Not taking time to reason out why he’d come, he stalked to Bright’s office. The door was closed, but why should that stop him now? Hesitant, he stepped through the wood. A sensation of cold washed through him, but that was it. No resistance. One second he was in the hall, the next he was in the office.
Proof, such stunning proof, of his new status.
And there was Bright, typing away.
“I’m dead,” Levi announced rawly.
Bright’s head jerked up, his hand reaching for the gun stashed in the top desk drawer. The moment he realized it was Levi, he relaxed. A sad gleam entered his eyes. “Yes.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
One dark brow arched. “Have you ever had to tell a spirit something he didn’t want to hear? The results aren’t pretty. You would have flipped out, and very bad things would have happened.”
Peterson had mentioned chaos. Levi was upset right now, and had been for a while, yet so far hadn’t caused any trouble. Maybe it was just a matter of controlling his actions, of pushing through his feelings.
“Sit down.” Bright waved to the only chair. “I’m guessing you’re here for answers, yes? What do you want to know?”
He obeyed, saying, “What happened to Vince after…” He cleared his throat. “After I left?”
The sadness intensified. “He still blames himself for not protecting you. Thinks he should have shot Topper before you reached the guy. No one can pull him out of his depression, which is why Captain has him in mandatory counseling.”
Poor Vince. “Is there anything I can do to help him?”
“I’ll tell him I talked to you. Maybe that’ll help.”
“Yes,” he croaked out. “Tell him I’m sorry, that he did nothing wrong, and I miss him. Tell him I met a woman. Someone special.”
“Your Harper.”
“Yeah.”
“About time.” Bright reached out to trace his fingertip over the picture of his wife resting on the side of his desk. “We held a funeral for you. A real hero’s send-off. Everyone showed up. You would have been proud.”
Yes, but had he deserved that kind of send-off? “Did you tell me the truth about Topper?”
A wary sigh. “Yes. He lives. He’s in lockup right now and awaiting trial for what he did to all those women, what he did to you.”
Good. “I’m paying him a visit.” Yes, he’d promised Harper and he would take her to see Topper. But Levi wanted to be the first, to smooth the way. “Can he see into the other world?”
“His file says no, but sometimes people lie about that, not wanting to be labeled a weirdo.”
Levi ran his tongue over his teeth. He’d learn the truth soon enough. “You mentioned bad things happen when spirits are mad. How?”
Bright leaned back in his chair, folded his arms over his middle. “So you want to hurt Topper, do you? Plan to haunt him a wee bit?”
He wasn’t sure what he planned to do. To cover his bases, he said, “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
“That’s military, about sexual orientation.”
“Semantics.”
Fingers lifted and fell, drumming against Bright’s hands, creating a symphony of sound. “I’m sure you already know this, but I’ll tell you, anyway. There are good spirits and bad spirits out there.”
Well, yeah, he got that. Now. But there was knowing and then there was knowing. “And how can I tell the difference?”
“Their fruit.”
Uh, what? “Come again.”
“You’ll always know by the fruit they produce. An orange tree won’t grow lemons.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, haters say and do hateful things. Lovers say and do lovely things.”
Okay. That made sense. The girl with the X-ray vision was a hater, no question.
“I don’t recommend you visit the prison,” Bright said. “Other spirits will be there, and you don’t want to bring yourself to their attention, believe me. They could follow you, and if they follow you, they could run into your girl. But I could have Topper brought here for another round of questioning....”
Levi sat up straighter. “You’re a good man, Bright.”
“I know. Now if we could convince my wife. She’s asked for a divorce and—and that’s not your problem, is it.” Another sigh left him. “So how’s your Harper holding up? Does she know about the spirit thing yet?”
“Yeah. We found out together. She took off, and I haven’t seen her since.” Where was she? What was she doing?
“She’ll be back, don’t worry. I’ve seen enough spirits to know that when they find out, they think they want to be alone, but really, they need someone there with them, supporting them, letting them know they’re still loved.”
