Shadows Fall

by Denise A. Agnew

  Chapter 4

  Wind howled outside of Tranquil View Condominiums Tuesday evening, and Roarke made a decision as he worked out. Tonight he’d need to take his SUV when he picked up Melissa. A glance out the window earlier had confirmed that storm clouds had rolled into the area again. He’d awakened that morning with frost and a hint of snow sparkling under brilliant sunlight. The sun had disappeared long ago.

  Roarke pushed through the last couple of lifts as sweat beaded on his forehead. His body rebelled. He’d worked damned hard for the last hour pumping iron, bringing his muscles into alignment with his goal.

  What is your goal dick head? He’d asked himself that question a lot lately, and he didn’t have an answer. He knew that exercising twice a day worked to keep him in ultimate shape. He liked the burn and he liked the way he’d kept his body healthy. Yeah, he could do at least this much. Damned if he would allow his body to rot because he was no longer in the military. Even if life had thrown him a monumental curveball this year, he would recover. Failure was never an option. Just a few more sets.

  Pipes rattled somewhere in the building. He stopped. Listened. Hyper-awareness drew his muscles tighter and quickened his breathing. Anger sliced him. Damn it. He wouldn’t react like this forever, he hoped. No. Hope had nothing to do with this friggin’ overreaction to every damned noise. And this place had enough weird sounds. He’d only been in his mother’s apartment two months, and the noises at night had increased. Mice maybe? Other critters who had invaded the building without anyone knowing? He’d ignored it all; old buildings made weird sounds. Last night’s panic attack, as he’d decided to label it, proved the war had affected him. He wasn’t ready to call it PTSD, and he sure as hell hadn’t had any signs of it before he’d left the military. Just because he got a little jittery a few moments here and there didn’t mean he needed to run to the Veteran’s Administration and demand counseling. He refused to do that. No, he’d chalked up the basement experience to a fluke.

  He wasn’t like his mother. Or his father, for that matter. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Pearl’s question about whether he thought the place was haunted returned to his thoughts. Fuck no. So this place was old and had personality quirks. Didn’t mean the damned place had ghosts.

  Though this eighteen hundred square foot apartment defined the word luxury with its modern stainless steel gourmet appliances, granite countertops, and travertine floors, he often wondered if the old bones had been sufficiently shored up. Over a hundred years took its toll on any building. If things started going to hell structurally, he’d know it soon enough. He’d seen places like this fall apart after a short time when things weren’t done right.

  After his mother’s disappearance he’d moved into her place and brought nothing but his clothes and a few other items. He’d kept his stuff in storage for so long he was loath to reclaim it for now. This condo was furnished with his mother’s things. One day, when he decided what to do with the rest of his life, he’d retrieve the few items he’d collected over the years and furnish his own place.

  He switched focus and returned to his exercise. Breathing hard, he finished the set and paced the bedroom to cool down. His gaze fell on the open journal on the unmade bed—his mother’s journal. He’d found it—rather the police had found it when they’d first searched her apartment. They’d given it back when they decided it didn’t give any concrete clues to why or how she’d disappeared. He’d decided reading it from cover to cover again was in order. He glanced down at the passage he’d finished earlier.

  Starting this journal at the new condo feels like a fantastic new beginning. My son asked me why I wanted to move here, and I told him it was because I wanted to find myself after the divorce. But I lied to Roarke and my ex. I feel drawn here. Moth to flame. So here I am. What will I learn here? Maybe if I study Tranquil View long enough, if I roam this building and if I traipse the graveyard, I’ll understand myself.

  Tranquil View is ... God, how do I explain this place? It is almost unexplainable, but maybe I’m not creative enough.

  Tranquil View is dark. Oh, there are plenty of windows in Tranquil View. The developers utilized the big windows that were already here to make the apartments light and beautiful. But the darkness doesn’t come from lack of light. It comes from how it feels. This apartment is so cold when it shouldn’t be. The whispers are loud, but I can’t always hear what they’re saying. The shadows I see out of the corners of my eyes are solid and real. They aren’t my imagination. I don’t have anyone to turn to with my worries. My ex wouldn’t believe me, and Roarke certainly wouldn’t. Not that it matters. I can’t worry Roarke. He needs to keep his attention on staying alive, and he can’t do that if he’s worrying about his crazy mother.

