Molly glanced down, blushed, and hastily secured the robe. “Come in. I’ll make some tea.”
Harry realized his fingers were trembling slightly. He stepped across the threshold and closed the door.
“It’s every kid’s worst nightmare. The monster under the bed.” Molly poured tea from a white earthenware pot. The one thing she took care to prepare by hand was tea. There was something about good tea that demanded the personal touch. No machine, not even one of her father’s kitchen appliances or Kelsey’s gadgets, could prepare tea properly. “And I reacted just like a kid. Scared the beejeebies out of me.”
“Someone got the effect he wanted.” Harry surveyed the remains of the mechanical horror that he had spread out on the stainless-steel kitchen table.
Molly had watched as he dissected the creature with the finesse of a jeweler removing precious stones from a necklace. One by one Harry had taken apart the pieces of the device that had rolled out from under her bed.
Displayed in the bright kitchen light, the cheap black fabric, Halloween mask, and assorted mechanical components did not look very frightening. Molly was a little chagrined.
“I guess I overreacted,” she said. “The pistol prank didn’t bother me very much, but this one really got to me.”
“It was meant to get to you.” Harry held a gear up to the light to study it. “This thing was more of a threat than the pistol. It was right inside your house. Inside your bedroom. I think whoever is behind these incidents is deliberately trying to rev up the fear factor.”
Molly shuddered. She searched Harry’s grim face, trying to determine just how serious he was.
The answer was clear. He was very serious. She could feel the waves of focused energy emanating from him.
“I still can’t believe that these incidents are meant to be anything more than nasty pranks, though,” Molly said. She poked at the awkwardly constructed steel claw. It was composed of five metal rods thrust through holes cut in the fingers of a tattered black glove. “I wonder how he got into the house to set it up?”
“Did you check for open windows or unlocked doors?”
Molly huddled deeper into her robe. “I went through every room before you got here. There’s no sign of forced entry. All the doors and windows were locked. The security system was on.”
“The device was probably installed under your bed earlier today. Which leaves us with a couple of possibilities.” Harry picked up the Halloween mask. “Whoever is doing this either knows you well enough to know your security code—”
“Impossible,” Molly said quickly. “Kelsey and I have always been extremely careful. She wouldn’t give out the code to anyone, not even a friend. And neither would I.”
Harry got to his feet. “Then we’re looking for someone who’s good enough to bypass your household security system.”
Molly looked up at him. “Good enough?”
“I guess I should say bad enough. Whoever he is, he’s caused enough trouble tonight. Go upstairs and pack a bag. I’m taking you home with me.”
“Home.” She shot up out of her chair so quickly that it started to topple over backward.
“Right.” Harry deftly caught the chair before it clattered to the floor. He righted it without even glancing at it. “Home to my place. You can spend the night there. In the morning we’ll talk about what to do next.”
Molly was torn. A part of her dreaded the prospect of spending the rest of the night by herself. But another part was reluctant to admit that things had become so serious that she had to leave her home.
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” she said. “I doubt if it’s necessary. This was probably just another stupid prank. I can’t believe that whoever set this thing would actually come back here tonight.”
“Trust me.” Harry urged her gently but determinedly toward the hall stairs. “It’s necessary.”
“Why?”
“For my peace of mind,” Harry said.
“Oh.” She couldn’t think of an adequate rebuttal to that.
“I want to think on this for a while tonight. In the morning we’ll file a report with the cops.”
“Fat lot of good that’s going to do. Investigating stupid practical jokes must rank right at the bottom of their list of priorities,” Molly muttered.
“I know. But I want this incident on record.”
He did not elaborate, but Molly knew what he was thinking. Harry wanted the prank reported because he believed that there would be more of them and that they might become increasingly dangerous.
An hour and a half later Harry stood alone in his darkened living room. He listened carefully, but there was no sound from the guest bedroom. Molly had finally gone to sleep.
He gazed out through the wall of windows that separated him from the night and considered the small gear assembly he held in his hand. It seemed to smolder with a heat only he could detect.
He prepared to concentrate. Really concentrate.
He had not wanted to do this. He had not opened himself to this kind of intense contemplation since the day Wild Willy Trevelyan had been killed in the motorcycle stunt. Harry reminded himself that he had not liked the truth that his insights had revealed on that occasion. He might not like whatever truth he gleaned from tonight’s contemplation, either.
He certainly did not relish the sensation that he knew would accompany the exercise. He felt excruciatingly vulnerable whenever he experienced even small flashes of insight. The deeper exploration he intended to try for tonight would be far worse. He could expect to question his own sanity before it was over. He hated the fear that was waiting for him in the darkness of his own mind.
But he had to take the chance. His need for answers was stronger than his terror of going mad.
