From the Shadows

by Rebecca York

  He was still mulling over suspects when he stepped out onto the street and spotted a short, slender woman coming out of the In Style Beauty Salon.

  It was Dana Eustice, Lee Tillman’s girlfriend. Her blond hair had just been curled into a soft pageboy that flattered her longish face. And as always, she was impeccably turned out, this afternoon in a rose-colored tunic dress.

  She was in her mid-fifties. But she was one of those women who fought tooth and nail to keep herself looking young, probably with the help of a plastic surgeon, Alex judged as he studied her taut jawline.

  His car was in the same parking lot, so it was no problem to meet up with her as she stopped beside a beige Lincoln Town Car.

  “Dana.”

  She raised her head slowly. “Why, it’s Alex Shane, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  He studied her open expression, thinking that she looked as though she had nothing in the world to hide.

  “I had an appointment with Lee this morning, but he stood me up. You don’t happen to know where he is, do you?”

  She tilted her blond head to one side. “You’re the second person who’s asked me about him today. He was heading for Nova Scotia. Cape Breton Island. He wanted to get away to a place where he could relax.”

  “So you know where he’s staying?”

  “The Inverary Inn, but since he’s driving, he won’t be there for five or six days.”

  “Okay. Thanks. If you talk to him, tell him I’m concerned.”

  “Yes.”

  He watched her get into her car, thinking that if she was worried about Lee, she was doing a darn good job of hiding that fact.

  After she’d pulled away, he got into his SUV and drove to the Crab Claw, the rambling old restaurant on the town dock.

  “I can give you a table in fifteen or twenty minutes,” the cute little hostess told him. “But you can sit in the bar.”

  “Thanks.”

  He ordered a beer and listened in on more town gossip as he sat by the window, gazing out over the water, watching some of the swans who made their home in the marsh along one side of the town’s harbor.

  He’d been up since before dawn, and after a meal of crab cakes and french fries, he thought about calling it a day. Instead, he found himself heading back toward Redbud Street. It was getting dark, and several lights were on in Sara’s house. He drove slowly by, circled the block, then pulled up under a maple tree across the street. Cutting the engine, he slumped down in his seat and turned his gaze toward the house. He felt his heartbeat quicken as he saw Sara step in front of a window. She seemed to be looking out into the night as if she sensed someone was watching her.

  It made him feel guilty again—guilty about spying on her. But that didn’t stop him from taking her in. In the soft light from the room, her hair had a golden glow. She’d changed from her business suit and blouse into a T-shirt and sweatpants that hugged her curves. The outfit made her look like the teenager he remembered, not the twenty-eight-year-old woman he knew she was. His chest tightened as he thought of that long-ago night.

  It was difficult to believe that she had anything to do with Lee Tillman’s disappearance—or anything to do with Lee Tillman, for that matter. But he’d seen her walk into the man’s office as if she owned the place. Not only that, he had a gut feeling that she was a key piece in the puzzle he was trying to put together, and he’d learned not to ignore his hunches.

  So what was he expecting exactly? That she was working with an accomplice, and he’d show up at her house while the man from Randolph Security was watching? Maybe it was Lewis Farmer. Maybe the two of them had murdered Lee Tillman and gotten rid of the body.

  He snorted softly in the darkness. Yet it wasn’t out of the question that she was expecting company—and the meeting was related to her visit to The Refuge this morning.

  He made himself comfortable in the SUV. It had been a long, frustrating day, and he fought a dragging feeling of fatigue. Idly he wondered how Ms. Delaney would react if he climbed out of the 4Runner, crossed the street and knocked on the door. Probably sprint straight to the phone and call Chief Hempstead.

  And what would he do if he knocked on the door? Tell her he was sorry about the way things had ended this afternoon. Remind her they’d had a great time together eleven years ago. Then tell her she was the first woman in months he’d wanted to take to bed. Right! That would certainly be smart.

  Still, as he stared at her, he contemplated how her pretty little mouth had tasted under his—and how it would taste now. And how her rounded breasts had felt in his hands. He tried to abort those thoughts when he felt himself getting carried away. But suddenly the long months of celibacy were making blood pool in the lower part of his body.

  He was still sitting there, still mulling over his conflicted emotions, when a vehicle came slowly down the quiet street. It was a pickup, but a different make and model than the one that tried to run Sara down. Older than the previous vehicle. In the dark he couldn’t see the color, and there was no light illuminating the license plate.

  Alex watched it drift down the block, then breathed out a little sigh as it rolled on past. Surely he wasn’t going to get jumpy every time he saw a pickup.

  His heart had resumed its normal pace, when the vehicle came into view again. This time it pulled to the curb several houses down from Sara’s place. Seconds after the lights winked out, a man stepped onto the street and looked up and down the block.

  In the darkness Alex thought it really was Lewis Farmer. Then he saw the man’s hair was shorter than Farmer’s, and his shoulders were too wide. It was some other lowlife type—somebody he didn’t recognize.

  Alex slid lower in his seat, his breath shallow as he waited to find out if he’d been spotted. Apparently the darkness hid him.

