Midnight Masquerade

by Nancy Gideon

  He was blinking away the sting in his eyes when he caught the date almost by accident. Thursday, March 2. Thursday. She'd been killed on Thursday on her way home from class. But he'd been driving down I-10 on Saturday night.

  Some mistake. It had to be.

  He checked the date at the top of the page. Friday, March 3. The article on her fatal accident was in the paper a full day before he'd taken that last drink and gotten behind the wheel. No wonder he'd never seen it. He hadn't started looking for a report until Sunday.

  A soft tap at the door behind him startled him. With relief and trepidation, he saw Rae Borden in the hall. He let her in and wordlessly passed her the fax sheet. Her brows lowered as she read the article. Her eyes were shining when she looked up to him for explanation. He tried to speak, couldn't. He cleared his throat and began again.

  "There was a party in New Orleans celebrating my interview. I drank too much then got in my car. Hell, I was invincible that night. Everything I'd always wanted was mine for the taking. Until this woman stepped out of the fog in front of me."

  "Oh God, Nick."

  Her horror couldn't come close to matching his own. “I left the scene, Rae. I called in the report from a pay phone and went home. I went home, Rae. What kind of a man is so afraid of losing what he has that he just drives off and pretends because he made a call, he's done the right thing? That he's done enough. I weighed my success against that woman's life, and she lost. I let her die out there in the bayou because I didn't want that fancy firm to see my name in the paper attached to vehicular manslaughter."

  "It was an accident, Nick.” Her voice was strained. She was having as much trouble saying it as he was believing it.

  "No. I thought so for a lot of years. But now I know better. Look at the date. Thursday. I left that party on Saturday night, two days after that woman was hit and killed."

  The sheet of paper trembled as Rae lowered it. “It wasn't you."

  "Then why do I see her face every night when I close my eyes? Don't you see? It doesn't matter if it was me or not. I did what I did. Thursday, Saturday, that doesn't change anything. I'm just as guilty even if I wasn't behind the wheel when it happened. How am I going to make up for that?"

  She didn't know how to answer him. She simply stared up through wounded, anguished eyes while her policewoman's mind assessed the facts of it. And he saw her verdict there even though she didn't want to recognize it.

  He was guilty of the act if not the commission.

  A gust of rain and wind swept through the room as the balcony doors burst open. As Nick went to secure them, he pulled up short in dismay.

  For there on the balcony stood the ghostly figure of Madeline Rousseau.

  Chapter

  Twenty

  Instead of shrinking back from the apparition, Nick stood his ground with a defiant growl of, “You're not Madeline Rosseau."

  Laughter that set crystal shivering on its stems filled the room. Riding the cloud of mist, the figure advanced into the room and while they watched, amazed, the ethereal features began to shift and change.

  "You were expecting the Ghost of Christmas Past?"

  "Anna Murray ... or should I say Bianca Du Maurier?"

  "The masquerade is over, I see. Such a pity. I was so enjoying the game.” The icy blonde demon regarded them with an amused contempt. “You know who I am, and I know who you are. Now that we are all properly introduced."

  "Why did you do it?” Nick demanded. All the anguish he'd suffered since that night on I-10 crowded thickly into his voice. “That was you, wasn't it? You let me think I hit that woman. Why? Why?” That last cracked with barely restrained fury.

  "To bring you here, of course. If you'd taken that job in New Orleans, you might not have found our offer that attractive. And besides, it was a test of sorts. We needed to see what you would do. And you passed—or failed, as you will—magnificently. You see a man of character wouldn't have been half as easy to manipulate. You disappoint me, Nick, developing a streak of decency this late in the game. Kaz hoped you would join us, but I have always had my reservations. Treachery runs in your family, if not through your genetics then through your inheritance of blood. Too bad Kaz was mistaken. But if not a partner on Earth, then a servant in hell."

  She sprang. With movement so swift it defied time and space, Bianca Du Maurier was on Nick. Before Rae had a chance to draw her pistol or cry out a warning, the creature with her horrible fangs exposed, ripped into Nick's throat, devouring the hot jet of blood with a ravenous purpose.

