Obviously Noah had spent eleven years suffering self-recrimination over what he’d been forced to do. But if his version of events was accurate, she couldn’t help seeing him as more of a hero than a villain.
“Tiffany disappeared right afterward,” she reminded him.
“Yeah.” His expression twisted in disgust. “She’d been in a few scrapes with the law herself. Her knee-jerk reaction to something of this magnitude was to bolt.”
“And leave you in the lurch,” Kit said, surprised by her own anger at the pathetic woman. “How did the grand jury determine self-defense with no eyewitness testimony?”
“Rick Anders was too damn ornery to die without additional drama. Son of a bitch lived just long enough to mouth off about how he planned to go back and finish the job.”
“I suppose that would do it.”
Noah lay back on the quilt and stared up into the leaves of the maple tree. “That episode...” He shook his head slowly. “It put the fear of God into me, I’ll tell you. I’d been playing with fire, trying to control that bastard on my own.”
“Rick?”
He looked at her and smiled, tapping his head. “No. That bastard.”
“Oh.”
“Left to my own devices, I’d never have sought the company of someone like Tiffany Anders in the first place. It was all him.” He tapped his head again. “I’d never talked to anyone else about what was happening inside me—I knew they’d think I was crazy—but after Anders... Well, anyway, I had this friend, a graduate psych student named Paul Kerrigan. I confided in him.”
“Is that when you found out you have multiple personality disorder?”
His eyebrows rose. “Is that what you think?” When she stumbled over a response, he said, “Paul’s heavy into psychic research. The paranormal.” Now her eyebrows shot up. “Well, hell, I figured whatever was happening inside me was anything but normal. That only left para.”
“I guess you’ve got a point there.” She stretched out next to him on her side. Leaned on an elbow and watched the play of dappled light on his face and his wheat-gold hair.
“Paul wasn’t able to pin down the source of my problem—demonic possession aside—so he concentrated on helping me develop methods to control it.”
“Such as...”
“TM, biofeedback, that sort of thing.”
Now she knew where his interest in voodoo medicine originated. “And it worked?”
“Eventually. It took months of hard work before I saw measurable results, and years to refine the techniques.”
“Sounds like you were pretty determined.”
He turned to lock gazes with her, his own chilly. “Kit, I killed a man.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “A man who deserved it, Noah. A man who would’ve murdered two innocent people if you hadn’t stopped him.”
Tenderly he reached up to play with a strand of her hair that floated on the light breeze. “I’m not Magnum, P.I., remember? Justified or not, taking a life is still a hell of a thing to have to live with. And who’s to say the next time would be for so noble a cause? At that point I’d had four years to get to know this thing inside me. Something told me I couldn’t count on it drawing the line at justifiable homicide.”
“So you learned to control the impulses,” she said.
“By the time my senior year ended, I’d managed to get the thing on a short leash, yeah. Med school passed uneventfully, but I guess you already know that.”
He was referring to her investigation. She nodded. “How did you end up in Pratte?”
“After my residency, I took a few months off. Left Max with my folks and just hopped on my Harley and took to the open road.”
She blinked. “A motorcycle? Do you still have it?”
“Gave it to Bryan last year.”
She’d seen Bryan on that hog when he wasn’t driving his pickup, but had no idea it had once belonged to Noah.
“Something drew me to Pratte,” he continued. “Like a magnet. It was damn eerie. I knew the layout of the town before I ever got there—except for a couple of buildings that had been added in recent years. Those were a surprise. Then I drove straight to my house.”
“Ray’s house.”
“Right. There’d been another owner in the interim, but at that point it had been standing empty for four years. I recognized it right away. Then I saw the old sign for the doctor’s office and knew I’d come home. When the real estate agent showed me around the place, I was speechless.”
“You knew the interior of the house, too.” She caught on quickly.
“Every corner, every piece of furniture.”
“And the wallpaper,” she said, remembering Henry’s words.
