Standing there in the dark was doing strange things to his senses. “Is it okay if I turn on the light?”
“Like I’d even know you’d done it,” she said, unleashing Stasia.
Her white shirt was covered in splotches of color, and he picked up the scent of fresh paint as he passed the corner of her living room where she had her easel set up. Her painting outfit, then. Odd she’d chosen white for it. Maybe she didn’t know. Her white cotton pants had a drawstring waist that rode low on her hips. They were covered in several years’ worth of spills and missed brush strokes. He guessed years because the fabric was so worn, he could see the peach hue of her behind as she walked into the kitchen. He wondered if she had any idea how tantalizing she looked, and then doubted it.
Olivia came to a halt. “Are the French doors open?”
His body automatically responded to the alarm in her voice, and he made his way to her. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t leave them open.”
“You’re sure?”
“Very.” She turned around to face him. “Yesterday, when I returned to my apartment, someone was in here. I could hear him, smell him…and feel his presence.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
“My best guess is that it was Terry. Do you want me to tell you how seriously I was taken when I went to the police to file a restraining order against the great Terry Carlton?”
Max could only grunt in understanding. “No one likes to believe their hero is a creep. You could have made a report at least.” He jiggled her front door knob. “Lock hasn’t been messed with. Nothing looks disturbed or out of place.”
Her expression was troubled. “I didn’t think so either, at least as far as I could tell. Terry seems to think that I need him. I think he’s trying to prove it.”
“By doing what?”
“Turning my knives upside down, knowing I’d grab for the handle and cut myself. He also turned the volume knobs up on my television and stereo. I’m worried about what else he’s done.”
His gaze went to the bandage on her finger. Anger bubbled through him that someone would take advantage of Livvy’s blindness, that someone would try to hurt her. “Stay right there. Let me take a look around.” He touched her shoulders as he passed by.
Olivia, not Livvy.
He checked the patio first, closed the doors, and then the back rooms. “I didn’t see any sign of tampering.”
She had her arms wrapped around herself, and he wondered if it was the cool night air or fear.
“I’m going to make some coffee,” she said. “Would you like some?”
“Sure.” He leaned against the long counter dividing the kitchen from the rest of the living area and watched her prepare the coffee. “I could talk to Terry again—”
“You’ve already talked to him?”
“Yeah, but without proof, that’s all I can do.”
A sigh filtered through her words. “Yeah, I know. And honestly, I can’t see him doing something that would hurt me. But who else could it be?”
“You thought he may have pushed you into traffic.”
She let out a long breath. “I just don’t know, for the same reason. Unless he’s getting desperate.” She poured coffee and handed him the blue mug. Paint was embedded in the creases of her fingernails. Each finger was a different color. She painted with her fingers. Intriguing.
“What’s the story with Terry Carlton?” Max asked as he blew on his coffee.
She poured her own coffee after measuring out cream and sugar with her fingers, and leaned against the counter facing him. “We dated for six months, right after he officially retired from the NFL. He swept me off my feet. At first, it was great. What girl wouldn’t like a man wanting to spend all of his time with her, buying her flowers, taking her out for fancy dinners? He even took me to Paris for the weekend. He was charming and fun and passionate, everything I wanted.
“He started talking about marriage on the third date. A month later, he asked me to move in with him. I should have told him I wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment , but I made up an excuse that I was used to my apartment and the proximity to everything. The next night, he showed up with his belongings and moved in. It never occurred to me that he’d give up his big house. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I didn’t object.”
His fingers tightened against the edge of the counter. “Sometimes being nice can get a woman into trouble,”
She rubbed her temples. “I know, but I thought I was in love with the guy. Then he started taking over my life , doing everything for me. That’s when it got to be too much. It wasn’t fun or charming anymore. I asked him to move out, told him I needed my own space. He even suggested we buy two apartments that had come available in another building. Because they were at the end of the building, they shared a wall. He thought we could put a connecting door between them. That’s when I realized he wouldn’t be happy with anything less than my total submission. So I broke it off. Since then, he’s been calling, sending flowers, telegrams, you name it. He even came to my showing. Everyone thinks he’s cute, pursuing me like he does.”
“Has he ever threatened you?”
“Not in so many words. He asked me how far he had to go to prove I needed him. I’m not even sure it qualifies as a threat.”
“But it made you uncomfortable.”
“Because I really don’t know how far he’d go to prove that. He’s passionate, impulsive. He’s used to getting what he wants and being in control.”
“I’m sure, being a football star and all. You’re probably the first thing he’s ever wanted that he couldn’t have.”
“Don’t I feel special?” The corner of her mouth lifted in a wry smile, but h er expression shadowed again. “I can’t help thinking I’m somewhat responsible. If I hadn’t lied—”
A knock on the door interrupted her. “Olivia, it’s Terry. I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
She walked to the door. “Terry, you’re not supposed to be here.”
