by J. R. Ward
“Well, considering you just told me you fucked my ex-girlfriend, hard to imagine anything's trickier than that.”
“This is.”
Vin paused in midbite himself, not liking the look on the guy's face. “What.”
Jim took his own damned time about it, even finishing his frickin' lunch. Finally, he laughed short and tight. “I don't even know how to talk about this.”
“Hello? The aforementioned ex-girlfriend sex thing? Come on, grow a set.”
“Fine. Fuck it. Your ex doesn't cast a shadow.”
Now it was Vin's turn to laugh. “Is that some kind of military lingo?”
“You want to know why I believe that wasn't you in the elevator last night? It's because you called it. She's a reflection, a mirage…she doesn't exist and she's totally dangerous, and yeah, I know this doesn't make sense, but it's reality.”
Vin slowly lowered what was left of his roast beef. The guy was serious. Dead serious.
Was it possible, Vin wondered, that he could talk for once about the other side of his life? That part that involved things that couldn't be touched or seen, but that had shaped him sure as his parents' DNA had?
“You said…you'd come to save my soul,” Vin murmured.
Jim braced his hands on the granite counter and leaned in. Under the short sleeves of his plain white T-shirt, his arm muscles thickened under the weight. “And I mean it. I have a happy new job of pulling people back from the brink.”
“Of what?”
“Eternal damnation. As I said before…in your case, I used to think it was making sure you ended up with Devina, but now I'm damn clear that's the wrong outcome. Now…it means something else. I just don't know what.”
Vin wiped his mouth and stared down at the man's big, capable hands. “Would you believe me…if I told you I had a dream about Devina—one where she was like something out of 28 Days, all rotted and fucked-up? She maintained that I'd asked for her to come to me, that we'd entered into some kind of bargain that there was no getting out of. And the most ridiculous thing about it? It didn't feel like a dream.”
“And I believe it wasn't. Before I had Friday's little lights-out session with the extension cord? I'd have said you were nuts. Now? You bet your ass I believe every single word of that.”
Finally, at least something was working for instead of against him, Vin thought as he decided to pull a bare-all.
“When I was seventeen, I went to this…” God, even with how well Jim was taking things, he still felt like a complete ass. “I went to this palm reader, fortune-teller…this woman in town. Remember that 'spell' I had back at the diner?” When Jim nodded, he continued. “I used to get them a lot, and I needed…shit, I needed some way to get them to stop. They were ruining my life, making me feel like a freak.”
“Because you saw the future?”
“Yeah, and that shit just ain't right, you know? I never volunteered for it and I would have done anything to get it to stop.” Images from the past, of him collapsing at malls and at schools and in libraries and movies, flooded his brain. “It was torture. I never knew when the trances were coming and I didn't know what I said in them and the people I didn't scare the shit out of thought I was crazy.” He laughed in a hard burst. “Might have been different if I'd been able to predict the lottery, but I've only ever had bad news to share. Anyway, so there I was, seventeen, clueless, at the end of my rope, with nothing but a pair of violent, alkie parents at home who couldn't offer me any help or advice…I didn't know what else to do, where to go, who to talk to. I mean, my mom and dad? Fuckin' A, I wouldn't have asked them what to make for lunch, much less anything about that stuff. So one day close to Halloween, which is my birthday, by the way, I see in the back of the Courier Journal a bunch of ads for these psychics, healers, whatever, and I decided to give one of them a try. I went downtown, knocked on some doors and finally one of them opened. The woman seemed to understand the situation. She told me what to do and I went home and I did it…and everything changed.”
“Like how?”
“The trances stopped, for one thing, and then I just had luck on my side. My parents finally imploded—I'll spare you the details, but let's just say the end was simply an evolution of the alcoholism. After they were gone, I was relieved and free and…different. I turned eighteen, inherited the house and my father's plumbing jobs…and that's how it all started.”
“Wait, you say you were different—how?”
Vin shrugged. “When I was growing up, I was laid-back. You know, never much interested in school, content to kind of flake along. But after my parents died…yeah, nothing about me was chill. I had this hunger.” He put his hand on his gut. “Always with the hunger. Nothing was…or has been ever enough. It's like I'm obese when it comes to money—starved no matter what's in my accounts or how much I have. I used to think it was just because I went from teenager to adult the second my parents were gone—I mean, I had to support myself because no one else was going to. But I'm not sure that completely explains it. The thing was, while I was working full-time for those plumbers, I got into drug dealing. The cash was crazy and as it began to stockpile, I just wanted more and more. I got into doing houses because I could be legit that way—and that mattered not because I was afraid of jail, but because I couldn't make as much paper behind bars as I could out. I was relentless and uncurtailed by ethics and laws and anything but self-preservation. Nothing eased me…until two nights ago.”
“What changed then?”
“I stared into the eyes of a woman and felt…something else.”
Vin reached into his back pocket and took out the card of the Madonna. After taking a good long look at it, he put it down on the counter and turned it around so Jim could see it. “When I looked into her eyes…I felt satisfied for the first time.”
* * *
Jim leaned in and stared at the icon. Holy shit…it was Marie-Terese. The dark hair, the blue eyes, the soft, kind face. “Okay, that's eerie as fuck.”
