“What is it?” Kelly asked, holding herself very still.
Tom turned his head and scanned the room. “Don’t you smell it?”
Her eyes widened and she followed his visual trail around the room. “Roses.”
“Yeah,” he said, lifting himself from the sofa. He gathered Kelly in his arms and picked her up. “Let’s continue this in the bedroom, shall we?” At her nod, Tom left the room and the smell behind them.
Two hours passed without notice in the warm candle-lit room as they caressed and stroked in the cocoon they’d created beneath the covers. Their cries and moans from pleasure-pain filled the bedroom as their orgasms ripped through them. Panting with pounding hearts and trembling muscles, they held each other close until the slick sweat that dampened their skin dried. Then a look and a bold caress would fan their simmering passion and the ritual would begin again. When their cries rang out once more, they collapsed in each other’s arms and their only movement was the rise and fall of their heaving chests.
As Tom’s mind began to settle, coherent thought was once again possible and he marveled at the intensity of their lovemaking, replaying every moment in his mind. When Kelly finally stirred against him, pulling out of his arms, he groaned. He sighed with deep regret, because he knew the world outside their haven was about to make an unwelcome intrusion.
Tom lounged on the bed with one arm beneath his head and the sheet pulled to his hips. He breathed in the aroma of sex lingering in the air mingling with the scent of the candles and watched Kelly’s movements in the candlelight as she tightened the belt of his heavy, black terrycloth robe. When he wore it, the hem came to mid-calf. On her it grazed the tips of her toes and the sleeves swallowed her hands.
“I’m going to call Mrs. Chandler tomorrow and persuade her to see me,” he said quietly, his eyes drinking her in.
She gave him a searching look then crawled over the bed and snuggled up beside him. “Even if she agrees to meet with you, what are you hoping to accomplish by talking to her?” she asked just as quietly, running her fingers down his bare chest to his navel.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted, feeling his groin tighten valiantly once again in response. He gave his mind a mental shake. It’s like I’m eighteen again. Suppressing a grin, he pushed the thought aside. “Maybe nothing. Maybe a lot. But it’s the next logical place to look for answers. She might be able to point me in the next direction I need to go.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” she asked, rising up onto her elbow to meet his gaze.
“I don’t think so, honey. I’d rather you stay at your apartment and wait until you hear from me tomorrow night. The less you’re involved, the better.”
“But—”
“No buts, Kelly,” he said. “I’m standing firm with this. There’s no point in arguing.”
“Then I wish you luck.” She returned her head to his shoulder. “You’re going to need it if you’re planning to take on Merideth Chandler alone.”
He lowered his chin and looked at the top of her head over the crest of his nose. “What do you mean by that?”
“It’s a sad story, really,” she mused, content in the circle of his arms. “Before her husband died, they were respected in the community. They had money to burn and she was the type who wouldn’t think twice about lending her support to a worth-while cause. She was a caring, generous person. She was also deeply in love with her husband. When his body was discovered, it devastated her. Her perfect world crumbled. People she thought were her friends started avoiding her. She turned into a recluse overnight and hasn’t been out of her grand home since.”
Tom was entranced with Kelly’s story. Even though his heart went out to the person she described, his stomach knotted as he thought of the confrontation ahead.
“How do you know so much about her?”
“She and my mother worked charities together and were good friends before my mom was killed by a drunk driver. After the accident, she helped us get through the loss by taking Jason and me under her wing. I was fourteen when it happened. I was at an age when a daughter needs a mother’s support and guidance. Merideth stepped in and helped fill that gap in my life. Since my father never got over losing my mom, maybe that’s why I have a little understanding of what Merideth Chandler’s going through. But, given the circumstances, I don’t think anyone could ever really begin to imagine the extent of her pain.”
“I’m sorry,” Tom said, hearing how inadequate the words sounded. “I had no idea.”
Kelly’s expression softened before she pulled out of his embrace. “I’m hungry,” she said, scooting off the bed. “Why don’t I go down and see what I can find for a quick supper?”
