by Jory Strong
His chest rose and fell with a laugh that wasn’t all mirth, making her wonder if he’d had run-ins with the law at some point in his life. His hands stopped their stroking and his arms went around her, holding her tight. “How come no photographs?”
“Everyone I hang out with draws.”
His arms tightened further, his frustration leaching into her as if forced through the electric-hum barrier that still seemed to be protecting him from her gift. “You’re a hard woman to get to know.”
Her reactive response was I don’t want to be known. But that wasn’t the truth. If it had been, then she wouldn’t have ignored the refrain drilled into her by her mother at every opportunity.
Keep moving. Stay uninvolved in the lives of others. See but don’t be seen.
He was a complication in her life. A change. A lover who unnerved her and thrilled her and was rapidly becoming an addiction.
If she continued to evade would it drive him away?
Or draw him closer?
Which of them did she really want?
She didn’t know and didn’t want to think about it, making answering the easiest course of action. “I went a little wild in my teens. Drugs. Sex. Violating curfews and rules until it just got easier to stay out than go back. That’s how I met Justine.”
“You were living on the streets?”
“For a little while, until the captain had me scooped up and put in a cell overnight.”
She couldn’t keep the remembered terror from sliding out of the mental box she tried to keep it in. It traveled through her in a soul-deep shudder.
Beneath her Cathal tensed, probably sorry he’d hit a nerve. She wrestled the fear back inside its cage.
“The captain?”
She sighed. “Chevenier.” And because it was easier, a truth still present in her heart, she added, “My father. You might remember the scandal my coming to live with him caused.”
Cathal rubbed his cheek against her hair, stroking a hand down her spine in a caress she felt deep inside her. “What I remember is that a woman showed up and presented your father with a daughter he accepted right away as his. Speculation followed, about just when the girl was conceived, before or during the very brief time he was separated from his old-money wife. It wasn’t titillating to me as a kid and I don’t give a shit about it as an adult. Your brother’s FBI, right?”
“Yes.”
“The other day you said you didn’t see them often, but you took your brother’s call then rushed off to help him.”
“That’s true. We’re not completely estranged.”
“Do they drop by your apartment to check up on you?”
“Parker has been here a couple of times.” To pick up drawings. Not to visit.
She changed the topic by asking, “Was that your father who called?”
Father or uncle. By Cathal’s answer of I’m with her it had to be one of them.
He didn’t answer for a long time, as if he wrestled with becoming known, too. And she vacillated between pushing closer or backing away until the choice was taken from her.
“It was Denis. He called to tell me my cousin Brianna nearly drowned herself in the pool.”
Don’t involve yourself.
Etaín ignored the words whispering in her mother’s voice. She didn’t pretend to misunderstand the way Cathal phrased his answer. “She’s tried before?”
“Not the pool, but other ways.” His arms tightened, delivering a hint of physical pain along with an emotional one breaching the barrier between them. “She’s so heavily sedated, I don’t know how she managed to get outside and into the water. She’s had a private nurse since coming home from the hospital. She’s watched twenty-four, seven.”
Like a fogged window clearing to reveal the scene behind it, Etaín saw Cathal in a hospital room with a teenage girl, then that same girl lying glassy-eyed in a bedroom with posters on the wall, movie and rock stars. She remembered seeing it before, along with another one, of Cathal standing near a casket, in the dreams that were a precursor to Tyra’s memories.
Don’t involve yourself.
Once again she ignored her mother’s refrain.
“Someone Brianna was close to died?”
Cathal tensed beneath her. “How do you know that?”
She scrambled for an answer since she couldn’t tell him the full truth. “A guess. She wants to die. So either something terrible happened to her, or someone she loved died and she wants to be with them.”
Some of the rigidness left Cathal’s body. “Both. In the last year her mother died of cancer and her brother Brian in a car accident. A few weeks ago she spent the night with her friend Caitlyn. They went somewhere. We don’t know any of the details. Only that they ended up drugged, gang raped, and left to die at Lake Merced. A jogger found them in time for Brianna, but not for Caitlyn.”
He didn’t hide his pain, his anguish over what had happened to his cousin. “Sixteen. That’s how old they are. Were. Until this happened Brianna was coping okay. Denis was there for her. She’s also a gifted musician, so it gave her a place to go to deal with losing her mother and Brian.”
Etaín remembered the fleeting impression she’d had when she shook hands with Cathal’s uncle. Seething emotion barely contained. A boiling cauldron with the lid clamped down hard and tight.
He had good reason for it.
Don’t involve yourself.
For a third time she ignored her mother’s voice and her mother’s lessons. She slid off Cathal to sit next to him, her arms around her legs, her chin resting on her knees. She took her time, finding just the right way to explain without revealing too much.
“Parker needed my help with a rape victim. That’s why he called me. It’s a gift I have, being able to draw out information from people. If you’d like me try with Brianna . . .”
Cathal’s heart became an erratic drumbeat pushing a myriad of different emotions through him. Relief. Fear. Worry. Guilt.
