Interlude (The Stone Legacy Series Book 2)

by Theresa Dalayne

  The smell of rot shot up Tara’s nose. Andrei let go and stumbled back toward the door. She covered her mouth with her hand. He tripped over furniture, feeling his way along the frail walls, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene.

  “I bet it’s not so entertaining now,” Tara said, watching Andrei over her shoulder. He looked at her, then back to Yamamoto. His face drained of color.

  A black cloud poured from Malachi’s mouth, invading Yamamoto through his nose and throat. The shadow seized his muscles. Yamamoto’s body convulsed while his face paled and thinned, as if the life were being drained from him bit by bit. Yamamoto’s eyes bulged, his cheekbones protruding more as the muscle shriveled under his skin.

  Tara screamed and stumbled back, falling to the floor while watching the darkness consume what was left of the gang lord.

  Flesh and bone sat in a pile, emitting a stench of carnage.

  Her stomach turned, and Tara crawled backward. It was like a train wreck—horrifying, but impossible to look away.

  When Malachi turned toward her, the shadows over his face were nearly gone. His eyes saddened, and he glanced at the putrid remains.

  Before she could push to her feet, Malachi stalked toward her. Her hands outstretched, she scooted her back against a wall. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “Tara. Get up. I would never.” He reached toward her.

  She screamed and slapped him away. “Get away from me!”

  He shot her a stern look, then grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. With his hands planted on each side of her face, he stared into her eyes. “There’s no time to be delicate about this. My contract is up, and I only have a few minutes left. But trust me when I say this is for your own good. Consider it a gift.”

  Her eyes widened when his lips parted and the shadow crept from his mouth. She tried to struggle, but his grip was like iron. The blackness caressed her lips.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tara’s eyes fluttered open. She squinted up at the swaying tree branches overhead. Cherry trees were dotted with pastel petals, gently caressed by a cool breeze.

  She drew in a deep breath, tranquility blanketing her mind. If this was death, it was beautiful. A sincere sense of inner peace settled inside her. A tear rolled down her cheek. She smiled softly, the sun beaming through gaps in the branches and onto her face, warming her skin.

  Sirens tore through the air, dragging her back to reality.

  Groggy, she rolled slowly to her side. Amy lay nearby between two hedges, where Malachi had left her.

  Tara pushed onto her hands and knees and crawled toward her. She shook the girl until Amy opened her eyes with an annoyed moan. Tara exhaled and sat beside her.

  “What happened?” The raspy words clawed out of Amy’s throat.

  Tara didn’t have the answer. There was nobody left in the yard, and Malachi wasn’t anywhere in sight. With shaky legs, she picked herself off the ground and spotted the wooden cellar doors, still locked shut.

  “Stay here. I have to go check on the others.”

  She dragged each foot across the yard until she reached the doors. Thankfully there was only a wooden broomstick wedged through the handles to keep the doors shut. She grabbed the shaft and slid it out of place.

  Tara rubbed her face, her fingers shaking over her lips. God help her. If the girls weren’t okay, she’d never forgive herself. She wrapped her fingers around the cold steel handle and heaved open the left door.

  Light beamed into the old shelter, highlighting the faces of the group. The girls shielded their eyes, squinting up at her from the corner where they were huddled.

  Tara fell to her knees and cradled her face in her hands. A sob pushed out of her chest. They were alive.

  The sirens grew louder, and emergency vehicles tore down the long driveway in single file. What must have been a half dozen police cars, followed by a fire truck and two ambulances, skidded to a halt.

  The passenger door to a squad car flung open and Peter jumped out, searching the growing crowd of girls who were emerging from the shelter.

  Tara jumped to her feet, facing Peter. They locked eyes.

  “Tara!” He sprinted toward her. His body slammed into hers and he threw his arms around her, lifting her off the ground. Peace and light and the scent of freshly fallen rain washed over her like a wave of comfort.