She walked over to Tom’s dresser, saw herself in the flickering light reflected in the mirror, and frowned in dismay. “Oh my.” As she picked up his brush and began working the tangles from her long, thick hair, she glanced at his lounging image and saw him watching her, grinning with leering appreciation. “While we’re eating,” she said, administering the final strokes, “you can tell me what you know about the roses.”
For an instant, Tom’s body tensed watching her. Shuttering his expression, he forced his body to relax. “Why do you think I know anything about that?” he asked.
She shifted her eyes to him and quirked her lips in a ‘get real’ gesture, then put the brush down and turned for the door.
“Wait. I’ll help you.” Tom threw back the sheet and swung his long legs over the edge of the mattress.
“You don’t have to,” Kelly replied, appreciating the display of his lean, muscled, naked body. “Besides, it’ll give you a chance to read Mrs. Chandler’s file. I’m sure I can manage alone.”
“That’s just it,” he said, finding his jeans on the floor and pulling them on. “You’ll be alone down there. Until this thing’s resolved, you’re not leaving my sight while you’re in this house.”
He slipped his arms into a shirt, leaving it unbuttoned, turned on the bedside lamp, and blew out the two candles burning in the room before escorting her down the back stairs.
As Kelly searched the refrigerator, Tom settled at the kitchen table and opened the file. The house was quiet; the only sounds were the contenting domesticity of Kelly’s movements and the soft shuffle of paper as Tom leafed through the file. He read each page, but there was little information that was pertinent or that he didn’t already know. Frustration rose at the apparent dead end.
“Find anything interesting?” Kelly asked, placing a chef salad and a glass of iced tea on the table beside him. He noticed she’d rolled the sleeves of his robe up to her elbows.
Tom closed the file and pushed it away. “Not really. Besides Mrs. Chandler’s address and phone number, the only thing I found of interest was that this house was built in 1903 by a man named Kramer. The problem is it has absolutely no bearing on the situation.”
“If that’s the case,” she said, sitting down and tucking his robe around her legs, “tell me about the roses. And don’t tell me you know nothing about it.”
Expecting the inquiry, Tom chewed slowly, pondering what to tell her. He’d smelled the rose scent often, felt gentle brushes against his hair or shoulders and knew she was around, but had only encountered her erotic touch twice. It had been weeks, as a matter of fact.
He swallowed and put his fork down. “I’ve had dreams of a woman. When I have these dreams, I smell roses. I’ve smelled them at other times too. It’s how she makes her presence known.”
Kelly’s own fork stopped in midair as she looked at him. “You’ve seen a woman in your dreams?”
“No,” he answered, which was true. “I’ve heard her. She’s spoken to me.”
Kelly put down her fork and folded her hands in her lap. “What did she say?” she asked.
“She told me to help the children. She said they needed my help and that she would be here with me.”
“That’s it?” Kelly was watching him closely and Tom met her gaze withou
t hesitation.
“That’s it,” he said, which was not true.
“Who is she?”
Tom shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said, again truthfully, and forked another bite of salad.
“Do you think it could be Mrs. Dempsey?”
Tom’s fork stopped as he looked at Kelly, remembering the woman he had met only briefly. Her prudish mannerism and lack of projecting anything remotely sexual had him shaking his head. “No. Definitely not Mrs. Dempsey.” He resumed eating.
She nodded, accepting his certainty, then took a drink of tea. “If you’ve had dreams of the children and they’re trapped in this house, does that mean the woman’s trapped here too?”
“I don’t think so,” he said from the corner of his mouth.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“In my dreams, the children are vivid. I haven’t actually seen the woman. I’ve only heard her voice and smelled roses. It’s like she’s taken on the role of guardian.” He took another bite.
“You mean like an angel?” Kelly asked, surprised.
Tom was amused and horrified all at once. He tried for nonchalance, but was afraid he only succeeded in staring at her like a startled owl. Angels didn’t do the things she’s done, do they? He swallowed and almost choked. “No,” he said hoarsely, then cleared his throat, saying more calmly. “No, I don’t think she’s an angel.”