  "No!"

  Shaking off the shock that held her momentarily paralyzed as the fiend rode Nick down to the floor, Rae fired her pistol, once, twice, three times, striding forward with each pull of the trigger until the last volley was delivered up against the side of the blonde head.

  Then Bianca looked up from her feast, the charred circles marring her body, Nick's blood bright and thick upon her lips and upon the hideous sharp teeth she bared in a snarl.

  "Weren't you taught it is impolite to interrupt someone while they are eating?"

  Bianca's hand closed over the pistol. With her thumb under the still-smoking barrel, she bent it upward as if it were one of those cartoon guns that could be tied into a knot. She jerked it from Rae's hand and sent it sailing out the open balcony doors. Then, she stood, letting Nick roll off her blood-splattered lap to thump loosely on the carpet. She smiled with a vicious pleasure at the other woman.

  "You can have him now, for what he'll be worth to you. You see, live or die, it doesn't matter now. He's mine. I'll have my revenge upon his family. And you, for all your clever tricks and plans, will have nothing at all."

  That said, the creature faded, becoming once again a thin smoke that dispersed on the evening air. Only her laughter lingered, ringing pure and malevolent as Rae fell to her knees.

  "Nick? Nick! Oh God, God!"

  Her mind told her there was no way he could survive such an attack, but her heart goaded her into taking every possible measure. She scrambled to the bathroom, snatching towels to press against the awful wound in hopes of stemming the bleeding. First one, then another became saturated. She wasn't aware that the wrenching sobs she heard were her own.

  "Nick, don't you die on me. Don't you leave me."

  His eyes opened slowly, as glazed as black marbles, then clearing as he focused on her tear-stained face. He tried to say her name. It gurgled in his savaged throat.

  "Don't try to talk. I'm here. I'm here with you. I won't leave you."

  "Rae, you have to,” came his bubbly whisper. He fumbled in his pants pocket then pressed what he'd retrieved into her hand. She glanced at it. A key? “Box at the Copy Mart. Evidence against Zanlos in it. Go now."

  She threw the key away. He turned his head toward the sound of it clattering on the kitchen tiles, obviously distressed. “I don't care about the damned evidence. I have to get you to the hospital."

  He put his hand to her damp cheek. The cold of his touch effectively stilled her. “You can't do anything for me now. But if you don't do this, it will all be for nothing. Rae ... it's got to count for something."

  She covered his hand with her own as her tears flowed over both of them. “I love you, Nick."

  "Then help me come out on top this one time. Don't ... don't let them beat us. Get the evidence to Gabriel. Find Naomi. I'll call 911."

  She hesitated, torn between what she had to do and what she would be leaving behind. Her greatest fear was that once she left his side, she would never see him again. She clutched his chill fingers against her cheek.

  Seeing her agony of indecision, Nick managed a faint smile. “If you love me, cher, do this for me. Do it now ... before they have time to cover their tracks. I'll be all right. You have my promise on that."

  "Dammit, Nick, this isn't fair."

  "I can't make it fair ... but you can make it right. Go on now. Make it right."

  She stared deeply into his dark eyes, as if she could absorb part of h
is soul along with the strength of his love. She'd need both to break away from the desperate heartache that held her at his side. Uttering a soft curse, she kissed his palm then placed the phone receiver into it. Before her emotions overruled action, she scrambled into the kitchen to retrieve the key. When she looked back, Nick had dragged himself up to lean back against the sofa and had pulled the phone onto his lap.

  "Go,” he told her simply.

  And she did while she still could.

  And as the door closed, a mechanical voice sounded.

  "If you wish to make a call, hang up and dial again."

  The receiver rolled from Nick's hand to bounce forgotten on the rug.

  * * * *

  As she rode down in the elevator, Rae caught a glimpse of her reflection in the bronze-toned mirrored wall. Determinedly, she scrubbed the wet streaks from her face with the backs of her hands, stopping when she saw blood on them.