“I can arrest him,” Max said. “In fact, I’m supposed to arrest him.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly not amenable to that option. “Terry, go away. There’s a police detective here.”
“Good, he should hear what I have to tell you, too.”
This was going to be interesting.
She opened the door. When Terry saw Max, he blinked in surprise. “You’re not here because of me, are you?”
“Tell us what you’re here about,” Max said.
Terry took in Olivia and Max with a palpable possessiveness in his expression. He even stepped between them. “I came by earlier. I know I’m not supposed to be here, but I just wanted to leave this”—he pressed a Santana CD at her—”wedged above your doorknob. To remind you of us.”
“Like she could forget.” Yeah, Max’s voice sounded terse. He pushed the CD back at Terry. “Go on.”
“I saw some guy walking away from your apartment. I asked what he wanted, but he didn’t answer. Worried me, so I knocked on your door. Apparently you weren’t home. I tried to find you, then came back to make sure you were all right.”
“How long ago was this?” Olivia asked.
“About forty minutes.”
“Did you go inside her apartment?” Max asked.
Terry kept his gaze on Olivia. “I don’t have a key since she changed the lock. Something happened, didn’t it? Olivia, are you all right?”
“Can you describe the man you saw?” Max asked.
“He was about your height, maybe a little bigger, but he was wearing a bulky overcoat and a hat, so it was hard to see much. He kept his head down. I’d say he was older, maybe forties or fifties.”
Conveniently vague, Max thought. “If that’s all—”
“If that’s all?” Terry said. “I’m not leaving Olivia alone. She needs protection.”
Maybe from you. Max wasn’t sure what was going on here. Was Olivia imagining things? Forget
ting she’d left the doors open? Or was Terry playing games with her?
Olivia pointed to the door. “Terry, you have to go now. Max isn’t here because something happened in my apartment. He’s here because of the kidnapped girl. If you don’t leave, he’s going to have to arrest you.”
Terry looked as though he were going to plant himself there, all two hundred and eighty pounds of him. Max wasn’t looking forward to tangling with him. Luckily, Terry relented and moved toward the door. “Olivia, I care about you. If you need help, or you’re afraid, call me. No strings attached.”
After he left, she said, “Did he look like he was lying? about seeing the man? I couldn’t tell from his voice.”
“He seemed earnest, but I’ve seen a lot of earnest liars. Like you, I don’t know what to make of him.”
“And you think that maybe I’m just imagining all this stuff. Being forgetful, maybe.”
“You do have a lot on your mind.” Except for the knives, none of the incidents were harmful. “Is there some reason why, after filing a ‘no contact’ order against him, you’re reluctant to have him arrested when he violates it? You said something about lying.”
She blinked and waved it away. “Forget about Terry, and forget about me. It’s Phaedra I’m worried about. Did you read about my case?”
His throat tightened. “Oh, yeah.”
“Can you track down the monster who kidnapped me?” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. “I can’t believe I’m even talking about it. Nobody knows, not Terry or even Captain Richards. I never told him why my emotions only heightened enough to connect with kidnapped children. It happened so long ago, and most of the people I know now didn’t live here then. It’s like my dirty little secret.” She looked in his direction again, waiting for his answer.
He took a fortifying sip of coffee and wished to hell it was beer. “Like you said, the man who took you died when he rammed his truck into his house.”
“That’s what they told us. But he didn’t die.”
“Yes, he did.”
Her expression hardened. “How do you know? All you did was read some old case file. Maybe he jumped out of the truck before it went up in flames.”
“He was in the truck.”
She clenched her fists. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I saw it happen.”
He watched her face as she tried to understand—and obviously gave up. “What?”
“The man who took you was my father. I was the boy who rescued you, the one you thought was an angel.”
The disbelief was instantaneous, as was that smart-assed tone in her voice. “You’re playing with me. I don’t need this from anyone, especially you.”
“You think this is easy for me? Do you think I’m enjoying this?”
She crossed her arms in front of her. “I don’t know. Are you?”
“Livvy...”
That word stopped her cold. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“I was Livvy when I was young and needed someone to protect me. I’m not Livvy anymore.”
“All I knew was that you were okay and your first name was Livvy. I didn’t even know you were blind.” He took hold of her hand. “Come with me.”
She stiffened.
“Come with me,” he said again, trying to say it the same desperate way he had then.
Her skepticism melted, and her mouth went slack. “It was your father?”
He was glad she couldn’t see his cheeks flaming hot with anger and shame. “Yes.”
Her fingers were pressed so hard against the edge of the counter they were almost white. “You saw him drive into your house?”
“Yes. He made me get out of the truck, then he drove off. He returned about twenty minutes later, passed me, and rammed into the house.”
Her eyebrows knitted together. “How old were you?”
“Ten.”
She gently pulled her hand from his and pressed it to her mouth. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not. Please don’t play games with me, not about this.”
