Her Last Whisper

by Karen Robards

  Michael grated, “Damn it, Charlie. Don’t do this.”

  But McGowan was already looking at the picture. “That was the unit. Sean, Captain Ollie Bridgewater, Sergeant First Class Hoop Ferrara, Staff Sergeant Michael Garland.” McGowan tapped Michael’s picture with a forefinger. “Came here with Sean a couple of times. Kind of a hell-raiser, but my boy always said he was for sure one you wanted on your side in a fight.” His voice deepened. “Refused to leave him behind when Sean was mortally wounded. Stayed with him, then carried his body out. I owed him for that. No matter what he did after, I owed him for that.”

  “What he did after?” Charlie felt her chest tighten. Behind her, she could feel Michael radiating tension.

  “Those women. The murder thing. I couldn’t believe what they said he’d done. Far as Sean was concerned, Garland was a stand-up guy. ’Course, combat changes a man, and the things they had to do over there were pretty hard-core. Lots of wet work, you know.”

  The harsh voice behind her growled, “Fifty feet or no fucking fifty feet, I’m walking. Stay if you want.”

  She sensed rather than saw him moving away. In his present mood, she placed no reliance on his sticking to the fifty-foot limit. “I have to go. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McGowan,” she said as she glanced around to find Michael striding straight for the exit. Yikes. She concluded swiftly, “I’d like to hear more about Sean. I’ll get back in touch, if you don’t mind.”

  “Anytime,” McGowan said.

  Then she hurried after Michael. A quick glance toward their table showed her that Tony and Buzz were on their feet, and Lena was nowhere in sight. Probably gone to the ladies’ room in search of her, Charlie guessed. She tapped out a quick text—I’m outside getting some air—to Tony as Michael pushed through the double doors and disappeared from view.

  Forget hurrying. She ran. If he got too far away …

  “Damn it,” she exploded as she burst through the exit and found him leaning against a post supporting the overhang, staring out at the night. Relief washed over her; anger followed close on its heels. A quick glance around told her that, while a few people were threading their way through the cars in the parking lot toward the entrance, the porch itself was deserted. She stalked toward him. “Would you stop behaving like a child?”

  He threw a sideways glance at her. Those blue eyes were glacial.

  “Stay the hell out of my past.”

  Exasperation caused her to fold her arms over her chest. “Guess what, Mr. International Man of Mystery: I have access to your files. I can find out anything I want to know about your past just by reading them.”

  Those eyes raked her. “Great. Go for it. Knock yourself out.”

  Clearly whatever he didn’t want her to know wasn’t in his files. At least, not in the ones she had access to. His military files were less than complete: they consisted of scarcely more than dates of service and his medical records. Everything else had either been redacted or withheld.

  “So you were in Force Recon.” She’d known that he’d been a staff sergeant—that much was in the files—but not that he’d been in Force Recon. She found herself looking at his profile. The set of it wasn’t promising.

  He gave a slight shrug. “Not a secret.”

  “Mr. McGowan said you did wet work.” She watched him carefully as she spoke. Combat changes a man. Combined with the DNA results, that thought was worrisome.

  His jaw tightened. “That means I killed people, babe. Knifed them. Shot them. Broke their necks. Up close and personal. Feel better knowing that?”

  Ah. Paradoxically, his being so in-your-face about it calmed her fears considerably. She didn’t think that by learning he’d killed in the context of war she’d just been handed any kind of new evidence that he was, indeed, a serial killer. What she did think was that she was getting close to something dark and ugly that he’d been harboring deep in his soul.

  “Guilt can be a corrosive emotion, you know,” she told him quietly. “Maybe it’s time you let go of some of that.”

  “You just can’t stop with the shrink shit, can you?” Michael slanted a hard look at her. “Guess what, Doc? I don’t feel any damned guilt.”

  Charlie’s lips compressed. Before she could reply, the sound of the door opening behind her caused her to glance back. A uniformed soldier with his arm around a girl in a mini-skirt came out, followed by Tony, Buzz, and Lena.

