“Don’t apologize. I had a great time. I really like Marsha and Jonathan.”
“I’m relieved to hear that,” he said, backing out into the street.
“Why?” she asked and laughed. “Were you afraid I’d bolt from the house, pulling at my hair, and screaming to get away?”
Tom imagined the scene and his throaty laughter filled the car. “Not exactly, but I was afraid you might push the panic button. You have to admit, Marsha practically had us married back there.”
“I can’t argue with that, but I am flattered she thinks I’m good enough for you.”
Kelly looked over at Tom’s shadowed face and saw his grin widen, then snuggled deeper into her seat with a contented smile.
With his eyes on the road and his grin turning mischievous, he asked, “So, what are we going to need for this romantic dinner you’ve promised me?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The unease she had felt since their arrival at the gallery was finally beginning to fade as Kelly busied herself in Tom’s kitchen with the preparations for dinner. The inability to understand her unfounded fears unsettled her sense of security and control. There was no doubt Mrs. Dempsey’s death had been a horrifying experience, but she refused to think it showed a weakness by letting it rule her emotions every time she stepped inside the house where the tragedy took place.
There had to be another reason for what she was feeling. Although she had always been very sensitive to the vibrations around her, she had never been one to exaggerate her emotions. But then again, nothing had ever unsettled her like the warning fear that had taken her in its cold grasp.
“How’s this?” Tom asked and her thoughts scattered. He had arranged a bouquet of flowers in a vase and was awaiting her approval.
“You do have a flare for beauty, don’t you?” Kelly looked at him and grinned.
“Let’s just say I know it when I see it,” he replied, stepping close.
She breathed in his spicy, male scent and her heartbeat sped up as she watched his deep blue gaze darken and fall to her lips. As he lowered his head, she lifted her face and her eyes fluttered shut.
Their lips met with tantalizing languor. Tom pulled her close and Kelly’s knees trembled as she pressed her body against him. She slid her hands up his chest and around his neck to draw him closer. The tip of his tongue brushed her lips and she opened wider to let him in, gliding her tongue against his, then again, loving the taste of him, drinking him in.
Her gasp was breathless as she pulled away. “Damn, this is crazy,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. She could feel her cheeks growing warm as the taste of him lingered in her mouth. She swallowed. “We hardly know one another and I’m acting like a dime store hussy on our second date. I can only imagine what you must think of me.”
“What I think is that I’m extremely attracted to you, Kelly,” Tom said, his fingers gentle beneath her chin as he forced her to meet his gaze. “It makes me feel good just being with you. And tonight, the kiss we just shared, proves to me you feel the same way.”
Kelly searched his eyes. She knew her own longing mirrored his.
“I can’t deny what I felt when we kissed or what I feel when I’m with you. That’s what scares me,” she admitted softly, turning away. She picked up a set of tongs and began tossing the Caesar salad.
Tom stood watching as if trying to digest her words. Then he placed his hand on hers to stop their motion.
“I’ve never had feelings this intense for anyone either, Kelly,” he said. “That’s why I’m willing to push my fears aside and explore them. I can’t let something that could be the most wonderful thing in my life slip through my fingers just because I’m afraid to let it happen.”
Kelly was silent as she searched his face. Then, pushing the turmoil of her emotions aside, she took a deep breath and stepped closer.
“Then let’s let it happen.”
She stood transfixed as Tom ran one hand beneath her hair to caress her neck and placed his other hand on her hip to draw her close before slowly lowering his head. As he began teasing her lips, they parted beneath his touch. Her pulse quickened as he dipped his tongue into the wet warmth of her mouth then slowly withdrew it. When hers followed suit and the tips of their tongues met, his hold tightened, and she found herself intoxicated by the feel of her own yielding body.