  Nick's blood.

  He was going to die.

  That truth quaked through her with a numbing certainty. There was nothing she could do that the paramedics wouldn't try. All she could do for him was make his life count, to make his last actions matter.

  Her hand hovered near the Stop button. How could she leave him to face his eternity alone? Slowly, her hand dropped to her side. He wasn't alone now. Any more than she was alone as long as she was wrapped in the security of his love.

  And there was more. Something she hadn't told him because she wasn't sure. Now she might never have the chance to share the miracle of potential life quickening inside her. She placed her palm upon her flat belly as if she might sense some precognitive vibration that would tell her yes or no.

  Yes.

  The answer formed with unshakable certainty.

  Nick Flynn was not going to leave her alone to face her future.

  When she exited the elevator, she expected to hear the wail of sirens. Nothing. The rain had stopped outside leaving a world covered with fog and clammy darkness. She paused at the door, glancing back toward the elevator as the door slid silently shut. She should be with Nick. She greedily wanted those last few minutes, hours, decades with him. Regret and remorse burned once more behind her eyes. She could either start weeping or get moving. Which would be a more fitting requiem to her fallen lover?

  The air outside slapped around her like a wet, heavy towel. With that weight pressing on her, it was an effort just to breathe, let alone muster up the energy to consider wading through it in a walk several blocks down and over to the Copy Mart which she prayed didn't close its doors at dark. She started to hurry along the sidewalk, past the beds of flowers that appeared to be veiled in thick gauze. Headlights cut across her path. Hoping for a cab, she turned to face an unfamiliar blue sedan. The passenger side window cranked down. If it was some John who still thought she was on the job...

  "Detective Borden?"

  "Palmer?” She approached the car, weak-kneed with relief. Now she wouldn't have to desert Nick. She could pass her investigation on to Palmer who would see to Zanlos's fall. It didn't have to be a personal retribution any more, as long as it was done. The only important personal thing in her life was bleeding to death on the hotel room floor behind her. She reached into her pocket for the safety deposit box key. Palmer could retrieve the evidence and see it properly processed. By morning, warrants would be issued, and Zanlos would be marching across the a.m. news in handcuffs. Seeing that spectacle would satisfy her thirst for revenge for the Grovers.

  Then she would go after Bianca Du Maurier for Nick.

  "Can I give you a lift?” The detective called out. She opened the passenger side door and leaned down.

  "Just who I wanted to see."

  "Climb in. I was just on my way to pick up Gabe and his girlfriend. We're setting her up in a safe house. No surprise considering all that ruckus you caused in the club last night."

  Rae froze. Every finely honed scrap of instinct cried out, Liar. Naomi didn't need a safe house when she was getting the care she needed at the LaValois's ... if she was still safe at all. She remembered Nick's intuitive alarm. Naomi and Gabriel weren't waiting for Palmer to offer up a ride. Nor would Gabriel have had time to fill his partner in on what had happened at the Noir.

  But Palmer seemed incredibly well-informed despite that fact. And he just happened to be sitting outside Nick's hotel hoping she'd emerge so addled and distraught that she wouldn't question his presence there.

  He was hardly a godsend. More like demon driven. If she peeled down the top of his tight shirt collar, would she find the telltale marks of possession on his throat? She didn't have to see them to know Palmer was the one working on the inside to scuttle police investigations against Meeker, Murray & Zanlos, the one who had told them that she was a cop. And she was the one with her careless words at the Memorial park that informed on Naomi Bright. He had taken that information to Zanlos and his ghoulish partner. And now he was here at their direction to do what? Lead her astray? Or to her death?

  And she needed to lead him away from Nick.

  She settled onto the stiff car seat. “Let's go. I've got lots to tell Gabriel."

  "He said something about Flynn having evidence against his law firm,” Palmer mentioned casually as he gestured for her to buckle up. “You know anything about that?"