Vin cleared his throat. “She's not the Virgin Mary. I know. And this picture is not of her. But when I saw Marie-Terese, that burning pit in my stomach eased off. Devina? She just fed the drive. Whether it was the sex we had and the boundaries we pushed there, or the things she wanted or the places we went. She was a constant ramp-up of the hunger. Marie-Terese on the other hand…she's like a warm pool. When I'm with her, I don't need to be anywhere else. Ever.”
The guy abruptly took back the card and rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ, listen to me. I sound like a Lifetime movie or some shit.”
Jim cracked a smile. “Yeah, well, things don't work out, you could always go into the greeting-card biz from prison.”
“Just the kind of career change I was looking to make.”
“Better than license plates.”
“Wittier, certainly.”
Jim thought about Devina and the so-called dream Vin had had. Chances were very good that hadn't been a nightmare. For God's sake, if she didn't cast a shadow in broad daylight, what other tricks did she have up her sleeve?
“What exactly did you do?” Jim asked. “When you were seventeen.”
Vin crossed his arms over his chest and you could practically hear the sucking sound as he was drawn back into the past. “I did what the woman told me to do.”
“Which was…?” When Vin just shook his head, Jim guessed it was some hard-core creepy. “This woman still around?”
“Dunno.”
“What's her name?”
“Why does it matter? That's in the past.”
“But Devina is not, and you're up on charges for something you didn't do, thanks to her.” As a whole lot of cursing rolled out, Jim nodded. “You open a door, not a bad idea to go back and get the key to lock it back up.”
“That's the problem. I thought I was locking it. As for that woman, it was like twenty years ago. I doubt we can find her.”
As Vin started to clean things up, Jim watched his awkward bandaged hand. “How
'd you hurt yourself?”
“I crushed a glass as I was talking to you.”
“That'll do it.”
Vin stopped in the middle of twisting shut the sourdough bread. “I'm worried about Marie-Terese. If Devina can do this to me, what isn't she capable of, you know?”
“I hear you on that. Does she have a clue about—”
“No, and I'm going to keep it that way. I don't want Marie-Terese involved in this shit.”
More evidence Vin wasn't an idiot. “Listen…about her.” Jim wanted to be careful how he packaged this one. “I took a look around her background after you told me that other guy who was killed downtown had been with her.”
“Oh, Jesus…” Vin wheeled around from the cupboard he'd opened. “That ex-husband of hers. He's found her. It's—”
“Not him. He's in jail.” Jim did a download on what Matthias the fucker had found and what do you know…the more the story came out, the bigger the frown on Vin's face got. “Bottom line is,” Jim concluded, “although it's possible an associate of Capricio's would come after her, it's not likely given those other deaths because they'd really just be concerned with Marie-Terese.”
Vin cursed—which meant he got the picture and all the implications. “So, who is it? Assuming she's the tie between the two attacks.”
“That's the question.”
Vin settled back against the counter, crossing his arms and looking as if he'd like to fight someone.
“She's quit, by the way,” he said after a moment. “You know, doing that shit at the Iron Mask. And I think she's going to leave Caldwell.”
“Really.”
“I don't want her to, but maybe it's for the best. It could be that one of those…men, you know, from the club, that she…yeah.”
As the guy's lips flattened out like his gut had frozen up on him, Jim realized things had progressed between the two of them. Fast. Although he wasn't willing to bet Dog on it, he'd wager his truck and his Harley that Vin and Marie-Terese had become lovers—because that expression on the guy's face was kind of heartbreaking.
“I don't want to lose her,” Vin muttered. “And I hate to have her running for her life.”
“Well,” Jim said, “then I think you and I need to make it safe for her to stay here.”
Safe from Devina…and from whatever psycho was after her.
At least Jim knew what the hell to do to some creep who had a case of the obsessions with the woman. As for Devina? Well, he was going to have to pull that one out of his ass.
Across the way, Vin looked over, and as they locked eyes, the guy nodded once, like he knew that things were going to get freaky and he was good with that. Extending his bandaged hand, he said, “Excellent plan, my friend.”
Jim carefully clasped the paw that was offered. “I have a feeling it's going to be a pleasure working with you.”
“Likewise. Guess that bar fight was just a warm-up.”
“Clearly.”
Chapter 29
As Marie-Terese sat down after the last hymn of the service, she felt her phone vibrating in her purse and put her hand in to stop its rattle-and-shake routine.
Robbie looked over, but she just settled back in the pew, and gave him a little smile. The way she saw it, there were three possibilities for the call: wrong number, babysitters…or Trez. And as much as liked her old boss, she hoped it wasn't him.
Abruptly, she thought of something she'd learned in college about veteran parachuters. It had been in psychology class and part of a study on perceived danger and anxiety. Asked when or if they had ever been afraid, the parachuters, who fit the profile of risk takers, overwhelmingly replied that the only time they'd been nervous was on their last jump—as if they might have used up all their luck over time and the odds they had beaten until that point could suddenly reach out and grab them just as they were getting out.
