The Darkness of Sable

by Faith Bicknell

  She shut the adjoining suite’s door, gulped, and tried to speak. The words lodged in her throat. Did she dare tell Thomas she’d been attacked? But she hadn’t been, not really. The big brute had scared the hell out of her, but he hadn’t harmed a hair on her body.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Are you hungry? I’ll have room service bring up something simple.”

  Thomas strode across the room. She admired his panther-like grace and the white flash of his beautiful teeth whenever he smiled. His dark skin against tailored suits and richly colored shirts reminded her of expensive sweets nestled in bright tissue paper.

  Sable kicked off her sandals, her nerves still clamoring. “I only want a bath and some pain reliever.”

  At the tremor in her voice, he paused. “Are you okay?” He let his attention roam over her body for a moment, then concern settled in his eyes. “You’re trembling.”

  “I’m fine.” She forced a smile and tossed her purse on a nearby chair. What was she going to tell him? That the Jolly Green Giant had picked her up and tried to carry her away? That Bigfoot had entered the city limits to chat with her about Cheyenne?

  Yeah, right. That’ll sound sane…

  There hadn’t been any security cameras in that part of the garden, so who would believe her?

  “I’m just exhausted,” she said. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

  “Are you sure?” His gaze bored into hers.

  Mutely, she nodded.

  Concern entered his onyx eyes again. “I’ll start the water running in the tub, baby girl. You go find your nightgown and pills.”

  She moved toward her luggage the bellboy had delivered while she’d been in the garden. Sitting on the bed, she popped the locks and flipped open the largest case to paw through it for her nightclothes.

  He picked up the phone in the living area. After he finished placing their food order, he flashed a wide smile at her and disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water drifted through the open door.

  Her legs rubbery, electricity from her disturbing encounter still zinging through her system, Sable combed her cosmetics box for her prescription ibuprofen and popped one in her mouth. She needed to relax, clear her mind, and mull over the incident in the garden. With an irritated sigh, she turned and walked toward the bathroom, meeting Thomas halfway there. His hand grazed her shoulder as they passed, a gentle reminder that he was ever present and ever ready to come to her aid. Six years ago, when Thomas had approached her at her first art showing and offered to represent her, she couldn’t believe her luck. During the growth of their business relationship, she also realized what a caring, protective friend he’d become.

  Steam rose from the water he’d drawn for her. It cloaked the bathroom in a white haze. She stripped off her clothes and stood before the mirror.

  “Here.”

  She turned toward Thomas’s voice. His hand, clutching a tumbler of brandy, passed through the crack in the door.

  She pulled a towel from a rack, wrapped it around her body, and stepped over to the door. “Thank you,” she said, taking the glass.

  “Room service said it’ll be about thirty minutes for the food.” After a short pause, he added, “I ordered turkey sandwiches and some fresh fruit.”

  “Sounds good.”

  His fingers hooked the door and drew it to within an inch of shutting.

  Another towel hung next to the full-length mirror. Sable tugged it free and wiped the condensation from the glass. She stood with brandy tumbler in hand and studied her distorted image. She eyed her tall, willowy form. At six-foot-one she was all arms and legs. Modest breasts and slim hips only added to her lanky figure, not to mention the mane that brushed her ankles. No wonder Thomas insisted she never cut her hair. He’d said her hair enhanced her exotic looks, but without her long tresses, she saw nothing more than an overly tall Plain Jane.

  She tossed the doubt away, stepped into the tub, then settled against its sloped back. She allowed her mind to drift, and, as they always seemed to do, her thoughts returned to Hal. Sable wished she could erase the memory of her ex-husband. He was a successful contractor now, so surely her money and fame no longer intimidated him. Thinking of Hal always led her to thoughts of their daughter, but she shoved them away. No matter how much she lied to herself, deep down, she knew Hal blamed her for Cheyenne’s disappearance.