  “I thought you went to the restroom,” Lena greeted her, while Tony met her eyes with a silent question of his own.

  “I’m still trying to shake that headache,” she answered both of them, while at the same time making a concerted effort not to let her eyes follow Michael, who was already walking down the stairs to the parking lot. “The fresh air helped.”

  Apparently sometime after she’d left the table, the others had agreed to call it a night. As it was after eleven p.m. by that time, Charlie thought it was a good decision. She was so tired she was having trouble concentrating, and she knew the others had to be equally exhausted. Even Lena seemed resigned to their need for sleep.

  “Did you see anything in that bar that might pertain to the case?” Tony asked Charlie as they drove back to the hotel. “Ms. Green was so accurate that I’m afraid we might have missed something.”

  Charlie had a sudden, electric realization: just like Tam had seen the blond woman for Tony and the illicit romance for Lena and Buzz, she’d seen that bar because it had significance for Michael.

  “I didn’t see anything,” she said, flicking a glance into the backseat. Michael’s grim silence was unsettling. He met her eyes expressionlessly, but she was left in no doubt that he’d known exactly what Tam was referring to from the moment she’d said the words red, white, and blue. That bar, and the McGowans, and Las Vegas were all part of his history that he was actively trying to avoid.

  “You can’t expect her to be totally accurate.” Lena slumped tiredly against the passenger door. On some level she and Buzz both seemed able to sense Michael’s presence: they were always giving him all the space they could. “I’m impressed that she got as much right as she did.”

  “At least the food was good,” Buzz put in.

  Lena responded with, “All you think about is your stomach.” Then, fiercely, “Giselle’s out there. Don’t you even care?”

  Buzz practically spluttered, “Of course I care. You know I care. We’re all working our butts off to find her. Lena—”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Guys. Don’t make me give you a time-out.” Tony said it lightly, but there was a warning in there, too. He pulled into the hotel, and nobody said much of anything until they had reached the hallway outside their rooms.

  “Seven a.m. call,” Tony reminded them.

  Sliding her key card through the lock, Lena nodded.

  “And get some sleep.” Tony gave her a stern look as the door opened and she stepped inside her room.

  Lena sneered at him and closed the door.

  Tony sighed.

  “Night, all.” With a quick glance that encompassed both Charlie and Tony, Buzz, too, went into his room. Charlie’s lips tightened. She knew that was Buzz being tactful, in case Tony was going into her room with her.

  “Don’t stay out too late.” With that mocking aside, Michael surprised her by walking through the door into her (their) room while she was still out in the hall with Tony.

  Idiotically, the sheer unexpectedness of that flustered her.

  She summoned up a smile for Tony, who like the true gentleman he was was waiting to make sure she got safely into her room. The uncomfortable memory of how the last time he’d stood like this in the hallway with her had ended made her glad she already had her key in her hand.

  “Good night,” she said, and was getting ready to unlock her door and go inside when she remembered that she was still wearing Tony’s jacket. She looked back at him. He was watching her with a rueful expression that softened into a smile as she slid the jacket off
and held it out to him.

  “Thanks for loaning it to me,” she said as he took it.

  “You’re welcome.” He met her gaze, grimaced, and added, “I’m a fine one to preach about fraternization, aren’t I? But—”

  Then he slid a hand around the back of her neck, bent his head, and kissed her with just enough heat and tongue to let her know where he wanted that kiss to go, if she was willing. When she didn’t go there, he released her and looked down at her with a kind of grim humor.

  “One of these days we’re going to have some time,” he said. “Then we’re going to talk this thing out and you’re going to explain to me exactly why it is you aren’t sleeping with me.”

  Charlie looked at him, a little flabbergasted, because, really, what was she going to say to that?

  “After the case is over,” Tony added, sounding resigned as he made a gesture toward her door. Charlie took advantage of the out he was giving her to smile at him, say good night again, and retreat into her room.

