“What’s going on?” he asked before I had the chance to say anything.
I raised my eyebrows. “You tell me. You’re the one moonlighting as a bartender.” I allowed my gaze to roam over his body, taking in his black T-shirt and jeans. “At the bar where I just happen to work.”
“Moonlighting?” He grinned and leaned against the door of the walk-in cooler. “Doesn’t the term ‘moonlighting’ imply a day job?”
“You know what I mean. You’re a reporter, so what are you doing working here?”
“No, I was a reporter. Now I’m a bartender.”
My simmering emotions boiled over. I opened my mouth and let the words fly without thinking. “Six was killed just a few days ago. How you’re able to stand here and joke about taking her place is beyond me.”
His amusement vanished. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you, but you left me no choice. I begged you to leave town.”
“So . . . what? You’re here to play bodyguard now?”
“I’m here to make sure you’re safe.”
“I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself.” I folded my arms and mimicked his words from the night of Halloween, “Twenty-three should make me a big girl now.”
His eyes drifted down my body before jerking back to my face. “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.” He pushed away from the cooler and narrowed the distance between us. “This maniac . . . he’s got something against me, Mackenzie. He’s always been one step ahead of everyone. I’ve drawn too much attention to you and finding Six the other night didn’t help.”
“So what are you saying? That he’s gonna come after me next?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I shook my head, even as fear prickled the back of my neck. “That’s crazy. Besides, I don’t think the police leaked our names to the media. Six’s mother didn’t know we’d found her.”
“I asked McFayden to keep your name out of it. He agreed. He’s worried about you too.”
I tightened my arms around myself, partly in protection, and partly in irritation. “You’ve been busy talking to people about me. What did you tell Mike?”
Aidan suddenly found the floor fascinating. “The truth.”
“You told him we found Six?”
“I told him everything.”
My stomach plummeted. When he said everything, did he mean everything? “You didn’t tell him about my dreams . . .”
“He didn’t buy the hiking story, and I needed him to hire me.” He had the grace to look guilty. “I’m sorry.”
I gaped at him in disbelief. “I’ve only told one person besides you and the sheriff. One person. I told you because I trusted you, and believe me, trusting people isn’t something I do lightly these days.” I jabbed his chest with a finger. “And for good reason, you jerk!”
He grabbed my hand. “You wouldn’t listen to me the other night. Someone’s gotta watch out for you, and Mike—he doesn’t have any connections to Boise. Mackenzie . . . he needed to know how serious this is.”
I yanked my fingers from his grasp and stepped back. “It wasn’t your place to tell anyone.”
“I know. Call me desperate, but I’m worried about you.”
“I need to get to work.” I whirled around and pushed through the doors. Christie still wasted perfectly good space at the counter, and Judd sat on the barstool next to her. Judging from the glare Christie aimed at him, they were headed to off-again status.
“You good out here?” Mike asked.
I nodded without meeting his eyes. “Yeah, we’ve got it covered. Thanks.”
“Holler if you need anything. I’ll be in the back.”
The bar was next to empty. Two people chatted over the pool table, and another man sat in front of a video poker machine, feeding it twenties as if he had them to spare. Every so often he’d tug at his collar.
I pasted a smile on my face and approached Judd and Christie. “Can I get you guys anything?”
“You can kick him out,” Christie replied, pursing her glossy lips. She sneered in Judd’s direction.
He ignored her. “Don’t mind her,” he slurred, “I still haven’t figured out how to pull the stick from ‘er ass.”
You and me both, buddy.
I heard the doors open behind me. “We’re not done talking,” Aidan whispered into my ear. His breath tickled my neck, causing heat to ignite low in my belly. His arm brushed mine, and from the corner of my eye, I saw him standing to my left. I cursed my body’s reaction to his proximity and considered quitting on the spot.
How could Mike expect me to work in such tight quarters with Aidan? My manager was a few marbles short of an Aggravation game, no doubt about it.