Loved? He didn’t… He couldn’t… He barely knew her, he thought. Oh, he liked her more than he’d ever liked another. Craved her, even. Wanted her with him, wanted to protect her from every bad thing. Wanted to hold her, and assure her that he would help her through this every step of the way. And he wanted her to hold him, to know she would be with him every step of the way.
She fit him in so many ways, and in bed, he couldn’t get enough of her. Her taste was a drug, her body the missing puzzle piece to his own. But love?
He’d been in love a few times in his life. Once with Kelly Roose, the prettiest girl in his third-grade class. Once with Shannon Halbert, his high school sweetheart and the girl who’d taken his virginity. All three minutes of it. And once with Donna Chang, the woman he’d wanted to marry, the woman he’d dated for two years—the woman who cheated on him because he wasn’t “meeting her emotional needs.”
He didn’t think every girl he met would cheat on him. He knew better. He didn’t even think Harper would cheat on him. She had the same possessive streak he did, if not to a stronger degree. But to fall in love now, while things were so uncertain, while he could move on—or whatever spirits did—at any minute…not just no but I’d rather die again no.
“Another question,” he said. “Where do spirits go when they move on?”
Bright worked his jaw. “Some go up, some go down.”
See? What if he and Harper moved on at different times? “Why do they go? Because they accomplished whatever had kept them around in the first place?”
“Yes. The good ones fulfill their purpose and go up, and the bad ones destroy something, or try to destroy something, and get sucked down. Some know what they need to do right off. Others have to figure it out. Others purposely don’t find out because they either can’t handle the truth or don’t want to leave.”
“So they can stay?”
“For the length of a human lifetime, yes. Despite what books and movies claim, I’ve never met anyone who stayed longer than that.” A layer of strain entered his voice. “My wife left me because I still see Sally Wells. Sally was my high school girlfriend who died of cancer soon after we graduated. She comes to see me at least once a week, and won’t leave my side on our anniversary.” The strain increased. “She throws a tantrum if I forget to buy her a present.”
Levi wasn’t sure how he felt about haunting his friends for the rest of their natural lives—like he was clearly doing to Bright, he realized. “I’m sorry. If I meet anyone halfway decent, maybe I can set your Sally up on a blind date.”
A booming laugh filled the room. “Levi the matchmaker. Classic!”
“Any word on Harper’s friend, Lana?”
“Yeah.” Bright leaned forward to tap away at the keyboard. “Her credit cards were stolen and used this morning. Some homeless guy bought cigarettes first, then half an hour later bought some beer. He was taken into custody, but he swears he found the cards on the street and that he hasn’t seen Lana. We showed him a photo and nada. Still, I’ve got someone watching her home. We’ll catch her.”
The phone on the desk rang. He held up his finger for a moment of silence, and lifted the receiver. He listened, frowned. “I’ll be rig
ht there.” Reaching for his gun, he stood. Checked the clip.
Levi stood, as well. “I’ll let you get to work.” He would not allow himself to return to the station. This was it. This was goodbye.
Or not.
“No,” Bright said with a shake of his head. “You’ll come with me. Your girl’s art gallery was just torn to shreds.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Horrified, Harper peered at her surroundings. She hadn’t meant to hurt the first—and now only—person to give her a break into the art world, and she hadn’t meant to destroy the building, but she’d walked in, tried to talk to him, tried to touch him, and like Peterson had predicted, she had failed. Clifford Rigsby had gone about his day, showing patrons his current pieces, then closing up for lunch.
Frustration had risen inside her, but she’d kept herself under control by repeating, “This is a dream. I’ll wake up. And if not, there’s some other answer to what’s going on.” But then Cliff had entered his office. His secret office. It wasn’t the one he used for public business dealings; obviously it was meant only for his private use.
He had a portrait of Harper hanging on the wall. In it, she was splayed on the same metal slab she’d painted, naked, cut and bleeding.