Funny, when she'd been eighteen and sitting in a lecture hall, it had seemed so ridiculous. After all the jumps those highfliers had taken, why would they have lost their iron nerve on the last one? Now she so got that.
She might have quit the night before…but what if that was Trez calling her back to meet with the CPD again? And what if this time, it wasn't about those shootings, but what she had done for money?
As she sat next to her son in church, the risk she had assumed seemed real for the first time. The thing was, the evolution from sexy waitress to something more had been done in an environment where that was a “career choice” a lot of people around her had made safely. Abruptly, though, she realized she must have been crazy. If she got jailed, Robbie would end up in foster care—with both of his parents behind bars.
Sure, neither Trez, nor her first boss, had ever had any problems with the police, but how could she have put so much faith in that track record considering what was at stake?
God…in cutting herself loose from that whole seedy underside of life, she was able to view her choice to do what she'd done for the money with very different eyes…
Glancing around at all the people in the pews, she was shocked to realize that these were normal eyes she was regarding her actions with. And as a result she was horrified with herself.
Be careful what you wish for, she thought. She'd wanted to be among the worried well, because that had seemed so much easier than where she'd been. Now that she was dipping her foot in that pool, though, it just made what she'd done seem all the more terrible and irresponsible and dangerous.
And actually, that had been the way she'd lived for the last ten years, hadn't it. Her marriage to Mark had been the first step into a kind of lawless life she'd seen only on TV. Going rogue to keep her son safe had been the second. Turning to prostitution to make money in order to survive had been the third.
As she looked down the long aisle to the altar, she got angry with herself and her choices. She was the only person Robbie had in his life, and though she'd thought she was putting him first, she really hadn't done that, had she.
And the fact that she hadn't had many other options considering what kind of money she owed was a very cold comfort.
When the service was over, she and Robbie stood up and joined the crush of people who pooled in the vestibule around Father Neely. For the most part, she focused on ushering Robbie forward, but every now and again, because she couldn't avoid it without being rude, she nodded to people she knew from the prayer group or from previous Sundays.
Robbie held on to her hand, but made like the man, squiring her instead of being led—at least as far as he knew. When they came up to the priest, he let go and was the first to shake the man's hand.
“Lovely service,” Marie-Terese, said laying her palms lightly on her son's shoulders. “And the cathedral renovations are coming along beautifully.”
“They are, they are.” Father Neely looked around with a smile, his white hair and tall, thin bearing perfect for a man of the cloth. In fact, he kind of looked like the cathedral, pale and ethereal. “Quite a lift on her, and about time.”
“I'm glad you're cleaning up the statuary as well.” She nodded over to the blank spot where the Mary Magdalene figure had been. “When is she coming back?”
“Oh, dear, you don't know? She was stolen.” People pressed in, and Father Neely started meeting the stares of other churchgoers and smiling. “The police are looking for the vandal. We're lucky, though, considering what else could have been taken as well.”
“That is terrible.” Marie-Terese tapped Robbie and he took the hint, clasping her hand and starting to lead again. “I hope they get her back.”
“Myself as well.” The priest leaned forward and squeezed her forearm, his eyes kind under his cotton-ball eyebrows. “Be well, my child.”
He was always nice to her. Even though he knew.
“You, too, Father,” she said roughly.
She and Robbie walked out into the chilly April afternoon, and as she looked up at the milky white sky, she smelled a change in the air. “Wow, I think we may b
e getting a snow.”
“Really? That would be so cool.”
As they went along the sidewalk, car engines were starting up far and wide as the Sunday Times 500 lit off and the congregation raced back home to collapse on sofas and easy chairs with the newspaper. At least, that was what she assumed they did, given the number of people she saw coming out of the Rite Aid down the street with their arms full of the New York Times and the Sunday edition of the Caldwell Courier Journal.
Without being asked, Robbie took her hand again as they came to the curb at the end of the block and they waited together for a break in the bumper-to-bumper. Standing by him, she worried about what was waiting for her on her phone—except she knew better than to check with him around. Her poker face was good, but not that good.
It turned out her gamble with the parking laws had worked in her favor and the Camry hadn't been towed, but its engine was not happy about the cold weather that had rolled in. She finally got the thing started, though, and pulled out into traffic—
From the backseat, her purse let out a little purring sound: Her phone was vibrating again, this time against her wallet, which accounted for the sound.
Craning her arm around, she tried reach the thing, but Robbie's nimble little hands got there first.
“It says 'Trez, “ he announced as he handed the cell over.
She hit send with dread. “Hello?”
“You need to come down to the club right away,” Trez said. “The police are here about the assauf and they want to ask you some questions.”
“What assau—” She glanced at Robbie. “I'm sorry, what are you talking about?”
“There was another man found in an alley last night. He had been badly beaten and he's in critical condition in the hospital. Listen, he's someone I saw you with—and others did, too. You need to—”
“Mom!”
Marie-Terese slammed on the brakes and the Camry went into a pig-squeal skid, narrowly missing the quarter panel of an SUV that had the right of way. As the other car's horn blared, the cell phone flipped out of her hand and bounced across the dashboard, ping-ponging all the way over to Robbie's window before disappearing onto the floor at his feet.