  He read the entry again, though he felt as shameful about reading it as he did compelled. Shamed because he doubted she ever thought another person would read it. And when he found her, she might feel mad as hell he had. Too bad. He needed to know what he could about how she was thinking—anything to give him a clue where she’d gone. Roarke closed his eyes. Every time he read her journal, he wondered if he was reading evidence of her losing her mind one marble at a time.

  His phone rang. He considered letting the answering machine get it. Instead, he went to the bedside table and picked up the cordless on the third ring.

  “Chief, this is Lars Handers.”

  “Call me Roarke. I’m retired.”

  Handers chuckled, the sound fake as hell. Roarke hated that about the man, even though he came highly recommended by an old buddy who had hunted down a runaway bride.

  “Of course, Roarke. Whatever you want. I have a progress report on your mother.”

  Roarke tensed again. ‘Bout damned time. “What do you have?”

  The private investigator sighed. “Nothing. I am coming up completely empty at this point. But don’t give up.”

  Roarke closed his eyes as disappointment dragged him into a quagmire of frustration. He clenched his fist. “I never give up.”

  “I guessed that about you. As soon as I have anything at all, and I will, I’ll call.”

  “If I don’t hear any results soon, I’ll have to cut off your services and find someone else.”

  Silence greeted Roarke. Finally the P.I. found his voice. “I always get results. But your mother didn’t leave much of a trail to follow.”

  After he hung up, Roarke considered pushing through another workout to flush the anger out of his system. “Damn you, Mom. Where the hell did you go?”

  Eaten up with the anger and worry that threatened to engulf him, he nixed the workout idea and headed to the shower. Under the water, though, he had way too much time to think. He thought of his father still paying for his ex-wife’s apartment here in Tranquil View, and at the endless mystery that Roarke encountered every day and hoped to solve. Worry attempted to devour him one more time.

  He cursed vehemently. Anxiety didn’t do anyone a damned bit of good. He overruled the emotion. He soaped his body and decided he’d give himself tonight off and stop wondering where his mother had gone and why.

  She could be dead. The thought ran through his head and he shut it down. He refused to believe that. His mother’s apartment had been investigated by the sheriff’s department; they’d dusted for prints and done everything to investigate her disappearance. They’d decided there was no sign of foul play or reason to think she’d been taken against her will. Everything remained as she’d left it.

  With another switch, he banished emotions. Emotions had bitten him in the ass too many times to count when it came to his family. He pondered dinner tonight. He didn’t think of it as a date, but his body did. She didn’t seem aware of it, but Melissa Allan made him horny as hell. Throw that in the shit can, O’Bannion. She wouldn’t have sex with you if you begged her. Nope. It was a business deal. He’d paid her ER bill and he would have a nice meal.

  He didn’t fool himself. He wanted to have sex with her. His body did anyway, even if
his mind understood the impossibility. She was an unknown. He didn’t screw women he hadn’t figured out, who hadn’t revealed their true intentions and personality. He wouldn’t make the mistake of getting interested or too close to any female while he was in Simple, and he didn’t plan to be here that long. Once he settled down, well then, he’d find a woman that fit him, marry, and have kids. Now that he was retired and not running around the world fighting in wars, he could.

  Melissa ... well, maybe if Melissa wanted the same thing he did a quick, satisfying sexual game .... Nah, she believed in a lot of shit he didn’t—loony things that proved she didn’t have all the lights on upstairs, right?

