Читать книгу Haunted - Gena Showalter - Страница 8

Harper was utterly baffled when Levi gave her painting a once-over, asked a single question, then turned and left her apartment. He did this after she’d overcome her urge to vomit and placed the wretched canvas—though perfectly painted—in the heart of her living room, just for his benefit. Sure he’d paused to eye Lana, as any man with a pulse would have done—and even some without, surely—but he hadn’t so much as called out a token “Don’t leave town.” Or even a very necessary “I’m on the case, no worries.”

The door slammed ominously behind him, echoing throughout the somewhat dilapidated two-bedroom apartment with plush furnishings Lana had restored with loving care, a hobby of hers. Their decorating style was Match Smatch. Every piece was an odd color and shape, and nothing harmonized.

Levi’s question played through her mind. “You said there was blood. Where is it?”

The answer was simple. Seeing the blood on the canvas freaked her out, so every morning, after her subconscious mind forced her to add it back, she erased it, leaving the walls pristine and clean.

“That has to be a record for you,” Lana said, her Lithuanian accent nonexistent because her darker emotions weren’t yet engaged.

Harper purposely kept her back to the gruesome scene of torture and death she had created and kept her gaze on her friend. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Had the painting disgusted Detective Snarls? Was he even then searching for his handcuffs, intending to take Harper into lockup? No. No way. He would have dragged her with him, not allowing her out of his sight. He wasn’t the type to cross his fingers and hope she stayed put. Even when he’d left her alone in his living room, he’d kept his bedroom door open so that he could hear her movements.

“I’ve seen you scare off a man within an hour of meeting you, but five minutes? You must have done something really special to this one.”

Harper snorted. “Wasn’t like I asked him to meet my parents or anything.” And, bonus, she never would. Three days after her fourteenth birthday, her dad had taken off and never looked back. After that, Mommy Manners had forced her to become even more involved in pageants, and Harper had eventually cracked, poisonous words she still regretted spilling out. Though she’d tried to make amends, her mother hadn’t spoken to her in years. “But you know, he could have had the decency to invite himself to breakfast.” They had details to hammer out, right? “I mean, he wants to ask you out. Shouldn’t he try to butter me up or something, so I’ll put in a good word for him?”

“Uh, no, no, he not be asking me out.”

“He said he would.”

“Well, he lied or changed his mind because that man has a jones for a hot blonde with a taste for destroying fairy-tale princess.”

Hope fluttered through her, causing her heart to skip a beat. “First, the taste is justified. Sleeping Beauty sucks. Evil showed up and instead of fighting she took a nap.”

“Is that reason enough for you to buy figurines of her likeness just to smash when you’re angry?”

“Yeah. And second,” she continued, “there’s just no way you’re right about the cop wanting me. But go ahead and tell me why you think so, beginning once again with how smoking hot you think I am and ending with how you think he’s willing to drop to his knees and beg me to go out with him, and don’t leave out a single detail.”

Lana rolled her eyes. The bold shadow she wore gave those eyes an exotic, smoky look, extending all the way to her temples in glittery points. “You are hot. He will beg. You will say no—and don’t try to deny it. I noticed your antiman campaign. I will call you stupid. You will paint a mustache on my face while I sleep. I will carve the legs out from under your bed. We will laugh. The end. Now, tell. Will he help you or not? Because I will hurt him if not.”

Okay, so it wasn’t the story she’d hoped for but it was true nonetheless. “I might have you hurt him, anyway. After I’m done with him, of course.” He was surly with a capital S-U-R-L-Y, glaring at her when she’d entered his apartment after he’d clearly invited her in—with his eyes. “He needs someone to turn his frown upside down. By hanging him out of a window by his ankles.”

“Just say a word, and it is done.”

Oh, how she adored Lethal Lana.

They’d met in junior school, when Lana’s family moved to the States, and their instant connection had changed the very fabric of Harper’s life. Harper, the “lady” of her mother’s dreams, had been fascinated by Milana Buineviciute, the wild child of her mother’s nightmares.

A (now reformed) smoker, drinker and full-time cusser who never backed down from a fight, Lana had taught Harper how to get down and dirty with brass knuckles and steel-toed boots. Harper had taught Lana to channel the jagged edges of her emotions into art, and the exchange had bonded them.

They balanced each other, even in looks. Lana’s hair was naturally dark, almost jet, but she’d bleached the straight-as-a-board strands and then dyed them neon red, a color that complemented her cream-and-rose complexion perfectly. Her features were bold, aggressive, and yet her green eyes were always at half-mast, a sultry invitation to peel away her clothing and have your wicked way with her. Or so Harper had gathered from any man who’d ever looked at her.

Even as fatigued as Lana currently appeared, and had, for these past few weeks, with bruises marring the delicate tissue under her eyes, her lips chapped from constantly being chewed, and the weight she’d dropped from her already slender frame, the girl was a showstopper.

