage undetectable.

He came behind her, and the panel slid shut behind him. The only light in the narrow alley came from shafts near the roof that let in the moon's glow. He shoved Carly in the small of the back, and she started walking. She stopped suddenly, and he ran into her. She swung around, trembling. "Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see."

"Oh, no I won't. If you're going to kill me, you're going to do it right here and now. I won't help you leave my body in some deserted cave!"

"Oh, for God's sake, I'm not going to kill you! How could you possibly think such a thing? Now, walk!" He pushed her forward again.

Carly felt the adrenaline rushing through her. The floor was rough on her stockinged feet, and she bruised her toe. Crying out softly, she stumbled and grabbed the injured part. Hobbling, she turned on him again. "Who are you?"

"I'll tell you in a few minutes—"

"No! You'll tell me now! What's your name?"

"It is Vadim—"

"Don't lie to me! I know that you're a fake!"

"Fine," he agreed irritably. He caught her arm and took the lead.

Her toe wasn't that bad, she thought, but it would have been nice if he had cared. "My name is Vadim. It just isn't Jon Vadim. I'm Dustin."

"Sure," Carly retorted.

He shrugged. "Have it your way—Watch it!"

He dragged her against him as they passed a sudden hole to one side. Carly gasped, then realized that it was a narrow, winding staircase that probably led to the courtyard. He barely noticed her reaction, but she decided he couldn't mean to kill her. If he had wanted her to die, he could have given her a shove and she would have gone crashing into eternity.

Her heart began pounding too quickly again. She lagged back, gasping for breath. "Please, whoever you are, just wait—"

"Oh, no, sweetheart. You started this tonight. Let's finish it."

"No, you started it! You lied!"

That time he stopped. He turned on her, towering over her. Their bodies touched, and his eyes glowed at hers with a searing reproach.

"I told you that others were involved! I told you that nothing about us was a lie. And you just blinked those lovely turquoise eyes and said you loved me. And I believed you. Hell, I didn't want to lie to you. Oh, never mind!"

He swung around again, curling his fingers around hers, and dragged her on down the passageway. He stopped abruptly again and placed his hands against the wall. Carly saw that it was another secret panel.

Light poured in on them. She blinked and saw that they were in his bedroom. No, they were in Jon Vadim's bedroom.

And the real Jon Vadim was curled on his bed in his smoking jacket. He held a glass of champagne, and when she and this Vadim first appeared at the far right of his bed, the count didn't notice them. He was in earnest conversation with the dark-haired woman who sat curled up beside him. She, too, held a glass of champagne and was listening to his every word with a tender and forgiving smile.

It was Jasmine.

"Jasmine!" exclaimed the man at Carly's side. "I should have known."

"Oh!" Jasmine spilled her champagne. Nervously she jumped off the foot of the bed, staring at the two visitors. "Dustin. Carly."

"I say there!"

The real Jon Vadim stepped more regally off his bed and rescued the fluted champagne glass from Jasmine. Carly decided at last that "her" Vadim was telling the truth—Jasmine had just called him Dustin.

"Dustin, you've frightened Jasmine. You could have given us some warning," he said reproachfully.

"I'm losing my mind!" Carly muttered.

"I really am sorry—" Jasmine began.

"Well, Jasmine, damn it, this time you should be," Dustin cut in. Hands on hips, he strode into the room. Carly gazed from one man to the other. The two were incredibly alike. Only when they were together could she tell the difference between them. But maybe if she had known that there were two of them, she would have seen more of the subtle differences.

"Twins?" she inquired.

Dustin stopped and stared back at her. "No, not twins. We're cousins. You do see that the real Jon Vadim is alive and well," he said flatly.

"Jasmine," Carly snapped. "What the hell is going on?"

"Carly, please, don't be angry—"

"Don't be angry! You drag me halfway across the world and then disappear and I'm worried sick and then—"

Dustin broke in, angry as well. "And then you decided to drop in on your sister via the secret panel. And you tell her that I'm not Jon, but you neglect to tell her who I really am!" He was shouting by the end of his tirade. His cousin came up to him and grasped his shoulders, shaking his head and murmuring, "Dustin, stop. Someone might hear."

"Dustin, I am sorry," Jasmine said sweetly. "Really. I didn't know who was coming, so I thought I should disappear. I didn't realize I had made Carly think that you were a criminal."

"Please!" Carly implored them. "Will someone please explain this to me?"

Dustin threw up his arms, exasperated.

"Carly, have some champagne," Jasmine suggested, and went to find more glasses. Carly noticed that her sister was completely at home entertaining in Jon Vadim's bedroom. There was something very heavy between Jasmine and Jon Vadim. Carly realized that now. But not between Jasmine and Dustin. In his way, she knew, Dustin had been honest with her. He had asked her to believe. Nonetheless she still felt betrayed, for none of them had trusted her.

"I'll explain," Jon said. He indicated a grouping of chairs before the fireplace. "Sit down, will you, please?"

She must have been staring at them all with a great deal of hostility, for Jasmine added earnestly, "Please, Carly?"

Carly accepted the champagne her sister handed her and sat down. Dustin remained standing stiffly in the middle of the room. Jasmine sat before Carly, and Jon Vadim stood behind Jasmine's chair. "You know that a village girl was killed last year?" he asked Carly.

She frowned. "Yes."

"They blamed Jon," Jasmine broke in, her tone defensive. "Well, there were insinuations, you see. But Jon didn't do it."

"The inspector couldn't find any answers, Carly," Jon continued. "The way that the murder occurred—a full moon, Halloween night and all that—I was afraid of something happening again. It seemed as if I was being used for someone else's lunacy. Do you understand?"

