Читать книгу Dark Sins and Desert Sands - Stephanie Draven - Страница 10

What lives without a body, and speaks without a tongue? Everyone can hear it, but it’s seen by none.

Her plea was an echo and it tore something inside him, making him thrash. Another sound followed, shrill as a siren, and he thrashed again. Something shredded as a cacophony of beeps exploded in his brain. Someone was shaking him, pulling him out of Layla Bahset’s mind and back into his own body.

It was the teenaged hooker that woke him up. A good thing, too. The alarm clock was ringing and probably had been for some time. What he’d seen inside Layla’s dream had nearly unraveled his sanity and now a headache roared behind his eyes with renewed vengeance.

“What’s the matter with you?” Missy asked, eyeing the shreds of fabric in his hands. He looked down to see that he’d torn the bedsheets, ripped them with such violence that lint floated in the air around them like fairy dust. What’s more, he was burning up, and the motel room was fetid with his sweat. Then there was the blood, freely flowing from both his nostrils.

Missy took a few steps back. “Dude, are you sick? Are you trippin’?”

What was wrong with him? Ray used the ruined sheet to soak up the blood. He felt as chapped and dehydrated as if he’d been trekking a real desert. “Get me something to drink,” he barked, and tried to get his shaking under control while she padded across his room and returned with a cloudy glass of his bourbon. He drank it down in three swallows and it burned all the way.

Squinting his eyes back into focus, Ray saw that his bag was open, his papers all over the floor. There it all was; all the clues and clippings, the file folders and photographs. “You went through my things?”

“I’m not a thief,” the hooker said. “But I am a snoop … or didn’t you see that when you were snooping in my head?”

A group of hooting partiers crowed about their winnings in the parking lot outside and Ray winced at the noise. The motel room door did little to block the sound and it bothered him. Everything bothered him. The colors, the smells, the sounds.

“So who is she?” Missy asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it. In fact, I’ll pay you double to just shut up.”

“Double! No shit, big spenda!” the hooker gasped in feigned astonishment as she waved Layla Bahset’s picture around. “Seriously, who is she?”

Layla Bahset was his tormentor, the cool-eyed bitch who had tried to win his trust—tried to convince him that there was something between them. But it had only been a trick to get him to confess to crimes he didn’t commit. She’d abandoned him in that hellhole. She was a fiend. But now he’d seen inside her mind and … What had he seen?

He should know. He’d destroyed enough minds since he’d been cursed with these powers. He’d left his jailers and torturers trapped and ruined, afraid and devastated. But he wasn’t sure that even he could have taken all her memories and buried them in sand. And he hadn’t done it. Someone else had. Someone else, someone more powerful, had gotten to her first. The realization rocked his world. There might be others, just like him …

“You should really keep all your notes on a laptop or something,” Missy was saying. “Otherwise you just seem like a paranoid nut job.”

He wasn’t paranoid. They’d taken his dog tags from him and put a black bag over his head. They’d bound him with a plastic zip cord that cut into his wrists. His protestations of innocence had made no difference at all. These were just the times.

Ray’s nose seemed to have stopped bleeding, so he threw the bloody rags onto the floor. Then, with a shaking hand, he reached for the glass and the bourbon and filled it. “You can go now.”

Missy didn’t move. “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“Will you just get the hell out?”

Missy snorted. “Are you going to make me?”

He couldn’t make her do anything in this state. He could barely hold his drink. “Fine, stay or go, I don’t care, but if you stay, put some clothes on.”

“I am wearing clothes,” Missy objected, straightening her miniskirt so that it covered more of her legs. “Besides, you were all hot and bothered in your sleep. So what’s the matter now? Don’t you want me?”

He realized she was actually propositioning him. “Not gonna happen, Jailbait.”

“Why? I don’t charge much. Don’t you like me? I’m not your type?”

“Ask me again in ten years,” Ray said, too weak to get up and gather his things, and still thinking about the woman who was very much his type, all naked in the sand.

Missy arranged some of Ray’s notes in a new pattern on the floor. “Maybe I can help you find the guy who ratted you out. That’s who you’re looking for in all these little pieces of paper, isn’t it?”

“Nobody ratted me out.” Ray took another swallow of liquor. It soothed his nerves. “Somebody flat-out lied about me.”

“And you think this woman in the picture knows who it was?”

Ray nodded. But a fat lot of good it was going to do him now, with her mind wiped clean. He’d hit a dead end and now Missy was laughing at him. “What the hell is so funny, Missy?”

“This chick is a shrink but you were trying to get into her head.”

“Hilarious.” Ray smiled wanly, throwing her a wad of cash. He guessed she’d earned it.

He’ll hurt me if he finds you here, the lioness had said. He’s watching. Was it just the crazy talk of a woman who’d had her mindscape destroyed by someone like Ray? Possibly. But she’d asked him for help and he’d sensed that she was actually in danger.

