Touch Me in the Dark

by Jacqueline Diamond

  Like Ian and like her feelings for him.

  Unable to see clearly, Sharon followed the path by the hardness of the sidewalk beneath her feet. Ahead, the flames didn’t appear to be spreading, probably because of the rain. They reminded her of the biblical bush that burned but was not consumed.

  The shimmering light created a sense of movement all around, as if Sharon hurried through undulating gravestones. Fear propelled her. Ian seemed so strong, yet he’d been injured once and could be again.

  Especially if there’s a force that wants to hurt him.

  She couldn’t imagine why anyone would wish Ian harm, and she didn’t believe in evil spirits. But if they existed anywhere, a graveyard seemed the most likely site.

  Ahead, a black figure appeared, silhouetted against scarlet flares. Moving, it clarified into a man, his raincoat open and head thrown back. After a moment, she realized he was laughing.

  She stopped, shocked. There was something grotesque about Ian’s behavior. Flames flared above him, but instead of fleeing, he whirled like a madman. In the distance, she heard sirens wailing through the hollow streets, sounding impossibly far off.

  The dark figure stopped spinning and called, “Sharon! Come look at this!”

  She slogged up the slope. Behind a looming gravestone, flames sizzled and hissed like angry snakes. As she drew closer, Sharon saw that what had caught fire was a huge old tree, split and twisted by the lightning. Its heat formed a shimmering wall that kept them at bay.

  “I’ve found something.” His face crimson in the billowing light, Ian pointed toward the tree.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted. “Did you hit your head?”

  He grinned. “You should have seen the power. Magnificent! God’s hand brushed right by me. I smelled fire and brimstone!”

  “Fire and brimstone? I have news for you—that wasn’t God!”

  “Whoever it was, he led me right here. You won’t believe what I stumbled across!” His excitement was catching, Sharon discovered as she came closer. How could she be afraid when she was with such a man? The sweep of wind and rain and the exhilaration of the flames caught her up, too.

  “I want to see!” she cried. “Show me!”

  He waved toward the tree. In front, she made out the burnt skeleton of a bush whose blackened branches that would never again show a leaf. “Look what this little guy’s been hiding.”

  Near its roots, Sharon saw something flat and rectangular buried in the dirt. A stone plaque. “Is that a grave marker?”

  “I’ll bet it’s been sitting there for forty years, only nobody knew,” Ian said. “Must be Bradley’s grave, hidden away like that.”

  “We won’t know until we can get close enough to read the inscription.” Sharon wouldn’t be surprised if he was right, though.

  “I wouldn’t have seen it myself if he hadn’t led me here, the old bastard,” Ian told her.

  “He led you?” she said. “You’re beginning to sound like Bella Gaskell.”

  “Heaven forbid! I just felt an urge to come up here the way I sometimes feel a painting taking shape.” His eyes glowed in the dying flames.

  Behind the bush, the fire flickered low. Moving forward, Ian aimed his flashlight onto the marker. “What a mess.” He kicked away some dirt with his shoe. “I can make out the start of a name, possibly B-r, and the end of a name, o-n. It’s Bradley, all right.”

  “What a lonely place for a grave.” Sharon hugged herself, feeling a chill as the breeze penetrated her wet coat. “It’s halfway across the cemetery from Susan’s.”

  “But a hell of a lot closer than Santa Ana.” Ian stood as Karly approached.

  “Are you both all right?” She had to shout over the noise of approaching sirens.

  “We’re fine,” Sharon answered. “He found Bradley’s grave.” She pointed.

  Karly drew back as a spark shot out of the tree. “You’re too close!”

  “It’s nearly out.” Transfixed by the sight of the newly revealed marker at his feet, Ian made no attempt to move back.

  A fire truck screamed into the parking lot. Moments later, firefighters ran toward them. “Stand back!” ordered one of the men. Reluctantly, Ian joined the two women on the sidelines.

