Читать книгу The Dark Gate - Pamela Palmer - Страница 7

Jack felt like a lovesick teenager, though he was acting more like a stalker as he sat on a bench under a large oak across the street from the All Saints Church and waited for Larsen Vale to emerge from the wedding reception.

He had to see her again.

He had to know if she’d really quieted the voices or if the gut-kick reaction he’d gotten from touching her had somehow short-circuited his brain so much that he simply hadn’t heard them for a moment. And if she really could quiet his head? Then he had to convince her to stay by his side for the rest of his life. That simple. That impossible.

He leaned back against the uneven bench slats and stretched his legs out in front of him as the Monday afternoon traffic passed under a hazy summer sky. On the sidewalk in front of him, tourists walked by with their guidebooks and fanny packs.

Sweat rolled down his scalp as the ever-present voices conspired to further destroy his sanity. As a kid he’d barely noticed the noise, the voices little more than static in the background of his thoughts. Not until he was in high school did the sound escalate and distinguish itself as a mob of individual, though unintelligible, voices. But even that he’d learned to deal with until these past couple of weeks, when they’d begun to grow louder, more numerous, more agitated, by the day. He shoved his hand through his damp hair, pressing his fingers against his scalp.

Shut up. Just shut up.

But, if anything, the horde in his head grew even louder. With an angry flick of his thumb, he pushed up the volume on his iPod in a useless attempt to drown them out, and concentrated on watching for Larsen.

What were the chances she’d believe he just happened to be hanging around Dupont Circle this afternoon? That he just happened to be walking by as she left the wedding reception?

Jack grunted. Nil. Hell, even if she did believe him, her secretary would give him away the moment she told Larsen he’d stopped by her office this morning looking for her. Police business, he’d said.

He was so screwed.

His only chance of success depended on him knocking her off her feet with a single lethal blow of his charm. Yeah, right. The formidable Ms. Vale was probably immune to any man’s charm.

Damn, this sucked. He’d never had trouble attracting a woman before. He was the one women accidentally ran into, never the other way around. Now here he was, broiling in the summer sun, praying the woman would give him the time of day. She had to. He had to know if her touch was really his salvation.

A movement across the street caught his attention—a woman in a bright green dress walking out from behind the church. Stumbling, more like it. Her hair shone like gold in the sun. Her dress was splattered…red.

Larsen.

He lunged to his feet and dashed across the busy road, weaving between the traffic, heedless of the honk of horns and the squeal of brakes as he completely forgot his pretense of running into her by accident.

In the minute it took him to cross the street, she’d pulled herself together and now walked calmly, almost normally. Except he was a cop and knew better. There was a paleness to her face and a wildness in her eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday.

Those eyes were pointed straight at him, but he could swear she didn’t see him.

“Larsen.”

She visibly started, then stopped abruptly, blinking as if disoriented. As he watched, she pulled herself in and away, snapping a cool facade in place. Once more, she was the remote woman he’d met before.

“What are you doing here?” she asked with only a hint of a wobble to her voice.

“Screw that. What happened to you? You…” He motioned helplessly at the red dotting her dress. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the spots. From a distance, they’d looked like blood.

She glanced down at herself. “I spilled my punch. Once again, what are you doing here?”

Either she was amazingly adept at hiding her emotions, or he’d screwed up. Badly. But he saw something move in her eyes, a glimmer of the fear he was convinced she struggled to hide, and he knew his instincts were dead-on.

Her cool facade crumbled and she cringed and pressed her palm to her forehead.

“What’s the matter?” Jack curled his fingers around her forearm to steady her, but the moment his fingers brushed her skin, his head noise went silent. The “Hallelujah Chorus” nearly erupted from his mouth.

It wasn’t his imagination. She quieted the damn voices.

Slowly she lowered her hand. If she’d been anyone else, he might have thought he saw a sheen of tears in her eyes.

“I don’t feel well. I’m going home.”