“Maybe we should move,” Harper said. “We’ll just pack my precious valuables and your crap and—”

“No!” Lana shouted, then repeated softly, “No. I stay here.”

A relieved breath escaped her.

After Harper had snapped out of her first blackout and seen what she’d painted, she had walked the streets trying to reason things out. Lost in her thoughts, she’d unknowingly entered the worst part of town. She’d ended up in front of this building, and a desire to live here had instantly consumed her. She’d raced home to tell Lana, and Lana had paled, burst into tears for no reason. Well, there had been a reason, but she still refused to say.

Eventually Harper managed to talk her friend into subletting their place and moving here. But where Harper had thrived, Lana had declined all the more. And yet, she couldn’t be dragged out with a tank.

Harper felt guilty about that, she did, but she had no idea what to do.

“By the way, we are not done talking about the cop,” Lana said, calm now and rubbing her hands together with glee. “I saw the way you looked at him so I must ask. By ‘done with him’ did you mean you will hurt him when you jump into his arms and beg him to marry you?”

Harper rolled her eyes, and it was then that she noticed the black shadow creeping along the walls of the living room. Dread poured through her veins, hot and as slick as oil. She knew that shadow, had battled it each time a blackout descended, and knew it would crawl down the walls, consume the entire room and try to swallow her whole.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” she muttered, grabbing her purse and stalking into the hallway outside their apartment, overly warm air enveloping her. The darkness would catch up to her, but that wouldn’t stop her from running.

The floor whined with her every step, other apartment doors slammed closed and the overhead light flickered on and off, on and off. Creepy, yes, but it suited her new frame of mind.

Lana, in her long-sleeved top and pajama pants with a tool belt painted around the waist, stayed close at her heels. “You okay?”

“I will be.” I hope. Only Harper was able to see the shadows, and she could guess why. Either she was halfway down the road to crazy or she was already standing at the edge, waving goodbye to the life she’d once lived.

She quickened her pace. As always, a pretty young girl stood in front of one of the doors, trying to peer inside an apartment that was not her own. Black hair fell in silky waves to her shoulders. Usually when Harper passed her, the girl remained quiet and unaware, her attention locked on whatever she saw through the obstruction. This time, her head whipped in Harper’s direction and violet eyes more otherworldly than human pierced her to her soul.

“Such a naughty girl,” said the teenager in a voice chilled by lack of emotion. “You should have known better.”

Surprised, Harper stumbled over her own foot.

Lana flipped the girl off and said, “Tu mane uzknisai.” She waited for Harper—who knew she’d just told the girl how ticked she was—to straighten up before hurrying on.

“What’d I do?” Harper demanded of the girl, looking over her shoulder. She hadn’t had a serious boyfriend in over a year and hadn’t been on a date in months, even before her whole “no touching” rule. There’d been no naughtiness in her life. None. Well, not until today, when she’d eaten Levi up with her eyes. “Were you listening through the cop’s walls while I was with him, you little—”

“I never should teach you to fight.” Lana motioned her forward. “She clearly out of mind. Pay no attention or she drag you into her insane.”

Another full-on appearance of her accent, proving Lana was as affected by the girl’s taunt as Harper. For that reason, she let the subject drop. Until Harper solved the painting mystery, Lana had enough to deal with—whatever “enough” entailed.

A few minutes later, they were outside, the pulsing heart of Oklahoma coming into view. Tall structures with chrome and glass on every floor knifed toward a baby-blue sky with no hint of clouds. Thick green trees with curling branches lined the river walk and overly crowded sidewalks. Sidewalks far more crowded than usual, in fact. On the streets, cars of every color whizzed past, the speed limit clearly a suggestion not to be heeded.

There was a deep chill in the November air, yet Harper remained unfazed. “So, anyway,” she said, getting them back on track, “if you hate the apartment so much, why do you want to stay?” She asked even though the very idea of leaving made her quake. She asked even though she’d asked before and Lana had not answered.

“I don’t hate the place. I belong there.”

That was something, at least. “But—”

“Give me another but, and I smack yours!”

Harper laughed, she just couldn’t help herself.

A man and woman walking toward them jumped, as though startled by the sound of her voice. The pair gave her a strange look before passing her. So she was in her winter pj’s, like Lana. So the heck what!

“So where we go?” Lana asked.

After a moment’s thought, a heavy sigh left her. “Let’s go to the place that started us on this journey. Maybe if I figure out what happened to me, I’ll stop hearing screams of pain in every single one of my dreams.”

REMAINING IN THE SHADOWS, Levi kept pace behind the two females. What a striking pair they made. The tall redhead and the petite blonde, both feminine beyond imagining. Nearly every guy that passed them stared at the redhead, dismissing Harper as if she just couldn’t compare.

Idiots, he thought. There was a delicacy to Harper, a fragility, yet when she opened her mouth you discovered just how much of a ballbuster she was. The contrast was exhilarating.