  The year before Cheyenne had disappeared and Sable filed for divorce, Thomas had walked into her life to become her agent and confidant. Over the last six years, his friendship had helped soothe the ache in her heart, but it did nothing to assuage the loneliness in her bed. It would be nice to have a man sweep her off her feet, but although she was lonely, a relationship would only complicate her life more, and she needed a clear head to concentrate on finding her daughter.

  The aroma of honey and lemon bubbles calmed Sable’s frazzled mind. Her eyes drifted shut, and she slipped deeper into the bathwater. The focus of her life should be her tour and her new series of sculptures, but her brain and heart refused to cooperate. Cheyenne would remain the center of her heart and mind.

  She shook away her disturbing thoughts and tried to summon her muse. But instead, the attack in the garden popped in her mind’s eye. How did the perpetrator know about her daughter, and why was it too dangerous for Sable to find her? Finally, unease and worry settling over her, Sable sighed in frustration and sat up in the tub. She reached for the shampoo and began the arduous task of washing her hair.

  A sound snaked through the crack in the door, a subtle sigh of…mad fervor? Startled, Sable wiped suds and water from her eyes. Although Thomas had left the door ajar, hadn’t it been only an inch? Now, it stood open a good half foot. Maybe a draft had eased the door wider, but a breeze didn’t ghost over her wet body. Panting drifted through the crack, as if a dog lay just around the corner.

  Unease slithered through her like a venomous snake seeking a cool, dry hiding place. Was it the big man? Had he somehow managed to sneak into the suite?

  Thomas passed the doorway talking to someone. His voice faded, a pause followed, and then his voice grew louder as he walked by the bathroom again, the material of his slacks whispering with his movements.

  Relief washed through Sable. It was just Thomas talking to someone on his iPhone.

  She settled back against the tub, heart rate slowing. The new line of sculptures and a source of inspiration for them should be foremost in her thoughts, but Hal’s and Cheyenne’s faces permeated her mind, and her inspiration evaporated yet again.

  The pain in her head crested briefly, but the ibuprofen gradually worked its magic. She picked up the glass from the tub’s rim and sipped her drink. I shouldn’t drink like this with my pain pill…but what’s the point? Nothing seems to make sense anymore. If it wasn’t for Thomas and my work, I just might say to hell with…

  She set the glass on the tub. Her eyelids fluttered, the water lulled her, and the discomfort in her skull ebbed. Slowly, calm wafted into her brain on vapors of brandy and the prescription drug.

  “SABLE….”

  She opened her eyes. Glowing violet orbs stared back at her. Teeth snapped at her face, barely missing her nose.

  A scream burst from her throat, a loud, strangled cry full of shock and disbelief. Her hand connected with the brandy tumbler. It fell to the floor with a clunk and a splash. Sable threw her other hand out to protect her face, struggling to her feet at the same time, but one foot slipped, and she plunged back into the tub. Water surged over the sides and bathed the walls and floor. It dripped from her eyes and singed her sinuses.

  Blinking, Sable glanced around the empty bathroom. She wiped water from her face, adrenaline singing through her veins, and peered over the tub’s rim to see only the wet floor and her saturated clothing.

  “Sable?” Thomas called. “Are you okay in there?”

  “Yes,” she answered, voice shaky. “I just dozed off and startled myself awake.”

  “The food will be here s
oon,” he said. “Hurry up in there.”

  “In a minute.”

  “I’m just going to go over to my suite for a bit. When I return, we’ll sit and eat.”

  Sable stood up and threw a towel around herself. She used another towel to bundle her wet hair, stepped from the tub and reached for the portable phone on the makeup counter. A quick call to maid service for bathroom cleanup helped settle her nerves, the normalcy of it making everything right with her world again.

  Behind her, the door groaned, opening wider. She gasped and spun around, heart slamming against her ribs. Fear skittered down her spine like beads from a broken necklace.

  “Do you need something, Thomas?” she asked.

  Water dripped from the tub’s spigot. Ploink. Ploink.

  Somewhere in the hotel, a door banged.

  “Maid service?” She listened intently.