He tightened his grip on her arm. “What happened in there?”

Her response was a moment too long in coming. “Nothing. I have a migraine. I want to get home before I throw up again.” She looked pointedly at the hand still gripping her arm, avoiding his gaze.

“Larsen…” His cell rang and he grabbed his phone and checked the Caller I.D. Police business. Hell. He stared at her, torn, as the percussion beat of his ring tone continued. He could see the faint tremble of her ripe lips, a tremble echoed in the vibration of her arm beneath his fingers.

Her gaze suddenly snapped to his. “Are you going to get that?”

“Yeah.” He gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the rush of noise in his head, and released her.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she brushed past him and strode away.

The death visions were back.

Larsen sat on the navy chenille sofa in her little houseboat and shook. Outside, the miserable day had slowly turned to a miserable evening, the sky darkening as if her mood were sucking the very color from the sky.

It didn’t happen. It couldn’t have happened. Just a dream. A terrible, waking nightmare. She hadn’t had a premonition in fifteen years. Fifteen years. She’d thought they’d stopped. Prayed they’d stopped. How could she go through this again?

Hours had passed since the wedding, yet her stomach still rolled and clenched as her mind forced her to relive the savage attacks. The blood. The rape of that poor girl.

God.

Sick guilt raked her insides with sharp claws. She’d fled. Instead of trying to stop it, instead of trying to save them, she’d fled.

Hot tears burned the backs of her eyes as the weight of too many years, too many deaths, pressed her into the cushions. As a kid, she’d believed she caused them. She’d dream about people dying and they died. Her fault. The evil living inside her.

She was eight when she saw her first premonition, the car accident that killed her mother and older brother, Kevin. She never told anyone, not even her father. How could she when she was afraid she’d somehow caused the accident? The last came when she was thirteen and saw her grandfather’s fatal tumble down the stairs.

It never once occurred to her to try to change the outcome of one of her visions. Not until today. Not until she’d run…and not died.

Restlessness forced Larsen to her feet and she paced the small houseboat, the court papers she should be reading all but forgotten in her hand. She was supposed to have died.

Always before, the cursed devil’s sight had shown her the death of someone she loved. Her mom. Her brother. But this time she’d watched her own death. And that of a stranger. Why? What did it mean?

As she paused at the window, her reflection peered back at her, riddled with a dozen dots of light from nearby apartments as if she’d captured the nightscape and her likeness in a single double exposure.

She couldn’t have seen what she thought she’d seen. One man could not control the minds of so many. Veronica had called to tell her about the terrible attack that had occurred at the wedding and to make sure she was okay. Veronica said no one remembered anything. All those who’d been hypnotized, all those who’d killed, had awakened without any memory of what they’d done.

But she hadn’t been hypnotized. She would have remembered. As would the man behind her. But she’d fled. And he’d died.

A chunk of ice settled in her stomach. She turned toward the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine, hoping it would take the sharp edge off her misery. But as she reached for the refrigerator handle, the houseboat bobbed with the telltale lurch that heralded the arrival of an intruder. Larsen tensed. She rarely had visitors, and never uninvited.

“Larsen?” The male voice was followed by the brisk rap of knuckles on the glass door. “Larsen? It’s Jack Hallihan.”

Cop. Her heart sank even as her pulse leaped with a strange and unwanted rush of pleasure. She swallowed hard. She couldn’t very well ignore him. The blinds were still open. He knew she was here. She took a deep breath and started toward the door in her bare feet.

Through the window she could see Jack Hallihan’s imposing form in the light’s soft glow. Exhaustion swept over her with the certain knowledge this was no social call. She couldn’t deal with his questions tonight. But refusing to talk to him would only make him suspicious.

With a sigh, Larsen opened the door and slipped outside into the steamy night. If she let him inside, she might have more trouble getting rid of him. Closing the door behind her, she met the piercing blue gaze leveled on her. The small light above the door cast the bones of his face in high relief, making him look even more attractive, if such a thing were possible. Heat radiated from his body and twined with the spicy scent of his aftershave, stimulating her senses.

