“I’m impressed.” He studied Haley’s artwork with a serious eye. She’d painted a square house with bright flowers in front of it and a smiling yellow sun overhead. The drop cloth under the easel was even more colorful, protecting the floor from a kaleidoscope of splatters and drips. “You’re as talented as Uncle Brian.”
“It’s the house where Mommy and I live.”
“I recognize it.” He looked up, his eyes meeting Annabelle’s as Haley chattered about the finer details of the painting. His sister’s face appeared hopeful. The cheerful interpretation of their family home seemed to declare the darkness was gone from it now, the bad times faded and replaced with better ones. Memories pulling at him, Trevor glanced away and nodded at the arrangement of spring blossoms next to the computer.
“Nice flowers.”
“They’re for Mommy,” Haley said. “They’re from—”
“A friend,” Annabelle interjected. She blushed and looked on the verge of saying something more, when Brian appeared. He stood in the doorway with one hand braced casually on its frame as he greeted Trevor.
“Alex is cooking dinner for everyone,” he said. “He’s making a half ton of paella. Why don’t you eat with us, Trev.”
Trevor hesitated. “I’d like that. Thanks.”
“I’m almost finished with these guys. As soon as they’re gone, we’ll go upstairs.”
Brian left the office, and Trevor slid his hands into his pockets and turned around. The photograph of Rain hung over Alex’s desk. It had an artistic style, as if a special lens had been used to soften the focus and give it a dreamlike quality. Rain’s eyes in the photo were alluring, their color like sunlight filtered through a jar of honey.
“I saw you watching her at Brian’s reception,” Annabelle said as she stood beside him.
“I thought we were talking about who sent you flowers.”
“I saw her watching you, too, whenever she thought you weren’t looking.”
Trevor glanced at Haley, who’d picked up her brush and was humming to herself as she placed the finishing touches on her painting.
“She’s directly involved in the case,” he said, as if that fact was all that was required to negate his feelings.
“I just want you to be happy, Trevor.” Annabelle’s blue eyes stared into his. “What’s wrong? I can see it in your face.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Is it why you came to see Brian?”
He shrugged. “I just thought I’d come by, that’s all.”
Annabelle looked skeptical. From the gallery, they heard the front door shut. Brian called to them, announcing he was closing up for the night. Trevor went with Annabelle and Haley back out to the front, where Brian was lowering the recessed lighting that illuminated the artwork around the room.
“We’re all set,” he announced. “Let’s go.”
With an exaggerated grunt, Brian hauled a giggling Haley up in his grasp, holding her like a football while he set the security system with his free hand.
“If you don’t want to talk to me, talk to Brian, okay?” Annabelle urged quietly. She slipped her arm inside Trevor’s as they walked to the building’s interior lobby to take the elevator upstairs.
Rain lay on the padded mat, attempting to focus on the relaxation pose of savasana. But her thoughts remained elsewhere. Not even the monkish chants playing over the yoga studio’s intercom could deter her from thinking about what had happened between Trevor and her that morning. Waking up in his arms, being kissed by him like that—the thought of it still sent a spiraling sensation through her. It was a memory she carried with her throughout the day, long after Trevor had driven her home and taken Desiree’s rosary with him.
They’d nearly made love. She didn’t want to cause more trouble for him, but the passion between them had been undeniable.
Unfortunately, Trevor had left her with her own problems to deal with, including the fact that Oliver Carteris had failed to show up for his scheduled appointment that morning. The yoga class ended, and she rolled up her mat and retrieved her personal belongings from the studio’s shelved wall. Rain noticed the blinking light on her cell phone. Had Oliver returned her call?
She checked her messages. But it was from Trevor, reminding her of their bargain. No more watches on the street outside—he’d arranged for a policeman to be stationed directly inside her home beginning that evening. The message was disappointing, since she’d hoped he might take on the task himself. She didn’t want a stranger guarding her. But she also understood the heavy responsibility he had, and that her convenience wasn’t his first priority.