A bright light flashed in her mind but quickly faded—and as it faded, a gruesome scene took its place.
“Say cheese,” her captor said. He was blond and handsome, with a smile any dentist would be proud of, and he was holding a camera, the lens directed at her.
Cold, hurting, trembling, hating the very fabric of his evil being, she scowled at him. “You will pay for this.”
His chuckle reverberated through the room. “Such a naughty girl. But don’t worry, you’ll learn the proper way to address your new master soon enough, I promise you.”
Another flash of bright light. This time it faded and she found herself back inside Cliff’s private office. Her limbs trembled. For a moment, she had trouble catching her breath. Except, she was dead, wasn’t she, and had no need to breathe.
Dead.
Dead.
She really was dead. She’d truly been tortured by a monster, killed by his blade. Peterson had tried to tell her, but Harper had fought the realization. Had fought the truth. Maybe because accepting her death meant accepting what had happened to her—what her mind had been trying to remind her of for weeks.
The room spun…spun…and other portraits came into view. Other women, each in a similar position to Harper, lying flat on a cold slab of metal, with similar wounds decorating their bodies. One fact became excruciatingly clear: Cliff and Topper knew each other.
Perhaps they were friends, if demons hiding in human skin were even capable of friendship. If so, Cliff had served her to Topper on a silver platter.
Another flash of light. Another scene crystallized.
Suddenly Harper was in the center of the gallery, dressed in an ice-blue cocktail dress with thin straps and a Tinkerbell skirt. On her feet were clear heels with jewels encrusted on ties that wound up her calves. Her hair flowed down her back, curling at the ends, though the sides were elaborately twisted at her crown. Usually she got ready in thirty minutes or less, brushing her hair, throwing on a little mascara and lip gloss and pulling a T-shirt and jeans from a drawer. Today she’d taken two hours, wanting to look her best to properly represent her (amazing) art.
After the last customer left, Cliff took her into his office where they celebrated her success with a glass of champagne. They’d talked and laughed as she’d sipped, but the moment she’d finished, he’d yawned and practically shoved her toward the front door.
“Go on home,” he said. “You’ve outdone yourself and made me a ton of money. Now I want to count my cash.”
She chuckled, not insulted in the least. This was too wonderful a day. People had loved her paintings. They’d stared at them, felt happy things, sad things, some even moved to tears. Not one painting had been left behind.
“Well, don’t forget to count mine,” she replied.
“No worries. Your check will be cut tomorrow.”
Her chest swelled with satisfaction. “Thank you, Cliff. Thank you so much.”
He waved her away. “Go on. Get.”
The bell tinkled as she left the gallery. Smiling, she dug her keys out of her purse. Her car was parked a block away, in the closest available lot. The moon was high, luminous and so beautiful she could barely take her eyes off it as she walked. But then she tripped and nearly fell, which would have ruined her knees and her dress, so she forced her gaze to remain ahead.
And yet, she soon tripped a second time as a wave of dizziness crashed through her. Her smile fading, she stopped to lean against a building. What was wrong with her? In and out she breathed, thinking the sensation would pass. But, of course, it only grew worse.
Practically blinded because of the spinning, spinning, spinning world, she opened her purse to pat inside for her phone. The moment her fingers wrapped around the case, a sharp sting buzzed in the back of her neck, electricity flowing throughout her entire body.
Her muscles knotted, becoming unusable. Her back bowed, her bones vibrating, just as unusable. Even her jaw locked up, trapping her scream in her throat. Dying, she thought. I’m dying.
When the vibrations stopped, her knees collapsed. Trembling arms banded around her before she hit the ground, and suddenly she was floating. Relief cascaded through her. Someone had noticed her, was taking her to the hospital.
Something creaked.
No. Wrong, she realized. Someone was stuffing her inside a small, dark space. The air was stuffy, with old perfume caught in some of the pockets. She blinked, trying to orient herself. A blond man, his face blurred by the haze of her vision, stood above her. There was a streak of white; his teeth, maybe. Was he smiling?
