by Sylvie Kurtz
In the past few months, he’d almost banished the ghosts, if not the guilt, but the wreath of black roses hanging on his apartment door, after the bleeding queen and the obituary of this morning, revived the thirst, the yearning for oblivion. “Happy Anniversary” proclaimed the black ribbon flapping in the wind. A thousand little knots tied his muscles, making him crave the magical spirits that could unwind them.
With caution he opened the door and stepped inside. The place was more utilitarian than showy. It consisted of one large room that served as both kitchen and living room. To the right was a door to the bathroom and one to his bedroom.
The first thing he saw was the liter of whiskey waiting for him on the table, along with a single glass. He licked his lips, could taste the earthy flavor of the dark amber liquid as if he’d taken a sip. His hands shook as he walked to the devil on the table and reached for the glass. Even as part of him understood it wasn’t the liquor he wanted, part of him needed the excuse to dull the sharp boomerang of pain.
At the sink he filled the glass with water and gulped it down as if he’d just spent a week in the desert. But the water only seemed to make him thirstier, to deepen the hankering. He threw the glass across the kitchen and watched it shatter against the refrigerator.
Let it go, Blackwell. Let it go.
He circled his apartment, searching for other signs of intrusion and found none. All the while the bottle called to him, spinning its invisible threads, drawing him closer and closer. He shook his head. Who? Who knew? Who had access? In the pantry he found old granola bars and devoured three before he realized they wouldn’t stave off the kind of hunger shredding him. His gaze was pulled toward the bottle. Turning away from it, he raked both his hands through his hair. Why? Why the setup? Why now? The shaking intensified and Lindsey’s dead eyes stared at him accusingly.
With a growl he ripped the bottle off the table. He strode to the sink, unscrewed the top and started to pour the contents down the drain. The spirit fumes spiraled up like a genie promising wish fulfillment, making him dizzy with its dark attraction. Watching the liquid splash against the sides of the sink, he felt desperation claw at his gut. He was pouring out salvation. He was pouring out the sweet blanket of nothingness. He was pouring out the fortress against further emotional damage.
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t help Melissa any more than he’d been able to help Lindsey. What had made him think he could?
One gulp, that was all he needed. To steady his nerves. He lifted the bottle to his lips. The cold glass clanked against his teeth. The cool liquid burned down his throat and into his stomach. He wanted, no needed, more. A glass, that was all. Where was the damn glass? Desperately he wanted the darkness to shroud the ugliness of his soul.
As he spun toward the table, he saw the pawn. The white piece was on its side, a bright slash on the dark surface of the wood. His stomach dropped as if he was coming down from the highest peak of a roller coaster.
If he gave in to the whiskey demon, Lindsey’s murderer would win.
Again.
OH, TO BE A FLY on the wall! A chuckle filled the empty room. No matter. News of the sheriff’s visit would soon sweep the local grapevine.
The pen checked off another item on the list. The next step was to get an unwilling conspirator to cooperate. For that he needed another pawn. It shouldn’t be too hard. The guileless little twit was in love.
FREDDY CHOMPED greedily on a loaded slice of pizza and let out a satisfied groan of pleasure as the forbidden food slid down his throat.
“Does Rena know what you’re having for lunch?” Tyler asked with a smile that hurt the corners of his mouth.
“She thinks I’m having a turkey sandwich on whole wheat, heavy on the sprouts, with a side order of carrot sticks and an apple.” Freddy shot Tyler a playful warning glance. “You tell her otherwise and you’re fired.”
“Bet you’d have snuck in a few beers if you thought you could get away with it.”
“Yeah, it’s tough being the boss. Always got to set the good example.”
Freddy’s swivel chair squeaked as he angled it to get a better look at Tyler. He was dying to ask questions, that was plain to see, but Tyler had no intentions of giving him many answers. The whiskey devil was still hot on his heels, and Tyler wasn’t sure that, in spite of a morning pounding pavement, he’d quite outrun him yet.