Carly noticed that his eyes were hazel, too, and had the same fascinating golden glow to them as Dustin's. The men were very much alike when they smiled as the real Count Vadim was smiling at her now.

She was about to be charmed a second time, she thought. "Go on. I'm still listening," she said curtly.

"Dustin and I are cousins. We've always been very close. Our fathers were brothers who married sisters, which makes us as close as can be without being siblings, I suppose," he said.

Dustin, still in a foul temper, didn't say a word.

"Anyway," Jon went on, "Dustin used to be in the Queen's special services—"

"British CIA?" Carly interjected.

"Not exactly, but close enough. We didn't even know how much we looked alike until last year. I went to see him in London when he opened his private practice—"

"Private practice?" Carly repeated, staring straight at Dustin.

"Investigations," he said flatly.

"Of course," she murmured.

"I needed help, Carly," Jon Vadim said with dignity.

"So you switched places?"

Jon grinned. "Dustin had to trim his hair and shave his beard, but it worked. Only really close friends and relatives could tell."

"But—"

"Carly," Jasmine said, sighing, "someone attacked me in the barn in the middle of October. I escaped, and I began to wonder if I was imagining things. But I wasn't. Jon knew it, and I knew it. And of course this whole thing has been tense. Jon and I fought, and I decided to leave. I was frightened. I didn't know then about Jon and Dustin changing places."

Carly breathed a little easier. "So you haven't been here all this time?" she asked her sister.

Jasmine shook her head. "I came in last night. I knew something was going on. I was trying to understand what. When I saw that you were here, I was frightened for you."

"But you couldn't stay away from Jon long enough to finish your story to her," Dustin observed dryly.

"I'm sorry! I didn't realize that I was creating a problem."

"Oh, hell, Jasmine!" Dustin protested. "How would I know that you were hiding behind the panels! I was scared to death. I thought the real murderer might be in with your sister."

Jasmine lowered her head. "I'm sorry. I really am."

Carly swallowed her champagne, then looked up at the three of them. "There have been two more murders."

Dustin nodded grimly.

"And do you know who the murderer is?" she asked.

"Someone in the castle," Dustin replied.

"But not Jon," Jasmine said quickly.

"Dustin has a good idea," Jon said.

"Who?"

Dustin shook his head. "I can't say, not until I'm sure. I might cast suspicion on an innocent man, and as Jon can tell you, it isn't pleasant."

"Oh..." Carly murmured uneasily, looking at Jon—the real Jon. She was still in a tangle of emotions over Dustin and didn't want to meet his gaze. "Does the inspector know that there are two of you?"

"No, he doesn't," Jon said. He frowned. "Why?"

"Well, once he knows that there are two ‘Jon' Vadims, he will really be suspicious, and no alibi in the world will be believable."

Jasmine groaned miserably.

"There isn't really a problem," Dustin said quickly.

Carly could see now that he didn't want to upset her, however angry he might have been at Jasmine. "Why not?" Carly demanded.

"Because I intend to catch our murderer—by the next full moon." His gaze fell only on Carly. "The murders take place only by the full moon, you know."

Shivering, she bit into her lower lip. By the light of the full moon... And she had to believe that the Vadims were innocent, both Jon, whom Jasmine so clearly adored, and Dustin, who...

She was still in love with him. His name wasn't Jon, and he wasn't the count. But that didn't change anything. She really did hate the castle, her French was atrocious—but Dustin Vadim lived in London.

She lowered her head and realized that she was light-headed with relief and exhausted. And she was still in love; she had really believed in him. Even when she had been confronted by the lie, her instincts had told her that she could hold him, that she could thrill to his kiss and lie down beside him and forget everything else.

It wasn't over. She winced and smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt. She looked up at Dustin at last. "Why didn't you tell me who you were?"

"I couldn't. I didn't know where Jasmine was. She really did go to Paris. I didn't know how to make you understand. You might have thought that we were both demented. You might have gone to the inspector."

She nodded. "Did you steal the letter from my purse?"

He frowned, shaking his head. "No. Jon?"

"No, of course not. I wouldn't have gone into a woman's purse."

Dustin shrugged and grinned. "That's the difference between the nobility in the family and the P.I. I would have gone into your purse if I had thought it necessary. I just didn't."

Carly shivered. "Then someone else was in my room."

"Oh, Carly!" Jasmine said worriedly, glancing with reproach at Jon.

"I told her to go home," Dustin said to Jasmine. "She wouldn't leave without you."

"You should go home," Jasmine told her sister.

"And leave you here?"

"But Carly—"

"If you stay," Dustin interrupted sternly, his gaze still focused on Carly, "you stay with Jasmine."

She started to tremble. She wanted to meet his eyes but couldn't. She knew he meant that she could forgive him, or she could leave.

She could sleep with him here....

Or he would send her home alone. And she would take the chance that she would never see him again. Never feel the sweet tempest of his touch again or know the golden-glowing fire of his eyes. "I—I can't leave now," she said.

"But Carly—" Jasmine began.

Carly realized her sister hadn't understood Dustin's words.

"It's all right, Jasmine," Dustin said. He came over to Carly and reached for her hand. "I'll be with her. Carly, come on. Let's let these two..." He paused, then shrugged. "Let's let them get to bed." He didn't wait for her assent. He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. "Good night," he said to Jasmine and Jon.

The two were silent and Carly couldn't believe that she was silent, too, as Dustin propelled her back through the secret door. She remembered that she had wanted to wring her sister's neck. Once they were all out of this alive, she was going to do just that.