  The guy from the truck walked rapidly up the sidewalk, still looking around furtively. When he reached Sara’s property, he stepped off the sidewalk and onto the driveway. Then he disappeared from view as he rounded the side of the house.

  Alex was out of his SUV moments later, torn by the need for caution and the need to find out exactly what was going on: A meeting or a clandestine attack?

  He moved quickly and quietly across the street, then used the car in the driveway for cover as he made his way cautiously toward the house. He saw only a few lights on and wondered if Sara was expecting the guy.

  He hated the direction of his thoughts, yet he couldn’t dismiss them.

  The man had disappeared. Alex stopped to check the side door, but it was locked, which proved nothing. Instinct led him to look for another way into the house. As he turned the corner, he encountered an open door.

  His first impulse was to bolt inside, but his police training had taught him caution. Gliding up to the door, he strained his ears and heard a man speaking.

  “Nice and easy, honey.”

  “What do you want?” Her voice was high and reedy.

  Alex clenched his hands in frustration. He still couldn’t tell what was going on—not just from hearing those two lines. All he knew was that Sara was in trouble. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer as he forced himself to wait and find out more.

  The man was speaking again, answering her question. “I think you know.”

  “Please, don’t hurt me.”

  There was a pause before the man answered, “Now that depends on how well you cooperate.”

  “What do you want? Money?”

  “That’s a good start.”

  “I don’t have much in my purse.”

  “What about upstairs, in your bedroom drawer?”

  “Yes. Okay.”

  Damn! Alex cursed himself for not having a weapon with him. As a police detective, he’d always carried a gun, even when he was off duty. But Randolph operatives didn’t walk around armed unless there was a reason to carry. There was a reason now, but his Sig was back in his rented house.

  “Get going,” the man inside said.

 
Alex wondered what kind of weapon he had? No matter, the guy wasn’t planning to kill her immediately. If he was planning to kill her at all.

  Still, Alex knew that he was making assumptions that were tantamount to gambling with Sara Delaney’s life.

  The voices moved off, toward the stairs, he presumed. Alex waited half a minute, then as silently as possible he stepped into the house, his eyes scanning the scene. There was nothing out of place, nothing to indicate that an assailant had come in and threatened the occupant. Yet the rank smell of sweat hung in the air. Sweat from a man who hadn’t bathed in a couple of days.

  Alex crossed the room and made for the stairs.

  Sara’s voice drifted down, high-pitched and frightened. His heart leaped into his throat as he pounded toward the stairs.

  A crash reverberated from the floor above then a snarling curse. Alex took the stairs two at a time, found Sara, and the man struggling in the upper hall.

  If the guy had a gun, he wasn’t using it, Alex thought as he flung himself onto the attacker’s back, wrenching him away from Sara.

  She gave a strangled cry, but Alex was only peripherally aware of her. His attention was focused on the man, who growled another curse as he whirled around, his fist raised. Alex ducked the blow, then sent his own fist into a hard jaw. It was too dark in the hallway to see much of the assailant’s face but a fleeting impression of sallow cheeks and fierce eyes. Then he was too busy fighting for his life.

  The guy knew what he was doing. He went for the throat and Alex felt his breath choking off, saw black spots dancing behind his eyes and coalescing into an overwhelming void. Knowing he had only seconds to react, he brought his elbows up in a swift, sharp move, connecting with the guy’s arms. The hold around his neck loosened just enough for him to draw in a breath. Then he heard a flurry of movement, heard a hard object connecting with flesh and bone. In the next second, the guy’s hands fell away.

  Alex crashed back against the wall, gasping for breath as he watched the assailant slide to the floor. Sara was standing behind him, a lamp clasped in her hands.

  Then her eyes focused on Alex, and she gasped. “You.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I—”

  The attacker moaned. Then before either one of them could move, he was reaching for his boot. Metal gleamed in his hand. A knife blade.

  Alex was already dodging aside when the knife flew through the air. It would have hit him in the chest if he’d been where he’d been standing seconds earlier. Instead, it skimmed the fleshy part of his arm and he felt a hot slice of pain. He heard the knife clatter to the floor. When he looked up again, the man was in motion, diving for one of the doors in the hallway.

  Alex flung himself after the fleeing figure, knowing his reaction time was slowed by the pain in his arm and the still-muzzy feeling in his head. Before he could dodge aside again, the guy turned and kicked him in the chest. Alex went flying backward as the other man flung himself toward a window.

  The man yanked up the sash and dived through, onto the roof of the first-floor porch. Alex plunged after him, but the assailant was already across the roof and swinging his leg over the side. By the time Alex reached the corner, the guy had hit the ground running and disappeared into the darkness.

  Cursing, Alex limped back to the window, climbed inside and stood swaying on his feet. When he felt steady enough to move, he looked up, and saw Sara standing with her back against the wall, the lamp raised over her head.

  “It’s okay,” he said wearily. “I’m not much of a threat.”

  The lamp wavered in her hand, but she didn’t put it down.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “Saving you from getting killed.”

  She made a low sound. “I brained him.”