  Arousal hardened his cock to a spike, and he did the only thing that would relieve the pressure. He stroked his erection, pumping as water pounded his chest. He didn’t need to imagine Melissa naked, though he certainly could have. He jumped into the pleasure, the pure sensation of his fist doing the work. It didn’t take long as his arousal spiraled upward fast and hard. He exploded with a growl and shot semen as the pleasure shook him. A quick wash off and he’d accomplished another goal. He’d controlled yet another aspect of his life. He left the shower happy he’d taken the edge off.

  After he shaved, he glanced in the mirror once. Not much chance of a woman wanting to fuck your ugly puss. He dressed in a dark green sweater and casual black pants—no jeans for Giancarlo’s. Armed with a heavy coat, hat, and gloves, he was ready to leave his apartment.

  Roarke stepped out of his apartment and a thud came on the door behind him. He jumped, startled. Surprised, he didn’t move. Another thud against the wall. His heartbeat quickened as he left, disturbed at what he’d heard, and madder than hell he’d let an old building scare him.

  * * *

  Roarke played the gentleman and helped Melissa slide off her coat. They’d entered the large, ornate Italian restaurant, buffeted by the wind and cold as the sun dipped below the surrounding mountains. The hostess took their coats and showed them to a booth. The restaurant hadn’t filled yet, and the old world ambiance and quiet gave their table an intimate feel.

  Melissa eyeballed Roarke covertly. No two ways about it. The man was hot, and he didn’t seem to know it. She’d spent too much time that afternoon at work daydreaming about whether his body was half as ripped as she suspected. The green cable sweater hugged his form just enough, and his casual dress pants looked tailored for him. Here and there, hints of powerful muscles made her body react. Her nipples tightened and a low ache started in her belly. He’d shaved and smelled like a million bucks.

  All the way to the restaurant on the outskirts of Simple, his clean masculine scent had driven her batty. She’d wanted to breathe it in until she became dizzy with it. In the lower light he seemed bronzed like a god, his profile cut from rock to rough perfection. Many women would consider him too dangerous in appearance, with an edge that promised violence. She found it exciting, and that’s what worried her. Personality-wise, she shouldn’t like him that much. He was hard-assed and skeptic to the extreme. Her libido didn’t seem to care.

  His gaze raked over her with an intensity that made her tingle. She wondered if he liked what she wore. Her black evening dress was cut above the knees, a slim fitting piece that loved her curves. She wore a crystal necklace, a matching cocktail ring on her right hand, and a tennis bracelet on her left wrist that flashed in rainbow colors. Her pumps were relatively low; she didn’t do high heels anymore. Despite the fact she didn’t wear calf-enhancing shoes because it hurt her feet too much, his gaze slid over her with pure male appreciation. Her body reacted with female delight. No use pretending Roarke O’Bannion hadn’t found a special niche inside her.

  They ordered Chianti to go with whatever pasta they chose. Mellow piano music played in the background.

  “Something wrong?” he asked. “Does your wrist hurt?”

  “It barely aches.”

  “You didn’t fill the prescription, did you?”

  Her jaw clenched as memories she’d have liked to keep at bay returned. “No. I don’t like taking drugs for pain.”

  Roarke sipped his water and eyed her with curiosity. “A lot of people don’t.”

  Memories flooded Melissa as well as the pain of them. “Yes.” She didn’t meet his gaze, and stumbled around in her mind trying to decide if she could reveal the reason why to him. He waited patiently and finally she took a deep breath and confessed. “I had an ectopic pregnancy.” She’d never told another man what had happened. Why had she just told him?

  His eyes softened with compassion. “I’m sorry.”

  The words kept coming. “I took painkillers after and ....”

  No, she wouldn’t start down this path. As mental pain sliced and revived, their wine arrived. The waiter took her four cheese ravioli order and his penne ala vodka. When he didn’t press for more information, she relaxed. Good. She wouldn’t get into an explanation. They eased into munching on the bread the waiter brought with their wine.

  “Avoiding pain is very human. Trying to avoid it, that is,” he said softly.

  She smiled and sipped her wine. “You cut right to the chase.”

  “What else is there? I suck at small talk.”

  She shrugged. “I’m good at it. All those social events when I was in Toastmasters and the debate team in college. I used to love to debate.”

