Shrouded in Darkness

by H. D. Thomson

  Ice rushed over his flesh.

  “It was on my jacket. I couldn’t get it off. It was everywhere. I—I had to throw it out. The jacket.”

  “Do the police know who did it?”

  “No. The other two deputies don’t have a motive. At least none they know of or are willing to tell me. But I think I know who killed him.” She gripped his arms tighter, pressing her nails through his sweater and into his skin. “I just don’t know why.”

  “Malcolm,” he breathed the name, answering for her. He clamped down hard on his jaw to contain the words about to spill from his lips. Margot didn’t need his anger and bitterness.

  She inhaled sharply. “Yes. I’m pretty sure.”

  Jake looked over her shoulder to the headboard with a narrowed-eyed gaze. “Well, you don’t have to worry. Malcolm isn’t going to hurt anyone again.”

  Margot stilled in his arms. “Why do you say that?”

  Jake closed his eyes and rubbed his chin over the soft wisps of her hair. He heard the uncertainty and dread in her voice and didn’t have to ask to know what she thought. “Don’t worry. I won’t kill anyone. Nothing as crazy as that. But something needs to be done. Too long I’ve waited around while Malcolm does whatever the hell he wants. I can’t do that any longer. Not if I’m ever going to have any respect for myself.”

  To his surprise, Margot didn’t say anything.

  For the life of him, Jake didn’t know how to take her silence. After all, she’d once been married to Malcolm. There could still be some lingering fondness for her ex-husband. Tension wrapped around his muscles, while fear kept him from pulling away to see her expression. He couldn’t handle her disillusionment. Granted, he’d never told her he was a shining example of humanity. But Jake wanted her respect. It scared him how much he wanted it.

  “Thank you.”

  Those two little words knocked the tension from his limbs. “Anything to keep him away from you.” Jake pulled her even deeper into his embrace. “He’ll never touch you again. That’s a promise.”

  Her sigh whispered across his throat. “I still can’t get over Carl’s death. It happened so fast, yet it seemed every second lasted forever. I was there, but then again, I was so far away, looking in from somewhere else.”

  Jake couldn’t find the words to ease her horror and didn’t even attempt to try—he knew they were useless. Instead, he held her, just held her. After a while, he slid his fingers over the slick satin across her back and rubbed slowly over the taut muscles along the length of her spine, and over her shoulders and nape. Only when her body melted deeper against his own did he attempt to draw away.

  But she would have none of it and latched onto his arms.

  “Please stay with me. I can’t seem to get warm.” She whispered against his throat, her limbs shaking against his. “And I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I wouldn’t think of leaving. I’m just going to drain the tub and turn off the bathroom light.”

  Jake told her the truth. He couldn’t leave her if he wanted. She wasn’t just John’s sister. She’d grown to mean more than that. It was already too late for him. He’d become involved.

  After turning the bathroom light off and closing the drapes, he kicked off his shoes. Shrouded within a black cloak of darkness, Jake yanked off his gloves and stripped down to his briefs, leaving a pile of damp clothes beside the bed. Then he dropped his sunglasses somewhere beside them, and slipped under the blankets with her. Sighing, she slid up against him and tucked her head against the indentation between his shoulder and chest. As he watched the red numbers of Margot’s clock change with each minute, her body relaxed against his. Her ankle crept upward and slipped over his calf, and her arm curled around his waist.

  Jake should never have gotten into bed with just his briefs. He should’ve at least left his damn pants on, no matter how damp and uncomfortable they were. The warm silk of her skin against his was killing him. Anything would have been better than this hunger, this gnawing away at his insides.

  Minutes ago, thinking of Margot in any sexual light had been the farthest thing from his mind. But now, he couldn’t think of anything else but her body against his own. It was pure pleasure and pure torment having her lips, so soft and silken against his neck, and her breath, warm and moist, feathering the sensitive spot below his ear.