Distance. She needed distance. She tried to move past him, but he reached for her, sliding the rough pads of his fingers down her bare arm, sending awareness dancing over her skin. Larsen looked at him, startled by the unexpected touch. His eyes had widened as if he were as surprised by the touch as she was. Why was he here? To continue his earlier line of questioning her about what she saw at the church? Or was he here for more personal reasons? She wasn’t sure. All she knew for certain was that he couldn’t succeed at either.

She threw him her stock glare, hoping to cover for the way she’d reacted to his touch, and led him aft, away from the lights, where those eyes of his couldn’t see quite so much. At the back rail, Larsen turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What can I do for you, Detective?”

He came to stand beside her, leaning a hip against the rail. Too close. She sensed a restlessness in him, a tension, that made her question the wisdom of seeking out the dark.

“I was worried about you.” His voice was as deep and rich as she remembered, a calming voice that nevertheless turned her pulse strangely erratic. She felt his probing gaze like a physical stroke. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” A lie. Tension coiled deep in her stomach. They both knew he wasn’t here out of concern for her supposed migraine.

“I assume you heard about the murder.”

Even knowing why he was here, she couldn’t stop the jerk, the small involuntary movement she prayed he hadn’t noticed.

“Yes, I heard.” But her voice was no longer steady. Just the mention brought it all rushing back. The blood. Somehow she had to convince him her running from the church was innocent, or he’d never leave her alone.

“The best I can figure…” he said, cocking his head and crossing his arms over his chest in a way that warned she had some serious explaining to do. “It happened about twenty minutes after I saw you outside the church.”

Her muscles bunched with the need to put distance between them, if not to outright run, but she knew better than to show fear to an adversary.

“Seems my migraine was timely.” She pretended not to see his frown. Instead, heart racing, she looked up at the clouds blotting out the night sky, glowing a dull orange with the reflection of the city’s lights. She felt him staring at her.

For long moments he watched her, studying her, turning her breath quick and shallow.

“Here’s the thing.” His tone was almost conversational. “I interviewed dozens of people today. Not one of them saw anything. They were upset, sure. A dead body and blood will do that.” He straightened, moving until he blocked her escape, his gaze sharp enough to cut. “But of all the people I talked to who attended that wedding, only one had eyes with the wildness that comes from witnessing violent crime. One.”

He leaned toward her until he was almost in her face. “You.”

Larsen struggled to hold her ground even as her throat went dry. “You misread me, Detective. I left the reception early because I was getting a migraine. The only wildness you saw was fear that I was going to vomit on the Metro on the way home. Which I did, by the way.”

His expression turned hard and disappointed. “You’re going to deny you saw something?”

She uncrossed her arms and moved away, unable to withstand his probing stare a moment longer. He could have stopped her if he’d wanted, but he didn’t. “There’s nothing to deny. I wasn’t there when the murder happened.”

“I’m not trying to say you were. But you saw something, or someone, that alarmed you. Something that might help me solve this case.”

“The only person who alarmed me was a poor girl who looked like she’d been undergoing chemotherapy. Otherwise, I’m afraid you’re mistaken—”

He grabbed her wrist and turned her to face him. “I’m not mistaken. I know the difference between illness, worry and fear, lady. I’ve seen them all. What I saw in your eyes was raw terror.”

“You saw what you wanted to see.”

“You’re lying to me.” He pulled her closer until she could see the deck lights reflected in his eyes like chips of blue ice. “You know something. When I first saw you outside the church, you were running. Don’t try to tell me you weren’t.”

It was as if he could see right through her! Larsen gathered every ounce of coldness she could manufacture and stared pointedly at her bound wrist, then into his eyes, but he ignored her not-so-subtle hint.