  “Yeah,” he answered, watching the lamp slide from her fingers and thunk to the rug.

  In the moonlight slanting through the window, he could only dimly see the expression on her face, but he suspected she looked as dazed as he felt.

  “What did the bastard do to you?” he demanded, taking a step toward her.

  “Not too much,” she answered on a sob.

  He moved more swiftly then, closing the distance between them, reaching for her.

  She didn’t protest as he pulled her into his arms. In fact, she seemed to melt against him.

  “Sara,” he murmured, his voice rough as he folded her close, swamped by emotions he didn’t want to examine too closely. He tried to concentrate on her, not his own reactions.

  Fine tremors vibrated through her body.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re all right,” he soothed, unable to turn her loose. There was nothing wrong with comforting her until she was steady on her feet, he told himself. Then he’d let her go.

  Somehow that goal faded to the back of his mind as his senses reacted on a dozen different levels. He felt her very feminine, fine-boned body, inhaled her familiar scent, like a fresh breeze blowing through his soul. At the same time, he was vividly conscious of the way her breasts pressed against his chest and her hands cupped his shoulders. He felt warmth spreading through him—physical warmth and something deeper.

  “Alex,” she sighed.

  She raised her face to him, and his breath hitched. As he stared down into the depths of her eyes, he forgot the reason he’d taken her into his arms in the first place.

  The intensity was too much. He felt it vibrating between them.

  “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you,” he heard himself saying.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  He was on sensory overload now. And at the same time, if he didn’t have more of her, he would go mad. He gathered her closer, dizzy with the feel of her body against his.

  Coherent thought fled his brain as he slanted his mouth over hers. She tasted as good as he remembered—of sweet innocence and of rich, dark promises.

  As his mouth moved against hers, she made a small whimpering sound that only added to his out-of-control need. On a surge of desire, he increased the pressure of his lips on hers, urging her to open for him.

  There was no resistance. She gave him what he wanted. Exactly what he wanted.

  “Alex,” she gasped into his mouth.

  Needing no other invitation, he deepened the kiss.

  Desire seemed to flow back and forth between them. He was rocking her against himself now, feasting on her mouth like a starving man invited to a banquet.

  He felt as if he had come back to paradise as he explored the silky mass of her hair with one hand while the other drifted to her hips so that he could press the aching shaft of his erection more tightly against her.

  “I’d forgotten anything could be this sweet,” he groaned.

  She didn’t answer him in words, only angled her head to deepen the kiss, her own hands restless as they moved over his back and shoulders, then down his arms.

  He heard her give a little gasp.

  When she pulled away from him, he tried to draw her back.

  But she shook her head, looking down in shock at her hand. It was covered with something dark and sticky.

  Blood. His blood.

  Chapter Five

  Alex blinked as he stared at the blood, his gaze moving from her hand to his shirtsleeve. He was remembering suddenly that a knife had grazed his arm. Then Sara had captured his attention, and he’d forgotten all about getting cut.

  “You need to go to the emergency room,” she gasped out.

  “It’s just a flesh wound. If you have a towel, I can stop the bleeding.”

  “You need medical attention.”

  “Naw.” He laughed. “I’m made of elephant hide.”

  Still, he was suddenly feeling unsteady on his feet. Maybe from the kiss. When she helped him into a chair, he didn’t protest.

  She snapped on the light, leaving him blinking as she disappeared from the room. She could be going to get a gun to finish him off,
he thought, remembering why he’d been sitting outside her house in the first place.

  His eyes zeroed in on her as she stepped back through the door, but she was only carrying a white towel. He was going to mess it up. Just the way he’d messed up her blouse, he noticed as he eyed the red splotch on her arm.

  Avoiding her gaze, he rolled up his sleeve, then wrapped the towel around his throbbing flesh, pressing at the line where blood oozed out.

  The wound was superficial, but it was starting to hurt like a son of a bitch. Apparently, he’d been too busy earlier to focus on it.

  When he looked up, Sara was staring at him.

  “I didn’t thank you,” she said tightly.

  He nodded. There were a dozen questions he wanted to ask her. Personal questions like what had she been feeling a few minutes ago in his arms and did she remember him. Instead, he stuck with, “Do you know that guy?”

  “I never saw him before in my life.”

  “Okay.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He gave a little shrug that ended with a wince, to his annoyance.

  “You sound like you don’t believe me.”

  He started to shrug again, then aborted the action. But he’d already made the mistake of letting her know he was in pain.

  “Let me drive you to the hospital.”

  “Trying to get rid of me?”

  She snorted. “I’m trying to get you medical attention, like I said.”

  They stared at each other, and he wanted to press the advantage, make her level with him, because he was sure she was hiding something. But he didn’t have the energy for any kind of effective interrogation.

  He was still trying to sort through what had happened between them a few minutes ago. He’d said something like, I’d forgotten anything could be this sweet. He hoped she didn’t understand what he had meant: that he’d been remembering her, remembering them.

  Perhaps she did remember all of it, too, and she was trying her damnedest to pretend it hadn’t happened.