  His hold on her tightened, and he glanced up at the ceiling. Jake wasn’t going to take advantage of her now. Not tonight. If he could help it, not ever again. So he held her, gave her what support he could while he drank in her warmth. With his arms still around her, he slid his free hand over her hair, tangling his fingers through silken strands still damp from her bath.

  Soon, Margot would be safe. Jake would take the necessary steps to make sure Malcolm never touched her again. He wouldn’t kill the bastard. As much as he hated to admit it, Malcolm had been right. Jake didn’t have the guts to step over that line and commit murder. He smiled grimly. He might not be able to kill Malcolm, but he knew of a way to ruin him.

  Chapter 13

  Margot woke up to silence. She opened her eyes and wished she hadn’t. Even with the closed drapes and the room drenched in soft shadow, the headache deep in her skull still crashed against her brain.

  Groaning, she turned away and glanced at the other side of the double bed. Empty. Just like inside her heart. Margot slipped her hand over the rumpled sheets and found them cool to the touch. Jake must have left long ago. But what had she expected? That he would stay? Keep holding her forever?

  She’d loved having his arms wrapped around her middle, his chin resting against the crown of her head. He’d been there for her, lending his gentle, yet silent support, his strength. If Margot wasn’t careful, she’d find herself falling in love.

  No. She wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t ready to be vulnerable. She wasn’t ready to be hurt again. But, oh, it would be so easy to let her heart lead her down that path.

  Pressing a palm against her brow, Margot struggled from the tangled sheets and stumbled to her feet. The shower’s warm water drumming over her chilled body did nothing to sooth her head. Turning the water to hot didn’t do any better, and it especially didn’t do anything to lesson her tumultuous thoughts. Carl. His murder. His life gone forever. Malcolm. Why? She couldn’t understand. She was afraid to understand, and she didn’t want to.

  After donning a pair of jeans and wool sweater, Margot went downstairs and into the kitchen. She froze by the counter. Three wine bottles lined the top. All empty. She hurried over to the cabinet where she kept a spare, white wine she didn’t particularly like. Gone. Someone had tossed it in the garbage with a bottle of scotch. Both empty.

  Anger surged and burned through her veins. Jake had no right. None whatsoever. If he thought he was going to get away with pulling this stunt then he had another thing coming. She’d tell him so the minute she saw him.

  Then she saw the note taped to the refrigerator.

  “I had to run an errand. Will be back in a couple of days. Yours, Jake.”

  At Jake’s salutation, her heartbeat accelerated into a jumble of hope and excitement. Then just as quickly, she smashed those emotions. No. She wasn’t going to read anything into that one little word. She didn’t believe in hope. Plus, why should she even feel like that when only a second before she’d been angry with him?

  ###

  For the next two days, if Margot wasn’t working at home doing e-book conversions for her clients or at least trying to make sense of the mess left of her business, she went into town, visiting and helping Joyce, and searching for hard to find books.

  No matter how busy she kept, Margot couldn’t stifle her loneliness, a constant companion these last couple of days. Margot didn’t know how to fix it, even though she knew the cause. Jake. Far too quickly, she’d come to rely on him. Something Margot didn’t like one little bit, because when it came down to it, she didn’t trust him. Not completely. Maybe if she knew he wasn’t hiding something, she might not
be so leery.

  During the day, Jake disappeared, doing God only knew what. At first, she’d kept silent and avoided a confrontation because it was none of her business. Then later, she’d been afraid of Jake’s answers, afraid of the oddness of the whole situation—the gloves, the glasses, and the way he moved around the house so silently. But this evening as Margot sat in front of the computer uploading a number of e-book conversions to one of the online distributors she used, suspicions were getting in the way, growing stronger than any fear she might have of Jake’s answers. She needed to face him, discover what he was hiding. Otherwise, it would drive her crazy.

  The sound of the front door opening and closing echoed down the hall and into the den. On the off chance Jake came back tonight, she’d left it unlocked. She’d also kept the lights off in the hall and front porch, knowing how much he hated the light.

  Margot scrambled from her chair, hurried into the hall, and caught him going toward his room.

  “Jake!”

  He stopped but didn’t turn around.