He smiled. “The wallpaper, yeah. So I snapped up the house that day. Didn’t even find out about Ray’s past till later. It’s not the type of thing real estate agents brag about. But the townspeople clued me in quick enough. And that’s when my recurring dream about Anita finally fell into place.”
Kit didn’t like where this was heading.
He continued, “I can’t walk through a room of that house without remembering something that took place there. Dinner parties. Arguments with Ruby. Christmas mornings with Debbie. Not to mention—” he wagged his eyebrows obscenely “—doing the big nasty with an incredible assortment of women. Hell of a swordsman, Dr. Whittaker. Dispensed his healing touch in every corner of that old place, right down to the furnace room. Yesterday I gave a physical to a local grandma, and I had this vivid recollection of ruthlessly wheedling her out of her virginity decades ago on that very exam table.”
“So... it was Ray’s memories you were tapping into all along? Ever since the accident?”
He sat up and leaned on a palm, staring down at her. “You remember when we talked about reincarnation, Kit? I know you don’t bel—”
“Noah.” She sat up herself then. “You’re a bright man, with years of scientific training. You can’t really...”
Yes, he can, his expression told her. She bit her lip against further protest. He’d convinced himself he was the reincarnation of Ray Whittaker, and nothing she said was going to dissuade him. All these “memories” of Ray’s life had to be the product of Noah’s imagination, or perhaps the combined imaginations of whatever multiple personalities inhabited his mind.
She said, “So what you’re telling me is, it was Ray Whittaker who attacked me in the cemetery.”
“I know it’s a lot to swallow, but yes.”
It struck her then, and she said quietly, “He spoke with a New England accent.” Noah’s expression told her this was news to him. She gave herself a mental shake. Don’t start buying in to this nonsense, she warned herself. Get a grip. Trying a different tack, she said, “From what I know about reincarnation, it’s not supposed to be like a separate personality overpowering your own.”
“You’re right, it’s not. Normally the synthesis of personalities, of the previous and present beings, is seamless. Undetectable. As it should be. The only thing I can figure out is that when I died and was brought back, the trauma triggered a schism in my personality. Those aspects attributable to my previous incarnation—Ray Whittaker—somehow coalesced and split off.” His probing gaze lingered on her face. “You don’t buy it,” he said, without surprise or rancor.
“But you do,” she said carefully. “That’s enough for now.”
A crooked smile. “You’re a born diplomat, Kathleen Roarke.”
“I’m a born snoop. Tell me something. Why does your study look like the only lived-in room in your house? Aside from the kitchen and bedroom.”
“The visions—Ray’s memories—are weakest in that room, so it’s easy on the psyche, so to speak. It used to be Ruby’s sewing room. He never went in there.” He gave a half laugh. “Well, except for a physical therapy session one afternoon with a buxom brunette named Winifred.”
“According to the books I found there, you have a long-standing interest in curare.”
At the cemetery she’d asked Noah if he’d killed Jo, and he hadn’t answered. She realized now he hadn’t been able to. Because he didn’t know. Whenever his alternate personality took over, he zoned out. On the other hand, she’d bet her life Noah wasn’t the one who’d searched her room and car. Or hired Tan Man to follow her. Logically these incidents shifted guilt away from him, and she grasped at that possibility like a lifeline.
As if reading her mind, he said, “I wish you’d reconsider and go back to Chicago, Kit. God knows it’ll kill me to see you leave, but dammit, you’re in danger here.” He made her look him in the eye. “I’m not just talking about whoever it is that’s trying to get their hands on Jo’s computer disk. I’m talking about Ray. He’s stolen any future we could’ve had. As long as we’re together, you can never be safe from him.”
“That’s not true, Noah. You can control him. You did it last night.” Her face warmed at the memory of the other things he’d done last night.