  In the confusion, they had to wait quite a while before they were allowed back onto the hill. The firefighters did a thorough job of blasting the fiery tendrils with a hose, chopping the gnarled remains of the tree and making sure the last scarlet wisps had been extinguished.

  They’d received several calls about a possible lightning strike, the battalion chief informed the trio, but not until they heard from Karly were they able to pinpoint the location. He watched with interest as Ian showed him the plaque that had been revealed.

  “That’s strange, that they planted a bush on top,” the battalion chief said as his men gathered their equipment. “I don’t see how that could happen.”

  “It was intentional,” Ian said. “That’s my grandfather’s grave. Apparently someone buried him here in secret.”

  “That sounds like an interesting story.” The man squinted at Ian with eyes irritated by the smoke. “You look familiar. Didn’t you used to be with the P.D.?”

  Ian introduced himself, and the pair shook hands. “My cousins were rehearsing at the church for a concert,” he explained. “I was taking a walk out here when the lightning struck.”

  “Kind of strange,” the battalion chief said, wiping off rain that streamed down his forehead. “Lightning striking a tree down here in the flatlands, I mean. But electricity’s a funny thing. Sometimes has a mind of its own.”

  The rain was easing and the lights in the church had come back on by the time the fire crew left. Karly went indoors to turn everything off and lock up.

  Standing beneath the eaves while Ian lit Karly’s way, Sharon got a cold feeling, as if all the heat had been drained from the universe. Her earlier excitement had faded, leaving doubts in its wake. She longed for a familiar world in which coincidence didn’t pile upon coincidence until you almost believed there had to be some unnatural force at work.

  Most of all, she wished Sunday had come and gone, and the spirit of Ian’s ancestor could be buried along with his body in this lonely and unlamented grave.

  Chapter Eleven

  Karly said goodbye to her sister and Greg at the door to her apartment building. Tonight had been an emotional rollercoaster that left her physically tired but mentally stimulated.

  She supposed she should have stayed upstairs after they retrieved Greg, but she wasn’t ready to get shut away yet. Instead, she stood watching them hurry through the drizzle and bundle into Ian’s car.

  Tonight, she’d witnessed things she could never share with Frank. There was the sense of the painted Madonna watching her, and something more. As the fire leaped with unnatural beauty, she’d felt a presence and seen a white film separate from Ian and vanish. Maybe that had been the effect of condensation on her contact lenses. Maybe not.

  Her pace slowed as she went inside. She wasn’t looking forward to tiptoeing around Frank’s ill temper. Why did he always expect her to accommodate his moods? What about him accommodating hers once in a while?

  As soon as she opened the door to the apartment, she heard the television set. The program sounded like an old movie, and since Frank rarely watched old movies, she assumed he was channel switching.

  Sure enough, the news came on while she was taking off her coat. A team of reporters was covering a car accident on one of the freeways. She caught the phrase ‘rain-slicked roads.’

  Frank glanced up, his forehead creased. “Isn’t it kind of late?”

  “Lightning hit a tree outside the church.” Karly hung her jacket in the closet and slid her feet from her wet shoes. “Then we discovered a lost grave under a burning bush.”

  “Sounds like an evening of biblical proportions,” Frank observed dryly.

  She smiled, pleased at this reminder of the wit he’d shown while they were datin
g. The warm air felt good on her wet skin. “How did things go with the baby? Mrs. Torres told me you collected her early.”

  “No problem,” Frank said.

  He looked older than when they’d met, she noticed with a start. His hair was thinner and his face settling into harsh lines. She hadn’t realized what a toll his new business was taking on him.

  After checking on the baby, Karly padded into the kitchen and retrieved a can of diet soda. When she came out, Frank clicked off the TV. She paused, soft drink in hand, to see what he would do next.

  “Please sit down,” said her husband. “We need to talk.”

  Karly edged onto the arm of an upholstered chair. “What about?”