  “We need to talk.”

  “About what?” Finally, when Jake turned around, she wanted to rip those stupid glasses from his face. How could she read a lie when she couldn’t gauge an expression?

  “Where have you been?”

  “Boston.”

  “Boston?” She frowned. “But that’s where Malcolm lives.”

  “I know where he lives.”

  Something about his voice, about the way he held his body, sent dread burrowing into her stomach. “What did you do? You didn’t confront him, did you?”

  “No. I didn’t talk to him, but I made sure he’ll never bother you again. I didn’t even have to touch him. All it took was an anonymous call to the police, a few witnesses, and something planted in his car and then in his house. It doesn’t take much if you have the right resources. So you don’t have to worry about—”

  Jake gasped, cutting off the rest of his words, and he stumbled, striking a hand out behind him, grappling for the wall but meeting air.

  “Jake!”

  “I—” He dragged in air, a loud hiss of pain. “Go. Now. Please—”

  She took a hesitant step forward. “What’s wrong?”

  “Go!”

  Powerless with shock, Margot watched as he staggered and slammed back against the wall. Then his legs buckled, and he crashed to the wooden floor on hands and knees, his head bowed between his shoulders.

  “Jake!”

  Rushing over, Margot skidded down onto her knees beside him. He collapsed on his side, doubled over with his back facing her, and panted between high, heart-rending whimpers. She clutched Jake’s shoulder in panic. His muscles quivered beneath her fingers. Oh, God. He was shaking all over.

  “What’s wrong?” She gripped his shoulder harder. “You’ve got to tell me!” Margot thought of the empty vials she’d found in his room. “Do you need medicine?”

  Jake couldn’t seem to speak, only draw in harsh, rapid gulps of air, which the wooden floor and walls amplified to a terrifying degree. Rising to his knees, he curled into a ball, wrapped his arms around his middle and bent his head into his chest.

  “I’ll call for an ambulance.”

  She rose, hand on her knee, but Jake caught her wrist, digging into bone and flesh, forcing her back to the floor.

  “No!”

  “But what’s wrong?” Her voice turned hoarse with fear. “You’ve got to tell me.”

  “I told you to go.”

  “I can’t leave you like this—”

  Jake turned his face to her, only for a second, but long enough for the faint light from the den to touch his features. There was something about his face. Something odd...

  “Get the hell away from me!”

  Margot jerked back as if slapped.

  Jake shoved her away. The force pitched her sideways. She caught the floor with one hand just as he lurched to his feet. She scrambled after him, grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt, digging and twisting her fingers into the fabric, but Jake tore loose, and the material slipped through her fingers. He escaped into the bedroom, slamming the door shut.

  The sound of wood against wood thundered through the hall. Margot stood panting, shaking, and staring at the closed door. What in God’s name was going on?

  Something crashed on the other side. Margot flinched. Opening and closing her hands, she faced the bedroom door as an unearthly silence descended throughout the house.

  Margot was scared. Scared for herself, and scared for Jake. Scared of what or who was on the other side. Inhaling quick, ragged breaths, she wrapped her fingers over the cool metal of the doorknob.

  An unholy cry, animal-like in its intensity, carried from the bedroom. Gooseflesh raced up her spine. She recognized it as the same sound she’d heard those other times during the night. She jerked her hand back from the knob. What should she do? What could she do?

  She turned the knob back and forth and found it locked. With shaking fingers, she inched up on her toes and searched the top of the doorframe for the safety key and didn’t find one.

  “Jake?” She pressed a cheek against the door and listened. Silence. What if he’d passed out? “Jake? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

  “Damn it! Margot, if you love your brother you’ll leave me alone.”

  The mention of Johnny in a voice thick with pain and anxiety urged her away from the door on unsteady legs. She backed further down the hall until she reached the entry into the kitchen. Once there, she slipped into the other room. Margot couldn’t stop shaking. She also couldn’t stop thinking of Jake’s pain, his intense rejection, and her inability to help.

