The door to the bathroom closed to the sound of soft laughter and a firm click. Finally, as if the spell broke with the closing of the door, he moved away. His movements felt unnaturally stiff. Thoughts of her naked body reclining in his tub had him fighting off the urge to barge in on her. Tamping down the memories of her long limbs and glowing skin, he set his jaw and hunted out the number for his local Thai restaurant instead. The sooner he left, the sooner he could get back.
After placing his order, he shrugged on a jacket and glanced in the hall mirror. The holster sat tight against his side, the loose fit of the jacket hiding the telltale bulge. He paused with his hand on the door, adrenaline spiking at what may lie in wait behind it.
“Spooked of your shadow,” he mocked himself and gave the handle a decisive twist. Stepping out he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Spartan at the best of times, the removal of the hall’s potted plants for the tenant’s recent renovation project made it barren. There was nowhere a person could hide. He tested the door to make sure he’d locked it behind him and moved down the hall towards the elevator, eyes restless. His ears strained for any sounds that might alert him to another’s presence, but it was all quiet.
Keeping his gun hand ready during the elevator ride down, he stood rigid with nerves. The sense of dread strengthened as he watched the display count down the floors. When the car stopped at the sixth floor, his hand curled around the butt of his gun. As the doors slid open, he positioned himself to the side of the car, his eyes narrowed on the entrance, expectant. A man stepped into the cage, his eyes widening as they took in the fierce scowl on Nate’s face.
Vaguely recognizing him as a neighbor, Nate nodded a greeting. “Going down?” he asked gruffly.
The man’s eyes widened further and his throat jerked in a swallow. His mouth opened and closed, but no words were forthcoming.
What was wrong with the man? Nate scowled, his lips tightening in annoyance and the man literally shrank further away from him. Kelly’s voice sounded in his head. Lighten up, O’Leary. Suddenly, it dawned on him that he was the problem. With an effort, he softened his expression. “Are you going up or down?”
“Oh! Ground floor, please,” the man wheezed and kept his gaze warily on him.
With a grunt, Nate pushed the button and stood back, his arms crossed over his chest, and ignored him completely. When the doors dinged to announce the floor above ground level, Nate stepped out and headed for the stairwell, leaving the neighbor to ride to the ground floor alone. Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the bottom in time to see the man step out of the elevator. But he wasn’t the focus.
He stared through the small window of the door to the parking lot beyond and allowed his gaze to relax. Making sure to remain hidden, he waited to catch movement with his peripheral vision. It was a technique that served him well over the years. Sometimes, if you focused too hard on one thing, you missed everything else that went on around it.
He snorted at the irony. That could have been a metaphor for not only this case, but also his whole life. If only he’d acted on that bit of wisdom earlier.
His neighbor scurried towards a vehicle, looking back over his shoulder towards where Nate hid. He pressed closer to the wall. No need to freak the man out any more than he already was. He shook his head remembering the woman on the beach. It seemed he had a talent for doing just that.
The car purred past, its lights sending odd-shaped silhouettes onto the plain wall beside him. When it disappeared, the stillness was once more absolute. He stood there for another couple of minutes but saw nothing unusual. His stomach rumbled, prompted him to move. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped out. The feeling of unease he’d felt earlier had lessened, but hadn’t disappeared completely. He scanned the lots slowly and thoroughly, but couldn’t find the source. All these encounters with ghosts must be addling your brain.
After unlocking his car, he hesitated and glanced back at the entrance to the building. Kelly. Annoyed at his indecision, he gave himself a mental kick and growled under his breath. Christ’s sake, man—she’ll be fine. Stop being a Nancy. The only threat she faced at this point was starvation if he didn’t get a move-on. Still, he took the time to circle his car, checking it from top to bottom for interference. Finally satisfied, he got in and drove off with a squeal of tires. No matter she might think him mad, he intended to get there and back as soon as possible.
****
When Kelly’s car had pulled into the parking lot, the man had almost panicked, fearing they’d discover him before he was ready. Ducking down between two vehicles, he flattened himself on the concrete floor and watched them from the undercarriage. O’Leary had glanced around as if he’d felt the weight of his stare, his hand wrapped around the whore’s as he led her inside. When he was sure they’d gone inside, he chose an older model car, on the assumption it probably didn’t have an alarm, and then he jimmied the lock until it popped open. No shrieking alarm greeted him, and he made himself comfortable in the backseat to wait for the dead of night.
His heart leapt when the elevator opened and a man stepped out. Disappointment leveled it out again, once he realized it wasn’t his intended target. And then a few minutes later, without warning, O’Leary appeared in the stairwell doorway as if his thoughts had summoned him. He observed his cautious inspection of his vehicle with a smirk. It’s not you I want—not yet at least. Once again, God proved to him the righteousness of his actions by driving one of his adversaries away so he could deal with them one by one.
He ducked his head and sent up a quick prayer.
I never doubted your wisdom, Almighty Father. I am but your vessel sent to do your will. Give me the strength to finish this and send a clear message to all your children misguided by the Devil.