“Later,” I said, suddenly distracted by Christie’s murderous expression.
Aidan nodded. “Everything okay here?” Apparently, he’d picked up on the tension between Judd and his girlfriend too.
The deputy smelled like a brewery. “Everything’s A-okay, right, Christie?”
“Go fuck yourself!” She hopped down from the barstool and stalked toward the door.
“Come on, baby, I said I was sorry!” Judd rolled his eyes and went after her.
The man sitting at the video poker machine glanced up, and the two playing pool paused long enough to watch Judd and his girlfriend disappear into the thickening fog. The door swooshed shut behind them, pushing a drift of frigid air into the bar. I shivered. The pool players returned to their game, and the lone man buried his nose in the spinning reels of his machine. I still couldn’t bring myself to look at Aidan.
“Will you forgive me?” he asked.
I ignored him and began to clear the glasses Christie and Judd had abandoned.
“It’s gonna be a long night,” he muttered with a sigh.
I couldn’t help but agree. The crowd at the Pour House was non-existent. Slower than slow. I wasn’t surprised when Mike sent us home two hours before closing time.
Aidan waited for me while I gathered my purse and coat. “Did you drive to work?” he asked.
“No. What about you? I didn’t see your car in the lot.”
“I walked.” Aidan opened the door for me, and we stepped into the thick fog.
“You must like walking.”
“So are you talking to me again?”
I pulled my coat tighter and fought off a wave of nervousness. “Maybe,” I said as he fell in step beside me. Staying mad at him was useless—about as useless as forgetting that damn kiss. “Thanks for walking me home.” I finally looked at him. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing at the brown paper bag he carried.
“Oh, this?” He lifted the bag. “I’ll show you when we get to your apartment.”
Silence stretched between us for a block. “Was it everything you’d dreamed of?” I asked.
“What?”
“Fulfilling your dreams of being a bartender.”
His deep laugh tickled my insides in a funny way. “It exceeded my expectations. Of course, working alongside you helped.”
My apartment came into view, and I hastened my stride. My hands, as cold as ice cubes, fumbled with the keys.
“Here, let me.” Aidan’s fingers closed over mine, and my gaze flew to his. We stared at each other for a beat. He took the keys and had no trouble unlocking the door. “I want to check out your apartment.”
I followed him inside and pulled the door shut, warding off the cold. I was glad I’d had the foresight to turn up the thermostat. I rubbed my hands together and waited for warmth to seep in. “Looking for the boogeyman?”
“The boogeyman is child’s play compared to what I’m worried about.” Aidan turned on a lamp and started removing items from his mysterious bag.
“You gonna let me in on the secret now? What’s all that?”
“Window alarms, sticks for the tracks, extra locks for your door.” He emptied the bag. “And two cans of mace. Keep one with you and the other on your nightstand.”
I
gaped at him as a warm sense of safety spread through me. “Thank you,” I said, though the words were insufficient at expressing what I wanted to say.
“You’re welcome. Do you know how to use a gun? I can get you one.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’d probably end up shooting myself.” I gestured to the items he’d laid out. “Is this really necessary? I mean, what makes you think he’ll come after me?”
“I’m not taking any chances.” He grabbed the items. “I’d better get started.”
I followed him as he headed into the bedroom. He flipped on the light and then came to a standstill. I bumped into his back. “What’s wrong?”
When he didn’t answer, I peeked around him . . . and wished I hadn’t.
Someone had left a photo of a woman’s naked, tortured body on my lavender comforter.
13. Hook and Bait
That night I dreamed of the past instead of the future. Suspended like a balloon, I was pulled along for the ride, a spectator in my own dream . . .
Aidan pulled into the garage of a single-level stucco home. The last rays of the sun tinted the mountain range a stunning burnt orange. He closed the garage door as two preschool-aged kids approached, their smiling mothers waiting on the sidewalk. The kids were getting a head start on trick-or-treating. Raggedy Ann stood back as the brave-faced pirate rapped on the front door.
