A sigh escaped her, one full of weariness. “I just wish I knew he really misses our daughter and needs to find her, and I also wish he could be decent toward me instead of being such an ass.”
“Don’t you think your success threatens Hal?”
She met Thomas’s gaze. Sincerity flickered in his eyes. Hal had always insisted Thomas was using her. Did that mean in some small way Hal still loved her, or was it just another one of his ploys to upset her and plant doubts in her mind?
Maybe Thomas is right. Maybe I am afraid of cutting all ties to my past and Cheyenne and forging ahead on my own.
“I think Hal’s more concerned about what you’re doing,” Thomas said, “and who you’re with than he is about Cheyenne’s whereabouts and wellbeing.”
The statement caught her off guard. She blinked, and her mouth worked, but no sound came out.
A disturbed expression crossed his smooth face. “Forget I said that. It’s none of my business.”
“You mean to tell me that although he’s remarried, he’s worried about who I’m sleeping with?”
He nodded. “He doesn’t want you, but he doesn’t want anyone else to have you either. And if he’s unhappy, then he wants you unhappy, too. All the more reason to tread carefully where your ex-husband is concerned.”
“Yeah, you’re right. That sounds exactly like Hal. He talks out of his ass and thinks like one, too.”
Thomas chuckled.
“If I can just find Cheyenne,” Sable said, “I’d be able to go on with my life.”
“Sable, I hate to say it, but you may never find your daughter.” His deep voice rumbled through the suite. “I’m not trying to be cruel. It’s just that—”
“I can’t give up on my daughter! I’m the reason she ran away, the reason she’s out there somewhere in the world.” She swallowed the familiar sensation of hysteria that bubbled up out of her belly. “I have to believe I’ll find her.”
Thomas warmed their coffees and sat back, cradling his cup between his long-fingered hands. For the last six years, he’d watched her every move, discussing her career in such detail that she’d lost track of all the dates, financial figures, the regular buyers, the new ones, and the tours he had planned years in advance. He’d never tried to control her, had never told her she couldn’t do anything. If Thomas didn’t approve a choice she made in her career, he’d voice his thoughts, but ultimately, the final decision of a professional matter was always hers.
Didn’t that prove Thomas wasn’t using her and had her best interests in mind? However, if that were so, why did he insist she should give up on finding Cheyenne?
Leave it to Hal to plant doubts in my head.
“I just think that if you were going to find Cheyenne, you would have by now,” Thomas said.
Sable drew in a deep breath through her nose. Slowly, she let it out through her mouth.
“Look…” He shifted and sat on the edge of the cushion again. “Don’t lose your temper with me. Just hear me out.”
She waited expectantly but sensed what he was about to say.
“It’s been five years since Cheyenne ran away, right?”
She nodded.
“She’s what now? Twenty-two years old? She’s old enough to find her way back home, and besides, she may not want anyone to find her.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Thomas,” Sable said. Anger at his blunt theory surged through her blood. “I have to set things right with my daughter, tell her I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry for what?” The tone of his voice changed from calm reasoning to bewilderment.
“For everything. For not listening to her, for being so strict, for hating her boyfriend, and grounding her when she wrecked Hal’s SUV.”
“For God’s sake, Sable,” Thomas said so loudly it startled her. “You were just being a mother.”
She dropped the pineapple in her lap and gaped at him.
“You told me the girl was high on meth when she wrecked his vehicle,” he said and shook his head. “And even after a stint in rehab, she went right back to the drugs.”
“I know that,” she snapped. Reining in her emotions, she said more softly, “Everyone screws up from time to time. Maybe if I had paid more attention to her, she wouldn’t have made so many mistakes.”
“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe Cheyenne is dead?”
Without thinking, Sable swung her hand, her palm connecting hard with his cheek. The sharp sound rang out in the room, a pistol report of minute proportions. The moment her hand made contact, she gasped.
“Thomas, I—”
His hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. He pulled her to him. A surprised cry burst from her, but it died suddenly as she met his gaze. The warmth of his body permeated her nightgown. Her reaction to the hard muscles beneath his shirt awakened a longing she hadn’t experienced for several years. Her gaze flicked over the dark skin at the open collar of his shirt, and she wondered if it would be just as warm and smooth to the touch as she imagined it to be. The aroma of his body and the remnants of his cologne from early that morning infiltrated her senses and lit a small fire in her abdomen.
He released a shaky breath, and just as quickly as he’d grabbed her, he released her.
“I’m so sorry.” She looked at him, tracing one finger around the slap imprint high on his cheek and down to the exotic web pattern shaved into his beard. “So very, very sorry,” she repeated more forcefully.
“Apology accepted,” Thomas said. He helped her to her feet and tugged her toward the bed. “I think you need some rest.”
Along the way, he turned off most of the lights and paused at the bed, facing her. With the backsides of his fingers, he caressed her cheek.
“You have a lot on your mind, but you need to focus on your new line of sculptures, Sable. You have to keep a clear head and remember your other obligations.”
“I’m sorry I’m so screwed up,” she whispered.
“You’re not screwed up. Maybe a little confused.” He smiled, his perfect teeth stark against his chocolate skin. “And a bit of a challenge, but you’re not a screwup.”