Rain said goodbye to the regulars in the class. Then she placed the strap of her mat bag over her shoulder and began the short trek home through the Lower Garden District. The sun’s intensity had faded as the day turned into evening and a faint breeze stirred the warm air. The broad leaves of banana trees peeped over the houses’ private courtyards, and lively zydeco music played from someone’s patio.
As she turned the corner onto Prytania, a squad car drove slowly up beside her. The driver’s-side window rolled down.
“Everything okay, Dr. Sommers?”
Rain nodded. “Are you the officers staying in the house tonight?”
The young policeman who was driving had auburn hair with long sideburns and a Cajun accent. He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Officer Dumas will be staying with you. He’ll be here when you get back from your show.”
Rain recognized the two policemen. They were the ones who watched her house during the afternoon. Their cruiser was usually parked underneath the pecan tree on the opposite side of the street.
“Would you like something to drink? Some iced tea or lemonade?”
Both men lifted their cans of soda simultaneously.
“We just made a run to the market around the corner, but thanks,” the young man said. “We’re gettin’ ready to head out for shift change, anyhow.”
The second officer who sat on the passenger side was gray-haired, with a mustache and a slight paunch. He touched the bill of his uniform cap in a cordial nod before the vehicle rolled forward.
Rain walked up the short set of stairs to the house’s white-columned veranda. As she unlocked the beveled-glass front door, an unfamiliar object caught her eye. An elegantly wrapped box sat against the wrought-iron railing, hidden from street view by an azalea bush. Rain recognized the signature silver wrap and blue satin bow of Mélange, a gift boutique tucked into an exclusive area of the Quarter.
Taking the box inside, she set it on the Queen Anne table in the foyer and removed the bow. The lid lifted off easily. Underneath a lining of tissue paper was a beautiful crystal Lalique vase. A card was also inside—a note from Dr. Carteris offering the vase as a replacement for the one his son had shattered. If Oliver had told his father about the vase, then at least the two were talking, Rain surmised. She hoped Oliver would contact her soon to reschedule his missed appointment before she was forced to report him.
Carrying the vase into the kitchen, Rain set it on the counter and went about making a simple dinner. She took a copper pot from the hanging rack and placed it in the basin, then turned on the faucet to fill it with water for cooking pasta. She clicked on the small kitchen television set to catch the evening news.
Rain didn’t hear the creak of the floorboard behind her until it was too late. Her heart lurched as a gloved hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her back against a hard chest. A sinewy forearm locked around her waist, practically lifting her off the ground.
Frantic, she tried to pry the leather-clad fingers from her lips as she was dragged through the arched opening that led from the kitchen. Rain clutched at the doorway, but the man easily broke her hold. In the foyer, she kicked at the Queen Anne table, hoping to knock it over and make some noise the officers might hear, if they were still outside. But the table merely wobbled at her efforts.
He headed with her toward the staircase. To the bedrooms? Cold terror tor
e at her insides.
As they reached the first step, Rain grabbed onto the banister, gaining enough leverage to wrench free of the man’s grip. She bolted, but only got a step away before he was on her again. Her cry for help died abruptly as he fell with her to the parlor’s hardwood floor, knocking the air from her lungs.
He flipped her onto her back. Through glazed eyes, she saw a male figure wearing a ski mask so only his eyes and mouth were visible. His irises glowed red through the slits in the mask. Rain stared in disbelief. Images of the dead women in the photos, their necks brutally gouged and their bodies slashed, flashed in her mind. She imagined her own throat filling with blood.
This can’t be happening.
She was pinned to the floor under his weight, her shoulder wedged painfully against the door frame at the foot of the stairs.
“Scream again and I’ll kill you.” His fingers tightened around her neck. He straddled her, his breathing shallow and harsh. He smelled of sweat. Rain knew only one thing—he was going to kill her anyway.
