Out of Mind

by Stella Cameron

  “This happened to Billy Baker, too?” Willow’s voice felt rusty. “Is it a disease?”

  “Not that we know of.”

  “A sort of Hannibal Lecter thingie, then?” Her heart pounded and she felt sick. “If Billy saw something like that coming at him, why wouldn’t he die of a heart attack?”

  “Let Ben see that,” Nat said. “He’s already seen Billy Baker’s body.”

  Ben took the picture and frowned. “There’s a lot more exposed flesh here.”

  “Billy’s catching up. Each time Blades checks on him, more skin is gone.”

  “Should that be happening if he’s dead?” Willow asked. “Wouldn’t it stop?”

  “I think it should. But there’s nothing expected about this case.” He looked up at her. “Including you, and then one of your employees, being present at the sites of the murders.”

  She felt Ben shift and gave him a short shake of the head. “When I last saw Billy, he was fine. Chris didn’t have anything to do with Surry Green’s death. He was out having dinner when all the hullabaloo started.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Her chest felt tight. She shouldn’t have to defend herself, but she knew that’s what she was here for. “I talked to Chris on the phone. He told me the police tapes were up around the dance hall when he got back from eating.”

  Ben sat down beside her. “Be careful. They want to make something out of you being connected to both victims.” He spoke clearly in her mind.

  It took Willow an instant to close him out. He had taken her by surprise.

  “Where were you last night?” Nat asked.

  “Working,” she said, getting annoyed. “And being interviewed for a new job.”

  “At Val and Chloe Brandt’s place?”

  “You already know the answers, so why ask the questions?”

  Nat took several Tootsie Rolls from a blue bowl on his desk and gave them to Willow. “Put those in your pocket for Marley. She loves them.”

  On autopilot, Willow did as he asked.

  “The questions are routine,” Nat said.

  “You ask me, then you ask someone else to see if our answers match. Isn’t that the way it goes?”

  “Uh-huh. It was Val Brandt who called in here about you last night. Evidently there was some sort of minitornado that hit his backyard while you were there. Afterward he couldn’t find you. He was really concerned.”

  “I’d decided to go home,” she said, not looking at Ben. “The party had been winding down anyway—before the wind came. I didn’t think they needed any added distractions, so I left. I felt in the way. I’ll call Mr. Brandt and apologize for worrying him.”

  “Reports were that what seemed like a tornado set down in those grounds,” Nat said. “People were tossed around. Even the water came out of the pool. But you didn’t have any difficulty walking away?”

  She’d like to shake Ben for his juvenile trick. “No, I didn’t. It was a breeze.”

  “Interesting choice of words,” Nat said. “When you talked to Chris, did he tell you his plans?”

  Willow thought about it. Mario wriggled free and actually went to Ben to be picked up. Mission accomplished, he sat on Ben’s knees, staring into his face.

  “Chris hadn’t finished watering all the plants in Surry’s apartment,” Willow said. “He planned to go home after he could get back in there and finish, I think. Chris has been with me a couple of years now. He’s good at what he does, conscientious, and I trust him.”

  Nat didn’t comment.

  “You know we look after Gray’s dad’s place—Gus Fisher? Gus thinks the world of Chris. They play cribbage when Gus can trick Chris into it. And Chris has taken Gus to buy coins for his collection. Chris would do anything for him.”

  “I’m glad Gus thinks so highly of him. Does Chris live alone?”

  “What are you getting at?” Ben said. “Why not get to the point?”

  Nat narrowed his eyes. “I am getting to the point, Fortune. How are things at that club of yours? I thought you’d decided you didn’t want to be hands-on with it anymore.”

  “The club’s great,” Ben said tonelessly. “All of our holdings are fine.”

  “Nat?” Willow said.

  Nat took his time looking away from Ben. “Does Chris share his apartment with anyone?”

  “No.”

