He didn’t miss a trick, Catherine thought despairingly. He’d even picked up on the fact that she had her own flat. It was no wonder that they hadn’t been able to hide anything from him. Oh, why had her father had to bring this particular man home?
‘Shall I go on?’
When Catherine and her father could only stare at him, unable to find a word to say, Evan nodded silently, his mouth tightening ominously.
‘All right—so you have your own home, but for some reason you’re hiding out at your father’s—’
‘I’m not hiding!’
‘No?’
Once more that raised eyebrow questioned the truth of her outburst.
‘Then why did your father feel it necessary to ring the bell—the bell to his own front door—when he arrived? And why did he call out as soon as he came in, if not to reassure you? Why do you jump like a scalded cat at the slightest sound, any unexpected movement?’
Catherine began to feel as if the quickfire questions were in fact blows to her head, making her reel sickeningly.
‘Why did you turn on me as if I was an intruder from an alien planet when I came up behind you in the kitchen? And—last but not least—why, when it’s the hottest week we’ve had all summer, when the temperatures have finally reached into the twenties and the rest of the country is enjoying the long, warm evenings-gardening, having barbecues, or simply sitting outside soaking up the sun—do you have every single curtain in every damn room pulled so tightly closed that a beam of light couldn’t get through if it tried?
‘Either one of you is a vampire and will shrivel up in the heat of the sun, or there’s some other, more disturbing reason for this obsession with privacy.’
He stopped at last, looking straight at both of them in much the same way that the counsel for the prosecution would survey the accused, Catherine reflected miserably, knowing that there was no way she could deny his assessment of events. His case was watertight—and he knew it.
‘So now,’ Evan continued more slowly, sea-green eyes fixed on her face in a way that made her feel worryingly certain that he could see right through her head and read everything that was in her mind, ‘are you going to stop playing silly games and tell me just what all this is about?’
‘WELL?’
The single, harsh syllable fell into the stunned silence that was the only response Catherine and her father could make to the clear and terrifyingly accurate assessment of the situation he had just given them. There really wasn’t any way they could possibly argue against it, she reflected unhappily.
‘Well?’ he repeated, more emphatically this time.
‘I—don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Stubbornly Catherine clung to her determination not to reveal anything to him.
‘You must have a very vivid imagination,’ she went on, with a touch of airiness that didn’t quite come off, instead making her sound brittle and highly-strung instead of achieving the insouciance she had aimed for. ‘You seem to have cobbled together some sort of fantasy scenario out of a lot of perfectly ordinary facts…’
Her voice failed her as Evan, not bothering to answer her verbally, turned on her the sort of cold, contemptuous look from those aquamarine eyes that made her quail fearfully inside, wanting to curl her arms round her to protect herself. Her earlier impression had been right, she told herself on a wave of unease. If provoked, Evan Lindsay could be a very dangerous character indeed.
‘It’s no good Cathy.’ Lloyd Davies pushed a hand through hair that was just a couple of shades darker than his daughter’s. ‘We can’t keep pretending that nothing’s wrong—’
‘Dad!’
‘We have to tell someone.‘ Her father ignored the reproachful glance she turned on him. ‘And it strikes me that Evan is the sort of man who might be able to help. That’s why—’
‘I don’t think anyone can help!’ The tension that Catherine had been holding in check all evening finally got the better of her, and the words escaped in a despairing rush. ‘Even the police—’
She cut herself off sharply, swallowing down what she had been about to say as Evan’s reaction told her just how much she had given away. The relaxed, almost indolent pose vanished as he sat up straight in his chair, his blue-green eyes fixed on her face.
‘The police?’
Catherine’s heart lurched painfully in her chest, every trace of confidence burned away in the cold fire of those changeable eyes, and she could only nod silently, her tongue seeming to have frozen in her mouth.
‘Why are the police involved in this?’
If he had stayed where he was then perhaps she might have been able to answer him, but to Catherine’s shock and total consternation Evan got up from his seat and came towards her, leaning down to rest both hands on the arms of her chair as he looked deep into her face.
‘Catherine?’
God, she hadn’t realised just how big a man he was— big and imposing and frighteningly strong. He was tough too; the set of his features told her that—the hard, square jaw, the tightness of the muscles around his mouth, the fierce, unblinking stare of those eyes.
A few moments earlier she had wondered what he would be like with the calm, affable veneer he had shown them up to now stripped away and the real Evan Lindsay revealed underneath. Now she was beginning to get some idea of the reality. The civilised finish had worn a little thin, exposing glimpses of a very different man—a man who was very much a force to be reckoned with.
‘Evan—I—’ her father began, but Evan let him get no further, cutting him off sharply.
‘I’m talking to your daughter,’ he flung over his shoulder, sparing the older man only the briefest of glances before turning his attention back to Catherine. ‘Why are the police involved in all this?’
Catherine struggled for some degree of control, her eyes wide and brilliant as sapphires over pale, drawn cheeks as she fought against the panic that was welling up inside her, threatening to take control. Earlier she had been fearful of Evan simply because he was a man, one she didn’t know, but now it was more personal, more specific to him. She recalled how he had told her that he had been in the army, and her imagination conjured up images of all the interrogation scenes in any film she had ever seen, making her shiver in apprehension.
‘You’re frightening me!’ she managed on a shaky gasp.
Evan’s response was immediate and unexpected. His head went back sharply, his eyes darkening in something close to shock, and he looked down at his hands, realising the aggressive nature of his position, the implied threat in the way he towered over her.
‘I’m sorry!’ he said abruptly, moving back swiftly and raking one hand through the ebony sleekness of his hair in a gesture that spoke more clearly of his mental disturbance than any words could ever do. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, his voice rough and slightly husky. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
Catherine was shocked to find that his features seemed blurred, that tears had filled her eyes, obscuring her vision, and she blinked hard to try to clear them away.
‘I’d like you to go now.’ But even as she spoke the words she knew that she had little hope that Evan would do as she asked.
‘Oh, no.’
The hard voice confirmed her fears, the adamant shake of his dark head driving