  She laid her cheek on his shoulder and, for the first time in a long time, allowed herself to rest.

  Peter was there, and all she had to do was be.

  Be happy.

  Be thankful.

  Be loved.

  This was clearly the place to be, and she swore never to forget that again.

  ***

  Tara sat in the hotel restaurant eagerly awaiting a stack of buttermilk pancakes. Fresh coffee steamed from her cup, mixing with the scent of fresh, buttery biscuits.

  She tucked a curl behind her ear. It bounced back and sprung against her cheek. Even her hair had returned to its perky self.

  Peter reached across the table and put the curl back in its place while she sipped her coffee and took another bite of jam-smothered toast.

  “Thanks,” she said, still chewing. She swallowed and drank her entire glass of orange juice in one breath. “God, I’m starving.” She signaled to the waitress for a refill and took another bite of toast. “I’m sorry you have to see me eating like such a pig.”

  Peter chuckled. “I’m just glad you’re eating again.” A grin played across his lips. “I was starting to wonder when you’d put a little weight back on. You were getting too skinny for my taste.”

  She glanced down at herself. He had a point. She’d lost even more weight during the whole ordeal. It had been a streak of luck to find a pair of pants that still stayed on when she walked. She missed her curves, too. They were part of her. That was clear now, and she loved herself more because of it.

  The waitress placed another glass of orange juice on the table, followed by a plate of steaming pancakes. Tara drenched them in a lake of amber syrup before cutting off a bite and folding it into her mouth. After a few bites, she shrugged. “Still not as good as yours.”

  Peter sat forward and leaned on the table. He slid a black box toward her, and left it sitting beside the cup of coffee.

  She stopped chewing. “What’s that?” As if she didn’t already know. She swallowed her mouthful of pancakes, suddenly not very hungry anymore.

  “Just open it.”

  She sat back and watched him. “You still want to give that to me?”

  He arched a brow with a half-crooked grin, which either meant shut up and kiss me or stop asking stupid questions.

  Tara dragged the box toward her. She pried it opened slowly, and stared down into the satin bed. “Um…it’s empty.”

  He reached across the table and laced his fingers with hers. “Listen.” He glided his thumb in circles over the top of her hand as he spoke. “I want you to know I love you, and I always will. But that doesn’t mean we have to get married if that’s not what you want. I don’t care. As long as we’re together. We can keep taking it slow. I’ll wait for you as long as it takes, and if that means putting the physical half of our relationship on hold…” He smiled. “Well, I won’t lie. It was exciting…” He leaned in closer. “But you’re worth more than that.”

  Her smile quickly vanished when she recalled her desperate attempt to throw herself at him. She sank into her chair. She pulled her hand away and fidgeted with her fingers. “Yeah. Uh…about that.” Her cheeks flushed with heat while she struggled to find the right words. She’d been such an idiot. “I…” She met his gaze, the heat in her cheeks rising. “What I did before everything happened…going to your room like that.” She cupped her hands over her face. It was just too embarrassing to go on.

  “Tara.” His voice seemed closer. She peeked between her fingers to find him on one knee beside her. Everyone in the restaurant silenced.

  “Oh. My. God.” She dropped hands slipped into her lap. “
Peter, please get up.” She glanced around at the gawking crowd of people.

  “I need to ask you something first.” He took her hand, and she could have sworn everyone in the room had stopped breathing. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to marry you.”

  “What?” She nearly choked on the word.

  “I want to be with you. And if that’s the only commitment you can make right now, I’ll take it.” He placed a kiss on the back of her hand. “Tara Weeble, you’d make me the happiest man in the world if you would be mine, forever. No ring. No ceremony. Just love me, and I swear that I will love you. Not only for the rest of your life, but for the rest of mine.”

  Whatever they’d face, whatever obstacles might lie in front of them, they would work it out together. The issue of her mortality would be something they’d deal with later. But for now, as long as he wanted her, she would be his. She would never be able to be anything else, even if she wanted to. That was clear now.