  “And he lives—” Nat hit a couple of buttons on his keyboard and read the screen “—just around the corner from your business.”

  “That’s right.” She wasn’t surprised he knew her work address. “He’s close to our office. It’s convenient for him and me.”

  “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  Willow’s mouth was completely dry. She cleared her throat. “I think he dates casually sometimes. There’s no one serious as far as I know.”

  “Who does he pay his rent to?”

  “The same agency that rents me my office,” Willow said. She felt sick. “Let me give him a call and ask him to come in here.”

  “We already tried that,” Nat said. “And we’ve been to his apartment. He’s not there.”

  Willow punched in Chris’s number and listened to silence then, “The number you dialed is no longer in service.” She frowned and tried again. “The number you dialed is—”

  Willow hung up. “He always answers. Chris’s cell phone is attached to his body all the time.”

  “What do you know about him? Where does he come from? Family? Former employers?”

  “I can check his employment application, but I know there’s not much there. Nothing about his family. Look, let’s go over to his place and see him. He probably doesn’t even know his phone’s not working.”

  “I told you he’s not there. Have you ever had him go missing before?”

  “No.” A bubble of hysteria rose in Willow’s throat.

  “Give us some time to follow this up,” Ben said. “You’ve blindsided Willow.”

  “Give you time to follow up? You got some kind of law credentials?”

  “Shut up, Nat,” Willow said. She didn’t care how awful it sounded, she wasn’t going to let him talk to Ben like that. “You knew before I got here that I wouldn’t have the information you need, so why did you let me come like this?”

  “To put you on the defensive,” Ben said. “So he could see how you reacted.”

  Nat ignored him. “Chris Parker came out of Surry Green’s place and sat in a Mean ’n Green van to watch,” he said. “A passerby saw him and reported it to our people.

  “What totally throws us is that we think he went back inside after everything was sealed off.”

  “He broke in?” Willow asked, confused. “Who told you that? The same person who saw Chris in the van?”

  “I don’t have to give you any more details,” Nat said. “I was hoping you’d want to cooperate. We went through some heavy stuff in this town, and a member of your family was involved. Could be there’s a connection to this case. If you decide you want to help, let me know. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Willow stood up and so did Ben.

  “Did Chris Parker know Billy Baker?” Nat asked. “Did he have any reason to go to his shop?”

  “To pick up baked goods sometimes,” Willow said faintly. She looked at her watch. “Chris could be at the office already. The phones don’t get switched over from the service for another fifteen minutes or so.”

  “You might want to look for a new hire,” Nat said. “If Chris is still in New Orleans, we can’t find him. But we’re pretty sure he isn’t here. We think he’s on the run.”

  11

  Why didn’t she cry? Just break down and do what she felt like doing? Ben had grown up with a sister, and female tears didn’t bother him. You could comfort a woman in tears; Willow’s rigid face all but warned him to back off.

  He continued to carry Mario. The dog had a worried look that narrowed his black eyes and made his whiskers quiver. “I never saw a dog settle in so quickly,” Ben sai
d, hoping to crack the ice with Willow. “He’s worried about you, y’know. He figures you’re upset.”

  Rather than carry on toward the shop, she took an abrupt turn at the next corner and broke into something between speed walking and trotting.

  “C’mon, Willow, give me a break and talk to me.” He loped along beside her. “What’s making you so mad? The deaths, the reputation of your business getting dragged into the case or finding out you’ve trusted someone you shouldn’t have trusted?”

  “A, B or C?” she panted, and skidded to a halt. “Isn’t that like a man? Everything has to fit into a box. Choose a box, Willow, and we’ll sort this little problem right out.”

  Then she did cry, and Ben was instantly certain he wasn’t good at this after all. He pulled her stiff body against his chest and eased her close to the wall, while she clutched at him, sucking in sharp breaths, and he asked himself an old question: why did this pain feel so good?

  “Let it all out,” he said quietly. “Relax. Let go, Willow.”