Harry plunged himself into the deepest level of thought. It was akin to sinking into a whirling void, a place at the farthest reaches of the galaxy. The trick was to avoid traveling too far into the darkness. Somewhere out there the abyss awaited him.
His concentration became so intense that he lost all sense of his surroundings. He was no longer in his own living room. He was part of the night outside the windows.
The metal burned into his palm. Something inside him screamed a silent warning, not about the mechanical gear he held, but about what was happening to his personal fortifications. He had forged those internal barriers over a period of years, working by instinct alone, not fully aware of what he was trying to accomplish.
It was not until he was well into his twenties that he had begun to comprehend that he was attempting to build a wall at the edge of the abyss.
He had done his work well, considering the fact that he had no model from which to work. Over the years he had learned to use the shallow reaches of the intense state of concentration that his mind was capable of producing. For the most part, he pretended not to see the dark depths below.
But tonight he was going to reach down into them in a search for answers.
Carefully, cautiously, he dismantled the barriers that protected him from the dangers of the abyss.
There were few things Harry feared in life, but the feeling that descended upon him now was definitely one of them. The lack of control that accompanied the complete eradication of his inner fortress was the price he had to pay to accomplish his aims.
He stood at the window, staring out into the night, and let the vibrations of awareness flood his mind. He gave himself up to the process of knowing.
The darkness on the other side of the window flowed into the living room and wrapped itself around him.
Harry closed his eyes and tightened his grasp on the small gear in his hand. There was something important here. Something he needed to comprehend in order to help Molly.
He saw the abyss. And the glass bridge that spanned it. He could not see the ot
her side. He had never been able to see it. He had never allowed himself to cross the bridge. Only rarely had he even risked stepping out onto it.
He did not know what awaited him on the far side of the abyss, but he knew with great certainty that madness lay below. He took a tentative step out onto the glass bridge. Don’t look down, he told himself. Just don’t look down.
“Harry?”
From out of nowhere the hunger rose within him, devastating his severely weakened defenses.
“Harry, are you all right?” Molly’s voice was a whisper of sound in the distance. It reached through the endless night that surrounded him.
She was here in the living room. Right behind him.
No. Leave. Go back to your bed. For God’s sake, don’t come near me. Not now.
But the words were trapped in his mind. He could not utter them aloud.
“Is something wrong, Harry?”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
He could not form the words with his tongue. His body would not obey his commands. Harry staggered as he turned to face Molly.
He watched her walk toward him through the shadows and knew a savage despair. He was too far out on the glass bridge. He could not control the desperate, questing need within himself.
Balanced on the knife-thin edge of glass, Harry glimpsed the opposite shore of the abyss. He suddenly understood why he had always crushed any speculation of what might await him there. It was better not to contemplate too closely that which he could not possess.
Longing, fierce and intense, clawed his insides.
“Are you all right?” Molly came to a halt in front of him. She was cloaked in the white robe she’d brought with her. Her hair was loose and gloriously wild. Her eyes were crystal clear, fathomless pools in the moonlight.
Harry gathered himself for a Herculean effort. He finally managed to get his tongue to function. “Go back to bed.”
“Good heavens, there is something wrong, isn’t there?” She raised her hand to touch his face with sensitive fingertips. “Lord, you’re burning up. I think you’ve got a fever. You should have said something earlier. I had no idea you were ill. You had no business coming to my rescue in this condition. You should be in bed.”
“No,” he croaked. The glass on which he was so precariously balanced shuddered beneath him. He could not retreat. He could not go forward. In another few minutes the bridge would surely shatter. “I’m okay. Leave me alone.”
“Don’t be silly. I can’t do that.” She took his free hand and turned to lead him down the hall. “I’m going to put you to bed and find a thermometer. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”
“I’m. Not. Sick.”
She paid no attention to his weak protest. She started toward his bedroom. Harry was helpless to resist the gentle tug on his hand. It drew him as surely as if she had bound him with magic.
He struggled to regain his normal, rational level of awareness. But it was too late. Molly’s touch had drawn him farther out over the abyss. The hunger to discover what lay on the other side was too strong to deny.
“Here we are.” Molly guided him into his bedroom. She released his hand to turn down the bed.
She had her back to him. Harry was enthralled by the nape of her neck. Never had he seen anything so lovely. He was literally entranced by the delicate curve. He took a step toward Molly, hand outstretched to touch her.
And stumbled over his own feet.
“Now I know you really are ill,” Molly said as she steadied him. “Usually you move like one of those fish in the aquarium in your study.”
“A fish?” Anguish flared in him. Fish were cold and emotionless creatures. Maybe Molly thought he was incapable of a normal human response. Maybe she had already seen the craziness in him.
“You know.” Molly waved a hand. “You sort of glide along very slowly as if you were floating through the sea. Then, every once in a while, flash, you move so fast it startles me.”
“Flash.” Relief seared him. She was talking about the way he moved, not his mental state.