  With a beaming smile, she nodded. “Yes.”

  A mixture of cheers and claps roared through the restaurant. Peter stood and gathered her in his arms. He buried his nose in her curls and placed a kiss on the curve of her neck.

  While the rest of the guests returned to eating their breakfast, Tara relished the feeling of being back where she belonged. The room filled with chatting, clinking of plates and utensils, giggles, whining children, and the hustle of the kitchen.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a woman loitering in the doorway, staring at her. Frail, with shoulder length brown hair that curled at the ends, she laced her fingers in front of her, waiting.

  Tara tapped Peter on the shoulder and nodded toward her. He glanced at the woman. “Right on time.” Peter stepped aside. “There’s someone here who wants to meet you.”

  Tara took his hand. “Who is she?”

  “Let’s invite her to join us. I think you’ll want to hear what she has to say.” Peter waved the woman over.

  The lines stamped on the corners of the woman’s mouth deepened as she took a seat.

  Big brown eyes watched Tara. “I—” The woman’s shaky voice caught in her throat. She paused to collect herself. “I’m Laura, Amy’s mom.”

  Tara peered at the woman’s aging face. Under the layers of stress lines, the girl’s features were there—her wide brown eyes and the curve of her button nose.

  “How is she doing?” The last time she saw the girl, the ambulance was carting her away. God forbid her mom came with bad news.

  Laura nodded. “Better.” She swallowed, wringing her fingers. “The doctors said she came down with an upper respiratory infection. Who knows where they kept her—” Her voice cut off, and tears welled in her eyes. “I didn’t ask Amy what happened exactly, but she did tell me that you watched out for her, and I wanted to thank you.”

  Tara tightened her grip around Peter’s hand. “I’m just glad she’s okay.”

  “She wouldn’t have been if it weren’t for you. Amy’s asthma doesn’t usually get that bad. She’s been wheezing so badly, and I could just imagine how she sounded without the doctors there to help.”

  The woman’s relief pushed through the layers of grief displayed in her features. Laura had also lost her son, and he deserved to be remembered in all of this. She slid her hand across the table to the woman’s, and rested her fingers over the top of her wrist. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Laura’s gaze met hers. More tears built until they slid down her face.

  “Amy told me your son did everything he could to save her. He was a true hero.”

  The woman’s shoulders shook and she hung her head. “He was a good boy, and he loved Amy more than anything in the whole world. I still haven’t told her that he’s gone. I don’t know how I’ll even manage—”

  “He was there—with Amy—the whole time, in spirit. He didn’t leave her side until he knew she would be safe. And he’s the only reason that she, or any of those girls, got out alive. That’s what you can tell her. Tell her to be proud.”

  Laura checked her watch. “I have to get back to the hospital. My husband is there alone, and he was really shaken up when I left.”

  “Of course.”

  The woman stood and, after a short pause, smiled. “Thank you.”

  Tara nodded. Moments later Laura was gone.

  Tara exhaled and sat back in her chair. “I’m really glad Amy is better.”

  “She was right, you know? You did something pretty amazing by staying with that girl. By staying with all of them when they needed you. They’ll never forget that and neither will their families.”

  “Well, if it wasn’t for that caravan of police and—” She paused and sat up in her chair. “Hey, how did you know where to find me, anyway?”

  “We followed the signal after you pressed your panic button on your phone. It took us forever to find the place, though.”

  “Wait.” She stared down at her phone sitting on the table. “The battery was dead when I got it back. Before that I didn’t…” She opened her phone and scrolled through her applications. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She opened her camera application to browse the photos, but none of her pictures were there anymore. Every snapshot of her and Peter, the sites in Moscow, her and Zanya—gone.

  The only file that remained was a single video.

  “Uh…” She glanced at Peter. “I’ll be right back.” She slipped away from the table and snuck into the bathroom. The video might not be pleasant, and she didn’t want to panic in front of Peter if it was more than she could handle.

