He cupped the nape of her neck, tilted her head back. His blond brows were drawn down into a fierce vee, his eyes blazing a hot purple. “You and I have some talking to do when you’re through here,” he growled.
She nodded, glanced over his shoulder toward the diner. “I shouldn’t be too long.”
Malachim heaved a long, exaggerated sigh. Then dropped a kiss on her mouth. “While you’re up there, I’ll go order us some lunch from the diner. Don’t lift a thing—not a bag, a box, nothing—until I come up there.” He arched his eyebrows, waiting for her agreement.
She popped three fingers up side-by-side. “Fine. Scout’s honor.”
He rolled his eyes and guided her through the diner’s doors. She greeted several of the regulars, but since they reminded her too much of Pat and her time there with the cantankerous but loving owner, she didn’t linger below. Julie had left on an errand a few minutes earlier, so Danielle continued through the back of the restaurant and up to her apartment.
She hesitated on the landing for several seconds, the front door key clutched in her hand. For a quick, breath-strangling moment, she was in that dark living room again. Ears ranging, head hurting. Watching helplessly as Pat was shot down.
“It’s over,” she whispered. “Alex is in jail. He can’t hurt you or anyone you love ever again.”
Her death grip on the ridged piece of metal didn’t ease, but she did slide it into the lock and open the door. And stepped over the threshold.
Dim shadows shrouded the tiny entryway, and she flipped on the light switch, needing light to beat back the dark as well as the memories. Stale air wafted around her, and the place had that certain air of disuse, of abandonment.
Inhaling deeply, she moved into the living room, and her eyes zeroed in on the spot where Pat had fallen. Someone, probably Julie, had thrown a rug over the floor that would surely be stained with her husband’s blood. Her heart thudded, tears pricked her eyes like tiny bee stings. It was so hard entering this place after…after…
Turning away, she strode toward the back of the apartment and her bedroom. Desperation and a disquieting sense of unease fueled her movements. In spite of the twinges in her knees and the dull ache in her head and jaw, she hurried through throwing clothes and toiletries in the suitcase she dragged from under the bed. In fifteen minutes, she had enough clothes for the week packed. She returned to the bathroom for the last few items, and in the distance heard the front door open and the quiet snick of the lock as it closed.
Malachim. She heaved a sigh, relieved. She couldn’t return here; she’d been right about that. Just these minutes inside the apartment had her on edge. Ready to leave, she left the zipped suitcase on the floor since he’d made her promise not to lift anything.
“Hey, Mal,” she called, strolling down the short hallway. “I’m ready. My suitcase is on…”
She drew to an abrupt halt.
Stared.
A tall, hooded figure stood in the doorway. Fear crawled up her throat, strangled the breath from her lungs. Her heart pounded against her ribcage like a wild, desperate animal.
Oh, God…
As if time cut from “normal” to “a snail’s pace,” the man pushed back the hood.
She gasped.
“Walt?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Malachim leaned against the counter, propped his elbows behind him. He waited as the waitress boxed up his and Danielle’s food so he could pay the bill and then head upstairs. She’d disappeared through the swinging double doors about twenty minutes ago, but those were nineteen minutes too long. Shit. Did that make him as whipped as Gabe? God, he hoped so.
He smiled, and it took him a minute to identify the warm, heady weight in his chest.
Peace.
For the first time, he was at peace.
And he could attribute it to Danielle. True, her arrival in his life had brought more upheaval than he could have imagined. But if not for her, he wouldn’t have confessed his hurt about his childhood or confronted Christopher. And maybe his mother wouldn’t have discovered the courage or conviction to leave a loveless marriage with a bitter, angry husband.
Like a tornado, Danielle had touched down in his world and wrought change. And healing. Joy. Love.
And now that the threat of her ex no longer loomed like a ghostly specter, he refused to lose her. All he had to do was convince her they belonged together.
