by Amanda Quick
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes.”
The fever heat in his eyes was just a trick of the moonlight, she decided. It was already fading. But as she watched he used the towel to dash sweat off his forehead.
“You’re not feeling ill?” she asked.
“No, damn it, I am not ill. There’s nothing wrong. You can go back to bed.”
Understanding whispered through her.
“You came out here to think about the killer’s poems and the man you noticed in the photos, didn’t you?” she said. “You’re working. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
She started to turn back toward the shadowed front room of the villa.
“You asked me why I did not marry Patricia after she was . . . widowed,” he said. “I told you it was because the violence that took place on the hotel rooftop frightened her. That was true but it wasn’t the whole truth. There’s more to the story.”
She stopped and faced him. “I’m listening.”
“For generations the men of the Sundridge line have had a tendency to experience odd dreams.”
“Everyone has strange dreams from time to time.”
“Not like the Sundridge curse dreams,” Nick said. Grim certainty resonated in the words. “Not like my dreams.”
“How are they different?”
“The kind of dreams I’m talking about feel more like visions. Sometimes they seem like premonitions. I get the sense that if I don’t do something—if I don’t act—someone will die.”
“Okay, that kind of dreaming definitely sounds unnerving.”
“The visions used to strike randomly, day or night. But I’ve developed some control over them. Most of my ancestors found some way to cope with the curse, too. But it’s very easy for those who witness a man in a fever dream to conclude that he is . . . unbalanced. That kind of dreaming makes intimate relationships—marriage—highly problematic. Disturbing.”
“Your dreams made Patricia think you might be insane?”
“We never shared a bed but at one point during the short time that we were together she walked in on me one night when I was dreaming.”
“Like I did just now?”
“You thought I was ill.”
“It looked like you were running a fever. I didn’t think you were crazy.”
“You might change your mind if I told you what I just saw in my vision,” Nick said.
“Try me.”
Once again he fell silent. Once again she thought he might not respond.
“I saw a man moving through gray fog,” he said. “Now and then he comes across someone else in the mist. He kills the other person and for a while the fog clears. It’s as if he has performed a sacrifice. He finds himself on top of a mountain. He can see for miles. But the fog always returns. When it does he realizes that another sacrifice is required. Sacrifices are not performed randomly. They require a ritual.”
“We’re talking about the Poet, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“What does your vision tell you about him?”
“He’s not simply a cold-blooded businessman who kills for money. I think he murders people because on some level he believes that is the only thing that keeps him sane.”
“And he doesn’t comprehend that murdering people in a ritual sacrifice is exactly what makes him insane?”
“That is the one thing he can never admit or acknowledge.”
“Which means you’ve figured out his deepest, most closely held secret, his vulnerable point.”
Nick watched her in silence for a very long time.
“You understand, don’t you?” he said finally.
“Your fever dreaming sounds a lot like what I do when I focus my camera. I open my senses, my inner eye, and try to see beneath the surface. I try to ask the right question, the one that unlocks a few secrets.” She smiled. “It’s called intuition, Nick. Neither one of us is crazy.”
“That’s what Jones wrote in his personal journal.”
“Who is Jones?”
“Never mind. That’s how I work, too. Patricia married me because she hoped I could protect her. When she opened the door that night and saw me emerging from a trance, she was convinced that she had chosen a mentally unbalanced eccentric who was as dangerous as the man she was hiding from. Later, on that rooftop, the violence overwhelmed her.”
“She was already terrified, unnerved, and feeling guilty for having deceived you. She had run from one man because he threatened her with physical harm only to find herself with another man who might be deranged.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you do what you do, Nick? Why did you become a private investigator?”
“I’m not sure. It’s the only work that feels right for me.”
“I think you are drawn to that work because it allows you to use your talent, your keen intuition,” Vivian said. “Do you realize how fortunate you are? You’ve found a purpose in life and you have the ability to fulfill that purpose. Be grateful.”
“Do you think it’s really that simple?” he asked.
“Yes, I do. Obviously your kind of intuition is powerful and it has complicated your life. I’m sure it will continue to do so. But I think you would have far greater problems if you tried to ignore or suppress it.”
“You’ve known me for less than three days but you know more about me than Patricia did in the weeks that we were together. More than anyone does, except for Uncle Pete.”
“You and Patricia were a mistake. It’s over. Let it go.” Vivian started to turn away. “I think that’s enough personal history for now. I’m going to get a shot of whiskey to help me get back to sleep.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea.”
She paused. “What about your visions?”
“I’m through for now. I don’t have enough information yet to ask the right questions.”
“I understand.”
Once again she started across the patio, heading toward the darkened living room.
“Vivian.”
She went very still, everything inside her tense with anticipation. She knew then that on some level this was what she had been waiting for since the moment she had opened her door at the beach house and found him on the front step.