  She locked the door and leaned against the cold tile walls. She tapped her finger over the play button.

  Malachi pointed the phone at himself. “Hey, Tara.” His awkward, crooked grin sent a streak of grief through her heart. She thought of Amy’s mother, there just moments ago. Amy’s mother, and from what he’d said, his mother, too. “I promised you answers, so here they are.” He cleared his throat. “My name is Timothy Woods, and I’m dead. Well, technically, anyway.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You may think I’m a real piece of shit after you watch this, but I did what I had to do to get Amy back. I actually didn’t think I’d ever see her again.” He sat and adjusted the angle of the camera. “I guess I underestimated the guy who grabbed her. He pulled out a gun and shot me. I was able to get the gun out of his hand. I panicked and shot him back.

  “We were both lying there in the street when the car peeled out. It took a while for me to die, and in those last few moments…” He glanced around the room, his features tight. “Fuck. You know, you’ll do anything to save someone you love. Even if that means making a deal with the Devil. In this case, a seriously evil bitch named Contessa.”

  He stared into the camera. “So I did. She said she’d give me one last chance to get Amy back if I stopped them from sacrificing the girls. I had a feeling she had her own agenda, but at the time I didn’t care. That landed me in the body of the asshole who was in the hospital. I took over his body, knew what he knew, and understood I could find the son of a bitch who ran this thing, and cut off the head of the snake.” He sat silent for a moment, and then shrugged. “That’s it.”

  He stood and picked up the phone, aiming the camera at his face. “So make sure to tell my little sister I love her, and my mom…tell my mom I’m sorry. It’s fucked up, leaving them behind like this, but it’s worth it. Well, that is if everything works out as planned. I guess we’ll see.” He flashed a gentle smile. “I wish I could have met the guardian. If she’s friends with you, she must be pretty cool…and lucky.” He picked up the phone, filming blurry streaks of wall and floor before he focused the camera on his face again. He smiled. “See ya on the other side.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wrapped in Peter’s arms was exactly where she wanted to be. They lay in his bed, munching on potato chips—no doubt another of his efforts to help her gain a few pounds.

  He flipped through the TV channels after the English maratho
n of Karate Kid movies had finished. Peter scanned through each one for a split second, passing over a news station. Tara caught sight of Mr. Yamamoto’s house. She jumped, grabbed the remote, and flipped it back.

  “Hey—”

  “Shh!” She stared wide-eyed at the reporter standing on the smooth driveway with yellow police tape encompassing the home.

  “I’m standing in front of the home of a Mr. Katumi Yamamoto, who authorities have confirmed was a Yakuza ring leader from Japan, leading a major human trafficking organization in Moscow.”

  “So that’s what they think it was,” Tara whispered. “Makes sense.”

  “Over ten kilos of an unknown drug has been found in an underground bomb shelter—the same shelter a group of girls were rescued from after police were led to the scene. Unfortunately, according to eye witnesses, not everyone made it out alive.”

  Tara scooted to the edge of the bed, watching the officers behind the reporter haul out bags from the shelter wrapped in silver tape. K9 officers sniffed the perimeter while other men geared up into biohazard suits.

  “The group of men behind us,” the reporter said, pointing to the homicide cleanup crew, “have been called in to deal with what authorities could only describe as ‘grisly remains.’”

  “Jesus,” Peter whispered. He scooted beside Tara. “What the hell happened in there?”

  Tara slowly shook her head, unsure how to respond. Because when it came down to it, what Malachi did to that man was beyond explanation, and what he’d done to her remained to be seen. But she was eating and sleeping again, all without a nightmare or even so much as a hiccup.

  Deep down, she knew.

  Malachi had torn the grief right out of her, just before he vanished from sight.

  The reporter faced the camera, gripping her microphone with both hands. “Although it’s not entirely clear what happened, one thing is for sure. A group of innocent girls have been reunited with their families, and the streets are safer with the trafficking operation shut down.”