  “R-relax?” Her voice got higher. “Are you relaxed?”

  He gave a short laugh. “What do you think? I’m holding you.”

  Mario seemed ecstatic to be squished between them.

  Ben stroked Willow’s hair. “Let me take it all on for you. Whatever needs to be done, I’ll do. That’s what I always wanted, honey, to be there for you.”

  She rested her forehead on his chest. “Did you ever think that might be part of the problem?”

  Caution clicked in and he didn’t answer.

  “You’re larger than life. No one passes you by without staring. Sykes is like that, too, and your brothers. Why is that? Big, powerful men attract people to them when anyone with an ounce of sense ought to run from you.”

  “This could be good for my ego,” he said, avoiding the eyes of passersby. “But somehow I don’t think you’re complimenting me. What do you want to do next?”

  She looked up at him, so forlorn she twisted his heart. “I want to make all of this go away.”

  “Including me?” he said, knowing it was selfish to ask.

  “Ben, when Sykes sent out his SOS, no one had died—at least the two people in question right now hadn’t. What exactly did he tell you?”

  It surprised him that she hadn’t yet pulled away from him. “That you had admitted feeling followed and watched for a couple of weeks. He hadn’t identified any obvious threats but he thought you were scared. And he thought I’d want to know. I did and I do. Whatever happens to you, happens to me.”

  She pursed her lips. “I can’t argue with you anymore right now. I’ve got to find Chris. He didn’t have anything to do with the murders, Ben. Believe me. I know him and he’s a gentle, free spirit. He’s even a bit wacky, but there isn’t anything in him that could be cruel.”

  “You can’t really know most people, honey. They only show you what they want you to see.”

  She looked at him as if he’d turned into a monster. “Do you see bad in everyone? I’m telling you Chris is a good guy. If he isn’t around, something’s happened to him.” Her green eyes turned sharp. “Ben, Chris could be lying dead somewhere.”

  “With his skin peeling off,” Ben murmured.

  “How can you say that?” A fresh torrent of tears caught the attention of anyone in the vicinity. “That is just cold.”

  “Nope. Just a reasonable thought,” he said. Damn, but his mouth could have a mind of its own. “You were suggesting Chris could be another victim in the same crime and I agreed. But don’t worry. We shouldn’t buy trouble before we have to deal with it.”

  “How long will it be before I see Mean ’n Green all over the news?” She sighed and shook her head. “If I didn’t need my business it might not matter, but I do need it.”

  No, she didn’t. She needn’t work, ever. Being his Bonded partner would be a full-time job—he’d make sure of that.

  “Why are you so sure you need the business? You could work for your uncle.”

  “I’m independent and I intend to stay that way. You may not have noticed, but we came out of the dark ages some years ago. I don’t need busywork doled out by a male family member.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Do you think I could take working with Pascal every day? Do you know me at all?”

  The sidewalks were drying under a warming sun. The scent of flowers overtook the aroma of grime again. The mood of the city was rising—too bad Ben couldn’t say the same for his own, or Willow’s.

  Ben rubbed her shoulders, and muscles in his jaw tightened when she arched her back. “I know we’re still Bonded,” he said. “That isn’t something you can change. Sykes has told me it’s written in the Millet Book.”

  “The Millet Book is a myth.”

  “The rest of your family doesn’t think so, and I surely know what I feel whenever I touch you.” He massaged the back of her neck with his finger and thumb. “I’ve missed this.” He had even missed the close proximity of crippling sexual frustration. It was like a drug to him, and he didn’t think he could dry out again.

  She gave a long shiver, then took Mario from his arm. “You should go back to your island,” she said. “Thanks for coming with me this morning.”

  Hurrying, not bothering to check for traffic, Willow crossed the street, going back toward Royal. He winced when she almost walked into a bicyclist with a guitar slung over her back. The woman, wearing neon-striped knee-socks, Doc Martens, a cutoff painter’s overall and a lot of tattoos, yelled things ladies might know but didn’t say.