His free hand moved to her yoga pants. The leather gloves were cold against the damp skin of her stomach as he got a strong hold on the waistband and began to tug hard. Sucking in a weak breath, she clawed at him like a trapped animal. He swore viciously as her nails left angry lines down the side of his neck.
“You fucking bitch!”
He backhanded her across the face. Her vision dimmed and she feared she was about to lose consciousness, then wondered if that might be a blessing, after all. He put a finger to his lips, warning her to be quiet, then went back to work on her clothing. Rain lay stunned as she heard the stretch fabric of her halter top tear.
God, please. No.
Helpless, she turned her head, hot tears leaking from her eyes. Her watery gaze fell on the cast-iron doorstop that kept the mudroom open where Dahlia’s litter box was located.
Slowly, Rain inched her hand toward the heavy object shaped in the silhouette of a reclining black cat. The man grunted as he groped her breasts, obviously aroused. She stretched farther, her fingers clumsy with fear before finally closing over the feline’s curled tail.
Rain swung the object at the man’s head. He must have seen it coming, because he raised his arm to deflect the blow at nearly the same second. He howled as the weight hit his elbow and fell sideways, giving Rain opportunity to push him off and crawl away. Her scream pierced the air as he leaped on her again, slamming her back down to the floor. The man spat a stream of curses. Putrid saliva flowed from his mouth onto her skin. The gloved hand was back around her throat, ending her cries for help.
Rain struggled for breath as his fingers squeezed like iron bands. She was going to be the next victim. Her house would be the next crime scene.
Darkness reached out to her, and she went into its arms.
21
“I can do it.” Haley looked determined as she attempted to toss the green salad with two wooden paddles.
“I don’t know,” Trevor said. “That’s a pretty big salad.”
The bowl was nearly as large as the child. Haley stood on a chair next to the dining room table so she was better positioned for the task. Her tongue darted out from the corner of her mouth in concentration, and Trevor braced his hand against her back so she didn’t topple over.
“Great job, sweetie,” Brian exclaimed as, job finally completed, she climbed down to the floor. Smiling, she scampered into the kitchen where Alex and Annabelle were preparing the rest of the meal.
“I think there’s more salad on the table than in the bowl,” Trevor commented once Haley was out of earshot.
Brian scooped up the errant vegetables. “She likes to help. Thank God the table’s clean and we’re all family.”
Over the Latin rhythm coming from a set of wall-mounted speakers, Trevor could hear Annabelle pressing Alex for his paella recipe. His sister’s laughter rose musically to the loft’s exposed-beam ceiling. He had an empty feeling inside his chest. This is the part of life I’ve missed out on.
Brian handed him a bottled water, interrupting his thoughts. “I’ve been meaning to ask. What do you think of Alex?”
“I like him,” he answered truthfully. He twisted the cap from the bottle. “You seem good together.”
“We are. I owe him a lot.”
Trevor looked at him for several seconds. “You’re really okay this time, aren’t you?”
“I’m not going to screw up again, Trev.”
He thought of the night he’d taken Brian to the facility in Baton Rouge. He’d returned home at Annabelle’s urging to try to talk some sense into his brother. After a day spent looking, he’d found Brian at a friend’s apartment, passed out with a needle still stuck in his forearm. Trevor had hauled him into a cold shower, terrified by his recklessness. Then he’d physically forced him into the car and driven straight out of New Orleans. He cringed inwardly at the brutal statements they’d exchanged.
“What I said the night I put you in rehab,” he began uncertainly, searching for the right words. “It’s no excuse, but my anger got the best of me. I couldn’t stand…seeing what you were doing to yourself. You’re a talented person, Brian. You were throwing it all away.”
“We both said things we didn’t mean that night.” Brian sounded sincere. “I’m not that person anymore. I hope you can believe me.”
By all appearances it was true. In the space of time since Trevor had last seen Brian, he’d somehow managed to turn himself around. If Alex was to thank for that, then he was eternally grateful to him.