He frowned. With most women, a man could throw money, promises, gifts, even the L-word at them, and they would fall at his feet. Not Danielle. She’d lived in luxury and had gifts showered on her. The wealth had been a gilded cage. And since Alex had crammed “love” down her throat and then followed it up with his fists, the word didn’t hold as much sway with Danielle as it would with another person.
How did you convince a woman who’d only experienced the warped side of affection and fidelity that it truly existed? And that he desired to give it to her for the rest of her life?
He’d need a fucking miracle.
And Dr. Phil.
Well, at least he had time now. The constant looking over her shoulder and the fear of being hunted no longer plagued her.
His cell phone vibrated against his hip. He pulled the cell and his wallet free as the waitress approached with his and Danielle’s to-go lunches. He tapped the screen and tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear
“Hello.”
“Mr. Jerrod, this is Detective Rider.”
Malachim passed the server his credit card. “What can I do for you, Detective?”
“I wanted to give you and Ms. Warren a heads up. When Alex Rainier was booked, we found a flight itinerary and boarding pass in his jacket pocket. He didn’t arrive in Boston until Friday morning. Which means if he’s behind the break-in at Ms. Warren’s apartment and Patrick Duncan’s murder on Thursday night, he had help. Since he most likely hired someone, I don’t think we have too much to worry about. Especially since their source of payment has been arrested. But still, you and Ms. Warren may want to be on your guard until we get all the information we can out of Rainier.”
“Damn,” Malachim muttered, scrubbing a hand over his head. “Okay, thanks for letting us know.”
“No problem. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
“Detective, before you go,” Malachim interrupted, “did you find out anything about Walter Lawrence? Is he okay?”
“Oh, right. I meant to call earlier.” He sighed. “Need more coffee. I checked with the hospital, and your friend wasn’t admitted there between Tuesday night and today. I also called the area hospitals, and he hasn’t been a patient at those, either. Sorry I couldn’t find out anything.”
“Oh, that’s fine. Thanks for checking,” Malachim murmured, and seconds later, lowered the phone, frowning.
It didn’t make any sense. Danielle wouldn’t have misheard the message. Walt had called from the hospital, hurt.
The information whirled in his head like a cyclone.
Walt wasn’t at the hospital.
It was Walt’s call that had sent them running out of the house when Alex had been waiting outside.
Alex had an unknown accomplice…
Shit.
He bolted around the counter.
…
Walt smiled.
And her stomach rolled and clenched. It was the same old “Walt” smile—shy and just a little bit awkward. But whereas before, the gesture had charmed her, today it increased the disquiet skating down her spine.
The hood—the hood had thrown her off, reminded her of the intruder who’d killer Pat. She inhaled. Get it together. It’s just Walt—Tres. Everything’s okay.
“Hi, Danielle,” he greeted, moving farther into the room. He glanced around, and a spasm of sorrow flickered across his handsome features before he returned his attention to her. “I came by to check on you, see if you were okay. I called the hospital, but they wouldn’t tell me about your condition
. Here,” he offered her a manila envelope. “I brought you a gift.”
Relief weakened her. Of course. God. He was worried about her. “Thank you, Walt. I heard you’d called, but hospital policy wouldn’t allow them to release information. I appreciate your concern, though.” Still unable to shake the unease and whispers of unfounded fear, she approached him and accepted the envelope. Except for that day he’d come to Malachim’s office, she’d never seen Walt wear anything but his customary white shirt and khakis. Definitely not a hoodie. “But I was worried about you. I tried calling your cell but didn’t get an answer. After I finished up here, I was going to go back to the hospital to see you. You look okay, though, thank God. What’s this?” She forced a smile as she accepted the envelope. “You didn’t have to buy me a gift.”
“Oh, but I did.” He nodded, his frown earnest, voice urgent.
She tilted her head to the side, confused. “I’m sorry?” she asked.
He gestured toward the folder. “Open it,” he urged, and his eagerness reminded her of a child waiting to see his parents’ reaction to a gift he’d crafted with his own hands. “New ID. For you and me,” he blurted.
Her fingers curled around the top of the envelope, crinkling the paper. “Walt, I,” she stammered. “I don’t understand.”