Along with renewed desire.
Naked and in that pose she looked so beautiful, so vulnerable, like some ethereal woodland nymph needing protection. Yet when he met her gaze, he saw a wild spirit in her dark, dark eyes, a sexual fantasy capable of making him hard over and over again.
He sat, drawing his leg up as well, not to hide her effect on him, but to keep himself from tumbling her back to the mattress so neither of them had to cross the line he knew existed for both of them. He’d wanted her to do this willingly, intended to ensure she would when he agreed to handle this at his father’s request. But now he found he didn’t want her made an accessory to murder, even an unwitting one.
If he could get her to leave his uncle’s house with the drawings, then arrange, through Sean, for her brother to stop by and inadvertently see them while he happened to be there, all of it done in such a way there would be no repercussions . . .
The sweat chilled on his skin. Son or not, betrayal of the family would be a death sentence.
Etaín’s arms fell away from her legs. She uncurled her body. Her hand settled on his shoulder and he felt the heat of it all the way down to his cock. She leaned forward, rubbing her cheek against his without caring about the stubble there.
“Let me do what I can for your cousin. My drawing what happened helps some victims. It’s almost as if recording the images separates the person from the horror, giving them permission to forget it.”
Surprise made him pull back so he could watch her face. “Repressed memory?”
“I’m not a psychiatrist or a psychologist. I’ve just seen it happen with traumatized victims. They might believe what I’ve drawn is real because other people tell them it is, but it doesn’t seem real to them anymore.” She shrugged. “Sometimes being able to forget is a blessing. But maybe all your cousin needs is time and medical care and plenty of support.”
She stood. “The offer is there, Cathal. You don’t need to decide now whether you want to take it. You can let me know anytime, but I need to head
out. I’ve got a list of artists I have to visit today.”
A surge of fear for Etaín drove Cathal to his feet when the weight of guilt might have held him down. He pulled her against him, sure she could feel the wild race of his heart.
Her arms went around his waist. “There’s something else you’ve got to know,” she said. “The things I draw, they may not be admissible in court. The times I’ve helped when Parker or the captain asked me to, they haven’t been. But providing the pictures told them where to look, and they found the evidence they needed there.”
He considered asking her what she thought of vigilante justice, if it would bother her if someone who’d drugged and raped another person was murdered because of it. But no answer she could give would change anything right now, and in the end, ignorance would be her best defense.
“It doesn’t matter if they’re admissible or not,” he said, recognizing the possibility he might fail in his attempt to circumvent his father and uncle, but taking some comfort in knowing they would cover their tracks completely, protecting her as a by-product of it.
Guilt whipped across his conscience as he thought of her shuddering at the memory of being held in a cell when she was a teen. He forced the emotion down, replacing it with protectiveness. This was the only way to keep her safe. Touching his lips to hers, he whispered, “Help Brianna.”
“When?”
“Today. As soon as we get dressed.”
“Yes. But the drawings won’t be ready until tomorrow.”
Relief pulsed through him, at not having to find a way to convince her to leave Denis’s house without surrendering them. “That’s fine.”
Her tongue teased the seam of his lips then entered his mouth for a quick rub against his before retreating. Her hands went to his chest, gently separating their bodies.
They dressed. He made a brief call to tell Denis they were on their way.
“I’ll take my bike and follow you to your uncle’s house,” she said when they reached the driveway, the tone of her voice firm enough he knew she wouldn’t be persuaded otherwise.
Misgiving tightened his chest but there was no turning back. “I’ll try not to lose you.”
She laughed. “As if you could manage that while I’m on the Harley.”
Seventeen
Etaín stopped the bike next to Cathal’s car. His uncle’s estate wasn’t far from Eamon’s.
She took her helmet off and draped it over the Harley’s handlebars. Then liberated the drawing tablet and box of pencils to serve as props and mask the truth of her gift.
Uneasiness worked its way into her, at having involved herself in this. At remembering how casually Parker had exposed her ability to Trent and how knowledge of it had expanded to include the rest of the taskforce.
Cathal got out of his car and joined her. His hand settled at the base of her spine and even through the leather of her jacket, the hum she’d come to associate with his presence intensified, not so much desire now, but comfort.
It distracted her from one worry by redirecting her to a new one. What did it mean that his memories seemed safe from her? What did she want it to mean? And would she be willing to pay the price that came with the permanence Eamon had hinted was possible?
The door opened before they reached it, revealing both Cathal’s uncle and his father. Denis’s eyes met hers, providing enough warning so she was prepared for the tortured anguish and unrelenting fury pouring into her with a handshake.
It was a relief when he released her. And the cold containment of Cathal’s father’s emotions when he took her hand was like an icy balm suppressing Denis’s scorching rage.
“I’m glad you came here today,” Niall said.
“No problem.”
“This way,” Denis said.
He led them up a spiraled staircase and down a hallway lined with family photographs going all the way back to the 1800s. She caught glimpses of Cathal and found herself smiling, thinking how easy it must have been for him to get his own way growing up. Even as a boy he was handsome, striking with his black hair and blue eyes, his dark good looks.