He shouldn’t give a damn. But he did.

“Hey, Jailbait,” he said to Missy, who was on her way out the door. “Maybe you can help out … I want you to follow Layla Bahset.”

Layla gasped fully awake. The horned monster had only been a dream. She was safe and alone in her own bed. The only thing she had to fear was the syrupy sweetness running through her veins, a dull but incessant throb between her legs. She still remembered the feel of the monster that had crawled into the cradle of her thighs and she didn’t have to be Dr. Freud to understand the symbolism. Could there be a more potent icon of masculinity than a well-endowed bull?

She thought she wasn’t the kind of woman who responded to things like that, but now the sensual tension streaked across the canvas of her body and trailed off, leaving her … unfinished. Incomplete. Wanting. It was better when she didn’t want things, when she didn’t need things, when she didn’t feel like some kind of flower bud that wouldn’t blossom.

A swath of morning sun made its way up the stark white bed and she watched it move over the pillows. Dear God, how long had she slept?

It wasn’t until she slipped out of bed that she saw the jagged rips in the beige silk headboard. The fabric was slashed, like some horned animal had pierced it in the midst of angry passion, and Layla’s heart seized. Throwing on a robe, she ran to check the bolts on her front door. All the locks were still in place. The alarm was set. There was no sign that anyone had been here. No sign at all—except for her torn headboard.

Layla returned to the bedroom and stepped out onto the balcony. The whole expanse of Las Vegas spread out beneath her at a comforting distance. Unless the man in her dreams could fly, there was no way he was actually in her high-rise bedroom last night. It was a dream. A nightmare. She must have slashed the headboard herself. Her stalker had terrorized her so thoroughly that she could no longer tell what was real.

She knew the old saying. Physician, Heal Thyself. It wasn’t going to cut it anymore. She’d built her life on a shaky foundation and now it all seemed ready to come falling down. Reluctantly, she admitted to herself that it was time to ask for help.

She should’ve invited Nate Jaffe to her condo, but it was Layla’s compulsion to pretend everything was fine that made her agree to meet Nate for dinner. She donned her lovely new red dress, the gift from Isabel. Pearls might have been a nice touch, but the only jewelry she ever wore was a sixpence coin on a long chain around her neck. Her first memory was finding that coin in her hand, and now she was afraid to be without it. Once she was dressed for dinner, she put on her happy face and hailed a cab. And why not? In this city, everyone wore a mask. From the feathered showgirls at the Rio to the gondoliers at the Venetian. In Las Vegas, how was anyone to know what was real?

A young blonde teenager in a miniskirt was standing by the street, sucking on a red Popsicle, probably in some vain hope it would cool her off. Technically, prostitution wasn’t legal in Vegas, but it was a technicality barely observed and it was clear to Layla that the young girl was working. Another lost soul in need of saving …

The cab ride to the casino was brief. Stepping from the taxi onto the curb, Layla was hit with an oppressive wall of heat. It made her dark hair wilt, her knees soften, and little beads of perspiration gather on the back of her neck. The Egyptian motif of the Luxor had always bothered her. She told herself it was because the decor was a callow mockery of her ethnic heritage, but it was more than that. Layla couldn’t bear to look upon the statuary outside, and having to actually pass under the sphinx at the entrance of the casino made her shudder. What’s more, the inside of the pyramid was a claustrophobic maze of confusion. Balconies hung out over the floor, elevators moved along diagonal paths, and the lighting seemed low and eerie.

It shouldn’t be so stark, she thought to herself. Ancient Egypt was a riot of paint and color. Why these thoughts crowded her mind, she couldn’t say and, already upset, Layla wasn’t sure how she was going to get through this night.

At the restaurant inside, Dr. Jaffe had already ordered for her, and now smiled expectantly from across the table. Layla gave him what she hoped was her fondest smile. They ate. They talked. He complimented her dress. It was all very pleasant. After all, Nate Jaffe was a very nice man. More importantly, he was a psychiatrist and she needed his help.

As she dragged her fork over a nest of green asparagus sprouts in a hollandaise sauce, Layla thought about what she should say. I can’t remember who I am. No, if she started with that, he’d realize how long she’d been pretending, and feel betrayed. Someone is stalking me. That would certainly get his attention, but he’d insist on calling the police. I think someone can hunt me down inside my own mind. If she told him that, he’d worry about her sanity. Which, admittedly, he should.

“Don’t you like your filet?” Dr. Jaffe asked, peering over his spectacles.

“You know I’m indifferent to food,” Layla said, then dared to glance up at him. People weren’t meant to be indifferent, were they? They were meant to enjoy the pleasure of taste. They were meant to inhale beautiful scents that made them sigh. People were built to feel strong emotions other than fear, weren’t they? It was something hardwired, right down to the lizard core of the brain. She was meant to feel things, to taste things, to take pleasure in things, even if she couldn’t remember who she really was. “Would you kiss me?” Layla asked.

