Fearless - Fern Michaels Page 0,66

couldn’t get to it without leaving Christina’s bedside.

“What the hell do you want?” She spat out the words contemptuously. “How did you find me?”

He moved closer, inches away from the foot of the bed. Anna took a step back, her left hand searching for the call button. She had to distract him. Keep him as far away from her daughter as she could.

“You made the news,” he explained, enunciating each word as if he were speaking to a toddler. “You like being on the news. Don’t you? All of your fans, or viewers, isn’t that how you refer to them? They’ll feel sorry for poor little, rich Anna and her daughter. Boo fucking hoo.” His tone was mocking, yet there was also something else.

Her heart thumped, and anger burned in the pit of her stomach. “Where is Mandy? If you hurt her”—she swallowed, her throat tight and dry—“I’ll kill you!”

Tossing his head back, insane laughter spewing from him, he shook his head. “You’ll kill me? I. Don’t. Think. So.” Blue eyes she’d once found attractive were now reduced to evil slits.

Anna darted a glance at the door. Wasn’t it time for a nurse, the doctor, someone to come in and check on Christina? Full morning sun filtered in through the slats on the blinds above the sofa. How long had she slept? Didn’t matter. She needed to take control. Suddenly, Christina moaned in pain, then settled back into her drug-induced sleep.

“What do you want from me?” Seething with rage, Anna had to keep him away from her daughter. “Tell me!” Her voice broke. “What?” she hissed between gritted teeth, wanting to scream, but fearing that doing so would only add to his insanity, and who knew what he’d try? And he was truly insane. How she’d missed that was beyond her, and now it was too late. No, she was not giving up. This bastard was not going to ruin her life any more than he had already.

She eased her left hand to the call button, her eyes never leaving his.

“Anna, Anna, Anna! I see what you’re doing. Go ahead,” he encouraged. “Call the nurse. Go on,” he said, pointing to her hand. “Push that call button. I dare you,” he taunted. “No, I double-dare you.”

She pulled her hand away from the button. Christina winced in pain, her eyes fluttering open, the effect of the drugs slowly easing off. “Mom?” she said, her voice dry and cracked. “Drink.”

She placed a protective hand on Christina’s chest. “In a minute, baby. Rest.”

“Drink,” she repeated. “I’m thirsty.”

Wanting to take care of her daughter’s immediate needs, needing to keep this sick piece of flesh as calm as she could, she swallowed, her throat as dry as her daughter’s, only hers was from fear. “She needs water. I’m just going to get this”—she removed her hand from Christina, located the plastic cup from the table beside her bed, holding it out for him to see—“and this”—she lifted the small blue pitcher with her other hand—“and pour some in here.” She poured a splash of water into the cup, spilling it over the blankets, but she didn’t care. She would not take her eyes off him. “Here, baby.” She held the cup to her cracked lips. “Drink.”

Christina took several swallows of water, then collapsed into the pillows behind her. Without making any sudden movement so as not to distract him, Anna slowly returned the cup and pitcher to the side table.

Her full attention on him now, Anna was bitter, her voice guttural when she spoke. “If you don’t get out of here, I’m going to scream. I mean it.” To her own ears, her words sounded weak and uncertain. Clearing her throat as much as she could, she added, “Just tell me what you want and go. I’ll forget you were ever here.” All those months of looking over her shoulder, knowing, feeling unknown eyes watching her, and now it all came down to this. A culmination of emotions fleetingly passed through her. If only she’d seen what she now saw. Too late, she thought, as she stared at him.

More deranged laughter, as he stood at the foot of the bed. With one hand in his pocket, and the other hovering above Christina’s broken leg, he slowly wiggled his fingers, taunting her. “I bet a good smack on the cast would really hurt. What do you think? No, never mind, let her tell us if it hurts.” He balled his fingers into a fist, raised his