Pitch Black

by Leslie Parrish

  To her surprise, though, he went a step further. Reaching into the backseat, he grabbed his overcoat. He had thrown it there when they had gotten in, obviously having a little lava in his blood. Without a word, he tugged it up front, reached into the pockets, and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. Not even looking over, he tossed them onto her lap, still silent, still considering.

  Sam couldn’t have spoken either, even if she wanted to. Her breath had lodged in her throat. She was so taken aback, she didn’t know how to react. Staring at the gloves, she studied them mutely, not even aware moisture had risen in her eyes until she felt a tear on her cheek.

  In the entire four years she had been married, her ex had never done something as thoughtful as worrying about whether her hands were cold. One of their first fights, in fact, had started because she’d pulled a pair of his cashmere socks on her cold feet one morning when she couldn’t find her slippers.

  Simple courtesy had been beyond Samuel Dalton Jr., who’d been raised with such a big silver spoon in his mouth he hadn’t even needed the bowl.

  To Alec Lambert, the thoughtful gesture had been second nature. And it touched her the way Samuel’s diamonds and huge bouquets of roses never had. She’d known this man for only a couple of days, but already she had begun to wonder if his entry into her life was going to leave her changed forever.

  Maybe. If only by making her hold out for a man who gave a damn if her hands were cold. Or her feet.

  He finally broke the silence. “It’s a bad idea.”

  Still touched by the simple kindness, she didn’t respond.

  “You should forget all about this day.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?” She slid her hands into the gloves, her gaze locked on them, fearful her eyes might still be glassy. “For all we know, your suspect posted a response to me in the hour we’ve been on the road.”

  “Hell,” he muttered, as if he had been hoping she could go back inside her apartment and be free of the whole situation. She suspected part of him wouldn’t mind that, even though the other part, the professional FBI agent, had to be anxious for Darwin to crawl out of the woodwork.

  He rubbed at his eyes, then asked, “You have an iPhone, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Faster than waiting to hook your system back up.”

  That was true. It was also true, however, that Alec seemed to want to avoid going inside.

  Retrieving the phone, she got online and checked her own blog. Tension rolled off him, mingling with her own, and it seemed to take an eternity to scroll down through the pages of comments before finally reaching the end.

  “Nothing,” she said with a relieved sigh.

  “And there might never be.”

  “Maybe not. But maybe there will. Frankly, if I’ve got a serial killer interested in me, I’d rather stick with you and your people.”

  A low growl of frustration was his only response.

  “I know I’m only a civilian…”

  A piercing stare burned the rest of her words out of her mouth. His eyes gleamed in the dim light as he visually devoured her hair, her eyes, her face, her mouth. His voice shaking with emotion, he snapped, “Damn it, Sam, don’t you get it? I don’t want to think about this bastard even knowing you exist.”

  He might have intended to sound like an FBI agent. But the look in his eyes and the barely restrained anger said he was talking as a man.

  The look made it clear her interest was fully reciprocated.

  The anger told her the rest: He was afraid for her.

  Sam said nothing, letting the reality of the situation wash over her, filling in the answers to the questions she’d been asking herself since they’d left D.C.

  Yes, he’d noticed more about her than just that she was female. Yes, he’d realized something was happening between them. Yes, the attraction was mutual.

  No, he wasn’t thrilled about it. No, he didn’t know what to do about it.

  No, neither did she.

  She lifted a gloved hand, not even knowing why. To reach for the door handle? Or to cup his cheek and lean close enough to kiss the mouth she’d been wondering about since the minute he’d shown up at her door? One hint, one movement from him would tell her which.

  He stared at her, not leaning closer, but not pulling away, either. Equally as drawn. Equally as unsure.

  Tension flooded the car. Shake his hand? Or dive onto his lap?

  Suddenly a horn blew. They both flinched. Sam’s hand dropped instinctively, and Alec jerked back, clearing his throat and shaking his head as if he wanted to clear it of crazy thoughts.

  She should be grateful. She had been about to do something that could have left her feeling very foolish had he rejected her. Still, she couldn’t muster up much gratitude. Only a sad sort of what-if.

  A minute went by. Then another. Until Alec finally broke the silence, his voice throaty and low. “It’s been less than three days.”

  She didn’t feign misunderstanding. He was talking about how long they had known each other. “I know.”

  “You should stay as far away from me-from this ugliness-as possible.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” she replied matter-of factly. “Like I said, I’m in this.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Are we still talking about the case?”

  “Yes. No.” He thrust a frustrated hand through his hair, already tousled from their long day, looking as completely unsure as she felt. “Hell.”

  Seeing his frustration, Sam regretted pushing him. Heaven knew he had a lot more on his plate than worrying about the feelings of a wound-licking divorcée he’d just met.

  The timing was bad and she knew it, but she still wanted Alec Lambert. Wanted him to be the one to awaken her from her year of icy exile. Nothing serious, nothing permanent, just one incredibly sexy man around for a little while. And frankly, he was worth waiting for. Holding off until the ugliness surrounding them was taken care of didn’t seem like too much of a sacrifice if she got what she wanted.

  She had decided the destination-she had to give him some room, let him set the pace.