“Four women have been assaulted, now a man brutally murdered, and I don’t have a single witness.” He finally released her and turned away, raking a hand through his hair. “Not a single clue to help me solve this case.”

He whirled back to face her. “It’ll happen again, Ms. Vale. Again and again and again, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

She didn’t want to hear this. Guilt already tore her to shreds, but she couldn’t tell him. She could never tell anyone.

“Help me, Larsen.” His handsome face implored her to cooperate. “Help me stop him before he does it again.”

“I can’t. I don’t know anything.”

He stared at her for long minutes, then released his breath on a slow burst of air. “Tell me about the chemo patient.”

Larsen frowned. “Why? She was just a sick kid.”

“She caught your eye.”

“Well…yeah.”

“It’s all we’ve got to go on, Larsen. Maybe it’s nothing, but the subconscious tends to see more than we realize. Humor me.”

So she told him what she remembered about the girl in the too large clothes with the clean-shaven head and startlingly violet eyes.

When she was through, Jack’s mouth skewed left. “Doesn’t sound like much of a lead, but maybe she saw something. It should be easy enough to track her down. Was there anyone or anything else that caught your attention? Anything at all?”

“No. Nothing.” Nothing in real time, anyway. Nothing she could tell him.

His gaze held her captive even as she prayed he’d accept her answers and give up. She sensed rather than saw the predatory tension ease out of him.

“All right. If you think of anything else…”

Larsen had to bite back a nearly audible sigh of relief. “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Jack Hallihan pulled out his wallet and handed her his card. As she shoved it into her pocket with one hand, his hand closed around her other. “Larsen…”

As his warm fingers slid over hers, a flash of movement sliced through her peripheral vision. Pain exploded in her shoulder, knocking her back into the rail. She’d been hit. With a panicked gasp, she realized the thing was still on her.

An arrow. An arrow was sticking out of her shoulder! Was this some kind of sick joke?

“Get it out of me. Get it out!” She grabbed it, trying to pull it away, but pain seared through her body.

Jack grabbed her wrist. “Don’t touch it. You’ll do more damage.” He swept her into his arms and ran for the door to her houseboat. Every step made the arrow bounce, setting fire searing in her shoulder. She squeezed her eyes closed and clamped her jaw shut to keep from crying out.

“Stay here. I’m going to try to catch the archer.”

She felt the soft cushions of the sofa at her back, then Jack released her and ran for the door. Agony radiated from her shoulder outward, as if a shark had clamped onto her and would not let go. She wanted it out of her. She squeezed her eyes closed as tears ran down her cheeks.

An eternity later Jack was beside her again, his forehead glistening with sweat.

“Did you…catch him?”

“No.” He leaned over her, his blue eyes tight with concern. “Hang on. There’s an ambulance on the way.”

She could hear sirens. They were growing louder. “Did you see who did it?”

“Yeah.” He took her hand, his expression grim. “It was a bald girl, Larsen. A tiny little thing in a Redskins T-shirt.”

She stared at him. Her mouth opened then snapped shut on the metallic taste of fear.

Jack’s expression turned grave and worried. “I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.” He stroked her hair back from her face. “But I think you’re in over your head. Sooner or later you’re going to have to trust someone.”

She blinked, sending more tears sliding down her cheeks. Trust someone. The one thing she could never do.

He had to win her trust.

Jack glanced into the rearview mirror of the police-issue sedan. Tucked into the corner of the seat behind him, hidden behind tinted windows, was Larsen Vale. The answer to his prayers.

Tension tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he maneuvered the roads clogged with morning work traffic. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous over an assignment. Over anything. But never had anything mattered so much.

She quieted the voices. If he could just figure out how. Hell, he didn’t care how. All that mattered was keeping her close enough to touch.

And the only way to do that was to make her fall for him. To win her as his own. A girlfriend would stay by his side. A wife. He had to make her love him if he wanted to save his sanity. Crazy, yeah, but it was all he could think of.