  Willow started running again.

  Following her at an easy pace while keeping the distance between them the same, Ben turned over his options. He couldn’t leave as long as there was any question of Willow being in danger, and she was in danger.

  She turned to face him, waiting for him to catch up.

  “Do you think I can’t feel you following me, Benedict Fortune?” she said.

  “Whoa, Benedict? Even my mother doesn’t call me that.”

  “You do know what we’re doing, don’t you?”

  “Give me a hint,” Ben said.

  She scowled at him. “We’re waiting for someone else to die. We’re waiting for the next corpse with its skin peeling off.”

  He shrugged. “You always cut to the chase, Willow.”

  “Are you taking me seriously?”

  Sinking his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he said, “I wouldn’t dare do anything else—” he wagged a finger at her “—and before you tell me I’m being flip, I absolutely mean that. What I want from you is a little cooperation. Together we can get through this thing and I can keep you safe.”

  “There you go again. You’re going to keep me safe. Who’s keeping you safe, Ben?”

  “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  Abruptly, she put the dog down at her feet. Her eyes were wide-open and she pressed her lips together.

  Ben grabbed Mario up again. “Dogs are unpredictable,” he said. “He could decide to run in front of a car. He’s got to have a collar and leash.”

  Willow stared at him, but he didn’t think she was seeing anything at all. Both hands went to her neck, beneath her hair, and she shook her head. Then she wrapped one arm around her middle, and he thought she gave a low moan.

  Her eyes came into focus and she waved him away.

  “What is it, Willow?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t give me that. What just happened?”

  “Leave me alone.” She snatched Mario back and walked backward a few steps before she sidestepped to the nearest wall and leaned on it. “It is all about me.”

  Ben’s gut tightened. “Should we get off the street?” He searched around, but saw nothing unusual. Then he deepened his sight to see the others, the ones who drifted among those who were physically present. The others, and there were never many of them at a time, were going about their business without expecting to be seen by people like Ben. They continued to search
for a way back from the deaths they had not accepted.

  None of them took notice of Willow or approached her. He felt satisfied that these were not part of the puzzle, a good thing since that would be a complication he would rather not deal with, given that he and Sykes Millet were the only ones he knew of who had the deeper sight, the third eye.

  “You’re doing something,” Willow whispered, her attention darting from him to each person who passed.

  “Not really. Tell me about your neck and what you feel.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why? That’s ridiculous.”

  Willow crossed her arms over Mario. “Okay,” she said, keeping her voice very low. “I don’t know who, but someone is watching me—all the time. And I get these feelings on my neck. Tap, tap.” She drummed the fingernails on one hand against the opposite forearm. “Like that only sharper and creepier. Almost like a stroke with little stings in it. No, not that… I don’t know.”

  He felt a deep anger. He could tell she was telling the truth. But what did it mean? The type of elements that went in for torture—and Willow was being tortured—didn’t care about domestic engineering outfits. They didn’t care about the businesses of their victims one way or the other. But it looked as if Mean ’n Green had been targeted as a way to discredit Willow.

  What made him feel mean was the idea of something touching her.

  “Last night at the Brandts I felt fingers on me—on my skin. That never happened before.” She turned bright red and rested her cheek on the dog’s head. “It was horrible, the worst. An intimate attack and it came while I was talking to people. I couldn’t react or they would have thought I was mad. And it wouldn’t have changed anything if I suddenly said someone I couldn’t see was running fingers all over my body.”

  Feeling mean turned into feeling murderous. Someone had touched her intimately? It didn’t matter how it happened, it happened, and he would find out who was responsible.

  “Willow,” he said gently. “Let’s get you home.”

  “I can’t move,” she murmured.

  He looked at her closely. “Try,” he told her with a reassuring smile that cost him. “Come on—start walking.”