He opened his eyes and followed the red of the taillights until they turned onto the road and were swallowed by the night. Once he was satisfied that it wasn’t a ruse to flush him out, he unfurled his long body from the backseat and brushed the slight creases out of his army-style pants. He pulled at the hem of his matching shirt to make sure it sat straight and pressed the button to the twentieth floor.
Anticipation danced in his belly. As he ascended, he wiped his damp palms against his pants. He patted the multitude of pockets to make sure his tools were secure and straightened as the bell signaled they’d arrived.
The elevator glided to a stop and the doors slid open to an empty hall. He stepped off and strode down the hall, his mission filling his every thought and then, the smell of fresh paint assaulted him like a punch to the gut and his mind cartwheeled. He fell back against the wall gasping as the scent took him back in time.
“Carlos Hodgkins!”
The little boy scrambled under the kitchen table and grabbed onto a leg. She was coming closer. He shook so much, the utensils still out from breakfast jangled, giving away his position.
“You get your ass out of there you little shit and stand before me. Don’t make me get down there and drag you out.”
The last was delivered in such a venomous tone, he knew he was about to get the hiding of his life. He couldn’t help it. He peed his pants and the tears ran unchecked down his baby-fat cheeks. He screwed his eyes shut and prayed to God the witch would go back to sleep on the couch where she’d been passed out for most of the morning.
Suddenly, a hand clamped hard around his ankle and pulled. He screamed and kicked out at her. A slap hard enough to raise a welt landed on his calf and he screamed again. He opened his eyes and a monster uglier than anything he could dream up in his imagination stared at him with wild eyes. Peeled-back lips displayed bared teeth and spittle started to form in the corners of her mouth as rage fed on the alcohol inside her like fuel.
The gold cross at the base of her throat swung back and forth, distracting him. Not for the first time, he wondered where the devout, God-fearing woman disappeared to in these moments.
He slid across the floor, his fingernails protesting
on the linoleum as he was dragged out. He twisted around onto his bottom and pleaded, knowing all the while that it was hopeless to try to bargain with the devil. “I wanted to make a pretty picture for you, Mama. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave paint on the table. I’m sor—”
The last word was cut off as she cannoned her fist into his cheek, rattling his teeth and snapping his head to the side. His sight burst into stars, and he fell into a heap at her feet.
“That was Grandma’s antique table you stupid little bastard.” To punctuate her words, she kicked him in the stomach. He curled himself around this new pain, and panicked. He couldn’t breathe. Gasping like a landed fish, he turned his face up to her and tried to beg for help. She glared down at him. “I want all that paint gone before you go to bed. And don’t think you’re getting any dinner tonight. I’m sick of the sight of you.”
She turned and left the room and his breathing returned in shudders. Each inhale sent sharp pains ricocheting through his chest. The scent of paint was thick in his nostrils although he breathed as shallowly as possible. As he lifted his head off the ground, he realized his jaw rested on a puddle of wet paint, which brought racking sobs to his small frame once more. He’d only been trying to make her happy.
Once, they’d been happy. But those were the days before his dad died. After that, everything changed. His mother turned to alcohol and she’d gradually become someone he didn’t recognize. Only feared.
Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up and hobbled to the sink. Finding a bucket, he filled it with disinfectant, hot water, and a sponge and set about erasing his innocent mistake.
As if he were that little boy again, his heart raced and terror froze his limbs. Sweat dampened the front of his shirt as he struggled to bring his breathing under control. Gradually, he remembered where he was. He’d already lived through hell, and the devil didn’t have the power to hurt him anymore. God had helped him see to that.
He dragged a sleeve across his forehead, closed his eyes, and drew in a series of steady breaths. Shutting the door on the memories in his mind, he pushed away from the wall and straightened up. He glanced at his watch and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d only lost a couple of minutes. He needed to focus. The biggest mission of his life was just ahead of him, and he had to be at his best to accomplish his goal. God only helped those who helped themselves. Cautiously, he made his way to O’Leary’s door. He kept his footsteps light, not wanting to alert anyone to his presence.
He pressed his ear to the door and held his breath. Nothing. It was all quiet inside. He removed a swipe card from his pocket and employed it. Fitted with microchip technology, it overrode any circuit locking system. With a city full of hotels and apartments, it was an essential piece of equipment for any locksmith. The amount of calls they received on a weekly basis was mind-boggling.
The light above the handle blinked green, and a soft click announced success. The well-maintained door opened silently and he stepped inside, pleased to see the apartment lined with a quality carpet. No wood floors to give away his presence. His boots sank into the plush pile and his ears strained for the whereabouts of his quarry as he searched methodically, finding only empty room after room.
Faint splashing sounds drew his attention and he turned towards the sound. A woman’s low humming came through a closed door and his lips curved. “Got you,” he whispered as he eased the bathroom door open and entered the room.
Chapter Twelve
She lay in the bath, her long limbs relaxed, and her head supported by a bath pillow. A flannel rested over her eyes and nose. With steam rising in wisps around her and blonde tendrils escaping her messy up-do, she looked the picture of decadence. His body hardened unexpectedly at the sight of her rounded breasts, the dusky tips jutting out of the water with every rise and fall of her chest.