  “You should go,” she said. “It’s a long drive back.”

  Not entirely sure whether or not she wanted him to refuse, she held her breath. The ball was in his court. Not about the case-no way was he going to shake her off that, if there was any chance she could help. But as far as what happened between them personally, his had to be the next move.

  He made it. With a sigh that said he had no idea whether he was doing the right thing, he finally ended the suspense.

  “You’re right. I need to go. Good night, Sam.”

  9

  As Samantha and the stranger sat in the car outside her building, Darwin struggled to get his anger under control. A difficult feat, considering how furious he had been to see her arrive home in the company of that man.

  That man.

  He had made such an effort to hurry to her tonight. Racing to put away his telescope, he had left the hotel and driven as fast as he safely could. His blood had been hot and thick in his veins after he’d watched the operator in flight. The excitement had filled him until he’d been able to think of nothing else but sharing the moment with someone. With Samantha.

  Even knowing he shouldn’t visit her two nights in a row, for fear he would be noticed, he couldn’t help it. He wanted to watch her move around inside and had been denied that pleasure last night. More, he needed to be there for the moment when, sitting at her desk, she would receive his delayed response, never suspecting its sender was less than fifty yards away.

  So, arriving on her street and seeing her car parked outside, but her apartment completely dark again, had been disappointing. Watching her pull up a few minutes ago in an unfamiliar vehicle, driven by an unknown man, pushed him from disappointed to fucking outraged.

  Bitch. He had been out doing the world a service, proving the point he had been trying to make to her. And she h
ad been whoring herself to another man.

  It took all his willpower to remain in his SUV, two spaces back, and observe through the windows of the truck that separated their vehicles. Especially when what he most wanted was to wait for the interloper to open his door and step outside so he could run him down right in the middle of the goddamn street.

  Restraint. Impulsivity was an excuse for the weak minded.

  He managed to remain in place, taking no action. Hunched down in his seat, he watched their silhouettes inside the dark sedan. The car’s engine was running and they remained inside where it was warm, the low lighting making them easy to watch.

  He idly considered shooting them both in the backs of their heads.

  The man for his interference. Samantha for her betrayal. City violence. Drive-by shooting.

  He refrained. He had never killed a person in his life. Watched them kill themselves, yes. But he had never pulled a trigger. And there had been a way out for the sheep every single time. Even the boys could have made it if they had kept their heads and worked together to move to the frozen shore. But ending a life with his own hand had never occurred to him.

  Funny, then, how much he suddenly wanted to pull the trigger. It said something about how deeply Samantha had invaded him, mind and soul.

  No. He was not ready to give up on her yet. “It isn’t a betrayal if she doesn’t know she’s yours.” He kept his voice low. Though no one was close enough to hear, he believed Samantha must be able to sense him. How could she not feel the magnetic pull as strongly as he did? Especially now, when he was so close he could almost reach out and take her?

  “I can forgive you,” he told her.

  He meant it. It wasn’t entirely her fault. He had been remiss, not acting sooner. A woman as beautiful as Samantha would, of course, draw male attention. He’d assumed her unhappiness over her divorce would keep her locked up at home, licking her wounds, until he was ready to come for her. That was a mistake Darwin intended to rectify very soon.

  Not yet. Do nothing for now. Just observe. Wise idea, and he followed his own instincts, wondering, as the minutes ticked by, why the pair had not gone up to Samantha’s apartment.

  He began to feel hopeful. Perhaps this was not a romantic date. The driver could be a casual acquaintance giving her a lift home.

  Then the two of them turned and looked at each other. The exchange was thick with expectation; they stared at each other with raw intensity. He knew the moment to be a critical one when Samantha lifted her hand, appearing poised to reach for the stranger, to draw him close enough to kiss her lush mouth.

  Darwin nearly vomited. Unwilling to witness such a thing, he furiously pounded his hand on the steering wheel, hitting, by accident, the horn.

  Her hand dropped. The moment had ended.

  Good thing for them. His remarkable self-control might not have lasted if he was actually forced to witness the only woman he had ever wanted in the arms of another man. He could possibly withstand knowing it was happening, but he could not be expected to watch.

  So drive away.

  He reached into the glove compartment instead. Retrieving his silencer-equipped Beretta nine-millimeter handgun, he dropped it on his lap. Just in case.

  Leaning forward, over the steering wheel, he craned to see more of the stranger’s car, desperately wanting a glimpse of the license tag. But from here, blocked by the truck, he couldn’t see any lower than the lid of the trunk.

  Suddenly, the passenger door ahead of him opened. He sank farther, watching as Samantha stepped out, her beautiful profile washed with illumination from the streetlight.

  The driver’s door remained closed. Tsking, he whispered, “Not a gentleman, are you? Not seeing a lady to the door. Who knows what dangers might be lurking in the night?”

  A good thing he was here to see to Samantha’s well-being.

  Darwin ’s spirits-lifted by the thought that his Sam had not invited the driver in-were dashed when the other door opened as well. Watching in dismay, he saw the tall stranger exit and join her on the sidewalk. The man was young, good-looking.

  Darwin lifted the gun. Flicked off the safety.