“So,” Freddy asked, “what have you come up with?”
Tyler plopped his half-eaten slice on the cardboard box lying between them on the desk. “How are Rena and the baby doing?”
“Rena’s doing great and the baby’s holding his own. And as much as I’d like to go on and on about them, I’m not going to let you distract me. Find anything yet?”
“Nothing more than crumbs.” Frustration hummed along his nerves. “I can’t stay at the castle and dig at the same time. The Internet provides only so much. For the rest I need contacts.”
“I can arrange for the legwork. Just let me know what you need.”
“I need information on Tia Carnes’s new boyfriend for one thing. Drake’s his first name and, according to Tia, his family is old money—oil.”
Freddy scribbled himself a note. “Done.”
“Something’s too pat. It’s like someone left a trail of crumbs for me to follow. It’s pretty and just enticing enough, but my instincts say it’s leading nowhere.”
“What kind of crumbs?”
“Financial crumbs. Sable’s spending more than she has and is using creative juggling to keep the balls from falling all around her. She can’t hold out much longer before Melissa finds out.”
“Gives her motive.”
“That it does. But…”
Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler saw Freddy reluctantly push away the piece of pizza he was working on, lean his forearms against the edge of the desk and level Tyler with his most even gaze. “It seems to me your instincts served you well in the past.”
Until Lindsey.
“Do I need to remind you about the box of awards at the bottom of your closet?” Freddy asked.
Tyler shook his head. “Don’t start—”
“What happened to Lindsey was an accident.”
Tyler snorted.
“An accident, Tyler. How long are you going to beat yourself up over that?”
“As long as it takes.”
A drive-by shooting. Gang-related, the police said. Lindsey was an innocent victim. But the black wreath on his doorstep on the morning of Lindsey’s funeral proved them all wrong. Lindsey had died because of him. Her life was cut short because he’d just had to meet one more source, dig just a little deeper. It couldn’t wait until morning.
He was thirsty again and drained the can of soda dry in one gulp.
I’ll go with you, Ty, then we can still make the show in time.
A compromise. An error in judgment. An error that had cost Lindsey her life.
The image of the bottle of whiskey with its black label floated before his eyes. He crushed the can in his fist.
“Lindsey knew what she was getting into,” Freddy said as if he could read his mind. “Don’t take that away from her. She liked the chase as much as you did.”
Except that this one hadn’t been her chase. It had been his.
“So what are you going to do about the crumbs?” Freddy said, picking up the slice of pizza.
“Pretend I’m taking the bait and keep digging where I’m not supposed to.” Driving, pushing, seemed the only way to keep one step ahead of the devil.
“And that would be where?”
“Randall Industries.”
Freddy shook his head and drilled a finger into the desktop. “Melissa is the important one right now. Randall Industries is old news.”
“Maybe not.” And if he could get Freddy to pitch in some cash, maybe it would help loosen his contact’s tongue. The guy was hesitating, weighing greed against fear. Tyler took out the plastic bag with the wounded queen and the obitua
ry. “Someone wants me involved.”
Freddy fingered the bag. “Where’d you find this?”
“Outside the castle gate.” He took the pawn from his jeans pocket and set it up on the desk. “I found this on my kitchen table, along with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a glass.”
Freddy studied him closely. “You okay?”
Tyler shrugged. “Probably sent by the same guy who sent you your piece and article. Find anything on that?”
Freddy let out a frustrated breath. “No. I’ll send these along with your brick samples to my guy, but it’ll probably be as clean as the pieces I got.”
“The message seems clear. To go forward, I’ll have to go back.”
“Randall has nothing to do with Melissa. He helped her get her career started. He has no reason to want to harm her.”
“None that we can see.”
Freddy’s gaze narrowed. “This isn’t about Lindsey, Tyler.”