But those blue, blue eyes of hers—those haunted eyes with their secrets and pain and a thousand questions waiting to be answered—continued to, well, haunt him. As much as they would have turned him off any other woman, and should have turned him off her, he wanted her more with every second that passed. The shame and guilt were completely gone, and now, every time he caught sight of her, an urge to protect her rose up, one stronger than before, nearly overwhelming him.

A man had to touch a woman to protect her, and he really wanted to touch Harper again. That softness … that heat …

Figure out her mystery first.

He’d walked into her apartment, and for a second he’d seen crumbling walls, even a rat racing across his feet. But then in a snap, he’d seen freshly painted walls of bright yellow and blue, colorful furniture and every surface scrubbed clean. The momentary hallucination had freaked him out, but he’d said nothing. Then, after viewing her painting, a gruesome thing to be sure and exactly as she’d described it—a man standing over a bound, battered and naked female, a knife in his hand—he’d needed a moment to collect himself. Part of him had wanted to gather Harper close and make sure she was kept safe, even from the past. The other part of him had wanted to shake her for not coming to him sooner.

If what she’d painted hadn’t sprung from an overactive imagination, the only way to have witnessed such a scene was to have been in the room with the killer. A room like that wouldn’t have windows. So, discarding the overactive imagination argument for the time being—something he would do until proven otherwise—she had either aided and abetted the killer or had been captured herself and had somehow managed to escape. Levi doubted the first. Harper’s aversion to blood was real; no one could fake the draining of color from their face. And that, of course, left the second option ….

Actually, there was a third possibility, he realized. She could have been captured and killed.

Death wasn’t the end of life. He knew that beyond any doubt. Knew spirits existed eternally. Only problem was, he’d never developed the ability to see the spirits in the unseen realm, and at thirty-four, he doubted he ever would.

He’d been told only specifically gifted people could see into the invisible world around them. He’d also heard that with specific exercises, the gift could be developed over time, but he’d never tried any of them. Now he kinda regretted that. Two of his coworkers possessed the ability and they always uncovered answers pertaining to the worst of cases, even those deemed unsolvable, when no one else could.

Levi could have used some of that uncovering now.

He’d get his answers soon enough, though. He always did. And yeah, he should be on the phone, finding out what he could about Harper and her past, as well as her roommate’s past, but he’d heard the pair stomping and chattering down the hall and he’d decided to follow them instead. He was glad he had.

A few interesting tidbits he’d already picked up. They loved each other, were comfortable together. They talked and laughed, teased each other good-naturedly. Yet ninety percent of the people who passed them eyed them as if they were certifiable, even the males drooling over Lana. And as beautiful as the redhead was, and as fragile as Harper appeared, not a single male approached them.

Of the remaining ten percent, well, five percent eyed them with amusement, but the other five eyed them with fear. That same remaining five-and-five eyed him with sheer terror. He was used to people turning away from him, or outright running from him, as if he were a mass murderer with a blood vendetta or something. But usually those people were criminals, and he’d just caught them committing heinous crimes.

Finally the two women stopped in front of an art gallery, their happy moods draining and leaving only grim expectation. The place was small but open, with big glass windows staring into an elegant space with columns and hanging lights.

Harper flattened her hand on one of the panes. “I was here, I remember that much.”

“Yes, and you sold bazillion paintings that night.”

The accent … Czech, maybe.

“And you …”

“Left early on arm of some loser.” Guilt saturated the redhead’s tone.

“Yes, and I failed to come home.”

Neither female knew he was here, listening. The fact that they were searching for answers ruled out the possibility of an overactive imagination entirely. Yeah, people could convince themselves of the strangest things and actually think they were real, but they usually couldn’t get someone else to agree with them.

The hand on the pane, so delicate and tiny in comparison to his, fluttered to Harper’s neck. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, seeming to ponder the fate of the world before a slow smile curled her lips, lighting her expression with a mix of pride and sadness. “I was so happy by the end of the show, my nervousness gone. My first genuine presentation was a raging success, more so than I could ever have dreamed, even as amazingly talented as I am, and every painting sold.”

Yeah, there was no way this woman could have aided a murderer. He knew criminals, had dealt with them on a daily basis for years, and yeah, some of them were good actors, well able to mask the monster within, but that smile … that sadness … combined with her physical reactions, there was just no way this was an act.

If he was wrong, he’d shoot himself in the face.

He was going to find out the truth. He was going to help her.

“What next? You remember?”

He watched as a tremor rocked the curve of Harper’s spine, spiraling into her limbs. Nearly knocked her off her feet. “I … I …” She wrapped her arms around her middle, skin turning a light shade of green.

“You do not do this now,” the redhead rushed to add. “We come back later.”

“No,” Levi said, stepping from the shadows, “you won’t. You do this now, Harper.” As sick as she currently appeared, she might not work up the nerve to return.

In unison, both women spun to face him. Harper reacted first. With a face bathed in panic and a mouth hanging open to unleash a scream, she jacked up her knee—and nailed him in the balls.