He left her mouth to nibble a path along her jaw to the sensitive lobe of her ear. His warm breath against her skin made goose bumps rise and she shivered with pleasure. His teeth nipped, his lips sucked, and his tongue scorched a trail down her neck to settle on her pounding pulse. Her core throbbed and released enough wetness to soak her panties. Kelly’s breath was becoming ragged as Tom’s hands caressed and explored her back then worked their way down to the curve of her hips and lower. Tom filled his hands with her, lifting her high on her toes and pressing his hard body against her. A low moan escaped Kelly’s parted lips when she felt how big and hard his erection was against her belly.
Kelly gently pushed away, looked into his eyes, and saw her own smoldering passion reflected in his heavy gaze. Even though her body ached and throbbed for his touch, her better judgment pleaded caution.
“You know, this could get out of hand,” she said, her voice husky as she slid her hands down his chest to feel hard muscle beneath his sweater. “Maybe I should cool things off a bit and finish dinner.”
Tom released her and watched her put on a pair of oven mitts. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”
The corners of Kelly’s mouth quirked as she retrieved the soufflé from the oven. “In case you didn’t notice, I was enjoying every minute of it.” Her eyes fell to the floor before rising to meet his curious gaze. “I think that’s the problem. I enjoyed it too much. I don’t want to let things happen too quickly and ruin everything.”
Tom smiled his understanding and stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “Then, I guess I’ll have to learn to keep my hands to myself. It’ll be tough, but I’ll manage somehow,” he said, looking like he was unsure whether or not he could pull it off.
Kelly’s laughter was soft. Her eyes were shining as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her body close to his.
“I only suggested we move a little slower,” she corrected.
“Oh yeah? Well, in that case—”
Tom enfolded her in his arms. He smothered her startled protest with a kiss and thoroughly savored her mouth before relenting to her feeble attempt of escape.
“Whoa, Tiger.” Her laughter was low and enticing.
“You shouldn’t tempt a hungry beast, my lady,” he said, nuzzling her neck.
“Oh, but I think I should.” She backed away from him and her sly grin widened. “I’ve got to keep you on your toes.”
“Well then, I think it’s time to change the music. Theory of a Deadman is a great band, but a guy singing about how his relationship’s not meant to be isn’t exactly setting the mood we’re talking about. Something to tantalize the senses, perhaps?” A wicked smile played along his lips.
Kelly’s breath caught as she watched him. He really was the most gorgeous, sexiest man she’d ever met. “I’ve heard that over-stimulating the senses can be deadly.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Kelly smiled as the kitchen door swung shut behind him. She could still feel the touch of his kiss and hands on her body and she felt a soft blush warm her cheeks. She shook her head in awe of her own unhindered response and turned to the task of preparing the table.
The china sparkled as she lit the candles, watching each wick ignite into a glowing flame. Otis Redding’s “Dock of the Bay” drifted to her ears as she dimmed the lights.
“Perfect,” she whispered, surveying the scene. She raised her wine glass in a silent salute. A caress from eyes behind her softened her smile as she turned.
“Everything’s ready—”
Kelly’s smile wilted as the delicate crystal she held in her hand slipped to
the floor with a splintering crash. She shook her head in denial at the little girl standing a few feet away and cringed beneath the haunted, forlorn light-blue eyes that pleaded for help. They seemed to bore into the very depths of Kelly’s soul, and she shuddered as the little girl lifted her hand, beckoning her to follow.
“Please, help us.”
The hollow sound of the childish plea sent chills down Kelly’s spine. The door suddenly slammed open and a whimper of fear lodged in her throat as the little girl who had seemed so real only seconds before disappeared.
Tom halted as Kelly stared back at him with eyes wide with terror. A racking sob shook her body and he stepped forward to gather her in his arms.
Kelly wiped the tears from her cheeks and pulled away to face Tom with an expression that made him recoil. The undeniable fear she had felt only moments before had been replaced by startling, snapping anger.
“What’s going on here, Tom?” she asked, her voice strained and trembling.
“I think you should sit down,” he said as he steered her away from the shattered crystal toward a chair. Ignoring the wine on the counter, he opened a cabinet and took down a bottle of brandy, then handed her a glass filled with a generous portion.