His expression was heartbreakingly sad. He whispered, “It was a close call, darlin’, and you know it. Next time might be different. Anything could tip the scales in his favor. If I’m overtired. If I’m coming down with a cold—”
“No.” She couldn’t bear to acknowledge the truth in his words. To admit that the alien part of Noah, whatever its true nature, would forever keep them apart. Her chin trembled, and she hated herself for her weakness. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me, Noah.”
He seized her shoulders, and she saw how painful it was for him, too. “For God’s sake, Kit, I did hurt you! It could happen again. It could be worse.” Abruptly he released her. “I won’t take the chance. That’s final. I refuse to put you at risk. I can’t even trust myself to sleep in the same bed with you. What kind of relationship would that be?”
She had no answer. All she knew was that returning to Chicago at the end of the summer and leaving Noah behind was going to tear her to pieces.
His fingertips stroked her cheek. “I’d give anything if it didn’t have to be this way, Kit. Anything.”
The indisputable sincerity of his words rocked her, and she lost the battle to contain her grief. He hauled her into his arms and kissed her eyes as the tears flowed. His voice was harsh as he whispered, “I love you, Kit. God help me, I always will.”
Chapter Twelve
NOAH STRETCHED OUT on the quilt, pulling Kit down with him to lie snuggled against his chest. He kissed and stroked her until, at last, a languid peace replaced her anguish. She felt the reassuring warm solidness of him, the beat of his heart under his light chambray shirt. She breathed deeply of the intoxicating male essence of the man, lightly overlaid with the scent of soap. Their arms and legs were comfortably tangled, just as if they were sharing a bed. All night. But that, of course, could never be.
Because she knew he was right. They could never hope to enjoy a normal relationship. She’d had too graphic a taste of the dark part of him to kid herself. The terror of that night at the cemetery would always be with her. No matter what else they shared, a little part of her would always be waiting for that thing to emerge.
He rolled them both so she was looking up at him leaning over her, against the backdrop of a living green canopy of maple leaves. “I didn’t protect you last night,” he murmured, and it took a second to realize he wasn’t talking about his alter ego.
“Yeah, I thought about that. After.”
“I’m usually very careful,” he said. “Hell, I’m always very careful. I guess I’d managed to convince myself we weren’t going to make love, that I was strong enough to resist.” He smiled wryly at his folly. “Last night kind of snuck up on me. For what it’s worth, I know for a fact you won’t catch anything nasty from me.”
“Same here.”
“But as for birth control, well, I’d bet real money you’re not on the Pill.”
He was right, but she asked, “Why?”
His expression was a funny mixture of tenderness and something else, something that told her this was another one of those things southern gentlemen don’t discuss with a lady. “Well... you’re awfully small, darlin’. I don’t think you’ve been with anyone else in a long while.”
His knuckles brushed her cheek, which, ridiculously, was growing warm. She nodded mutely in affirmation. She could have told him, You’re awfully big, darlin’. She wasn’t very experienced, but she knew that much.
He added, “But even before last night, I figured you for a woman who doesn’t give herself easily. It’s not in your nature.”
How could Noah know so much about her when he was such a mystery himself?
As casually as he’d packed up their picnic, he started to undo the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons running down the front of her dress.
“Noah!” She tried in vain to derail his busy fingers. A chuckle bubbled up her throat as she whipped her head around to peer into the surrounding woods, though she knew they were alone. “What are you doing?”
“Just a simple wound check, darlin’. Your health is my primary concern.” Her dress was now undone to her waist, and he showed no sign of stopping.
“This is nowhere near my wound.” She started to redo the buttons at the V neckline as he untied her sash belt. He smoothly captured her hands in one of his without skipping a beat. “Noah, for God’s sake, we’re in a public place!”
“Don’t worry. I never see anyone else here.”
“Rarely. You said you rarely see anyone here.”
“Did I? I meant ‘never.’ Of course, there was that group of backpacking nuns that one time.” He said this with a straight face as he worked his way down the dress, and she went still, straining her ears for any hint of human sounds. The lilting strains of “Ave Maria,” for example.