Sable slipped into bed. She pulled the sheets and comforter up over her breasts.
Thomas covered the leftover food. “You didn’t eat very much, so I’ll leave the cart here in case you wake up feeling hungry.” Finished, he faced her. “Sleep well,” he told her. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” He left her suite and shut the adjoining door behind him.
She lay in the darkness and listened to the sounds of the hotel. Tears pricked her eyes. She’d never felt so alone in her entire life.
Rest was a long time coming, but once it did, she succumbed to sleep and welcomed oblivion.
She cried, “Where are you?”
In a coffin, her father laid motionless, hands placed primly across his midriff, the funeral makeup on his face stark and ghostly. Rain pattered down around her, and, somewhere high overhead, thunder rumbled. Sable hurried away and nearly stepped into a black, yawning hole, her foot extended out over it. She jumped back, pulse thudding painfully in her neck, and peered down into the crumbling grave. She whimpered and placed a hand over her mouth. Her mother, dressed in her favorite blue-and-white dress, lay in the bottom of the pit. Earthworms and mud oozed around her body and in and out of her deep-red hair, hair that once looked as if it were on fire each time the sunshine kissed it. Her beautiful chocolate-brown eyes, now dull and fixed, stared sightlessly at the sky weeping down upon her.
Too late, too late. You didn’t care enough to be here for your father or me.
With a strangled cry, she whirled only to come face to face with Cheyenne.
“It can’t be you,” Sable said, shock coursing through her body. “I thought I’d never find you.” She reached out to touch her daughter’s cheek. “Where have you been? Are you okay?”
Cheyenne moved away from her questing fingers. “You never cared before,” she screamed. Her noir-painted lips peeled ba
ck into a sneer, and her blue eyes brimmed with hatred. “Why should you care now?”
“I’ve always loved you,” Sable said and reached for her again.
“You’re such a liar.” Cheyenne took another step back, her gothic clothes flowing around her. “One day I’ll make you pay. You’ll be sorry!” She spun and fled into the shadows.
Determined not to lose her daughter again, Sable raced into the darkness after her. The rain fell harder, and the ground opened up. Deep within its jagged, gaping maw, millions of fiery violet eyes blazed like comets, and sharp, shiny teeth snapped in anticipation. Eager to accept her as a sacrifice, razor claws reached out of the hole and grabbed her ankles.
A scream ripped from Sable’s throat. The darkness accepted her, and she tumbled down, down…
Something rough and scratchy pressed against her cheek. Blinking, she pushed the throes of the nightmare away and realized she reclined half in, half out of the bed, her legs twisted in the sheet, face and torso on the carpet. Her still-damp hair lay in a heap around her head.
“Aw, hell,” she said and struggled to right herself. Rolling over, she slid her legs and the tangled sheet off of the bed. She sat up and looked around.
“Thomas?” Sable stared at the empty mattress.
She gathered her hair to one side and pulled the sheet around her body. Her gaze zeroed in on the open bathroom door and the light pouring through it.
“Thom—?”
Something moved at the foot of the bed.
Bulbous violet eyes stared unblinkingly at her. Instead of pupils, a neon-green flame danced in their centers. Long, clawed fingers clutched the other end of the sheet. Each one pierced the material with faint pops. The creature grinned and gnashed its ichor-covered, needle-like teeth. Its thin, black tongue lolled around its snout, licking yellow-white mucous from its elongated nostrils. Tall spear-shaped ears jutted from its head and glistened in the feeble lamplight cast from the far side of the suite.
Another scream tore from Sable’s mouth, followed by another and another.
The door to the adjoining suite burst open, and Thomas pounded into the room. He leaped across the bed and took her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly.
Chapter Four
Ghosts
“S able? What’s wrong?” Thomas released her and turned on a bedside lamp.
Brightness bathed Sable. She blinked rapidly. Screams still flew from her mouth, each one the cry of a startled tropical bird that sent a spear of panic through Thomas. She stared at an empty spot at the foot of the bed.
With his heart clamoring hard against his breastbone, he clasped her shoulders again.
“Sable?” Thomas said. A nightmare had to be the culprit of her hysteria, but with some of the things he’d dealt with in his occupation as a Paranorm Marshal, he could never be certain.
Mouth ajar, she finally focused on Thomas, her eyes full of fear.
He shook her gently. “Come on, baby girl. Snap out of it.”
Obvious confusion washed over her features, and a blush swept across her skin. “Thomas?”
“You must have had one hell of a nightmare.” He brushed an errant strand of hair out of her eyes.
She pulled the sheet tighter around her, almost as if she needed it to keep her body from shaking apart. “It was horrible.”
He stood and tied the strings to his pajama bottoms. “Are you okay?”
Nodding, she said, “Yeah…yeah, I’m fine. I’ve had entirely too much liquor today and not enough food.”
“We didn’t finish our meal.” He helped her to her feet. “Let’s eat our sandwiches, and maybe you’ll sleep better with a full stomach.”
She pointed at the robe on the floor, and he handed the garment to her. “You’re probably right,” she said.