  Where the far larger problem in her life was waiting for her. She flicked on the light to find that Michael had flung himself down on the bed. He lay on his back with his arms folded behind his head and his booted feet crossed at the ankles. She looked at him speculatively: if he was still harboring any dark and brooding thoughts about what had transpired in the bar, she couldn’t tell it from his demeanor. To all outward appearances, he was back to his normal carefree self.

  He watched her walk into the room. “So, when are you going to break it to Dudley that the reason you’re not sleeping with him is because you’re sleeping with me?”

  The bed—the only one in the room—was a king, and he took up way too much of it. Having him share her bed was starting to feel normal, she realized, which was probably—no, definitely—a bad thing. Charlie sent him a reproving look.

  “You were listening.” Opening the closet door, she bent to retrieve her night things from her suitcase, which she hadn’t as yet had a chance to unpack. Her toiletries were already in the bathroom.

  “I overheard.”

  “Just to be clear, sleeping with you doesn’t preclude sleeping with him.” Charlie smiled sweetly at him as she headed for the bathroom. “There’s no reason on earth I can think of that I can’t sleep with you both. Hey, I can even sleep with you both at the same time. In retrospect, that two-for-one thing you did the other night was kind of hot.”

  “Babe, the part that got you hot was all me.”

  She laughed. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  “What pretty thing are you planning to wear for me tonight?” he yelled after her by way of retaliation as she shut the bathroom door on him.

  Charlie glared at the closed door. Since she hadn’t yet had a chance to go shopping at the granny store, all her lingerie was still in the sexy/feminine category. Tonight’s sleepwear was a satiny lavender slip that fell to mid-thigh. She knew he’d like it, and she also knew that he wasn’t going to see it: she was going to turn off the lights as soon as she emerged from the bathroom. That was the thought that sustained her as she went through her nightly pre-bed ritual at warp speed.

  “Looking good, babe,” he said as, after clicking off the light, she returned to the bedroom. That made her lips compress: Vegas at night was as bright in its neon way as most places at high noon, and there was just enough light filtering in around the closed curtains so that she could see him, which meant that he could see her, too. He was still on her (not their) bed, lying on his side with his head propped up on a hand. What had changed was that he’d taken off his shirt and boots.

  Even in shadowy silhouette against the curtains, those broad shoulders and sinewy arms were something to see.

  Her pulse, which obviously didn’t have a clue, picked up the pace a little from just looking at him.

  “Of course, if you really want to make my night, you could take that sexy nightie off for me. Give me something to think about while I don’t sleep.”

  She pulled the covers down on her side of the bed.

  “Sad to say, I don’t want to make your night.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, picked up the alarm clock on the night table, and set it for 6:15. Then she slid her legs beneath the covers and lay down with her back to him.

  “See how we’re different?” He was looming over her, his voice low and husky now as it poured over her like honey. “ ’Cause I’d sure like to make yours. I’d start by kissing you all over. I’d kiss your breasts, and take your nipples in my mouth until they got all hot and wet and hard for me—”

  She could suddenly feel the slithery satin of her nightgown rubbing against her nipples, which were disgustingly tight and eager for him to do just what he said.

  “—and then I’d kiss my way down your stomach until you were making those sweet little moaning sounds you make—”

  The hot throbbing between her legs would have been pure pleasure if she hadn’t been so outdone with herself for letting him turn her on like that.

  “—and then you’d spread your legs for me and I’d move on down and kiss your—”

  She knew where that was going before he got there, and the blast furnace heat born of the image he conjured up blazed through her and made her body tighten and quake. She wanted him to …

  In sheer self-defense she rolled onto her back and glared up at him.

  “Stop,” she ordered, and hoped he wouldn’t notice that her voice was as husky as his, and her breathing was coming way too fast.