  Memories of the noises in the limo and her scare in the garden heightened her unease. Dizziness crashed over Sable. She grabbed at the towel bar, holding on as the sensation passed. Her wobbling world eventually righted itself. She sucked in a deep breath and donned a hotel robe. Her gaze fell upon the brandy tumbler on the floor. She didn’t feel tipsy, not even with the ibuprofen seeping into her system. Hell, she didn’t feel anything except fear and a weird disorientation.

  Fear of…what?

  The faintest trace of a noise sighed through the suite. Every hair on Sable’s body stood at attention. Her nipples hardened beneath the robe, the fabric scratchy over them. Terror caressed her innards with a cold, steely hand.

  “Thomas?” Sable pulled the door open the rest of the way, but the knob slipped from her damp grasp with such force the door thumped against the wall. She started at the sudden noise, her nerves screaming soprano. On the far side of the suite, two small lamps cast light around the bed, but their illumination didn’t permeate the outer limits of the room’s darkness. A long shaft of brightness from the bathroom spilled across the dove-gray carpeting.

  I must be imagining things.

  Hesitantly, Sable padded out into the suite. She flipped on all the lamps and overhead lights that she could find.

  Chapter Three

  Doubts

  T he shadows retreated.

  Tension eased from Sable’s body, leaving her as drained as the bathtub behind her. The suffocating fear evaporated, and she contemplated her luxurious surroundings. The bed sat on the far side, the spread and pillows perfectly made and arranged. A living area with more neoclassic furniture done in black and gray took up the main floor space. A cherry armoire loomed near the king-size bed, and on the other side of the sleeping area, a matching set of chest of drawers stood across from two chairs designed more for elegance than comfort. A tasteful writing desk resided at the right side of the balcony doors. Nothing looked amiss…or sinister.

  Suddenly chilled, she strode to the armoire for a warmer nightgown than the one she’d picked, but she darted her gaze toward the gloom prevailing at the edge of the drapes and under the bed. The door to Thomas’s adjoining suite allowed a narrow crack of light through. Faint jazz music filtered into her suite. She imagined him hanging his suits and changing into more comfortable clothes.

  She pulled a white cotton gown over her head and poked her arms through the narrow shoulder holes. The material slipped over her body and skimmed the tops of her feet with a sequined hem. The towel fell from her head, and her hair tumbled down. Lid open, the cosmetics case perched on the dresser’s edge. Sable found her comb and perched on the edge of a chair for several minutes, tugging the snarls from her locks.

  The maid arrived, mopped up the bathroom, replenished the towels, and left quietly.

  Sable’s mind wandered. Her wealth permitted her to live in luxury, but there were times immense guilt swallowed her whole. What about Cheyenne? Was she okay? Did she have food? Shelter? Someone to take care of her?

  “Forget your daughter,” the perpetrator’s words whispered in her head. “Let her go. You don’t know what you’re dealing with if you continue to pursue her.”

  Finished, she tossed the comb back into the case and crossed the room to the phone on the desk. Before she changed her mind, she dialed Hal’s number in Ohio.

  “Hello?” a woman answered.

  Sable’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. A woman? In their—her—home?

  Divorce had ended her relationship with Hal, and she was thankful to move on, but at the thought of another female in her house, changing her décor, taking over her kitchen, and rearranging her cupboards, a murderous rage swept through Sable on flames of regret.

  “Is anyone there?” the sultry voice on the other end of the line asked.

  “Halson Tade residence?” Sable croaked. The hand holding the phone trembled as anger rippled over her. She laid her other one over it. Both hands shook.

  “Yes?”

  “Is Hal there?”

  “No, but you can leave a message.” The woman’s voice sounded young—very young.

  “This is Sable Hendricks-Tade, and I just called to tell him that I still haven’t found any new leads about our daughter’s whereabouts.” She contemplated mentioning the attacker’s warning but bit her tongue. She inhaled deeply and asked, “May I ask to whom I’m speaking?”

  “Sure. I’m Jacquelyn, Hal’s new wife.” She laughed softly. “I’ll give Hal your message.”

  The line clicked.

  Sable hung up, poured a fresh brandy, and downed it in two gulps. Embarrassment burned in her cheeks and swept prickling needles over her body. Hal had remarried? When?