The phone jingled on the desk.
“Don’t move,” he said, walking over to answer it.
A stern voice babbled in his ear.
“It was a nightmare, and she’s fine,” he stated in a clipped tone.
The voice on the other end of the line calmed down and apologized for the upset.
He hung up and shook his head. “The person in the next suite thought someone was being murdered in here.”
She settled on the sofa. “I feel like an idiot.”
“Once I explained that you’d had a nightmare, the front desk said they’d smooth things over with the guests next door.”
Thomas joined her at the coffee table. Adrenaline still whizzed along his nerve endings. He filled a small dessert bowl with strawberries from the platter and sprinkled sugar over them, using the action as a method to calm his frayed nerves. When he’d first heard her screams, he’d feared an attack on her person. Although it had turned out to be only a dream, it could have been caused by something else, something sinister. Had someone found an alternate way to reach her and tap into her abilities? Inwardly, he grimaced. Her nightmare wasn’t a good sign.
“What were you dreaming about?” he asked, handing her the bowl and a spoon.
She accepted the snack and spooned a berry into her mouth. “My folks, Cheyenne…and monsters.”
Dread passed through him. “Monsters?”
“Yeah.”
Thomas poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. “You should be careful about mixing booze and your pain medicine.”
“Duly noted.”
Sitting back in the cushions, he studied her. She finished the strawberries and reached for her untouched sandwich. Whatever she’d dreamed about had certainly left her wary and unsettled. It didn’t help that she obsessed over finding her daughter, not that he could blame the woman. He didn’t have any children, but he could imagine how he’d feel if he had a child who’d vanished.
“You’ve been moodier lately, and your headaches are more frequent,” he said, carefully probing for information.
“I know.” Sable chewed slowly.
He sipped at his cup. “So what’s bothering you?”
“What doesn’t bother me?”
Her ironic tone forced laughter from Thomas. “What I mean is—”
“I know what you meant.” Sable set her sandwich on the plate. “Other than Hal giving up on finding our daughter, and my desperation to come up with a new series of sculptures, I have no clue what else might be bugging me.”
Thomas popped a slice of mandarin orange into his mouth. She was lying to him. Of course, he knew about Gerald’s visit in the hotel garden, but he sensed there was something else Sable wasn’t telling him.
“The only other times I’ve seen you tied in knots this badly,” he pressed, “was when your parents passed away five years ago and Cheyenne disappeared the same time, followed by your divorce.”
She shrugged and sighed.
“When my wife died, I had horrible dreams for weeks.”
Surprise registered on her face. Good. Giving her an unexpected bit of his personal background had hooked her. Maybe she’d open up a little more.
Sable said, “Thomas, you never told me she’d passed away. By the way you’ve always talked about her, I assumed the two of you divorced.”
“No.” He shook his head and looked away. The manner in which she died was so unfair, selfish. “We attended a party, and a mutual acquaintance introduced Ra-Aysha to blow. She liked it…too much.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It happened when I was in my mid-twenties, well before I ever hung out my shingle and became your agent.” He pushed the pain of his wife’s death aside. “I tried to save her, tried everything I could to get her to realize what she was doing to herself, to us, but there’s no reasoning with an addict.”
Thomas looked at Sable. In her eyes, old ghosts rose to stare out at him. Did he really want to know more about the woman and what her life had been like before he’d been assigned to protect her? Oh, sure, he knew the basics about her marriage and family, but learning personal, intimate details would put him in dangerous territory. The first rule of being a Paranorm
Marshal was to never get too involved with a case subject.
He blinked, and the images in Sable’s eyes vanished.
“My point is that I understand your dreams,” he said, “and although you may not know what’s behind them, something is causing you to have them.”
“I guess it’s Cheyenne and not knowing where she is or what happened to her,” she replied, her tone so bleak it tugged at his heart. “I dream about her more often now.”
“Maybe we should cut our meetings here short,” Thomas suggested, “and fly back to New York.” For some reason he felt they were exposed in Naples, but he couldn’t put his finger on the cause.
“No, we’re here now,” she said. “So we might as well follow through with our plans. I have a couple commercial business meetings this week, and you mentioned The Golden’s unveiling tomorrow night. What else is on this week’s agenda?” She picked up several orange slices and placed them into her dessert cup.
“Dinner with a wealthy art collector. He’s expressed interest in the Fighting Stallions sculpture and the one of the mother holding her child.”
“Pensive Mother,” she said. Hands shaking, she reached for the coffee decanter but held one hand out, examining the enamel on her nails.
It was essential that he keep her calm as much as possible. An idea popped into his head.
“Maybe you should visit a good salon after breakfast tomorrow morning. It’ll perk you up,” he said into his coffee cup.
“Are you trying to tell me I look like shit, Thomas?”
The instant the words left her mouth, he knew she regretted it by the expression on her face. Thomas slowly breathed in, held it a second, and released it. He had to choose his words carefully. The woman was quickly becoming a walking time bomb, and the last thing he wanted to do was upset her more.
“I’m sorry.” She reached over and patted his leg. “I’m still on edge from the dream. I didn’t mean to snap.”
The Darkness of Sable Page 3