  God. She needed a drink. Now. But Jake had dumped everything she had down the sink. She glanced up at the clock. Too late to go to the local grocery store. She grabbed onto the edge of the counter and took in several long, deep breaths as she struggled against the need that clawed at her insides.

  Two minutes. Just another two minutes and the craving would dissipate. Isn’t that what she’d read somewhere when it came to addictions?

  ###

  Jake rushed into the bathroom, hitting a hip against his laptop and throwing it to the floor. At the threshold, he tumbled, colliding with the bathroom door, which slammed against the wall. His legs gave way, but he managed to break his fall with the flat of his hands. The tile was ice even through his gloved palms. He was damn hot.

  He whipped his glasses off then pulled off the wig which suffocated and burned into his scalp. It didn’t relieve a thing. Nothing could. Jake had to ride this through to the end, if he didn’t die before that.

  Knives licked at his insides, searing into every cell of his body. Jake closed his eyes against it, struggling not to black out. His room. It had a flimsy lock. Margot could come in if she had a safety key. See him like this. Without his disguise—

  Jake gasped as a tide of fire rolled through his body. His arms and legs gave way and he fell to the floor. Then as suddenly as it came, the pain subsided. He opened his eyes and focused. Crimson drops stained the white linoleum. Blood. His blood. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His glove came away wet.

  “Shit.”

  This was bad. Real bad.

  Death came for him, and he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

  Jake wanted to scream, lash out at the injustice. He didn’t want to die. Not now. Everything was slipping from his grasp. He’d taken his mortality for granted. So damn stupid. He’d always thought there’d be a tomorrow. Well, he was living tomorrow with no children, no wife, no one to call his own.

  Margot.

  If only...

  The sudden loneliness bearing down on him seemed almost as debilitating as his attack, and thoughts of Margot didn’t ease the ache. It just made him feel worse. He was coming to love her. Well, it didn’t matter now. He’d caused irreparable damage between them tonight by scaring the hell out of her.

  Jake grabbed the edge of the sink and pulled himself up,
then snatched a towel from the rack on the wall. He rubbed the sweat from his jaw and back of his neck with one side of the towel, and used the other side to wipe the drying blood from his nose. After tossing the towel down by his feet, he stripped and dropped his clothes and gloves on the floor beside it. Shivering, he showered and dried himself quickly.

  Stepping into the bedroom, he found the room empty and the door closed and still locked. Relieved, he crawled into bed and wrapped himself in a warm cocoon of flannel sheets.

  Even though mentally and physically drained, Jake couldn’t sleep. His mind raced with thoughts of the formula, Malcolm, Miltonics, but particularly Margot. He couldn’t get her out of his mind.

  He heard Margot outside his room. The creak of the stair gave her away as she made her way up to the second floor. Jake lay on his back with his head pillowed by his hands and stared at the ceiling. Her bedroom was directly above his. A few minutes later he heard the shift of the bed through the floorboards.

  Despite his weakness, Jake wondered what she was wearing. Damn it. He didn’t care what the hell she wore. He wanted her naked again. Naked and writhing beneath him. He wanted to feel the smoothness of her skin beneath his fingers, smell the scent of her hair against his cheek, and hear her moan against his throat. He wanted her arching beneath him in surrender as he came into her. He wanted all of her.

  Jesus! She haunted him.

  Jake pounded his pillow and turned on his side. Nothing was working. Nothing but a miracle would get him to sleep tonight.

  ###

  Margot woke from a fitful sleep, glanced at the bedside clock and groaned. A little after three in the morning, and she was wide-awake and dead sober. She hated both.

  The programmed thermostat had shut off during the night, throwing a chill into the room. Turning over on her side, she pulled the down comforter over her ear and snuggled deeper beneath the covers.

  She stilled.

  Jake was in her bedroom.

  Margot hadn’t heard him come in, couldn’t see him, but she knew he was there. The scent of him, woodsy and all male, drifted to her through the night. She sensed his stillness, his hunger in the darkness. Her breathing quickened and her stomach knotted in anticipation.