Kelly lifted a brow and watched him for a moment longer, then thankfully, returned to her meal. They ate in silence, each deep in their own thoughts. Tom hoped his explanation about the woman was enough to curb Kelly’s curiosity, but didn’t count on it. He pushed the thought aside. He had to concentrate on the problem at hand.
He knew he had to convince Merideth Chandler to grant him a meeting. His instincts told him she knew more than had been revealed in the previous investigation, and he was determined to find a way to get her to open up to him.
“I don’t know why I didn’t make the connection before,” Kelly said. She stood and gathered the dishes from the table. “I feel so stupid. I knew Mr. Chandler had killed himself in one of his rental properties. I just failed to put two and two together. I haven’t been with the agency that long, so maybe that’s why I wasn’t told.”
“I doubt that. Full disclosure goes against human nature. They needed to sell and knew that buyers wouldn’t want a house where a violent death had occurred,” Tom replied, admiring the sway of her hips beneath his robe as she walked to the sink.
“A good lawyer could probably get you out of the contract. The full disclosure law is there for a reason, you know,” she stated, raising her voice over the growl of the disposal. “You were more or less coerced into buying this house and the agency knows it. I’d be willing to back you up if it came down to it.”
“Believe me, the thought’s crossed my mind,” he admitted. “But the house suits my purpose perfectly. And the price—” He shook his head. “No. I think I’ll stick it out a while longer and see what happens. If worse comes to worst, then I’ll get out. For now, I’m staying put.”
“I wouldn’t wait too long, if I were you,” Kelly stated, stacking the dishes in the dishwasher. After a moment, she asked, “Tom?”
“Hmm?” he mumbled, pulling the file back in front of him.
“Why did you say ‘with the exception of Emmy’ when you were explaining about the little girls and the portraits you’ve painted?”
“There was no mention of her in the series I read today.”
“That’s odd. What do you think it means?”
“I’m not sure. There’s no doubt she’s connected in some way. The question is how?”
The doorbell chimed, startling them both. Tom’s gut tightened with the possibility of who the caller might be. He envisioned Winward and the hulking, yet stylishly dressed Hayes standing patiently on his front porch. Meeting Kelly’s questioning gaze, he slid his chair away from the table.
Kelly dried her hands on a dishtowel. “I’ll get dressed while you see who it is.”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
“I can’t very well greet company like this, can I?” she asked with a wry smile. “I’m naked under this thing. Besides, it won’t take me long and I promise I’ll come right down as soon as I’m finished.”
The bell chimed again.
“Go on,” she said. “I’ll be okay.”
Tom hesitated a moment longer before leaning down to place a kiss on her lips. “Hurry,” he commanded. She nodded, then disappeared up the back stairs.
His bare feet made a patting sound on the wood floor as his long strides carried him across the dark foyer. The insistent chime resounded once more. “I’m coming,” he bellowed. He turned on the foyer and porch lights, pressed a code onto the security panel, twisted the deadbolt, and snatched the front door open.
Jonathan entered without preamble. The seriousness of his expression held Tom’s relief in check.
“I need to talk to you.”
Tom closed the door watching his friend. “Kelly’s upstairs.”
“I see.” Jonathan glanced up to the second floor before leveling his gaze on Tom. “We can discuss details tomorrow. Right now, I have a few things I want to say.”
“Can I take your coat?”
Jonathan shook his head. “This won’t take long.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ve thought it over. I’ve known you too long to doubt you. I’d trust you with my life, and I think you’re trusting me with yours by telling me about what happened to you. I still think it’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard, but who am I to judge? I believe in you and that’s what counts. That’s why I’ve made us an appointment with one of the best criminal lawyers in Georgia.”
“Who?” Tom asked, feeling his insides twist.
“Russ Carson. We’re to meet tomorrow afternoon. Two o’clock.”
“Where?”