  Instead of curling an arm around her slim waist, leading her up the stairs to a night of carnal pleasure, however, the driver bent into the backseat of the car. When he stood, he held a large cardboard box. It appeared hefty; he had to shift it around to ensure a good grip before turning to follow Samantha to her apartment.

  “What are you up to?”

  There were any number of possibilities. Perhaps this was merely a friend, helping Samantha with a heavy purchase.

  At midnight? Doubtful.

  A lover, then, bringing sexual devices, toys with which to play, pornographic images to share in her soft bed?

  His bile rose again. Holding his breath, Darwin watched as the two of them reached her floor, releasing it with an angry hiss when she beckoned her visitor inside her home, closing the door behind him. Shutting him, and the rest of the world, out.

  “One. Two. Three,” he whispered.

  In one minute, he would drive away. Staying here, knowing another would be spending the night in Samantha’s arms, was too much for even him.

  “Four. Five. Six.”

  He fingered the trigger of his Beretta. Maybe he would drive away. Maybe he wouldn’t.

  “Seven. Eight. Nine.”

  The tension dragged out with every second. By the time he reached forty, one hand was clenched around the grip of the gun. The other clung to the steering wheel. Which way he would go when he said the word sixty, he honestly couldn’t say. It was as undetermined as the random flip of a coin.

  At fifty-five, the apartment door opened. His rival stepped out, no longer holding the box. Samantha remained within. They exchanged a few words. No kiss good night. No warm smile. No intimacy. Then the man walked toward the stairs, and Samantha shut the door.

  Good girl.

  The tension that had pushed him nearly to his breaking point began to ease; his breath returned; his heart took up its regular beat.

  Calm, yes. Relieved, too. But he didn’t relax. Nor did his anger dissipate.

  Nothing sexual could have happened in the brief time they were inside, and they had not kissed good night. But there had been that moment, that expectant moment in the car when they had almost instinctively leaned toward each other before the sound of his car horn had pushed them apart.

  Not lovers… but not long until they will be.

  Revolted by the thought, he put the gun down long enough to turn the key in the ignition, then immediately picked it up again. The Beretta heavy and warm in one hand, he flicked a button with the other, sending the passenger-side window on a quick, soundless descent.

  The stranger had reached the well-lit stairs, which faced the street, and began to walk down them. He didn’t look back, or even ahead, instead focused on something in his own hand.

  Fool not to watch where you’re going.

  Slowly pulling out, he let the vehicle drift forward noiselessly, watching every move the stranger made. By the time Darwin pulled his SUV even with the long cement walkway leading to the stairs, his rival was halfway down. One pull of the trigger away. One tiny little pull.

  A flip of the coin.

  Yes?

  No. Samantha might react badly to having someone she knew murdered on her doorstep. She could retreat out of sight, making it impossible to find her again.

  He could do nothing.

  Frustrated, thwarted, Darwin pushed the button to lift the window, keeping only the lightest pressure on the gas pedal. His headlights off, he was nearly invisible as he rolled quietly through the night, out of range, leaving his prey unaware of how close to death he had come.

  “Damn it! Who is he?”

  The speculation would drive him mad. He wasn’t accustomed to Samantha varying her routine like this. First last night, her apartment showing no sign of life at two a.m. Now this.

  Maybe she wasn’t h
ome at all last night. Perhaps, like tonight, she had been with him, the rival.

  Darwin mulled over the idea, suddenly realizing what else about last night had bothered him: her night-light. It hadn’t been on. Not when he had arrived, not when he’d left shortly after two. Every other time he had visited, it had cast soft illumination through her bedroom window.

  So. She hadn’t been home at all. She was seeing someone.

  He forced himself not to be disappointed in her. It wasn’t her fault. She was vulnerable, lonely. She had been ripe for the picking, and that bastard in the dark sedan had obviously picked.

  There was only one thing to do: Find out who the other man was and eliminate him.

  How careless he had been to let his impulsive anger drive him away in such a hurry. He might have been able to see the tag as he pulled up to the car. Though he considered going back, he quickly discounted the idea. Not only was it risky to enter the neighborhood again; he was also several blocks away. The interloper was long gone by now.

  All was not lost, though. There was another option. He had other resources to find out what Samantha was up to, another way to peer into the darkest recesses of her private life.

  And he intended to use it.

  As soon as Alec had said he was leaving, Sam had gotten out of the car. His decision was made; no way would she make things uncomfortable by getting pissy or whiny about it. But, as he’d gruffly informed her, he wasn’t going to let her carry her CPU up by herself. So she’d been forced to wait there while he hoisted the large box and lugged it up the outside steps, trying not to feel embarrassed at having been shot down.

  Leading the way, she’d tugged off one of his gloves so she could retrieve her keys from the bowels of her purse and unlock the door. “Just leave it on the desk,” she said once they were inside. “I know you’re ready to go. I can take it from here.”

  With a curt nod, he did as she asked, then turned to go. The man obviously intended to ignore what had happened between them. He seemed anxious to get out before the pathetic, horny, cheated-on ex-wife leaped on him or something.

  Don’t be stupid. He was playing this smart. A lot smarter than her.