  She smiled at him. You sonofabitch! “All safe and sound and tucked away in Nick's office."

  "Shall we go there first and get that stuff safe under lock and key?"

  "Good idea, Palmer. Let's do that."

  And as they sped toward the downtown area, Rae frowned out the side window. Then she heard it, a wail in the distance. Help on its way to Nick Flynn. She relaxed against the seat and said a silent prayer, as unbeknownst to her the ambulance that had been music to her ears pulled into the drive of an old house three blocks over to pick up an elderly woman struck down by the heat.

  * * * *

  A strange sound stirred Nick back to awareness, like someone dragging something heavy slowly up the stairs. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. The weight must have gotten the best of the unfortunate porter, for the bump-bumps got farther and farther apart.

  So tired. It was all he could do to move his hand where it rested upon the unpleasant stickiness of his tee shirt. He felt a weary rhythm pulse beneath his palm. As he focused the wanderings of his attention, he drew a parallel between the thumping sounds and the vibration beneath his hand. His heartbeats. That's what he was hearing, growing slower and fainter by the second as his life gradually and without any dramatic fanfare drained away.

  He was supposed to have dialed 911.

  Forcing his eyelids apart, he glimpsed the receiver where it lay on the rug beside him. So far away. So impossibly out of reach. He'd just rest awhile and try to retrieve it later. Rest awhile.

  His eyes closed, and with a sudden shock he realized it might be for the last time. But that jolt of realization wasn't severe enough or strong enough to jump start a heart that was running out of fuel to pump.

  He was dying. And he knew no miracle he could summon through 911 was going to save him now.

  So cold. He shivered, wondering who'd turned the air conditioning up so high. But of course it wasn't the A/C. It was his body going deeper into shock without the warning insulation of blood circulating through it. Even as he contemplated his own death, he was aware of something else nudging against the edge of his consciousness. That breathless sensation of something important growing near, welling up in his chest to clog his throat, to quicken his nearly worn out heart. It was the feeling he'd gotten as a child when he believed he could feel his mother near him.

  Help me. Don't let me die.

  And as if in answer to his silent mental summons, he heard a softly accented voice speaking close by.

  "I've just been waiting for you to ask."

  Chapter

  Twenty-one

  Nick struggled to focus on the figure bending over him, and then he could not look away. Caught i
n the dazzling brilliance of the other's gaze, all else faded to unimportance.

  "Do you know me?"

  Nick started to nod even as he mouthed the word “No.” A strange contradiction. Even though he'd never seen this man before, a sense of the familiar overwhelmed.

  "I am Gerard Pasquale. I am your ... we are related. You are Nick. Your father sent me to watch out for you. I can see I arrived none too soon."

  "I'm dying.” Once said, it was easier to accept that truth. He was too tired to deny it any longer.

  Gerard took him by the chin, gently guiding his head to one side so he could observe the savagery done to his throat. He pursed his lips, and the light in his eyes flared hot and white. “Perhaps. But not in the way you understand it. Who has done this to you?"

  Nick shut his eyes, meaning to rest for just a moment so he could find the strength to answer, but the instant he closed out the intensity of the other's stare, he felt himself slipping, effortlessly sliding away.

  "Nick. Nick. You must look at me. Look at me."

  He forced his eyes to open, and with the connection between their gazes, Nick felt a faint stir of energy return. He understood. Gerard Pasquale and this odd conversation were the only things keeping him alive.

  "She said her name was Anna Murray, but it's Bianca Du Maurier."

  "Ah, yes.” The acknowledgment hissed from him. “Il nemico. I didn't recognize her work. She's grown sloppy in her old age."

  Nick fought to concentrate. “It's you she's after. You she's trying to punish."

  "Yes. Our disenchantment goes back a long way, my friend, and I am sorry you were drawn into it. I should have been paying closer attention, but I thought you were insulated from her wrath.” He sighed regretfully then studied Nick for a long, fateful moment as if making some tremendous decision, a decision he passed on to the dying Nick Flynn.