Nate Jaffe stopped midsentence. She had no idea what he’d been saying, and from the look on his face, neither did he. She’d kissed him before.

She’d gone to bed with him, too. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her. But in the past, she’d never felt more than the faintly soothing sensation of skin upon skin. Last night, in her dream with the monster, she’d felt something more. Now she wanted the man she was dating to take the spark inside her and coax it into a flame.

Dr. Jaffe didn’t make any sudden moves and when he leaned forward to kiss her, Layla closed her eyes. It was a very proper kiss, one borne of sincere affection, but it didn’t make her feel like she had last night. Nothing had changed, and even the decorative hieroglyphs on the wall, stolen from some ancient tomb, mocked her with their message of doom.

It was the hieroglyphs—not the kiss—that made the blood drain from her face.

“Layla?” Nate Jaffe was staring at her, but she couldn’t reply. “What’s wrong?”

I can read hieroglyphics, she thought. That’s what’s wrong. Among so very many other things. The symbols swam before her eyes, taunting her. There had to be a simple explanation for it. Maybe she’d been an archeology student in college. Maybe her parents had been curators of a museum. If she remembered her past, it would somehow make sense. “I have to tell you something,” Layla began.

Dr. Jaffe’s face reddened and he spread his palms on the table. “You don’t have to say it, Layla. I’ve known for some time that your heart isn’t in this relationship.”

Layla’s mouth fell slightly open. “Nate—”

“Are you going to deny it?”

Layla brought her lips back together, unable to tell even one more lie. A fatal moment of silence passed between them before he looked away. “We’re both adults,” he said, motioning to the waiter for the bill. “Let’s just end things while we can still be friends.”

She hadn’t come here to break up with him. She’d come here for his help, but given the hurt in his eyes, she didn’t dare ask him for anything right now. She’d call him tomorrow. Things would be better in the morning. They’d have to be.

He paid the bill and escorted her out of the hotel like the gentleman that he was. As they passed out of the lobby onto the street outside, he even gave her fingers an affectionate squeeze. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out,” he said, and then, because he looked so forlorn, Layla pressed a very soft kiss to his cheek.

After four tours of duty, scouting missions were a thing of second nature to Ray. What amazed him about Vegas was the ease with which he could hide in plain sight. Poised near the Luxor entrance with a disposable camera in hand, pretending to take photos of the sphinx, he knew the precise moment that Layla Bahset stepped out of the casino wearing that smokinghot red dress.

He snapped a quick shot of her giving her date the polite brush-off. Ray didn’t recognize the guy with her. He was older, with silver hair and gave off a well-mannered vibe. Totally not the type he would’ve envisioned for her, but whatever. Ray didn’t think the guy was a threat. Even so, as she walked away from her date, Layla looked upset. She started down the drive toward the strip, rubbing her bare arms against the cooler night air.

Keeping his head down, Ray followed her, but he wasn’t the only one. Maybe it was his training. Maybe it was a preternatural instinct. Maybe it was because he couldn’t figure out why a cabbie would be wearing sunglasses at night. Whatever it was, he turned his head at just the right moment to see the driver lift a radio to his mouth, his attention riveted on Layla’s retreating form.

Son of a bitch, Ray thought. So she was in some kind of danger. And not just from him.

Ray didn’t like the crowds, didn’t like the noise and the neon lights of the strip, but he kept his eyes on her. As he followed her, he noticed that she had a catlike grace. Maybe it wasn’t just a fluke that she envisioned herself as a lioness. Still, she didn’t seem comfortable in the night and she sure didn’t have the focus of a predator. She didn’t even look up to see the dark sedan that pulled around the corner, creeping behind her. Seemingly oblivious to her peril, she crossed the street, her sensible black pumps clicking against the pavement.

Ray followed her. So did the sedan.

Layla paused on the sidewalk outside the Golden Calf Casino. It was a crappy little hotel, nestled amongst the bigger, more glamorous ones. Hawkers and hobos gathered beneath the gilded statue of a steer, upon which was fastened a sign announcing the nightly pancake special. Layla stared, as if she were lost.

It was at that moment two big, beefy guys stepped out of the dark sedan.

Ray could have let it happen. He could have let them—what, arrest her? Attack her? Kill her? It’d be the least she deserved. But he couldn’t let it happen. She was still the only chance he had at proving his innocence, he reminded himself. The information he needed was buried inside her ruined memory, and as long as he kept her alive, he still had a chance of digging it up.

Ray strode toward her and she turned. He saw just the corner of her eyes, the green glint of surprise. It was enough. He slipped into the depths of those eyes and grabbed onto the edge of her thoughts. “Put your hand in mine and keep walking,” he said.

Forcing her to obey should’ve been easy, but with her, nothing ever was. He slammed into the same wall of resistance, and not wanting to wait for his powers to take full effect, he grabbed her hand and yanked her forward.