“We are going to have so much fun, you and I.”
More creaking, then a loud whoosh. A click. There was only dark, no hint of light. No fresh air.
Yet another flash of light, and Harper was back inside the gallery, Cliff eating a sandwich as he plugged away at his computer. Fury rose inside her. Fury like she’d never before known. The champagne…he must have drugged her.
Fury…growing…growing…
The walls around her began to shake. One of the paintings fell to the ground with a loud crash. Frowning, Cliff set his sandwich down and glanced around.
He’d known what would happen to her, but he hadn’t cared. Had probably enjoyed every minute of her torture through the photographs Topper had taken.
Growing…
The walls shook a little more. Two more paintings fell.
Cliff pushed to his feet.
As long as Topper kept his mouth shut, Cliff would probably never be caught. And why would Topper betray his buddy when that buddy could continue hurting women, taking pictures, painting pictures and sending them his way?
Growing…growing…
The entire building rocked on its foundation. Cliff gripped the edge of his desk, a fine sheen of sweat dotting his brow. Harper longed to grab the paintings and beat him with them. But she couldn’t touch him, and she couldn’t touch the paintings, because she was dead. Dead.
Dead!
One of the paintings flew from the wall and smacked him in the back of the head. A grunt parted his lips. He dove for the floor and crawled under his desk.
Harper’s eyes widened as another painting flew at him, crashing into the desk and cracking in two. What are you doing? Stop. You shouldn’t destroy the evidence. You have to show Levi. He’ll tell his detective friends and Cliff will get what’s coming to him. But it was too late. The shaking never stopped, and the artwork never stopped flying. Around and around each piece twirled before hurtling itself at Cliff. The door rattled, too, before ripping from its hinges and slamming into the far wall.
Harper stood in the center of the turmoil, completely unaffected. She could hear Cliff’s sobs, but that only angered her further.
A flash.
Suddenly she was the one crying, begging for Topper to stop. But her cries only spurred him on. Mercy was not something he possessed.
“Harper!”
Something hard slapped against her cheek, causing her head to twist to the side. She blinked rapidly and found herself back inside Cliff’s office, a scowling Levi in front of her. His hand was raised, as if he meant to slap her (again?) out of her hysteria.
“Levi!” Relief swept through her, and her knees buckled.
He caught her, holding her up. “You have to calm down, sweetheart. Okay? Yes? I don’t want you to destroy the entire building. You could hurt innocents and go… Just calm down, okay?”
Yes, she could calm down…would calm down.... Anger would not get the better of her.
At last the building stilled.
“Good, that’s good.” He hugged her close. “Are you okay?”
Tears burned the backs of her eyes. “He…he…drugged me. Set me up. Gave me to Topper.”
Levi pulled away to peer down into her eyes, but he didn’t release her. A good thing, because she needed the strength of his arms. “He was working with Topper?”
A nod as she motioned to the paintings on the floor, the tears spilling out, trickling down.
Levi bent down, taking her with him, and lifted one half of a painting, dug around—the things on Cliff’s desk had shattered and scattered across the floor, too—and found the other half.
The moment he put the halves together, his nostrils flared. “They were accomplices,” he said, emotionless.
One of her tears landed on the top of his hand. His gaze lifted. Seeing her upset, he straightened. “You remembered,” he said.
All she could manage was a nod.
“I’m sorry,” he added. “So sorry for everything you had to endure.”
Somehow, she found her voice. “And you…did you remember?”
“Yeah.”
Part of her wanted to slink away in embarrassment. He’d seen her there at the end, at her weakest, her worst. Part of her loved that he’d thought to come to her rescue, that he’d reacted on instinct. And yet… “I wish you had survived.”
His hold tightened. “I’m not one of those people who believes everything happens for a good reason. I actually think that’s stupid. No. But I do believe the bad stuff can be worked to our favor.”
After Moonrise Page 22