Aidan entered through the kitchen. His hair was shorter than the careless length he wore now, his eyes bloodshot and weary. He halted at the counter and stood unmoving, lifeless as a pillar at Stonehenge. The two trick-or-treaters knocked a second time but were either ignored or simply not heard.
In a fit of rage, he grabbed a plate from the sink and hurled it at the wall. The rest of the dishes joined the first, and glass shattered and rained everywhere. He looked as broken as the shards glinting on his floor.
“Aidan—” My voice cracked on his name.
Of course, he didn’t hear me. He strode from the room, stomping through the house and kicking anything in sight as a slew of obscenities filled the air. Stony silence ensued when he reached the bedroom. The room was alight with candles, and a banner reading “Happy Birthday” hung above the four-poster bed.
On the comforter sat a note.
No, not a note . . . a birthday card.
Aidan picked up the card, and a photo fell from it. He gripped the image, knuckles turning white as he stared at a woman with tangled dark hair. In the photo, she was still alive. She looked into the camera’s lens, her wide eyes full of horror. Her hands were restrained, her naked breasts burned.
Aidan’s eyes overflowed, drops of despair drenching his face, creeping past unshaven cheeks. He flipped open the card, read the words I wasn’t able to decipher, and then fled the house.
I flew overhead, my invisible string carrying me along as he sped down the highway. He must have been doing ninety, maybe more. The darkening foothills grew larger as we spanned the distance. He pulled off the road and came to a screeching stop, and the door was left open in his haste to take off running. Every so often he halted long enough to glance down at the birthday card. Whatever was written there must have led him here, to this place in the middle of nowhere.
By the time brush gave way to spotted trees, the sun had disappeared from the sky. Aidan didn’t have a flashlight, though the oversight didn’t slow him down. He kept moving, stepping over rocky terrain, climbing higher, lower, and higher still. I tasted his fear, almost choked on it. I wanted to pull him back and embrace him, tell him not to go any further.
I knew what he was going to find.
A lone tree came into view, its branches streaking the night like thick snakes reaching for heaven. My heart stopped. A slim figure hung from one of the lower limbs.
“Deb!” His scream ricocheted through every cell in my body. I reached for him as he struggled to cut the rope, ached to hold him when he fell to the ground under the weight of his wife’s limp body.
I grasped nothing but air, existing in a state of helplessness, condemned to watch as he tried to breathe life back into her lungs as if his love alone could bring about a miracle. He finally gave up and gathered her into his arms, buried his face in her hair, and cried for the longest time . . .
I shot up in bed with a choked gasp, my feet tangled in the sheets as sweat trickled down my temple. A figure stood in the doorway blocking the light from the hall. I didn’t immediately recognize Aidan’s guest bedroom. All at once the details of the previous night—finding the picture of Aidan’s wife in my apartment—blended with the disturbing echoes of my venture into his past.
My gut insisted I’d witnessed the truth . . . history without embellishment. I’d wanted to see Aidan in my dreams, and now I had. How ironic that I’d give anything to erase the knowledge from my mind. His pain lanced as deeply as my own. I peeked at him now as he entered the room. He crouched in front of me, and I suddenly realized how exposed my bare legs were underneath my T-shirt. I clutched the blanket and covered myself.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Just a nightmare,” I mumbled.
“Did you . . . see something?”
I jerked my head back and forth, a too-quick denial, and clenched my fists to keep them from shaking. My gaze fell to my lap.
He wouldn’t allow me to withdraw. He tilted my head up. “Talk to me,” he coaxed.
I shook my head again. “What time is it?”
He looked as if he wanted to push, but he let it go instead. “Six-thirty.” He stood and wandered to the window where he parted the curtains. “I couldn’t sleep. When I heard your cries . . .” He swallowed. “I thought something was wrong. I thought he’d broken in somehow.”