  “Priorities.” He ran a hand through what was left of his hair. “You’ve promised to perform on Friday, and that’s fine. But I don’t think it’s fair to the baby for you to do any more of this.”

  Anger surged, and Karly had to fight to speak levelly. “I’m not your junior partner,” she forced out. “I’m your equal. I get to make the rules, too.”

  “Nobody’s making rules,” Frank said. “We’re talking about fairness here. I’m working myself ragged while you get up when you want, play with the baby, go for walks, and meet your friends and your sister.”

  “Is that how you see my life?” Karly asked. “It isn’t that simple. These past three months have felt like living in a high-class jail cell. I’m stifling”

  “You’re spoiled, that’s the problem!” Without waiting for a response, he stalked into the bedroom.

  When had they agreed that the most important thing in their marriage was to make as much money as possible? she wondered. He’d said he wanted to talk about priorities, but he’d left before they got the chance.

  Distressed, Karly sank onto the couch. She didn’t want to sleep apart from her husband, but she didn’t want to go into the bedroom and risk an argument that might escalate to the point of no return.

  She would go in later, when he was asleep. But sometime soon they had to resolve this issue. Otherwise, the rage that she’d seen in his face and the answering anger in her would consume whatever might be left of their marriage.

  Beside Ian in the car, Sharon sat quietly, a shadow against the passing headlights. Earlier, she’d been transformed by the flames on the hill dancing in her eyes. She was as complicated and unpredictable in her own way as he was, he thought. No wonder she was the only woman who had ever understood him.

  Tonight, for the first time, he felt as if things might be coming together instead of falling apart. His glee at discovering the grave hadn’t come only from within himself. It reflected his grandfather too.

  How much of his identification with Bradley came from their similarities of appearance and ability, and how much had seeped into him from living in the Fanning house? Ian had no idea and, in his present mood, wasn’t sure he cared. He knew one thing, though. If Sharon were his lover and he learned she was marrying someone else, his heart might break but he’d never, ever harm her.

  With a start, he recalled that Bradley had been shot in the war. A leg injury, so he’d heard, but what if it were more complicated than that? If the man had suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder, that might explain why he’d flown into a murderous rage.

  If he and Bradley had so much in common, was it possible that under certain circumstances Ian, too, might be a danger to people he loved? Even to Sharon?

  His elation faded. He turned up the heater against the cold penetrating his damp clothes and hair. Although Sharon leaned back in her seat with her eyes closed, he knew she wasn’t sleeping. Just trying to absorb everything that had happened, as he was.

  When they got home, he said a quiet goodnight and stayed behind in the downstairs hallway to lock up. Turning, Ian watched a tired little boy trudge upstairs alongside his mother. He must have walked that way beside his mom many a time, although he hardly remembered her. He’d been younger than Greg when she died.

  Sharon reached down and took her son’s hand. His little face tilted up toward hers in profile and then, without a word being spoken, she swung him up onto her hip. The two of them molded to each other as they went up.

  A longing welled within Ian for what he’d missed. He’d never known this instinctive level of closeness with his gruffly tender great-aunt.

  When he reached his studio, Ian left his door open to the hallway. Once Greg was asleep, he hoped Sharon would feel free to come and talk. Or to come and say nothing.

  Alone, he flung his wet garments into a corner and pulled on jeans and a sweater. Then he stripped the drop cloths from his paintings.

  After tonight’s dramatic events, he’d expected them to be changed somehow. What a relief to find that they weren’t. The two bodies locked in either combat or lovemaking still had a half-formed protean quality that invited development. Then there was Sharon, being overtaken by a force from the past. He was drawn to her feral anticipation.

  As an artist, Ian knew he was on the verge of something. Like his paintings, his talents hadn’t yet found their mature shape but this was better than anything he’d done before. Jane had been wrong and his gut had been right. He needed this woman to inspire him.

  A change of air pressure told him when Sharon came in, but there seemed no need to speak. He waited until she reached his side and regarded the paintings. Her only reaction was an approving nod, but that was enough.