  She’d spoken briefly several weeks ago. She’d called to tell him that someone had recognized Cheyenne’s picture in Atlanta, but although the woman had rented a room to their daughter over four years ago, Cheyenne had paid her rent in full and left after only six weeks. The lead had covered with ice since then. Not once during their conversation had Hal mentioned that he’d remarried.

  She pictured a twenty-four-year-old woman with to-die-for legs, big boobs, a round ass, and long, wavy blonde hair. He’d always had a thing for buxom blondes.

  So why the hell did he marry me?

  She stumbled to the mini bar and poured another brandy. Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. The amber liquid swirled into the tumbler. One of her teardrops plopped into the glass, and the heart gem dissolved instantly. Sable wished the painful knot in her chest would do the same. She didn’t want Hal back and never had. In fact, the thought sickened her, but regardless, it bothered her that she’d been so easily replaced by another woman. Did their nearly nineteen years of marriage and their only child mean nothing to the man?

  She looked down at the brandy in her hand. Drinking isn’t the answer, and I certainly don’t need a hangover, too.

  She left the glass on the bar and wandered across the suite, turning toward the strains of jazz flowing through the crack of the door adjoining her room with Thomas’s.

  How can Hal move on as if our daughter never existed? Does Cheyenne mean so little to him?

  A bird-like titter erupted somewhere in the room. Alarmed, Sable spun about, her gown billowing out around her. She faced the bed. She skimmed her gaze along the carpet and objects around the bed then over to the bathroom. In the hall, a woman’s laughter passed the door, followed by a man’s deep voice and more of her high-pitched giggles. Frowning, Sable shook away her paranoia.

  “Too much stress and liquor,” she whispered.

  “Room service,” a voice called. An abrupt knock followed.

  Sable almost leaped out of her nightgown, and her hand flew up to cover her heart.

  The door to Thomas’s suite swung open. “I’ll get it,” he said. “Finish what you’re doing.”

  Heart pounding an irregular beat, Sable walked over to the sofa and sat before her legs gave out.

  Behind her, Thomas thanked the attendant. “I’ll take care of this,” he said. “Goodnight.”

  “Sleep well, sir,” the a
ttendant replied and shut the door.

  The food cart’s wheels creaked softly across the carpet. Thomas removed the dish covers and set two plates with sandwiches and a platter of melon, strawberries, pineapple, and orange slices on the coffee table. “I ordered a carafe of Columbian,” he said. “Do you want a cup or are you still drinking?”

  “I’ll have coffee, thanks.”

  Thomas poured two cups of brew and handed her one of them. He sat next to her and picked up his sandwich, watching her sip from her cup.

  “What?” she asked without looking directly at him.

  He chewed for a moment and replied, “What’s bothering you? You seem…disturbed.”

  “I don’t know. I just…” Setting her cup down, Sable plucked a wedge of golden pineapple from the platter. She knew better than to mention the incident in the garden. Thomas would worry himself sick. “I called Hal to update him on Cheyenne’s case.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Oh, fuck.” Thomas gave her his undivided attention. “I know that tone of voice, Sable. Spill it.”

  She nibbled at the fruit wedge. “Some woman—who sounded very young—answered the phone. She told me she was his wife.”

  “Did you tell her who you are?”

  “Yes.”

  Thomas placed his sandwich on his plate. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. No.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.” The knot in her chest grew bigger, hardening into iron. “I’m over Hal—really, I am—but part of me is afraid to…to…”

  The cushions shifted beneath her as Thomas reached for her hand. “To go on alone and face things without someone at your side to share them?”

  She gulped. “How do you know how I feel?”

  “It’s how I felt when I lost Ra-Aysha,” Thomas said. “I was so alone without her. Even after all the awful things she’d done to me, I still had trouble adapting to being alone and I wanted her back.” Thomas sat quietly for a moment. When he finally spoke again, his voice took on a matter-of-fact tone. “From what I’ve seen, Hal wasn’t good for you. I don’t know how you two stayed together as long as you did.”