“Here, drink this.”
Kelly was startled by his calm demeanor and her sense of dread escalated as she watched him retrieve a broom and dustpan to sweep up the shards of glass. “Why haven’t you asked me what happened? You find me hysterical, and you don’t seem the least bit surprised,” she said. “Should I tell you what happened, or should I let you tell me?”
Tom was silent as he dumped the contents of the dustpan into the garbage.
“I saw a little girl just now,” she continued. “She was marred and disfigured by bruises and bleeding cuts. I could actually feel her anguish as she held out her hand to me, begging for help.”
Kelly studied Tom’s expression as he put the broom away and turned to face her, but saw no sign of the indignation she half-expected to see.
“Why aren’t you stunned by this absurd admission? You’re looking at me like you’ve heard this story before.”
She sat back in her chair as the stunning reality hit her. Suddenly, the mystery behind Tom’s hesitations and awkward discomfort whenever the Rage collection was mentioned became clear. She stared at him with wide eyes.
“Her name’s Emmy,” he said in a low voice. He pulled a chair around and sat facing her. “She came to me shortly after I moved in. She inspired my paintings in the Rage collection.”
“You actually talked to her?” Kelly asked in disbelief.
Tom ran agitated fingers through his hair. “Yes. When she first appeared, I couldn’t believe she was real. I was scared stiff. But as we stood there watching each other, my fear faded and I finally saw her for what she was. A frightened little girl who had suffered in a way you and I can’t even imagine.”
He stood up, got another glass, and poured himself a drink. “I’d assumed she had a purpose for coming to me. At first, I thought she wanted the world to see how she had suffered. How all of the children in the paintings had suffered. And I thought I had done that by opening the exhibit to the public. But now I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, watching a confusing play of emotions cross his face.
Tom hesitated before answering. He seemed immersed in a personal struggle.
“I’m not sure,” he said, more to himself than as an answer to her question. “She’s obviously not satisfied with what I’ve done. Why else would she show herself to you and plead for more help?”
Kelly looked at him in bewilderment. She was at a loss for an explanation of what she had just witnessed, and Tom’s admission only added more questions to the ones already swirling in her mind. Taking a deep, calming breath, she placed her glass on the table, stood, and walked from the kitchen. She had to find out what part she played in this spectral drama, and to do that, she had to confront her fears head on.
Ignoring the warning voice inside her head telling her to walk out and never return, Kelly proceeded with determined steps through the dimly lit, narrow hallway beneath the staircase until she came face-to-face with the closed doors of the room of Rage. Tom stood watching her rigid back and saw her shaking hands falter on the cold knobs of the double doors. Pushing her gently aside, he opened the doors wide and turned on the lights.
She stepped inside and stared at Emmy’s portrait for several moments. “This isn’t the little girl I saw,” she said.
“What?”
“The little girl I saw was older and had blond hair.”
Tom looked at Emmy’s portrait. Her long, dark hair hung in un-kept strands across her small shoulders.
“But if it wasn’t Emmy, then who?”
Kelly moved to a painting on the far wall and stood in silence as she took in the familiar face. In her peripheral, she saw Tom take a step toward her, then stop abruptly. As she turned, her body grew stiff. The air became frigid and the lights flickered as they both watched a shimmering veil of mist rise from the hardwood floor. As it floated toward Kelly, the dim shape of an adolescent came to life in its veiling center. The little girl’s body grew more defined in its advance, until every detail of the portrait at Kelly’s back focused and came alive before them.
Her white T-shirt and pink shorts were caked with blood and dirt, the shorts urine-stained at the crotch. A grimy ankle sock covered one foot, the other was bare. Straight, blond hair hung in unwashed, matted strands around a bloodless oval face and huge, light-blue eyes were dark with circles that looked like bruises. More bruises were visible on her arms and legs along with bleeding cuts and abrasions. Red, angry patches looked like burns with oozing blisters. She was about ten years old, but her wide-eyed, fear engulfed expression made her look much younger.