  “Is Greg asleep?” he asked.

  “The minute his head hit the pillow.”

  “You were thinking about something on the way home,” he said.

  “I’m not sure what got into me,” she admitted. “Out there on the hill, I had all this energy bubbling up. I’m not usually the kind of woman who runs around in the rain laughing at lightning strikes.”

  “Why not?” The space between them defined itself into curves and possibilities. Ian leaned closer. Her clothes smelled like fresh sheets, ready for him to nestle into.

  “What do you mean, why not?” Her lips quirked and her pupils darkened.

  “It’s inside you.” Ian came so close her hair tickled his nose. “The same craziness I have in me. You try to hold back, but what you really want is to race forward and embrace life.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mean I should race forward and embrace you?” She arched an eyebrow. “Do you consider yourself synonymous with life, Ian Fanning?”

  “With yours, yes,” he said.

  “Egotist!”

  “Hold me.” He drew her close. She eased into the niche of his shoulder as naturally as she’d lifted Greg earlier.

  Layers of emotion revealed themselves in her green eyes, wavering between anxiety and passion. When her mouth tilted toward his, he claimed her at once. Their kiss deepened slowly, licking flames inside him until he grew hard and ready for her.

  Sharon touched his neck and brushed back his hair before winding her arms around him. Their legs wrapped together as they melted into each other. Ian wanted to possess this woman, to take everything until they were both spent, and then to take her again.

  He drew her hips to his heat and lowered his head to kiss her again. Her hands stopped him, lightly pressing his forearms. Hoarsely, she murmured, “We’re playing with fire.”

  “I love fire,” he said.

  “We’re both pumped up from what happened tonight.” Sharon breathed hard. “All this adrenaline is driving us. I don’t want it to happen this way.”

  “But you do want it to happen.” Not a question.

  “Not tonight.” She slipped from his grasp. “We’re not ready.” She walked past him to the window and stared out at the rain-washed street. “Susan must have seen this same view from the widow’s walk, one story up.”

  He joined her, observing the usual quiet row of houses. “The rain brings back memories. Not about Bradley and Susan. About my parents’ deaths, I mean.”

  “Was there rain that night too?” she asked.

  He nodded. “They skidded right i
nto a wall. The car was such a burned-out wreck, I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure what caused the crash.”

  “Surely the police drew some kind of conclusion.”

  “I don’t know,” Ian said. “Jody says Dad had a temper, and he and Mom used to fight sometimes. I don’t want to think he hit the wall on purpose and left me alone.”

  “Of course not,” Sharon said.

  “I saw a lot of accident scenes when I was a cop. They always made me wonder,” Ian said. “I supposed he might have lost his temper and driven too fast, and skidded in the rain.”

  “Maybe you should go back and read the report.”

  “I can’t,” he said. “They only keep reports for seven years except in major crimes, and this wasn’t a crime, as far as we know.”

  “Why can’t you accept that it was simply an accident?” Sharon asked.

  “I suppose because that night was the thirty-fifth anniversary of my grandparents deaths.” The timing had never sat well with Ian. “When I’m in a dark mood, I think maybe Dad was right and something didn’t want them to escape this house.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t talk that way.” Sharon shivered.

  “I’m sorry.” He searched for a more pleasant subject. “Let’s hope I can summon clear weather for our painting session tomorrow. Tonight, I felt like a wizard of fire and lightning.”

  “You’re a wizard all right.” She shook her head. “Why else did I come in here tonight when I should have known better?”

  He tipped up her chin with his thumb. “Because you’re like me. Wild with the night and with being alive.”

  Lamplight made her skin glitter. “This from the man who practically threw me out the door the night I arrived?”

  “That’s because I saw the dangers more clearly than the possibilities.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I’ve completely taken leave of my senses.”

  She brushed a kiss across his hand, light as a whisper. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Fully clothed.” Turning away, she slipped out the door.