“We’re leaving Boston together,” he announced, delight lighting his eyes and broadening his smile into a grin. “I know you can’t stay Danielle Warren any longer, so I had new identification made up a couple of weeks ago. My initial plan was to stay in Boston. I’d give you a place to live, provide for you. Take care of you.” He moved closer, his hands outstretched. “But then I thought, why not leave here and start a new life together somewhere else where no one knows either of us? Where no one knows my father? It’s not as necessary with Alex in police custody, but the plan could still work.” He reached for her hand, but she stumbled back a step. A frown marred his smooth brow. “Danielle? I thought you would be pleased.”
“Walt, what are—?” She swallowed and tried to maintain a calm in her voice even though a new dread slithered through her veins, clogging her heart so it pounded at a slow, dull thud. “What are you talking about? We can’t… We aren’t...”
“I love you, Danielle,” he said, and a plaintive note crept into his tone. And again she was reminded of that little boy. One who had been deeply disappointed. “I thought you knew. I left you flowers. I courted you.”
Courted? Oh, God. She held up a hand, shook her head as if she could bring his words into focus, make them tumble into some kind of sensible order. “Wait, wait. You left the roses? Why?”
“Because you deserve the best.” He moved faster than she’d expected, and he grabbed her wrist with an implacable grip. “I wanted to show you how much you mean to me. You’re so beautiful, Danielle. I wanted you to know that red roses mean love and protection, not pain.” He raised a hand toward her face, grazed his thumb across her chin and jaw. She flinched. His eyes hardened but almost immediately softened with terrifying indulgence. “I know you’ll need time to see me as someone other than your friend, but I can wait. I’ll take you away from all of this. Care for you. All we need is the opportunity to be alone. I just want to spend time together.”
Spend time together… Red roses… Spend time together…
“Walt,” she whispered. “How do you know Alex?”
He grunted as if the mention of her ex’s name disgusted him. “I’ve known about him for almost as long as you’ve worked at Pat’s. Everyone else bought your story about moving here and starting over, but I knew something was wrong. I watched you, Danielle. I saw you when no one else did. Not Pat. Not Julie. Just me. I noticed how you were afraid of men, jumped at loud noises or raised voices, flinched when someone made a sudden movement. I witnessed it with my own mother. I recognized the signs. And I wanted to kill the man who hurt you.”
Rage tightened his expression, lit a fervent gleam in his eyes.
“That was my initial plan, y’know—find and punish the man who’d caused you pain. First, I had to figure out your true name. Since I couldn’t ask, I broke into Pat’s office one night and copied the image of your driver’s license he had on file. I scanned it into a program I created that’s able to hack DMV databases across the nation. ” At her surprised gasp, he nodded, appearing pleased with his technical prowess. “I matched your photo against an older record in Alabama and determined your real identity. From there, it was easy finding Alex. I wrote him, pretending to be one of those jailhouse groupies. And he was only too willing to open up for a ‘captivated audience.’”
His expression twisted into a rage-filled mask. “I considered having him killed in jail. He didn’t deserve to live, not after the pain he put you through. And with the right amount of money, it would’ve been simple enough,” he said, his tone nearly conversational and in complete contrast with the fury hardening his face. “I actually had a hit set in motion. I was going to have him killed after he was paroled so he couldn’t enjoy his freedom. He damn sure didn’t deserve it. But the flowers, the mugging, the break-in—you would assume Alex was behind them all. I even used his phrase, ‘spend time together’ during the break-in. The arrogant bastard bragged about that in his letters.”
“But why?” she asked.
“You’ve never seen me as anything more than a friend—as Tres from the diner,” Walt continued. “But now I saw my chance to be with you, for you to see me as the man who rescued you from the monster who refused to leave you alone. If you thought Alex was behind everything, and I saved you from him, you would finally realize just how much I loved you…how I could care for you and defend you like no one else could. Like no one else had.”
Jesus, he sounded so sane, so reasonable.
