Midnight Rainbow Read Online Free

relied far too heavily on those trip lines, not realizing
they could be dismantled. Priscilla's room was toward the back. It had double
sliding glass doors, which might be locked, but that didn't worry him; he had a
way with locks. He eased up to the doors, put out his hand and pulled silently.
The door moved easily, and his brows rose. Not locked. Thoughtful
of her. Gently, gently, a fraction of an inch at a time, he slid the
door open until there was enough room for him to slip through. As soon as he
was in the room he paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust again. After the
starlight, the room seemed as dark as the jungle. He didn't move a muscle, but
waited, poised and listening.
                  Soon he could see again. The room was big and
airy, with cool wooden floors covered with straw mats. The bed was against the
wall to his right, ghostly with the folds of mosquito netting draped around it.
Through the netting he could see the rumpled covers, the small mound on the far
side of the bed. A chair, a small round table and a tall floor lamp were on
this side of the bed. The shadows were deeper to his left, but he could see a
door that probably opened to the bathroom. An enormous wardrobe stood against
the wall. Slowly, as silently as a tiger stalking its prey, he moved around the
wall, blending into the darkness near the wardrobe. Now he could see a chair on
the far side of the bed, next to where she slept. A long white garment, perhaps
her robe or nightgown, lay across the chair. The thought that she might be
sleeping naked made his mouth quirk in a sudden grin that held no real
amusement. If she did sleep naked, she'd fight like a wildcat when he woke her. Just what he needed. For both their sakes, he hoped
she was clothed.
                  He moved closer to the bed, his eyes on the
small figure. She was so still… The hair prickled on the back of his neck in
warning, and without thinking he flung himself to the side, taking the blow on
his shoulder instead of his neck. He rolled, and came to his feet expecting to
face his assailant, but the room was still and dark again. Nothing moved, not
even the woman on the bed. Grant faded back into the shadows, trying to hear
the soft whisper of breathing, the rustle of clothing, anything. The silence in
the room was deafening. Where was his attacker? Like Grant, he'd moved into the
shadows, which were deep enough to shield several men.
                  Who was his assailant? What was he doing here
in the woman's bedroom? Had he been sent to kill her or was he, too, trying to
steal her from Turego ?
                  His opponent was probably in the black corner
beside the wardrobe. Grant eased the knife out of its sheath, then pushed it in again; his hands would be as silent as the
knife. There… just for a moment, the slightest of movements, but enough to
pinpoint the man's position. Grant crouched then moved forward in a blurred
rush, catching the man low and flipping him. The stranger rolled as he landed
and came to his feet with a lithe twist, a slim dark figure outlined against
the white mosquito netting. He kicked out, and Grant dodged the blow, but he
felt the breeze of the kick pass his chin. Moving in, he caught the man's arm
with a numbing chop. He saw the arm fall uselessly to the man's side. Coldly,
without emotion, not even breathing hard, Grant threw the slim figure to the
floor and knelt with one knee on the good arm and his other knee pressed to the
man's chest. Just as he raised his hand to strike the blow that would end their
silent struggle, Grant became aware of something odd, something soft swelling
beneath his knee. Then he understood. The too-still form on the bed was so
still because it was a mound of covers, not a human being. The girl hadn't been
in bed; she'd seen him come through the sliding doors and had hidden herself in
the shadows. But why hadn't she screamed? Why had she attacked, knowing that
she had no