“At his office. I think you know the place.”
“Yeah,” Tom replied. “I know the place.”
“I talked to Russ this afternoon and gave him a synopsis of what you told me. He was fascinated. He wants to discuss the case in detail. Can you make it?”
“How much did you tell him?” Tom asked, his voice steady.
“Enough to intrigue the hell out of him.” Jonathan’s cynical smile wavered as he saw Tom’s eyes falter. “What’s wrong? Why the hesitation?”
“I’m not sure, Jonathan,” he admitted, startled by the truthfulness of the statement. He ran his fingers through his sex-tousled hair in agitation, the muscles of his bare chest beneath his open shirt responding impressively with the movement. “I guess it’s the idea of being put under a microscope. It’s infuriating.”
Jonathan’s expression was sympathetic. “I can only imagine. But, Tom, I’m not qualified to give you the kind of help you need. Russ Carson is. He’s one of the best. If anyone can help you, he can.” Jonathan paused to let this sink in, pushing his hands into the pockets of his gray wool overcoat. “Do you want to keep the appointment?” he asked, holding Tom’s gaze.
“Is he going to do it?”
“What? Take the case?”
Tom nodded.
Jonathan’s shoulders lifted in a quick shrug. “We’ll find out tomorrow. Do you want to keep the appointment?” he repeated.
Tom’s hands went to his hips and he released a discomfited sigh. “Yeah,” he answered. “When do you want to meet?”
“Let’s meet for an early lunch at Grady’s and go from there. That should give us plenty of time to discuss—”
Kelly’s curdling scream cut Jonathan off before it faded into eerie silence as Tom bolted up the staircase. He entered the bedroom at a full run and saw her standing fully dressed except for her gaping blouse. Her quick, shallow breaths were misty. The room was frigid. As he followed her wide-eyed stare, he shivered and his blood chilled as two little girls standing side-by-side came into view. His heart filled with trepidation to se
e Kelly the focus of their steadfast attention.
“My God.”
Jonathan’s choked whisper sounded distant behind Tom as he took a calculated step forward, his own sporadic breath puffing in front of him. Inhaling deeply to control his breathing, Tom positioned himself between Kelly and the little girls before lowering his knee to the floor.
“Hello,” he said, swallowing hard to keep his voice from quavering.
His pounding heart lurched as their hollow gazes fused with his. He could feel Emmy’s presence swelling within him, and had to blink back the flow of tears that rushed to his eyes.
“My name’s Tom. Can you tell me yours?”
Silence hung over the room like a frozen shroud. When a small voice penetrated the thin air, its childish cadence was a piercing knife through Tom’s already aching heart.
“Amanda.”
Tom was drawn to the uncanny sound, and in one swift glance, he recognized the little girl who had spoken. Her eyes were blue and her short chestnut hair matched the hair he remembered in the photograph on the viewing screen, except now it was dirty and hanging limp. She was dressed in soiled white panties with yellow moons and stars and a torn, grimy blue T-shirt. Her feet were bare. With the bruises and abrasions marring her body, she stood exactly the same as portrayed in the portrait downstairs. He had to force his voice to remain calm, his body not to shiver.
“Who’s your friend, Amanda?” he asked, almost flinching as he turned to the smaller girl by her side. The intensity of her gaze was shocking. The jet black of her long, tangled hair and the bruises on her small, oval face only served to heighten the ferocity of her dark eyes. Their accusing stare made his skin tingle.
“Why are you here?” she hissed. Her eyes took on a look of suspicion and the temperature of the room dropped even more.
Tom fought the urge to clench his teeth against his body’s reaction to the cold. His exhalations grew denser. “I’m here to help you,” he answered with a sinking stomach. “Tell me what to do.”
Their gazes shifted to look behind him and the dark-haired presence lifted her arm to point a condemning finger in Kelly’s direction. Her meaning hit Tom like a tsunami and his body recoiled as if a striking snake had been placed in front of him.
Portrait of Rage (The Marcel Experience Book 1) Page 14