Witchcraft

Witchcraft by Jayne Ann Krentz Read Free Book Online Page A

Book: Witchcraft by Jayne Ann Krentz Read Free Book Online
Authors: Jayne Ann Krentz
Tags: Contemporary Romance
was holding up right in front of himself. In that moment she knew the dagger was meant for her. Although the scream that echoed through the small house was

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    hers, Kimberly felt dissociated from the sound of unadulterated terror in her voice. She was more conscious of the glass sliding from her fingers and crashing into the sink. "Kim!" Cavenaugh. She had forgotten all about him.
    Half turning she saw him as he leaped over the back of the couch, rushing toward her. "What the hell ...?"

    "Outside the window," she managed to gasp. "Someone outside the window with a knife.

    I, oh, my God!"

    "Get down." The command cracked violently through the air. He was right, Kimberly realized, stunned. She was standing silhouetted against the kitchen window. But she couldn't seem to move.

    Then movement on her part became unnecessary. Cavenaugh reached her a second later, driving into her with the full weight of his half-naked body. He dragged her violently down onto the floor behind the protection of the counters and out of sight of anyone who might still be standing at the kitchen window.

    CHAPTER THREE.

    "Stay down," Cavenaugh gritted, sprawling along the length of Kimberly's body.
    Crushed against the cold vinyl tile of the kitchen floor, Kimberly gasped for breath. "I can't do much else with you on top of me like this. You weigh a ton, Cavenaugh!" He ignored that, his features a rigid mask of concern in the shadowy light. "Tell me exactly what you saw out there," he whispered roughly.
    He lifted his head so that he could meet her wide-eyed gaze. "I told you.
    There was a man, at least I think it was a man. He was wearing a hooded robe or something.

    I couldn't see his face. But when the lightning flashed I saw a knife.
    A big silver dagger. It was horrible. I had the awful feeling he meant me to see it."

    "Given the fact that the bastard was outside your window and not someone else's on the block, that's a fair guess," Cavenaugh mocked grimly. He shifted his weight and she realized he was going to get up off the floor. "Lie still.
    Don't move until I get back, understand? No one can see you down here behind the kitchen counters."

    "Until you get back!" Kimberly repeated, horrified. "What's that supposed to mean? Where on earth do you think you're going?"
    "I'm going to have a look around outside." He rolled off her, uncoiling easily to his feet. "No, you can't go out there!" She grabbed for his jean-clad leg.
    It was like trying to hold on to a breaking wave. He slipped from her grasp as if he hadn't even been aware of it. "Cavenaugh, this is stupid," she hissed as she watched him stride across the room to find his boots. "You can't go out there. Who knows what might be waiting?

    For Pete's sake, come back here." He didn't bother to answer. The golden afterglow of the fire flickered on the sleek planes of his bare back as he bent over briefly to shove his feet into the boots. And then he was at the door, slipping off the chain. "Don't move," he ordered once again as he stepped cautiously outside. He shut the door softly behind himself.
    "Cavenaugh, wait!" She was appealing to an e mpty room.
    Angrily Kimberly sat up on the chilly floor, hugging her bare knees to her chest as she stared at the door. For what seemed an unbearably long time she

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    continued to sit where she was, visions of the cowled figure holding the knife repeating themselves endlessly in her head. Suddenly, startlingly aware of her own near nudity as the icy vinyl finally made its presence known against her backside, she started to get to her feet.
    Halfway up she remembered Cavenaugh's injunction to stay where she was.
    Astonished that she had allowed the force of his command to keep her there on the floor for even a few seconds, Kimberly stood up completely and peered cautiously out the kitchen window.

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