Kelly was unable to look away. The bone-chilling apprehension she’d felt only moments before faded. She took in the expression of the child and her heart ached with the loneliness and despair that filled the room. She was unable to resist the girl’s reaching hand and was shocked by the firm grasp of it. Then a fog settled over her mind and she saw with dim eyes that she was being led from the room. Her last thought was the impression of being consumed before everything went black.
She jolted back to awareness when someone shook her with a strength born from sheer terror. Her eyes focused and Kelly saw Tom’s ashen face in front of her. Her mind made a vague mental note that she was in the upstairs hallway at the foot of the attic stairs before it registered an underlay of emotions that weren’t her own. Anger, horror, fear, sadness, longing all warred within her, swelling until she was on the verge of screaming. Then his bruising grip released her shoulders, and she was enfolded in Tom’s arms.
“I’m here, Kelly,” he rasped. “I’m right here, sweetheart.”
Her body shuddered as she collapsed against him. “She’s inside me, Tom,” she sobbed. “I can feel Jenny inside of me. Her suffering is horrible.”
Tom rocked her gently in his arms and thought of Emmy. “I know, baby. I know,” he said, blinking back his own hot tears.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The morning chill was damp with the promise of rain. Low, gray clouds, casting a gloomy shroud, complimented Winward’s brooding mood as he sat in a corner booth of The Morning Express Café on the outskirts of the square. The breakfast rush was in full swing and the sounds around him blended into a blur of noise as he watched through the plate-glass window for the man he’d been expecting for the past thirty minutes.
“More coffee?” His waitress held out the round glass pot. Once again, he felt sorry for the chartreuse and polyester uniform dress she wore because it was filled to full capacity. He could almost hear it cry out in agonized strain as it held its seams together. The apron looked smaller than what the other waitresses wore, but he knew it wasn’t. The front of it flapped over a bulging midriff and the ties that went around a non-existent waist were hidden deep between two roll
s of fat. Her muddy brown hair was pulled tightly away from her pudgy face and wrapped into a bun on the top of her round head. He bit his tongue to keep from suggesting a wax, or even a razor, for the hair that darkened her upper lip.
He brought his hand down from where he had unconsciously been rubbing the space between his nose and mouth. “Just warm it up,” he said.
“Can I getcha anythin’ else?” she asked, pouring coffee into his cup.
“No, thanks. I’m fine.” She left the check and lumbered away to the next table.
He lifted the coffee cup to his lips. Over the rim, he watched a familiar figure cross the street and stop beside a fully restored cherry red ’64 Impala parked at the curb.
The man was short and wiry with thick, curly brown hair that would be impossible to comb. He wore jeans and sneakers. His shoulders were hunched against the cold and his hands were crammed deep into the pockets of a green army field jacket that had definitely seen better days. He shivered, then looked in all directions before getting into the car.
A knowing smile curved Winward’s lips as he tossed money on the table, pulled on his fleece-lined leather coat, and left the café. When he reached the Impala, he pulled open the driver’s side door, revealing its white vinyl interior, then slipped behind the wheel and lovingly closed the door.
“You’re late, Sterling,” he said.
“Yeah, I know. Somethin’ came up. Man, it’s cold. Why don’t you blast the heat so I can thaw out some?”
The man’s cocky tone made Winward grit his teeth. “Cut the crap and get on with it,” he sneered. “If you’re wasting my time, I swear you’ll live to regret it.” Their breaths began fogging the windows.
“Okay, okay.” Sterling knew to respect Winward’s threats. Five years behind bars should have at least taught him that much. “There’s nothin’ on the streets, but I talked to a newspaper friend of mine that had a pretty fascinatin’ tale.”
“Which was?” Winward drawled.
“He went to an art exhibit Saturday night to do a piece on this guy’s grand opening,” Sterling said. “There’s a collection there that raised a few eyebrows.”
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