He said, “Bryan’s right about buttons, you know. Sexy as hell.” He grinned at her. “I think it’s the anticipation. They take so god-awful long to undo.”
He reached the hem and the last button, which he unfastened with a flourish. The sides of her dress still met in the middle. She was, technically speaking, as chastely covered as before. Nevertheless, she shivered and her chest rose and fell faster. He released her hands and she let them drop to her sides, making no attempt to button up. The singing nuns would just have to deal with it.
He leaned on his palm, looking her up and down, his hot gaze making her wonder if he had X-ray vision. “I’ve never seen all of you, you know,” he said. “Just tantalizing bits and pieces.”
“What about last night when you put me to bed?”
“Too dark.” His fingertip trailed down her neckline and slipped between the two halves of the dress. Slowly, oh so slowly, it slid downward over her pounding heart and the front clasp of her bra, between her ribs to her abdomen, which quivered at the teasing contact. “You’re so soft,” he murmured.
She squirmed when his fingertip dipped into her navel and tickled it lightly. In fascination she watched his face, his rapt expression both serious and playful, if that was possible. His finger reached the top of her lace string bikini and lightly trailed along the edge. She breathed a sigh of relief. And regret. This was where he’d stop.
His gaze locked with hers as his fingertip etched a fiery path straight down over the lace triangle and the feminine furrow beneath. She gasped, arching into the delicious pressure as he painstakingly traced the shape of her sex. Her thighs slammed together reflexively and she bit her lip to keep from crying out in pleasure. His heavy, warm palm cupped her then and she groaned, feeling herself swell and pulsate under his hand. At the same moment he seized her mouth with his.
As she felt her arms encircle his neck, she forced herself to pull back from his hungry kiss. She shook her head. To clear it and to make him slow down. “We... we aren’t... we can’t...” Her tongue was thick, her mind lust-stupid. “We said we weren’t going to do this
. Didn’t we?”
“Tell me how to stop,” he rasped, his eyes glittering like smoked green glass. He took a deep breath. “Kit. Darlin’. Don’t expect me to be able to keep my hands off you while you’re still within grabbing distance—hell, within the state of Vermont.” Some of the glitter fled his eyes as sober reality intruded. “You know I’ll try my damnedest to keep you safe, from Ray, but that’s not something I can promise. God knows I want more than sex from you, but it’s all we can have. And in a few weeks we won’t even have that. If that’s not enough, or if you’re afraid, I’ll understand. I’ll leave you alone.”
“It’s not enough,” she whispered, her throat clogged with tears she refused to liberate, “but I’m... I’m not afraid.” It was a lie, she was afraid, but her need for him, for whatever closeness they could share, however fleeting, overrode her fear.
She reached up to stroke his cheek and the strong line of his jaw. He captured her fingertip between his lips and kissed it. Then he began to part her dress. “I want to look at you.”
He started at the neckline, slowly drawing the fabric apart to fall limply at her sides, working his way down until it lay completely open. His appreciative gaze swept over her before he leaned close to study the elaborate bra clasp nestled between her breasts. Just as she decided they were in for a good long fumble-and-cuss session, the lace cups parted in a blur of nimble fingers and a practiced twist of the wrist. She narrowed her eyes speculatively. He didn’t learn that in med school. Not in the classroom, anyway.
Wordlessly he lifted her shoulders and slipped off her dress and bra, setting them aside. Now she lay before him in only those ridiculous little panties she was beginning to despise—identical to the ones she’d worn the day he stitched her up, only these were lavender.
His voice was an awed whisper. “Darlin’, you are so beautiful.” Lightly he stroked her hip, then hooked a finger under the satin-covered cord that secured that useless scrap of lace. “I do love these little lacy things you wear, though I haven’t figured out what purpose they serve. Except to drive me crazy.” He pulled them off.
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