He’d screwed up.
Chapter 6
By the time Dare returned, Abby was staring at the floor, her soft hazel gaze as lifeless as the receiver clutched in her quaking hands. He could feel her attempting to marshal her strength, but it still took an eternity before she was able to drag her stare up to his. She was numb. She’d suffered one too many shocks tonight. And this one was solely his fault.
“H-he doesn’t…r-remember me.”
Dare closed his eyes.
He needn’t have bothered. Her ragged whisper had still managed to slice in deep. Along with the regret. The guilt.
Dare set a pair of glasses down on the coffee table beside that damned magazine, and uncorked the bottle of cognac Mrs. Laurens had left behind in the pantry. It had been nearly a year since he’d accepted a drink from the same bottle—the night Greta Laurens had spotted him scaling their building. She’d let him in the same window Abby had, but unlike Abby, Greta had lived too many years to buy his “out for a midnight climb” excuse. He missed the woman, and her shrewd advice. He could have used it now as he poured out two cognacs and held one out to Abby.
“Here.”
He waited for her to focus. When she didn’t, he pushed the glass into her palm and waited for her fingers to close around it.
“Now drink.”
She raised the glass without argument and downed the contents. A split second later, he felt the shock spearing through her as she straightened, first gasping and then damned near coughing her lungs up. He grabbed the empty glass from her flailing hand before it hit the table, setting it down gently as Abby succeeded in bringing her coughing under control. He forced himself to stand there—and not touch—as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
“I’m s-sorry, I don’t…drink.”
He’d gathered that.
At least she was breathing now. Feeling. But she was hurting, too. Dare sank down onto the couch beside her and refilled her glass. He carefully placed it back into her hand without touching her. “This time, sip.”
She didn’t; she simply stared into the glass.
“Abby, listen to me. Dr. Chase warned us this might happen, remember? He said there was a chance that when Brian woke, he still wouldn’t remember the stabbing. It’s normal. Especially given his Down’s.”
Liar.
Some loss was normal. Even then, the memories that were lost were usually limited to those immediately before and after the traumatic event. Not this.
Her gaze jerked to his. “I know what’s normal for Brian, okay? He’s my brother.”
Damn. He wasn’t helping. If anything, he was screwing this up even further. Hurting her more than he already had. What made him think he could talk her through this anyway? He’d never had a flair with words—another reason why he avoided people. He might know how someone felt, often without even touching them, but damned if he’d ever been able to master the simple art of talking about those feelings, much less through them. So he relied on his touch.
He stared at his empty hands.
There was no chance of that succeeding with Abby now, was there? No chance of helping her through this pain. Pain that he had caused, whether he’d intended to or not. He reached out and retrieved his glass, filling the silence with a sip. Then a second. And a third. The twelve-year-old cognac might as well have been water for all he was able to taste it. But it gave him something to do. Something to hold. To look at.
“Dare?”
He snapped his gaze to where he’d wanted to be staring all along, to the one woman whose essence he couldn’t have ceased seeking out if he’d tried—and he’d given up attempting to do that the moment he’d felt her soul cry out to his on that street tonight. There was no way he could abandon her now. Not with Pike involved. Regardless of the danger to himself, he was determined to see her through this.
If she let him.
She sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I had no reason to snap at you. Especially about Brian.”
“Abby—”
“Please, let me finish?”
He nodded.
“Thank you.” She wrapped both hands around her glass. “Look, you’ve done so much for me. For Brian. I’m grateful for that—for you—no matter what that jerk of a detective thinks. It’s just…I have to be honest. I’m scared. I know Dr. Chase warned us. I’ve even heard about traumatic amnesia before tonight. But, dammit, I didn’t think he’d forget this much. I didn’t think he’d forget me.”
“I know.” He nodded. “Exactly how much time has your brother lost?”
Her hand shook, nearly sending the cognac over the rim of the glass. “Almost a year.”
He bit down on his curse.
But it made sense. When he’d hefted her brother up off that street and reached out to him emotionally, he’d been reacting on instinct, his desire to ease Brian’s own fear and horror at what he’d witnessed. He hadn’t counted on the depth of Brian’s need or his trusting nature. Her brother wasn’t like most adults. Because of his Down’s, he didn’t guard his emotions or his thoughts, nor was he suspicious or skeptical of others. Dare should have anticipated that. He would have if he hadn’t spent half the evening holed up in the theatre’s bathroom, attempting to absorb the combined emotional onslaught of nearly three thousand symphony patrons.
By the time he’d made it out to that street and forged his emotional link with her brother, he’d been too raw and too weak to break it. He’d accepted too much. The stabbing, as well as Brian’s lingering confusion over why Abby had left New York the year before, his fears that regardless of her new apartment Abby would leave again. This time permanently.
Just as their father had.
Dare waited as Abby lifted her glass again, slowly but surely draining the contents. Despite her frown, he doubted she’d tasted the brandy any more than he had. Perhaps the cognac was a bad idea. He was sure of it when she held the glass out. He debated pouring a third measure.
Dammit, she wasn’t his mother.
Tonight was an exception—for Abby and himself.
Dare pushed the past aside and refilled her glass, though he couldn’t stop himself from skimping on what he intended to be her final round. Nor could he deny his relief when Abby merely sipped what little he’d given her, relief that was immediately supplanted by guilt as she spoke.
“Brian doesn’t remember anything. My coming home, our dad. Nothing. He…still thinks I’m on tour.”
This was not good.
