Free Iris Johansen by The Ladyand the Unicorn

patting her hand absently. “And we had to wait damn near two weeks to get them. Those Indians have no sense of the value of time.”
    “Nepal,” Janna repeated faintly, and she could feel the waves of nausea wash through her. “Nepal.”
    “Are you all right, Janna?” Santine asked, frowning, his eyes on her dazed face. “You’re as white as a sheet.”
    From far away she could see them all staring at her with varying degrees of puzzlement, as if from the opposite end of a tunnel. “Please excuse me,” she muttered numbly. “I’m not feeling very well.” Then she was hurrying away from them, her mindblank, only her instincts carrying her toward the courtyard door.
    “Janna!”
    She heard Santine’s imperious shout, but it failed to pierce the ice that was wrapping her in its comforting embrace. She was in the courtyard, running across it, the cool, crisp autumn air striking sharply against her hot cheeks. Strange they should be hot, when the rest of her felt so cold.
    Then she was in the woods, running blindly through the shrubbery. She could feel the branches and bushes tearing at her as she raced mindlessly through the estate grounds. She had no idea of destination, yet she wasn’t really surprised when she broke free of the woods and found herself on the top of the cliff. The outline of the gazebo was a graceful welcoming sight against the star-flung darkness of the horizon. It looked oddly comforting, almost homelike, to Janna in that moment of desolation, and she crept within its shelter like a wounded animal seeking a cave to lick its wounds.

Four
    Janna curled on the cushioned gazebo seat, tucking her feet beneath her and leaning on the redwood railing, while she stared sightlessly into the moonlit darkness. The ice was beginning to melt now, as she’d feared it would, and the pain was a throbbing ache in her breast. She could feel the silent tears running helplessly down her cheeks, but she made no attempt to stop them. Someone should cry, damn it. Someone should care.
    “I thought I’d find you here,” Santine said grimly, from the entrance of the gazebo. Though the black-and-white elegance of his tuxedo appeared as immaculate as ever, his hair was ruffled and he was breathing heavily, as if he’d been running. “Now, will you kindly explain what the hell that was all about back there?”
    She didn’t answer as he came slowly forward and sat down beside her. She could feel his eyes on her in the shadowed dimness of the redwood canopy, but for the first time since she’d met him, she was not experiencing that suffocating electric awareness. He was just a presence in the darkness.
    “Did you notice how red her fingernails were?” she asked numbly, not looking at him. Somehow those blood-red-tipped claws buried so sensuously in the fur wouldn’t leave her mind.
    “Sylvia Waterman’s?” Santine asked impatiently. She could see his shadowed face frown in puzzlement.“You’ll forgive me if I can’t comprehend what Sylvia’s rather garish manicure has to do with this.”
    “Tiger, tiger, burning bright, in the forest of the night,” Janna quoted feverishly, the tears flowing faster now, her throat aching. “So beautiful. But there won’t be any more tigers in the forest, will there?”
    “Is that why you’re so upset?” Santine asked, frowning. “Because Sylvia Waterman had the bad taste to buy a tiger-skin coat?”
    “Do you know how many tigers had to die to create a coat of that quality?” Janna asked huskily. “To match those stripes so exactly?” Her voice broke. “Do you know how many tigers are left in the world?”
    “My God, you’re crying,” Santine said wonderingly. He reached out a hand to tilt her face up, so that the dappled moonlight fell on her brimming eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. “Oh, hell!” Janna felt herself being pulled forcefully into his embrace, her face crushed into the starched crispness of his white shirt. She could feel the strong beat of