“No, it’s about Melissa and keeping her from ending up like Lindsey.” Tyler reached for another soda. “I’ve been eyeball deep in research all morning, and every time I hit a dead end, it has the Randall name on it. Did you know he had a geological survey done on his and Melissa’s land last summer?”
“You’re letting your past dealings with him cloud your judgment.”
Tyler gave a brittle laugh. “You don’t trust me so much now, do you?” He held up a hand, not giving Freddy a chance to answer. “I have to see it through. If I don’t, then the devil wins and I’m going to drown. I won’t let anything happen to her. I made you a promise and I intend to keep it. Even if it does mean covering old territory.”
Freddy stared at him long and hard, then nodded once. “How’s Melissa handling this?”
For the first time since he’d arrived in Fort Worth, tension eased. “She has one tough wall built around her.”
“She’s had to.”
“What happened between you and her?” Tyler doodled mindlessly on the blotter with a finger.
“It’s not important. You just keep her safe.”
Freddy’s secretary poked her head into the office. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a call for Mr. Blackwell. It’s the same woman who’s been trying to reach you all morning.”
“The one who wouldn’t leave her name?”
“She says it’s an emergency.”
Tyler picked up Freddy’s extension. “Mr. Blackwell? Thank God I found you.”
“Grace?” Why hadn’t she called his cell phone? Tyler glanced down at his belt and realized he hadn’t turned the phone back on after shutting it off at the library. How could he have missed such an important detail? Tyler listened to Grace’s frantic words and was moving before she’d even hung up.
“Call a lawyer,” he told Freddy as he sprinted from the office. “Melissa’s been arrested.”
AFTER GRACE’S CALL, Tyler rushed to the courthouse. He argued and bullied and threatened until, with the help of Freddy’s lawyer, Melissa was released. She was so still, so silent, so white. Standing there with her head bowed trying to hide her scars from the glare of the fluorescent lights with a curtain of hair, she looked defeated. The green of her eyes had turned yellow and dull. Her hands were neatly folded in front of her—right over left to hide the mottled texture of her burned hand. Worst of all her shoulders were curled into a defeated slump.
Seeing her like this hurt. He wanted her fighting. He wanted her sharp tongue cutting him to pieces. He wanted to see fire in her eyes.
Freddy was right. This wasn’t about him or Lindsey. This was about Melissa.
What he had to do was give her something other than her fear to think about.
“Don’t touch me,” Melissa said as he led her out of the courthouse.
He tightened his hold on her elbow and bent down to whisper in her ear. “I’m going to hold you and you’re going to let me. You scared the hell out of me. I need a hug, and you’re all I’ve got right now.”
He folded her into his arms. Her hands clawed at his shirt, pushing him away even as her head fell onto his chest. Tears choked her. But she never cried. Not when Mama was buried and she wasn’t allowed at the funeral. Not when Daddy married Sable. Not when they left her behind in her dark prison with a strange nanny.
Tyler’s arms felt good around her, and a bit of the tightly wound tension eased. His touch, his scent, made her feel safe after the chaos and stink of the jail. But safety was just another illusion. This incident had shown her that. Tyler had almost made her believe there was a place for her in the world outside the castle. Now she knew positively that what she’d suspected was true. Her face would never allow her to glide through the outside world safely. There she would always be a side-show freak. The only place for her was inside those crumbling gray walls with her paints and her horses and her monsters.
A few minutes passed and he led her to his Jeep. A long, low moan keened inside her. A wave of nausea tossed through her stomach. “I can’t.”
“You don’t have a choice. It’s too far to walk.” Carefully, as if she were a horse he was afraid would spook, he pulled down the top of the Jeep.
Did he understand about tight places? About fresh air? About the dark? She reminded herself to breathe. She reminded herself to leave her terror outside. She reminded herself she’d survived.
“I’ll go slow,” Tyler said as he eased her into the Jeep and fastened her seat belt.