Her name. Spoken in the intimate shadows of a moonlit garden.
When she turned back to face him, she found him standing less than a foot away.
“Yes,” she said.
He did not speak. Instead, he held out his hand. She took it.
He pulled her gently toward him and covered her mouth with his own.
Chapter 23
Toby Flint lit another cigarette with shaking fingers, dug some change out of the pocket of his overcoat, and stepped into the phone booth. What he was about to do scared the hell out of him but he had no choice. He shouldn’t have followed Vivian to Burning Cove. He should have just taken the blood money, paid off the loan shark, and left town. He would never let himself get in so deep again.
But even as he made the vow he knew he was doomed. The gambling gave him a thrill he couldn’t get any other way. And once in a while he won . . .
Toby dialed the operator.
“Burning Cove Hotel,” he said.
He braced one hand against the wall of the booth and gazed out into the night-darkened street. It was after midnight and that particular section of downtown Burning Cove was drenched in silence. The stylish shops and sidewalk cafés were closed. During the day the palm-shaded plazas were crowded with fashionable people on vacation in the glamorous seaside town. But at this hour the neighborhood was deserted. Visitors were spending the evening in the local nightclubs and hotel lounges hoping to see and be seen with celebrities and stars.
The shopping district seemed peaceful but he couldn’t shake the s
ense that he was being watched.
“Burning Cove Hotel,” a polished male voice said. “How may I assist you?”
“I want to talk to Vivian Brazier.”
“I’m sorry, sir, there is no one here by that name.”
“Look, I know she’s staying there.”
“There is no one registered under that name. I’m afraid you have the wrong hotel.”
“Wait, don’t hang up. Damn it, I know she’s there.” Toby tried to think. “She may have checked in under another name. She probably has a camera with her. She’s a photographer.”
“That’s not a helpful description. Several of our guests have cameras. I strongly urge you to try one of the other local hotels.”
“If you won’t put me through at least take a message. This is important.”
“We don’t take messages for people who are not registered.”
“Tell her Toby Flint called. Tell her it’s a matter of life and death. I need to talk to her. Now. Tonight. I’m in a phone booth on Olive Street near a shop named the Elegant Lady. Tell her I’ve got some important information to sell her. I’ll wait thirty minutes. After that I’m going to disappear.”
“We don’t—”
“Just give her the damned message. Be sure she knows to bring some cash.”
Toby slammed the receiver into the cradle. That was it. He’d done what he could to make up for his betrayal. He’d give Cinderella thirty minutes, no more.
After a couple of minutes he realized he didn’t like standing in the phone booth under the glare of the streetlight. It made him feel vulnerable. A target. His sedan was parked across the street. The money he had received up front was in a briefcase in the trunk of his car. He would add whatever cash Vivian brought with her tonight and then he would head for Mexico.
The plan to collect from both the killer and from Vivian and then hightail it to the border had come to him that morning. The shark would not be able to follow him into Mexico. Neither would the killer.
He moved out of the phone booth and started across the street to his Ford. Halfway to his goal he heard a vehicle engine roar to life. A car pulled out of the shadows of a nearby alley and came toward him, accelerating rapidly. He was pinned in the blinding glare of the headlights.
He hesitated, frantically trying to calculate whether he should run toward his car or try to retreat.
The second or two that it took to overcome the panic and make a decision turned out to be two seconds too long. He lurched toward his sedan but it was too late.
The car slammed into him. He was thrown onto the hood of the vehicle. Pain exploded through him. He was vaguely aware of glass shattering. An instant later he was flung to the side like so much garbage.
He was still conscious when he heard the vehicle brake to a halt. The driver got out from behind the wheel and took a quick look around the Ford. Toby was vaguely aware of the trunk being opened and closed. He knew the briefcase containing the thousand dollars had been found.
A moment later the killer bent over him and went through his pockets. The small notebook he used for recording crime scene details was removed. The last entry in it was the name of the killer.
The killer got back in the car and drove away.
Toby realized in some detached way that he had been a fool to try to warn Vivian and maybe make a few extra bucks in the process. It was the gambler in him. He’d taken one last big chance and it had cost him his life.
Chapter 24
The kiss was meant to be tender, tempting, exploratory. But when Vivian wrapped her arms around his neck, abandoning herself to the embrace, Nick felt as if he had been struck by lightning. An exhilarating rush of energy swept through him. The world fell away and he was flying.
This was the kiss he had been anticipating ever since she had opened her front door and looked at him with her mesmerizing gaze. He had told her about the fever dreams, the violence that had taken place on the hotel rooftop, his annulled marriage. He had allowed her to see his secrets.
Vivian had never blinked.
A very modern woman. An exciting woman. A woman who was not afraid to take chances. Maybe she thought they could tumble into bed together with no lasting consequences. Could be she believed she was safe from the dangers of desire. And maybe that was the truth—for her.