“Do you want to tell me what happened at Riverfront Park yesterday?” Brian asked. Trevor rubbed his neck. As far as he was concerned, the subject was closed.
“I know what I saw.” He glanced toward the kitchen to make sure Annabelle and Alex were still occupied. “He was there, watching us. It was the same guy who tried to knife me at the Ascension.”
“I didn’t see anyone,” Brian insisted. “That courtyard only had one way in and out—”
“You think I’m seeing things?”
“I think you’re under a lot of stress. You said as much yourself. This crazy vampire case you’re working, combined with coming back here and seeing Dad again. Maybe it’s too much.”
Trevor left the bottled water on the table and went to stare out the loft’s floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun was setting over the rooftops of the buildings, and in the distance he could see tugboats and steamers as they floated on the Mississippi like ghost ships.
“You’ve stayed away from here for so long.” Brian’s reflection appeared in the glass as he stood behind him. “Maybe you’re on some kind of sensory overload.”
Trevor continued looking out at the panoramic view. “I had a suspect tell me this morning he knew what Dad did to me.”
Brian walked up to the window. “How’s that even possible?”
He shrugged. He’d been searching for that answer himself. “Maybe he paid off someone in the records room at the NOPD. This guy is some kind of elder in the goth community. Creepy as hell. However he found out, he was obviously trying to rattle me, and it worked.”
“That makes no sense. The police records don’t say a damn thing about what really happened that day. You know that.”
Trevor merely nodded. It was difficult to be around Brian or Annabelle without his mind hurtling back to the shadowed events that had pulled them apart. Even now, he struggled with the decisions he’d made, and their subsequent impact.
“I left you and Annabelle alone,” he admitted, finally ready to broach the topic. “But I just couldn’t come back here.”
Brian’s gaze was steadfast. “You didn’t have a choice. You were in no condition—”
“I got better, Brian. If I’d been here, maybe I could’ve—”
“What could you have done? Kept me from using? You did come here, and you tried. Several times, in fact. I threw it in your face.”
He swallowed a sigh, but his brother wasn’t finished. Brian lowered h
is tone.
“What about Annabelle? Think you could’ve kept her from slicing her wrists? Or stopped Mom from having that last drink and taking a header down the stairs?”
Trevor closed his eyes, the questions as familiar as his own skin. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I do. You’re just not that powerful, Trev,” Brian said softly. “What happened in that house messed all of us up. We’ve all had to face our own demons.”
Annabelle called to them over a clatter of china and silverware, announcing that dinner was about to be served, buffet style from the kitchen. From where Trevor stood, he could see Alex carrying a pot heaped with steaming seafood and rice to one of the marble-topped counters.
“All you ever tried to do was protect us. And we betrayed you for it.”
“You told the police exactly what Dad told you to. You were ten years old.”
“We let you believe a lie—”
The shrill of Trevor’s cell phone cut into Brian’s words. With a halfhearted curse, Trevor answered it.
“When?” He clapped a hand over his ear in order to hear the caller above the music and conversation spilling from the kitchen. The words coming through the phone made his heart pound. “Is she okay?”
He asked a few more questions and disconnected the call. “Tell Alex I’m sorry. I can’t stay.”
“What’s happened?”
“It’s Rain Sommers. She was assaulted in her home. They’ve taken her to All Saints.”
“God! Alex and I will come, too.”
“No. Stay here. I’ll call you as soon as I can.” Before Brian could ask anything else, he strode across the apartment and let himself out the door.
22
The smell of antiseptic was strong, overpowered only by the noise and rush of activity inside the E.R. Nurses in scrubs called out names and escorted patients to exam bays, and rows of chairs held people waiting for treatment. As Trevor sidestepped an orderly pushing an EKG cart, his gaze fell on a stern-looking African-American woman behind the admissions desk. She was trying to obtain information from a man wearing bib overalls and speaking in a frantic Cajun patois.
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