A Will and a Way

to me right before we crashed.”
    “Wasn’t I screaming?”
    “No.”
    “If I criticized your driving, I apologize.”
    He tightened his grip on her chin. “You told me you loved me.” He watched her mouth fall open in genuine surprise. Some men might have been insulted. Michael could bless his sense of humor. “It could technically be called a deathbed confession.”
    Had she? She could only remember reaching for him in those last seconds, knowing they were about to die together. “I was hysterical,” she began, and tried to draw back.
    “It didn’t sound like raving to me.”
    “Michael, you heard Dr. Barnhouse. I’m not supposed to have any stress. If you want to be helpful, see about some more tea.”
    “I’ve something better for relaxing the muscles and soothing the nerves.” He laid her back against the pillows, sliding down with her. Sweetly, tenderly, he ran his lips down the lines of her cheekbones. “I want to hear you tell me again, here.”
    “Michael—”
    “No, lie back.” And his hands, gentle and calm, stilled her. “I need to touch you, just touch you. There’s plenty of time for the rest.”
    He was so kind, so patient. More than once she’d wondered how such a restive, volatile man could have such comforting hands. Taking off only his shoes, he slipped into bed with her. He held her in the crook of his arm and stroked until he felt her sigh of relief. “I’m going to take care of you,” he murmured. “When you’re well, we’ll take care of each other.”
    “I’ll be fine tomorrow.” But her voice was thick and sleepy.
    “Sure you will.” He’d keep her in bed another twenty-four hours if he had to chain her. “You haven’t told me again. Are you in love with me, Pandora?”
    She was so tired, so drained. It seemed she’d reached a point where she could fight nothing. “What if I am?” She managed to tilt her head back to stare at him. His fingers rubbed gently at her temple, easing even the dull echo of pain. “People fall in and out of love all the time.”
    “People.” He lowered his head so that he could just skim her lips with his. “Not Pandora. It infuriates you, doesn’t it?”
    She wanted to glare but closed her eyes instead. “Yes. I’m doing my best to reverse the situation.”
    He snuggled down beside her, content for now. She loved him. He still had time to make her like the idea. “Let me know how it works out,” he said, and lulled her to sleep.

Chapter Twelve
    M ichael studied the dark stains on the garage floor with a kind of grim fascination. Draining the brake fluid from an intended victim’s car was a hackneyed device, one expected from time to time on any self-respecting action-adventure show. Viewers and readers alike developed a certain fondness for old, reliable angles in the same way they appreciated the new and different. Though it took on a different picture when it became personal, the car careering out of control down a steep mountain road was as old as the Model T.
    He’d used it himself, just as he’d used the anonymous gift of champagne. And the bogus-telegram routine, he mused as an idea began to stir. Just last season one of Logan’s heroines of the week had been locked in a cellar—left in the dark after going to investigate a window slamming in the wind. It too was a classic. Each and every one of the ploys used against himself and Pandora could have been lifted from one of his own plots.Randall had pointed it out, though he’d been joking. It didn’t seem very funny.
    Michael cursed himself, knowing he should have seen the pattern before. Perhaps he hadn’t simply because it had been a pattern, a trite one by Hollywood standards. Whether it was accidental or planned, Michael decided he wasn’t about to be outplotted. He’d make his next move taking a page from the classic mystery novels. Going into the house, Michael went to the phone and began to structure his scene.
    He was just completing his last call when Pandora came down the hall toward him. “Michael, you’ve got to do something about Sweeney.”
    Michael leaned back against the newel post and studied her. She looked wonderful—rested, healthy and annoyed. “Isn’t it time for your afternoon nap?”
    “That’s just what I’m talking about.” The annoyance deepened between her brows and pleased him. “I don’t need an afternoon nap. It’s been over a week since the accident.” She pulled a leather thong out of her hair and began to