He was very certain things would never be the same for him. But in that moment the future was not important. All that mattered was the woman in his arms.
Vivian gave a soft murmur of surprise. He got the sense her response to the kiss had caught her off guard. He knew then that he was not the only one heading into uncharted waters.
She leaned into him, her soft breasts crushed against his chest. Her scent thrilled him. When she trailed her fingertips across the back of his neck he thought he would come apart.
He found the sash of her robe and slipped it free of the simple knot. The garment fell open, revealing the pale nightgown. It was not the serviceable cotton gown she had worn the night of the fire. This was the one she had purchased at a shop in Burning Cove. It was fashioned of some gossamer fabric that looked as if it had been woven with moonlight.
He rested his palm lightly over the firm peak of one breast. Vivian gasped as if she had been burned.
Reluctantly he started to pull away.
“No,” she said. She trapped his hand with one of her own. “No. I want you to touch me.”
She sounded dazed by her own desire. She pulled his shirt free of the waistband of his trousers.
“Vivian,” he whispered.
“This is probably not a good idea,” she said against the side of his throat.
“Probably not,” he agreed. It was one of the hardest things he had ever said. “Too soon.”
He lied. It wasn’t too soon, not for him. He had been waiting a lifetime for this kiss.
“Sometimes you don’t get a second chance to compose the picture,” Vivian whispered. “You have to take advantage of whatever light you’ve got.”
He groaned and moved his hands to the curve of her hips. “Which one of us are you trying to talk into bed? Me or yourself? Because if it’s me, you don’t have to bring out the logic and reasoning. I was ready the moment you opened your front door in Adelina Beach.”
She gave a soft, shaky laugh and buried her face against his chest. “I knew you were a romantic at heart.”
He caught her face between his hands and looked down into her moon-shadowed eyes.
“Whatever is going on here, it’s not romantic,” he said. “It’s not about hearts and flowers. It’s about something a lot more elemental.”
Rex left his post in front of the wrought iron gate and trotted briskly back across the patio and into the living room. He gave a sharp, warning bark from the interior of the villa.
Nick released Vivian instantly. “There’s someone here.”
The doorbell chimed. Rex barked again. Nick went into the villa, turned on a lamp, and checked the peephole in the front door. A young man dressed in the uniform of the hotel staff stood on the step.
“It’s all right, Rex,” Nick said.
He opened the door.
“I’m Hank, sir. Front desk. The night operator just took a phone call from a man asking for Miss Vivian Brazier. The caller was, of course, informed that no one by that name was in residence. The manager, however, instructed me to inform you immediately of the message.”
Chapter 25
He’s gone,” Nick said. He brought the Packard to a stop at the curb and studied the empty phone booth in the glare of the headlights. “He told the front desk he would wait for you in front of that shop, the Elegant Lady, but there’s no one around.”
“He’s here,” Vivian said. “I recognize that Ford parked at the curb. It belongs to Toby.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. To
by shows up at the same crime-and-fire scenes that I cover. Trust me, I’d know that beat-up sedan anywhere.”
She started to open her door.
“Wait.” Nick wrapped one hand around her wrist, stopping her. “He’s not in the car. Take a look. There’s no one sitting behind the wheel.”
Vivian reluctantly settled back into the seat. “He must be here somewhere. Maybe he’s hiding in a doorway. He might be scared. Don’t you see? There’s only one reason he would track me down and tell me he’s got information to sell. He knows something about the fire that burned down my cottage. This is the break we’ve been hoping for.”
“Maybe.” Nick took the gun out of the holster he wore under his jacket and cracked open his door. “This is where Rex and I get to earn our keep. We’ll take a look around.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, you will stay in the car until I tell you it’s safe to get out.” He reached for the flashlight he had stowed under the seat. “Understand?”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “That sounds a lot like an order.”
“It is.”
“I don’t take orders well.”
“You will as long as I’m in charge of keeping you alive. Stay in the car.”
He did not wait to see if she was going to argue. He opened his door and got out. Rex followed, bounding nimbly out of the compartment behind the front seat and down onto the pavement.
“Search,” Nick said quietly.
Rex immediately trotted toward the shadowed vestibule of a nearby store. He sniffed a few times, sat down, and looked back at Nick.
Nick moved forward cautiously. When he got closer he aimed the flashlight into the vestibule.
A man was sprawled facedown in the doorway. Not a transient bunking down for the night. Not a drunk who had passed out in the nearest convenient location. In the beam of the flashlight the blood on the sidewalk appeared almost black.
Nick patted Rex. “Good job. Anyone else around?”
Rex appeared unconcerned. His work was done. Nick concluded they were probably alone. He crouched to feel for a pulse. He did not expect to find one. He was right.