He stepped further into the room and let his gaze linger down her sinfully curvy body. His mouth dried at the sight of the juncture between her thighs. Blonde hair a shade darker than her crowning glory hid the core of femininity from his view, but it was enough to make him groan with desire.
Her head swiveled towards the sound, a sexy smile curving those full lips. “Back so soon Nate? You couldn’t resist huh?”
Her voice gave him a start. The words she used echoed the ones his own mother used just before he killed her. She too had thought her lover was back for more. His lip curled as he glanced over her assets once more. She looked to have been made by the devil himself with the sole purpose of luring men to hell. The shock of his initial reaction to her passed, and he was able to look at her dispassionately. It was a test. Perhaps the greatest one God had ever sent him, but he would prevail.
Standing over her, he closed his hand over her pouting nipple, his fingers hard and cruel on her soft flesh. At her whimper of pain, he grinned and tightened his grip. He’d enjoy destroying this plaything of evil before sending her back to the Lord cleansed once more.
She ripped the flannel off her face, her eyes narrowed into a glare before they took in his features fully—and then, they widened in horror.
“Hello, Kelly,” he murmured silkily. “I’m here to deliver you to the Lord.”
She opened her mouth, whether to scream or yell, he didn’t know. Nor did he care. With a hand on the top of her head, he forced her under the water. Drowning was a peaceful way to die, or so he’d heard, and a lot less messy than other ways. She should count herself lucky he was giving her that luxury.
God, she was a fighter—and strong! At least the long-sleeved army shirt protected him from her flailing hands. When she threatened to break the surface a number of times, he exerted more force, using his weight to bear down and keep her submerged. As he felt the strength drain from her body, he closed his eyes and relished the moment.
****
As soon as his face loomed above her in the bath, panic drowned out her common sense, skittering her thought processes. Before she could react, he’d forced her head under the water.
Oh, my God. This can’t be happening!
Kelly’s eyes bulged wide. Her heart hammered in protest. Her pulse thudded against her skull while her lungs, ready to burst, screamed for relief. Her nails scratched hopelessly against the fabric of the killer’s sleeve, failing to find purchase.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her eyelids lowered as black spots appeared and solidified in front of them. The need to inhale became her singular, desperate focus. She fought hard against the urge, but she felt her will begin to drift away with consciousness.
No you don’t!
Her eyes jerked open as someone screamed at her in her head. Images of the man’s victims flashed behind her lids urging her to fight. They danced around, pulling and pushing at her with ghostly hands.
You can’t give up yet. Get up and fight. It’s what you’re trained to do.
Almost of their own volition, her hands shot out of the bath and latched around the man’s neck. In the same motion, she pulled with all the strength left in her body, tumbling him off balance. When he fell forward, her head broke the water and she sucked in a sweet life-giving draught of air. Forcing energy into her oxygen-starved limbs, she pushed the back of the man’s head down into the water and, using his body for leverage, stumbled out over the edge.
Water sprayed violently as he tore his upper half out of the bath and came after her, blinking furiously. “You could have had it easy,” he snarled, and stalked her, pulling a wicked looking blade out of his pocket. “Now you’re forcing me to give you a messy ending. I despise mess.”
“Don’t do it then. Problem solved,” she responded, trying to buy time while her mind worked feverishly for an escape plan.
His head tipped to the side. “Ah, Kelly. You underestimate your own importance. You are my biggest and most important mission by far. I can’t disappoint our Holy Father now, can I?”
She took an instinctive step back from the crazed regard in his gaze and her foot nudged a hard lump under her disca
rded clothes. Oh God. Could that be what she thought it was? Her pulse leapt with hope. He came closer and she retreated again, then gave a cry and fell to the floor, pretending she’d tripped. Keeping her eyes glued to his face, her hand reached under the material and encountered the cool plastic of her Taser gun.
Adrenaline surged through her as her fingers closed around the weapon.
“Stay back,” she warned and pointed it at his chest, her hands trembling with the effort of activating it. She cursed. A blind person could see her strength had waned after her near drowning.
His gaze dropped to the weapon, and he laughed aloud at her pathetic attempt to fire it. Lunging the remaining distance between them, he wrestled it out of her hands, his superior weight and size easily overpowering her. When he straightened, he had it pointing towards her.
“No,” she gasped and scooted backwards into the corner of the room, her back hard against the wall.
“Hmm. What does this do I wonder?”
She surreptitiously eyed the distance to the door and readied her limbs for one last chance to leap to freedom. Maybe she could duck under his arm before he fired. She knew what it felt like to be struck by the probes of the Taser and to have the electrical volts surging into her. It had been an essential part of her police training, and it had been far from pleasant. Afterwards, she’d been like a ragdoll unable to fend for herself. She would be at his mercy.
Bitter tears rolled down her cheeks as she lifted her chin. The shadow had prophesized her death. There was no escape. But she would do all she could to make it difficult for him. Hate burned from her eyes as she got to her feet and stood proudly, heedless of her naked state. His gaze drifted leisurely down her body, the evident hunger giving her pause.
Beyond the Shadows Page 18