  “You know you like that part.” He was still lying on his side with his head propped on his hand. Her eyes slid over the sleek muscularity of his chest and his wide shoulders and her mouth went dry. The hot dark gleam in his eyes made her bones melt. “You come for me every time I—”

  “You,” she said with a precision that cost her a lot to summon, “are just trying to avoid a conversation. Don’t think I don’t know that.”

  His eyes narrowed. The hot gleam was still there, but there was wariness in them now, too.

  “What I’m trying to do, babe, is make you horny. And you can’t tell me I’m not succeeding.”

  She frowned at him. “You need to talk about what happened with your friend Sean. It’s obviously been bothering you for a long time. Believe me, talking helps.”

  He flung himself onto his back. “Damn it, would you forget about playing shrink? What happened back then don’t matter anymore. It’s over. It’s done. It’s in the past. Leave it there.”

  Now it was Charlie who turned on her side, propped her head on her hand, and looked down at him.

  His eyes were closed. His face was hard. No matter what he said, what had happened back then obviously still did matter. To him.

  “Mr. McGowan said you stayed with his son when he was mortally wounded, then carried his body out.” She said it very gently. “That had to have been a terrible experience for you.”

  His eyes opened to blaze at her. “All right, Doc, you really want to know what my terrible experience that day was? I didn’t just stay with Sean and carry him out. I fucking killed him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Charlie almost sucked in air. What saved her was her training. During the course of her internship and residency and the research she had undertaken afterward, she had interviewed so many subjects with so many different manifesting symptoms and syndromes and stories that she was pretty sure she was shockproof.

  So instead of betraying any kind of surprise or concern, Charlie looked at Michael steadily, mirrored what he had just told her by repeating in a totally nonjudgmental way, “You killed him,” then added a low-key, encouraging, “Tell me about it.”

  He made a sound halfway between a snarl and a growl.

  “Hell of a technique, Dr. Stone. Shame it don’t work on me.” His eyes flamed at her. She could sense his anger, his determined resistance.

  She looked into his eyes. Obviously, his emotions about what had happened were both deep and conflicted. Part of her wanted to stop, now, and
leave him alone. But a larger part of her recognized the circumstances surrounding the death of his friend as a defining moment for him, and a traumatic one. Like a boil, the debilitating memories needed to be lanced if he was ever to be free of them. She still thought he was telling the truth about not being a serial killer; it was almost an article of faith for her now that he might behave badly but he wasn’t evil. And if he was telling the truth, then it seemed logical that whatever had happened with Sean played a part in why he had found himself in Spookville. Why Michael thought he deserved Spookville.

  “I’m just trying to understand,” she said in her best soothing tone. “Hiding from the pain you feel is the worst thing you can do.”

  “Goddamn it.” His voice was savage. His eyes were, too, as they gleamed up at her. One arm was tucked behind his head. The other lay straight down by his side. Charlie watched the powerful muscles in his shoulder and arm ripple as his fist clenched. “I’m not feeling any pain. I got over it a long time ago, believe me. And no, I’m not feeling any goddamned guilt, either.”

  “The fact that you can’t talk about it—”

  “I shot him. I shot him in the goddamn heart. Point-blank. Pulled the trigger. On purpose. How’s that for talking about it?”

  “Michael.” If, right now, he was the emotional equivalent of a ship tossing in storm-whipped seas, it was her job to be the anchor that kept him off the rocks. Her tone was calm, steady. “We both know that’s not the whole story.”

  “Who are you, Dr. Pitbull? I told you what happened. Now quit trying to shrink me.”

  “You’re telling me that you murdered your friend.” Charlie slowly shook her head, knowing even as she did so that what she was about to say was backed by every ounce of intuition she possessed. “I don’t believe it.”

  He stared up at her. It was dark, but she could see his jaw tighten. He looked overwhelmingly big and masculine lying there on the mattress beside her and the aggression that was coming off of him in waves should have made him feel dangerous. He was far larger and stronger than she was, and if he’d been alive, and wanted to, she knew he could have physically overpowered her without breaking a sweat.