Unfortunately he also had to get to the bottom of her involvement in this case, but pushing her to tell him what she knew would only earn her anger, if not her hatred. He squeezed the steering wheel until he feared it would snap off in his hands. How could he possibly win both the woman and her secrets?

He had to win her trust. Get her to volunteer the information.

Yeah, right. He’d just wine and dine her for…what? Twenty minutes? He didn’t have time. Every day he didn’t catch the rapist was another day a young woman might lose her innocence…or her life. Someone had died, now. Things were escalating.

The only thing in his favor was the bizarre twist of fate that had dropped the pretty attorney right into his hands. He had one chance to charm her. Once chance to win her over. But he had to move fast. And he had no clue how to go about charming a man-hater.

“This is kidnapping,” she muttered, her words slurred from the heavy sedative they’d given her before they’d dug the arrow out of her shoulder in the emergency room.

He glanced at her again. Her head was back, her eyes closed, a scowl marring the beauty of her face.

“Yeah. So sue me for not taking you back to your houseboat where the little archer could take another shot at you.”

“I want you to take me to a motel.”

“For the time being, you’re stuck with me.”

“I don’t want to be stuck with you. I don’t want to be stuck with anyone.”

Jack sighed. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy. “Your life’s been threatened by a murder suspect, Larsen. You’re under police protection until the captain decides otherwise.”

“I need to go back to my houseboat. I need some things.”

“You can borrow one of my T-shirts and a toothbrush. My partner’s wife can loan you whatever else you need. Try to think of this as a short vacation.”

Her frown deepened. “At your house.”

“Only the finest for D.C.’s most formidable prosecutor.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“You? No. My house? Maybe.”

She didn’t reply. He glanced into the rearview mirror to find her expression had evened out. The pain medication was kicking in.

She’d been lucky. The arrowhead was small and had gone cleanly through her shoulder, doing minimal damage. A few inches and the arrow would have gone through her heart. His own heart lurched at the thought of how easily he might have lost her—his salvation gone in the blink of an eye.

By an arrow. What in the hell was going on?

Somehow, Larsen Vale held the key to this case. How, he couldn’t begin to guess, but he’d stake his life and his reputation on the fact that she’d seen something in that church yesterday. She’d witnessed something that had sent her running from the scene. And someone knew it. All he could do now was protect her—and get her to confide in him before she was permanently silenced.

By the time he arrived at his modest row house apartment, the focus of his thoughts was fast asleep. He carried her inside and back to his bedroom, laying her on his bed. The morning sun shone through the blinds, casting thin rows of bright sunlight across both the woman and the unmade bed.

He pulled the cord, adjusting the blinds, then stared down at his very own sleeping beauty.

“What am I going to do with you?” He slid a thick lock of silky golden hair between his thumb and forefinger, feeling a shaft of desire spear through him. Damn. His own lust was a complication he could do without. But she was beautiful. There was no denying it.

His gaze traveled over her features as he drank his fill, at last. He brushed the pad of his thumb over the softness of her cheek, a fine possessiveness rising inside him. She was made for him, the cure to his madness, the escape from his own private hell.

Determination bordering on desperation fired his blood. He wouldn’t lose her. He couldn’t. He couldn’t return to the building insanity in his head knowing…knowing…the cure was lost to him. If he ran Larsen off now, how would he stay sane when the noise grew beyond bearing? How would he stand it when he knew a single touch of her hand would silence the chaos?

Stay by my side. Silence my madness.

“Trust me, Larsen,” he whispered into the stillness of the room. “When you wake up, tell me what you know. Help me catch these guys before they hurt you again.”

His gaze slid from her face to her shoulder. The sight of the bandaged wound made his gut clench. He’d whispered the words for her benefit, in the hope she’d remember them subconsciously, but he meant them, he realized. He didn’t want her hurt again. There was something about her, something fierce and proud, that drew him. Something within her he recognized in himself.

Secrets.