A chill traveled down my spine. I was officially terrified now, had been since finding the sicko’s trophy on my bed. Spending two hours at the police station hadn’t eased my fear. The sheriff’s concern matched Aidan’s, and they had both been adamant about my needing protection. Returning to my apartment was going to cause a huge argument, especially since Aidan had vowed not to let me out of his sight.
Not that I was anxious to go home, but I couldn’t stay in his guestroom forever, and going back home to Eugene . . . I liked that idea even less. The Boise Hangman had killed in two states; what was to stop him from following me?
Maybe the real question was why me? Aidan had said the killer held a grudge. Is that why he murdered his wife? Was he now after me because of Aidan? Or because we’d found Six?
“I’ll make breakfast.” His statement startled me. “Come on up when you’re ready, okay?”
“Okay.” An instant later he was gone, and I listened to his heavy footsteps on the stairs.
The first light of day peeked through the curtains, and my mind went to work crafting crazy ideas Aidan would swear made no sense, but somehow made all the sense in the world to me. No, he wasn’t going to like the thoughts formulating in my head.
I pulled on my jeans underneath the soft T-shirt he’d loaned me to sleep in. A scent that was Aidan, something unique that no detergent or cologne could replicate, brought about conflicting emotions. Temptation won, and the shirt remained where it belonged—snuggled around my body. I finger-combed my short hair and headed for the stairs.
Aidan was barefoot in the kitchen flipping pancakes on a griddle. God help me, but what a sight. The sweats he wore hugged his hips to the point of distraction. I was thankful he’d pulled on a shirt; I would have been as red as a tomato if he’d stood bare-chested doing something as domestic as cooking. I’d never considered the act of cooking so sexy until that moment.
He turned around and smiled at me, dimples and all. “I hope you like pancakes.”
“I love them.” I settled onto a barstool at the center island and ran my palm across the cold granite. “How did you become so good in the kitchen?”
“My wife was a great cook. I picked up a few things from her.” He turned off the stove and carried two stacks of golden pancak
es to the island. “Anything I make is like ramen noodles compared to what she could do in the kitchen.” He took the barstool next to mine.
I buttered my stack and tried to keep my expression neutral. His words had taken me straight back into my dream. “She was a good teacher. I can barely boil water,” I said between bites.
He chuckled. “You couldn’t be that bad.”
“No, it’s true. I burn everything. My mom says there was no such thing as ‘burning water’ before I was born.”
The corners of his mouth twitched into another smile. “Are you and your mother close?”
“I guess so.” My stomach dropped, and I stared out the window at the lightening gray as I shoveled another bite into my mouth. The weight of his stare heated my face. I sensed the wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out if he should push for more information or let it drop.
“The truth about your father . . . is that why you feel you can’t go home?”
“It’s a lot of things.” I hated how my voice shook, how allowing my thoughts to drift anywhere near that night still filled me with terror. My mom wasn’t the only problem. I pushed my plate away.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have no right to pry.”
I faced him with a tentative smile. “Where does your family live?”
“My parents live in Seattle.”
“Do you visit them often?”
“No.” He grabbed our plates, and I sensed him withdrawing again. The man did not like to talk about himself. The observation only heightened my curiosity.
I joined him at the sink. “Now I guess I’m the one doing the prying.”
He rinsed the few dishes from breakfast before he spoke. “You’re not prying. My family is just complicated. I haven’t spoken to my father in years.”
“I’m sorry, I had no idea,” I said, not sure what else to say. Every time I tried to get answers from him, I only ended up with more questions. “What about the rest of your family?”
“I keep in contact with my mother, and my brother and I are pretty close, all things considered.” He gestured toward the living room. “Would you like to sit down?”
I nodded, recognizing a shift in conversation when I saw one. He ushered me into the living room, his hand feathering across the small of my back. I sank into the cool leather of his couch, and Aidan claimed the cushion next to me. Silence blanketed the room as we both studied the gray scene outside. A seagull flew past, chased by its mate. Aidan lightly tapped his foot against the carpet.
Epiphany (Legacy of Payne) Page 10