“He told me he wanted to punish you for putting him in jail. I worked with Alex, earning his trust, helping him. But I was biding my time, waiting for a chance to kill him in front of you. I’m younger, I’m smarter—it wouldn’t have been that hard. And then we could be together. I would be your”—his expression gentled, the anger replaced by a loving affection that scared her more than the rage—“hero.”
His scheme had worked. She had believed Alex had been behind everything. And the whispered message only she would understand had been brilliant—and diabolical.
“Alex couldn’t arrive in Boston until Friday morning; he had a meeting with his parole officer Thursday afternoon and didn’t want to have a warrant for his arrest issued if he missed it. But we agreed that I would go ahead and commit the break-in at your apartment on my own. I didn’t need him to be there for it.” He sneered. “He wasn’t the type who liked to get his hands dirty anyway.”
“Walt?” she asked, her voice trembling as hard as her body. “Did you kill Pat?”
The same sorrow and regret she’d witnessed earlier when he’d first entered the apartment filled his expression once more. His gaze seemed to beg her for understanding.
“I liked Pat. I always have. He’s one of the few people who didn’t treat me as the black-sheep, wayward son of Walter Adam Lawrence. But on his death, Alex and I saw eye-to-eye. He wanted you to suffer, and I knew as long as Pat was alive, you wouldn’t leave the diner apartment. With your tender heart, you would feel sorry about abandoning him. The night of the robbery, you admitted as much.” He trailed fingers through her hair, and her heart suspended in her throat as he lifted the strands to his nose, inhaled. “I hired two men and staged the robbery of the diner a week before, so when Pat was killed it would appear like another botched hold-up. I didn’t intend for you to get hurt. I was going to shoot him in his office so it would look like the thieves had returned. But when he showed up with you in the apartment…” he shrugged.
“And Malachim?” she rasped. “That was you working with Alex, too?”
He shut his eyes, and a muscle along his jaw line ticked. “If you promise not to mention his name again, we can let your indiscretion go. Okay? He had that beating coming to him for
touching you. But… Just don’t say his name to me.” When she didn’t immediately reply, his grip on her wrist tightened until a flash of pain flared in her bones. “Okay?”
“Yes.” She had to keep him talking. Had to figure out how to get to the door and downstairs to the diner full of people. “Okay.”
“Good.” The cold lines of his face relaxed, and once more she stared into the face of the unassuming, shy man she’d known for a year. “Neither Alex nor I foresaw that…complication. He was enraged, and I have to confess, so was I. We both agreed we had to get you away from him as soon as possible. The plan was I call and tell you I was in the hospital. When you left the house, Alex would bring you to an agreed upon location. But that bastard double-crossed me and took you somewhere else. Fortunately, the genius used the credit card I supplied him with to get that hotel room. I tracked the transaction, and by the time I figured out what he’d done, I was too late. When I arrived at the condo and saw the police cars, I knew something had gone wrong.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, and his face contorted with a spasm of pain.
“I thought you were hurt—I thought I’d lost you. But then I saw the paramedics carry you out of the building. I followed the ambulance and waited outside the hospital for my chance to finish this. And you ended up leading me here as if inviting me to come take you.” He smiled gently. “But we have to go. It’s only a matter of time before Alex gives the police my name, and they come looking for me.” He clasped her hand and tugged. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Walt!” she yelped. “Wait! My clothes. My stuff…” She jerked on his hold.
“I have everything you’ll need. I told you, I’m going to provide for you. You’ll never have to worry about that again.” He dragged her toward the front door.
No! Think, damn it!
“Walt, I can’t just leave without Julie knowing where I’m at. She’ll wonder—”
“No, she won’t. Everyone will assume you just left Boston. Including…him,” he sneered. He jerked her into his body, removed a gun, and pointed it at her forehead. The evil of the pistol belied the gentleness suffusing his expression. “I don’t want to have to use this, Danielle, but I will. You know I will. Now come on.”
Secrets and Sins: Malachim (A Secrets and Sins Novel) (Entangled Ignite) Page 24