He walked around the counter. His eyes drifted shut as he sank back to that time. “I put my hand over your mouth and whispered, ‘Shh. Be quiet.’ I cut the ropes around your wrists and pulled you to your feet. My father had gone outside; he was puking his guts out thanks to the stomach flu I gave him. I didn’t know what he was doing to you or why. I never found out. But I knew I had to get you out of there, and that there was a family at the rest stop.”
He hated reliving the details, too, but he’d do it to convince her. “They had two boys, one was about fifteen, the other twelve. We ran across the parking lot. You fell.” And for a second he’d frozen. “I yelled for them to help us. My father was ordering me to come back. I told you to stay there and went back to him.”
She swayed. He put his hands on her shoulders, and he might have given into the urge to pull her against him if she hadn’t turned around just then. “Oh, God. Is it really you?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Say those words again. The ones you said to me.”
“Come with me.” They came out thicker than he’d intended, and he wondered if it was that leak of emotion that made her shiver.
“Do you realize how many times I heard those words over the years? How often you said them in my nightmares just before you led me out of them?” She opened her eyes and whispered, “Thank you.” Her laugh was throaty. “That hardly seems adequate for saving my life.”
“I don’t know what he was going to do you. I’ve hoped, all these years, that his intentions weren’t murderous. That he was just crazy.”
“I think they were, and he was. He kept talking about my final punishment being on Christmas night. That he could never forgive me for what I’d done, whatever that was. What happened to you? I didn’t want you to go back to him. I was scared for you.” She paused for a moment, her expression troubled. “Did he punish you?”
“Only by destroying our house.” He cleared his throat. “He died in that wreck. I could see him in the driver’s seat when he drove by. The police found his remains.”
“They were wrong.”
“I’ll put a call into the station that handled the investigation just to make sure, but we have to believe he’s dead.”
“What are the odds that two men are saying and doing the same things to the girls they kidnapped? But you don’t think my connection with Phaedra is real, do you?”
“I don’t know what to think. Nobody knows that she’s wearing a shamrock charm but the family, the police…and you.”
She leaned against the counter. “Which either proves what I’m saying or makes me look guilty.”
“Exactly. My job is to keep an open mind while I explore every angle. That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“Keeping an open mind means looking into your father’s death, and accepting the possibility, no matter how crazy, that he’s still alive.”
His knees went weak at the prospect. “Do you know the ramifications of that?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve been going over them since I realized it was the same man. You think I want to believe that monster is alive? It means he’s been out there all this time, doing God knows what.”
That thought left Max cold. He hadn’t seen his father in sixteen years. Would he recognize him? Max looked nothing like his father; he had taken after his mother. Add the years, take away some hair and the beard…he could be nearly anyone in the age range of forty-eight.
Olivia had to be wrong.
He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I need to know something. When you told me about seeing the boat, the T and the R…it’s been bugging me, and I just realized why. From what you said, you only see through the child’s eyes in real time.” He watched her tense as she nodded. “How could you see the boat then? You’re a telepath. You connect to Phaedra’s mind, so seeing that ship is outside of your abilities.”
“You remembered.” She walked o
ver to her painting and sat on the stool, facing the canvas. She dipped a finger into one of the wells of paint and traced a line across the bottom of the canvas. “The boat wasn’t my vision.”
He walked over and stood behind her. “Then whose was it?”
“I can’t say.”
The canvas was a mess, streaks of black against an ugly green background. No eyes, though. He took hold of her wrist as she was about to add another streak. “That’s not good enough.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I promised I wouldn’t tell. He’s psychic, too. He saw the boat and the letters. He also saw the green walls and the cage, just as I saw. He asked me to relay the information to you as my own.”
“Why couldn’t he come to us?”
She pulled her arm free of his grip. “Because he’s one of you. He said his job was at risk, that his career had already been stalled because of his so-called hunches. He wanted to work with me to find Phaedra.”
Max didn’t like this. “And you believed him?”
She shrugged. “He believed me.”
He held in a curse and ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve never heard of a cop in our station with unusual hunches or high case solves. Give up his name, Olivia.”
She jabbed her finger into the paint well again and slid it across the canvas. “I gave him my word.”
Her loyalty bothered him, though he wasn’t sure why. “I understand where you’re coming from. The guy believes you when we don’t, and he’s supposedly psychic like you. Why don’t you let me check him out? He gave you false information.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to interpret what we see. That’s what he thought he saw. And he did have some things right, like the walls and the cage.”
“Maybe because he’s been there. You can’t afford to trust him.” He knelt down beside her. “Let me quietly check into the guy, make sure he’s on the up and up. I won’t give him away.”
She let out a soft breath. “Bill Williams.”
Max repeated the name. “I haven’t heard of him.”
“He said he worked with you.”
Blindsight [Now You See Me] (Romantic Suspense) Page 15