They entered Brianna’s bedroom. The walls were lined with posters just as they’d been in Cathal’s memories.
A woman wearing a cheerful, colorful outfit like those Etaín had seen pediatric nurses wearing rose from a chair near the bed. Whatever the woman’s thoughts were, her features were schooled into a professional mask.
Etaín moved to the bedside, her attention focused on Brianna. The girl’s eyes were closed and her face pale, the bones sharper than they should be, as if the trauma of what she’d undergone had caused sudden weight loss.
“I’ll need to be alone with her,” she said.
The nurse stiffened, so did Denis. But this was nonnegotiable, though Etaín tried to avoid a confrontation by lightly touching Denis’s upper arm, where the fabric of his shirt protected her from his emotion. “Please, I want to help. I can’t with anyone else in the room. If you’re worried about Brianna, you can wait just outside the door.”
A long moment passed before Denis gave a sharp nod. “We’ll leave you.”
The nurse didn’t budge. “What’s this about, Mr. Dunne? What’s going on here?” A frown in Etaín’s direction made it clear she didn’t register as any kind of medical professional, even an eccentric one. “What kind of help is this woman offering?”
It was Niall who answered, using the same technique Etaín had used on his brother. He placed a hand on the nurse’s arm, though he left it there where she’d retreated. “It’s nothing for you to worry about, Clara.”
“It is while Brianna’s under my care and completely helpless. It’ll be hours before enough of the sedation wears off for her to be semiconscious, much less fully conscious.”
“She’ll be all right. Etaín’s here at Cathal’s request. Let’s step out into the hallway.”
The nurse allowed herself to be guided out of the room, but her reluctance was obvious. Denis followed, with Cathal last.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Etaín’s misgiving returned full force. She dropped the tablet and pencil case onto a bedside stand then looked down at her own hands, turning them over to expose the eyes inked into the palms.
Premonition or instinct, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was getting in too deep. She couldn’t prevent her mother’s voice from returning in a whispered refrain not to get involved.
Too late, she acknowledged. She was already involved. With this. With Cathal.
Etaín shifted her focus to the girl on the bed. She should have postponed this when she heard Brianna was sedated to the point of unconsciousness. It hadn’t occurred to her, and she knew the reason for it.
Cathal’s nearness. His hand on her lower back dulling the sense of self-preservation she’d developed since first answering the call to ink.
Too late to back out now. She took one of Brianna’s hands in hers, then picked up the other.
She’d remain long enough to give the impression she’d somehow managed to wake Brianna and engage her in conversation, but afterward she’d leave and stay away from Cathal. He couldn’t be there when she lived Brianna’s memories in her dreams.
Etaín sat on the edge of the bed, her awareness of her surroundings blurring as sight shifted to the eyes inked onto her palms and pressed to Brianna’s skin. “Show me, Brianna,” she said, beginning the litany that would continue until the nausea came and overwhelmed her. “Where did you go the last time you spent the night with Caitlyn? Who were you with? Show me, Brianna. What happened to Caitlyn? What happened to you?”
Cathal hated the paranoia that always crept in when he associated with his father and uncle. In the life he’d made for himself, loss of money or opportunity were the worst things to happen if someone overheard a conversation and acted on it.
He pushed away from the hallway wall outside Brianna’s bedroom. “I need to talk to you privately,” he told Denis.
“Niall, too?”
It’s the paranoia.
He shook it off. She was safe. Here. Now. But if things went sideways with Denis, it’d be better if his father was involved in the conversation. “Might as well.”
They retreated to Denis’s study. Even in his own home he didn’t speak freely except in this one room. It was the same in the house Cathal grew up in.
Cathal claimed a seat because doing it projected calm and confidence. His father took the one next to him.
Denis leaned against his desk, picking something up and rubbing it like a worry stone. A trophy, Cathal realized a minute later, a small piano with Brianna’s name engraved in it.
“You did well,” his uncle said.
“I did what I needed to do.”
He understood he was speaking to his own conscience.
“She tell you how this works?” Denis asked. “Her getting what she needs for her pictures?”
“No.”
A shrug. “That’s okay. As long as we get results. The guy who passed us the name said her being able to draw the faces was freaky.”
“Etaín told me this turns out to be therapeutic for some victims, almost as if it gives them permission to forget what happened to them.”
“Good. I hope it does that for Brianna.”
Cathal did, too. That’d go a long way in keeping Etaín safe if he was able to use her brother to circumvent his father and uncle from delivering their brand of justice. “It’ll take her at least a day to turn the pictures around.”
The small piano struck the desk with a muted thud. “What does that mean?”
How the hell was he supposed to answer that? “It means she’ll be in touch when she’s done with the drawings.”
His uncle and father exchanged a look. It was Niall who said, “You need to stay with her, son. We have to be sure she doesn’t show the pictures to the police. We need to know we got all of them.”
There was no chance of staying with her. She’d made it clear, though he had no intention of sharing that information with his father and uncle.