He glanced at her as he turned on the ignition. The engine’s growl reverberated through the soles of her feet, through the seat and seemed to jangle the very marrow of her bones. She was smothered. She had to get out.
As he eased the Jeep into gear, fear slogged through her as if it wore heavy studded boots. Dread held her death-still. And an all-consuming sensation—a notch short of full-blown panic—kept her eyes shut tightly and her arms wrapped around her middle. If she let go, she was sure she’d fall apart as she had this morning. This time they would have to sweep up what was left of her with a broom.
He reached for her arm, loosened its grip from her waist and took her hand. He didn’t seem to notice the sweat coating her palm. She tried to pull away. He interlaced their fingers, locking their hands together. She didn’t have the energy to fight both him and the panic, so she focused on keeping herself together and let her hand go limp in his. Soon the warmth of his fingers penetrated the ice in hers and she held on just a little more tightly.
“You know what?” he said entirely too brightly. She wanted to slap him. “I think this calls for a celebration.”
She slanted him a cutting look. “Are you mad? What’s to celebrate?”
“Plenty.” His smile dazzled. She blinked at its brightness. “A dozen people saw you. You lived through it. They lived through it. This is a milestone for you, Melissa. My mother was a great believer in celebrating milestones.”
“Then take her out to celebrate.”
“Too far. Besides, it’s your milestone we’re celebrating.” Driving with his knees, he reached toward the back seat.
“What are you doing?” She frantically tried to shake her imprisoned hand free. “You’re going to get us killed. Get your hand back on that wheel right now!”
“Take the wheel,” he said, letting go of her hand and twisting farther around.
“No!”
“If you don’t, we’re going to end up in the ditch. Been there, done that already this week.”
“You’re crazy!” she said, but took the wheel. Her heart pounded. Her vision darkened and narrowed. How could he do this to her?
“To the left a bit. That’s a girl. Now you’ve got it.”
She swore creatively as she concentrated on keeping the wheels on the pavement. Sweat drenched her.
“Got it.” He came up with a phone and dialed with his thumb. “Grace. We’re on our way back and we’re going to celebrate.”
“Don’t listen to him, Grace,” Melissa shouted.
“Is there any way you can bake a cake? We need a
cake.” He glanced at her. “Chocolate?”
“If you bake anything, Grace, you’re fired.”
“Don’t listen to her, she’s just letting off a bit of steam. Of course she wants to celebrate getting out of jail. Does she have any dresses?”
“Forget it, I’m not going to your celebration.”
“Anything in green? I think she’d look good in green.” He paused and looked her up and down. “A skirt works. That works, too. You pick. We’ll see you in a few minutes.” He disconnected. “We’re all set.”
“How could your wife stand your overbearing manners?”
The jab hit its mark, but she felt no guilt. She wanted to hurt him. He was insinuating himself in her life, thinking he could take it over. He was mistaken.
“I think it was the dimples.” He gave her a stunning sample of their disconcerting effect. “She said she found them hard to resist.”
Melissa growled in frustration and tried to make him take the steering wheel. He leaned back and, splaying his elbows as he put his hands on the back of his head, said, “No, you keep driving. Want to sit on my lap?”
She ground her teeth and focused on the white line in the pavement. “You’re crazy. One hundred percent certifiable.”
“Want to know what I found?”
“No.” She decided she no longer wanted anything to do with Tyler Blackwell. All she wanted was to get back home, back to her quarters and back to the storm raging on her worktable. She had a slew of new monsters to bury in the fomenting clouds of her latest piece. She didn’t want to think that her castle wasn’t a safe place, either, that someone she knew wanted to harm her.
“I’ll tell you, anyway.” He told her about Sable’s spending. He told her about Tia’s spending. He told her about J.R. Randall’s name turning up at every corner. Didn’t Tyler know he was shaking her foundation to its core with his litany of bad news?
“Freddy’s going to check out Tia’s new boyfriend and the results of the geological survey Randall had done last year.”