Bride of the Tiger by Heather Graham (best large ereader .txt) 📗

furious he had been when he realized at the end that she had meant it—he could not move her, and she hated him.

He had started to laugh. “You should learn to enjoy it again, baby. When we get home, you’re going to marry me. If you try to leave me, Tara, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” He had flexed his fingers, then wrapped them around her neck. “Don’t doubt it—I’ll kill you. I saw you today with that kid. I’m always watching you, Tara. I’ll kill him, too.” He’d chuckled again. “Maybe I’ll just kill him anyway. I may need to.”

“You fool!” Tara had retorted. “You’ll never keep me this way. I hate you—and I’m not afraid of you!” But she was; she was near tears because he had just proved to her that he could toss her around easily enough—if he had her alone. She was so humiliated she nearly wanted to die, so miserable that she didn’t think that she could ever really trust or love anyone again.

“Sweetie, remember—you’re mine. I’ll do whatever I want, whenever I want. And if you don’t want to leave a trail of blood in your wake, you’ll leave the boys alone.”

He’d walked out on her then—cocky, cruel, assured.

Tara had hesitated in absolute misery—then called Jimmy.

If she’d been able to think clearly, she might have wondered at his rapid questions, about his lack of surprise that Tine knew about him. He’d told her to meet him at the glass factory, and at that point she certainly should have wondered what was going on.

The glass factory was out of town, up in the mountains. But Tara had gone, determined that she would never see Tine again.

The factory was closed. The taxi driver hadn’t wanted to take her there, but she had feverishly convinced him in her broken Spanish that she was meeting a friend there. The kindly cabdriver had stayed with her in the darkness until she had seen Jimmy coming out of the trees.

He’d taken her gently in his arms and told her that he had the use of a friend’s little house nearby. There was no road leading to it, so they walked through the trees, up the mountain. She told him something of what had happened—not all, since it was so horribly humiliating—and then regretted quite suddenly that she had come to him, because she was afraid for his life.

That was when the first shot had rung out. They were in a small clearing, the moon overhead, the night beautiful and cool. She could still remember the fresh scent of the trees, damp from a recent rain. She’d screamed, and Jimmy had instantly and protectively pulled her to the ground. Wary, ready. Or so it seemed.

Tine had appeared in the clearing, carrying a gun. She could remember his silhouette so clearly. She could remember the flash of his teeth when he smiled. She had lain there in terror as he casually glanced her way, then stared at Jimmy.

She could remember the sophisticated and beautiful brunette at his side—a woman who seemed to know him quite well, to be quite comfortable with this gun-toting activity of his.

And, despite her terror, she realized what an idiot she had been. He’d wanted to marry her—her income potential had far surpassed even his original imaginings—but there had been other women all along.

Then, to her complete amazement, he had told Jimmy that he wanted the mask back. And he had laughed and told the other woman that Tara really was an extraordinary prize—she’d lured Jimmy easily when no one and nothing else in the world would have been able to do so.

“The mask!” Tine had cried, firing a warning shot into the trees.

Tara had been incredulous when Jimmy fired back—and then she didn’t know what happened at all, because she had ducked her face into the ground and shuddered as volley after volley of shots rang out. Leaves rustled, and Jimmy was gone.

Sirens had suddenly screeched through the quiet of the forest as the police had climbed their way up the mountain. Tara had dared to look up—just in time to see Tine clutching a bloody shoulder, leaning against a tree. He had stared at her and smiled slowly.

“Sweetheart, someday, somewhere, I’ll find you again. Once more, my love, for old times’ sake! And then, as I promised—bye-bye, darling!”

Tine had disappeared. The sirens had come closer and closer. She had screamed for Jimmy—but Jimmy, too, was gone.

She had been alone with the brunette—dead from a gunshot wound—when the police had arrived. She’d been arrested instantly, dragged into interrogation. She had sworn her innocence, trying to explain that Tine had been shooting at Jimmy. When George Galliard arrived to stand at her side in the confusion, they had threatened to arrest him, too. After all, he had employed both Tine Elliott and Tara.

George had sworn her innocence too and threatened to sue for libel and legal retribution. Heads would roll if he and Tara weren’t released immediately, he’d insisted.

No one ever did discover who Jimmy was. Nor had Tine been found. After three miserable weeks, the charges against Tara had been dismissed. She and George had come home, and she had decided to disappear after the media blitz. The police had told her that Tine had been suspected of being in on the artifacts smuggling racket for a long time. The papers had picked it up, and she had found herself labeled the lover and accomplice of a notorious criminal.

Tara opened her eyes and took a deep breath. The water was getting cold. Her dinner was probably burning. She didn’t want to think anymore—she just wanted to sleep.

She hurried into the kitchen, turned off the stove, and poured herself a glass of wine, which she quickly downed. Feeling a bit better—as if she would at least get some release from her own thoughts!—she dressed in a silk floor-length hostess-type nightgown, brushed out her hair and meandered back into the kitchen.

She bent over the oven door, intending