“In the whole time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you lose your balance or stumble until tonight. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s just the fever upsetting your equilibrium. You’ll be fine in the morning.”
Harry shook his head. He could not even begin to explain what was happening to him. He did not understand it himself. Thus far Molly seemed oblivious to the savage battle he was waging, but he knew that stage would not last long. In a few more minutes she would understand that there was something strange in him.
Molly reached out to switch on a light beside the bed.
He stood there, swaying slightly, and fought to regain his self-control. But the hunger was too strong. Molly looked more inviting than any woman had ever looked since Eve.
She was the woman who waited for him on the opposite side of the abyss.
Harry’s insides were raw with the churning need.
Molly finished fussing with the bed. She turned toward him, her spectacular eyes shadowed. The concern was for him, he realized with a sense of wonder. She was not yet afraid of him. She was worried about him.
He could do nothing now to stave off disaster. He knew that in another few seconds she would begin to sense the overwhelming desire in him. She would know that it was unnatural, even though it felt completely natural to him.
She would be terrified. She would pull away from him as though he were some alien monster.
Molly would run from him as Olivia had, and because he was so very vulnerable tonight, Harry was not certain that he would survive her complete and total rejection. He would fall from the glass bridge and fall forever.
He was doomed.
“Let me help you with your shirt.” Molly’s hands moved lightly over his chest, seeking buttons.
Harry shuddered violently as she touched him.
“You’re shivering.” She paused briefly to study him more closely. “Are you cold?”
“No. Hot. Very hot.” And getting hotter.
“I’ll get you something to drink in a minute.” She bent her head as she resumed the task of removing his shirt.
Her tousled hair tickled his nose. It was the most delightful sensation Harry had ever experienced. He inhaled the flowery scent of her shampoo. He took a deeper breath and drew in the underlying fragrance of her body. It was the essence of femaleness, and it riveted everything that was male in him.
She was seducing him as surely as if she had dressed in seven veils and thumped a tambourine, but she did not have a clue.
Harry groaned. An object fell to the carpet with a soft thud. He realized dimly that he had dropped the gear that he had carried from the front room. There had been something important about that gear. Something he needed to know.
But Molly had his shirt undone now, and he could no longer think about the gear. Her fingers were brushing against his bare chest. God, such sweet, warm, soft fingers. She was branding him with her touch.
“Molly.” Her name was a plea, a prayer, and a curse. The last because he knew that his fate was sealed. He would surely lose her tonight.
“It’s all right,” she murmured gently. “You’ll be fine. Did this fever come on quite suddenly?”
“Yes.” And it was going to be the death of him.
She pursed her lips in a considering expression. “It may be food poisoning.”
There was only one cure now for the fire that would soon consume him. The glass edge shivered again beneath his feet. Disaster loomed.
Molly’s fingers went to his shoulders now to ease aside his shirt. Her touch warmed his bare skin to the flash point. His hands shook. The searing heat rose within him. He was harder than he had ever been in his life.
His shirt fluttered to the carpet.
Molly looked into his eyes. “You’re so warm.
I’d better get that glass of water.”
Harry seized the chance to break the dangerous spell she had woven so unwittingly. “Yes.”
“I’ll get it. Sit down, Harry, before you fall down. No offense, but you look terrible.”
“Yes.” She hated the way he looked. It was starting. Soon she would fear him. Despair seized Harry.
He sank down on the edge of the bed and tried to pull himself together while Molly went into the adjoining bath. He lowered his head into his hands and strove to center himself.
Get off the glass bridge. Rebuild the walls.
Water ran in the sink.
Faster, you fool. You’ll lose her.
But he could not retreat. It was too late.
“Here you are,” Molly said softly. “Drink this, and then get straight into that bed.”
Harry opened his eyes. He did not lift his head. The first thing he saw through his splayed fingers was the drawer in the bedside table. Early this morning, in an optimistic moment, he had taken the box of condoms from the bathroom and put it into the little drawer.
Molly moved to stand in front of him, blocking his view of the drawer. She thrust a glass into his fingers.
He very nearly dropped it.
“Careful,” Molly said.
He managed to down the water, but it did nothing to assuage the fire. He wished it had been whiskey or brandy. Alcohol might have taken the edge off the erection that threatened to rip a hole in his pants.
“Thanks.” He realized his voice sounded as if his tongue had been dragged across sandpaper.
“Maybe I should call the emergency room to get some advice.”
“No. No, please. Don’t call anyone.”
“Okay.” She knelt in front of him to untie his shoes.
Harry stared at the folds of the white robe as it eddied around her. It made him think of a bridal gown. Molly looked both sensuous and chaste. The combination was electrifying.
“I know you’re the independent type.” Molly tugged off one shoe. “But you may as well accept the fact that you need help tonight. You’re sick, Harry.”