  “You don’t now?”

  More memories came forward, but she didn’t want to resurrect those either. “No.”

  His gaze narrowed on her as he leaned forward slightly. “I warn you, I like mysteries.”

  She lifted one eyebrow. “Are you saying I’m a mystery?”

  “Maybe not so much. I sense it took a lot for you to tell me about the pregnancy. Tell me about yourself.”

  What could she say without giving everything away? “I was born in Tucson, Arizona. Like I said I’m a military brat. We also lived in Europe and in a few other air force bases around the country. Life was good. My mother wasn’t exactly the happiest woman. It made me crazy because she complained about the moves constantly. She was glad when dad retired. I’m surprised they didn’t get divorced over it.”

  “People stay together for the wrong reasons. Where did you go to college?”

  “University of Arizona. I’ve always been good with kids, so I got my teaching degree. I taught in Denver. High school.”

  “For how long?”

  “Almost twelve years. I’ve been in Simple for a year.”

  He frowned and took a sip of wine. “You gave up teaching kids for a new age shop?”

  His tone and the implication instantly gave her hives. She tightened her lips in disappointment. She shouldn’t have expected anything different from this man. “Yes.”

  He tilted his head to the side slightly. “Why?”

  She almost didn’t tell him. Why should she trust him with her deepest thoughts when he didn’t respect what she did for a living? She shouldn’t have to justify any decisions she made. His straightforward questioning reminded her too much of her father’s attitude. “That’s what my father asked me.”

  His eyebrows went up a little. “And you didn’t like that?”

  “Hell, no.” She smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Dad is really good at questioning me as if I’ve just done a dumb thing. Just like you did. If it isn’t his way, it’s the highway.”

  Silence settled as he looked at her with dismay. She felt a little satisfaction when she saw deep thought in his eyes, as if he was thinking about it and regretting what he’d said. “It takes guts to open your own business.”

  Okay, so that was his concession, or his form of an apology. “I quit teaching because it wasn’t fun any more,” she said. That was an understatement, but she wouldn’t continue with an explanation.

  He leaned back in the booth. Although he’d given her plenty of room, his presence even this close made her aware of him on a primitive level that wouldn’t disappear. Pure energy surrounded him, as if he bristled
with it.

  He spread butter on another piece of bread. “I didn’t like my job before I left the Marines either.”

  “But you made it through twenty years.”

  “Originally I was going for thirty. Until I was too damned old.”

  “What happened to change that?”

  “The last year ... .” His expression turned wary, as if he feared revealing too much. “The last year has been tough.”

  “Where were you stationed?”

  “Camp Lejeune originally and quite a few other places. I was involved with the Kosovo conflict, Iraq, and Afghanistan.”

  She sighed. “Oh, man.” Her compassion rose. “I know this probably seems like a no-duh statement, but I’ll bet Afghanistan was the worst.”

  “No doubt about that.”

  “No girlfriend to welcome you back?” Oh, Melissa, why did you ask?

  “There weren’t any woman waiting for me when I got back.”

  She imagined this rugged man with no one to come home to, and it pinched. “Everyone in the military should have someone waiting for them when they return.”

  He smiled, and it was a lopsided, teasing grin. “Thanks. But I’m all right. I’m not permanently damaged.”

  She wondered how on earth this man had escaped having a girlfriend. Unless he had some huge hidden fault or hated to commit. Yeah, that had to be it. “You never married?”

  “No. Never met the woman of my dreams and my work wasn’t conducive to keeping a long term relationship. What about you? Ever married?”

  She hesitated, but quickly covered. “No, but I was engaged once when I was nineteen.”

  “I’ll bet that is a long story.”

  “Very long.”

  When he didn’t ask her about it, she sighed with relief. Before long, their dinner arrived, and the food was so excellent they spent more time eating than talking. To her surprise she didn’t mind being quiet. The silence lacked nothing. It didn’t feel overwhelming or empty enough to require filling. She liked his solid presence beside her.