But neither was it entirely unexpected. The moment his connection with Brian had locked in, he’d known Brian desperately wanted to forget the pain of his father’s death. The loneliness. But their father had passed away while Abby was still in Europe. That meant Brian had lost the memory of her return to the city as well. Her purchase of this place. “You said Marlena phoned Dr. Chase. What did he say about the extent of the loss?”
“Same as you, give him time. The memories will probably come back. But—” Her hand shook as she brought the glass to her lips for another sip. Blindly. “He thinks I should stay away from Brian, at least for a while. Marlena agrees. They’re worried that the shock of seeing me will bring everything back at once. They don’t think Brian can handle that. I have to admit, neither do I.” He reached out as she brought the cognac to her lips once more, deftly slipping the glass from her hand before she could down the remainder of the brandy.
She didn’t protest.
She didn’t do anything. She just sat there, staring at the coffee table as he set the glass beside the bottle.
“Abby?”
She finally turned to him, but she couldn’t focus. It didn’t matter. He could see clearly enough for the both of them, and his heart nearly split in two as he stared into her eyes.
“What am I going to do? I can’t even see him, m-make sure he’s okay. I can’t see Marlena either, b-because she’s got to be there for Brian. And what about Pike? You heard him. Katherine’s already spreading lies about me. And he believes her. If he finds out I took
that money… God, I feel so—”
Alone.
He could have handled any emotion but that one. Especially in her. His restraint crumbled. Before he realized what he’d done, he’d drawn her into his arms until she was all but cradled against his chest. He didn’t care. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried. He smoothed back the stray wisps that had escaped her braid. “Shh. It’s okay. I’m here, Abby. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”
He held her a good minute until finally he could feel the tension beginning to ease from her limbs, the fear from her heart. Another minute passed and both had faded completely. But the surcease hadn’t come from him, not entirely. The cognac’s numbing effects had merged with her exhaustion, as well as the horror of that stabbing, her fears that Pike would rake his filthy paws through her life, and now her renewed terror for her brother. He looked at her face. The soft, twin fans of her lashes. The steady rise and fall of her chest.
She was asleep.
Perhaps it was for the best.
How had he really thought this would all turn out?
Abby might need him now, but eventually he would have to extricate himself from her life. What alternative did he have? Even if she did believe him regarding the full brunt of his curse, she would never be able to deal with the fallout. She was a world-class musician. She thrived best on stage, weaving her lyrical spell for thousands of strangers at a time. It was part of who she was. Who he could never be. Much as he might want to, he would never fit into her life.
Not even on the periphery.
Dare glanced at his fingers as he smoothed a stray curl, only to discover they were trembling. The sight unnerved and yet fascinated him at the same time. He couldn’t be sure if the physical reaction was due to the unique effect Abby had on his internal equilibrium or if it was due to the lingering effects of the brownout he’d suffered earlier. Perhaps a combination of both. Either way, the result was the same: he was having a hell of a time pulling away from her emotionally. Only once before had he absorbed so much of another’s individual inner self so quickly. While he thanked God these circumstances were completely different, he was still unable to release her.
Or was he simply unwilling?
It was bad enough to admit his innate sense had consistently sought Abby out each time she’d returned to her apartment this past week and then monitored her moods. He didn’t need to feel the complete voyeur. Especially with Pike’s accusation still reverberating through his head.
Pike.
Abby was right. If Pike found out about that money, he’d head straight to the Van Heusen estate for the rest of the story. Dare would wager Katherine possessed a second recording—this one of her conversation with Abby. A recording that by now was already doctored to suit Katherine’s interests and in the process, condemn Abby. The money Abby had accepted didn’t concern him as much as the possibility of that second tape.
If it existed, he needed to know about it.
He needed to get his hands on it.
Fortunately, Pike had been right about one thing tonight. Dare did have several associates who’d enjoyed the detective’s professional hospitality. He also had Charlotte. He needed to see Charlotte first thing in the morning anyway and return the key their last impromptu guest had left behind before she’d embarked on her new life, though he doubted the one who’d taken her place would use it. While he was at it, he’d ask his assistant to ensure that he was invited to another party. One where Katherine Van Heusen was sure to show. As for his associates, he’d be speaking to them as well. He had to. What if Pike was right about something else? What if the killer had been lying in wait for Abby? Pike would never be able to spot the man with his sights focused so intently on revenge. Even if tonight had been a random act of violence, the perp had to know there were witnesses. He’d be looking for those witnesses.
He’d be looking for Abby.
Dare glanced down as she shifted in his arms, his groin tightening instinctively as she snuggled deeper in his arms…in his lap. He should leave now, while she was out. Before he was tempted to stay. His body and his heart protested as he stood—but his mind recognized the retreat for the sane precaution it was. His fears gave him strength. One call to Jerry in the lobby and no one the doorman didn’t recognize would make it past the lobby. Not that he’d need the backup. He would not be retreating to his shower tonight.
Not with that brute on the loose.
The brief climb would have to suffice.
Dare hefted Abby into his arms and skirted the coffee table. That blasted magazine. He forced himself to ignore the interview within—as well as his burning curiosity regarding Abby’s reaction to the so-called legend it contained—as he carried her across the dimly lit living room, down the hall and into the darker shadows of her bedroom. He stopped at the side of a bed far too large for someone so petite. There, he managed to drag the comforter down and lay her on the ivory sheet without waking her. He removed her shoes and socks and drew the matching comforter up to her chin.
Lord, was she beautiful.
Yes, the sleep had restored her inner calm and her gentle strength. But it was more than that, it was much, much more. Not only had the cognac brought the soft hint of peaches back to her delicate jaw and cheeks, it had stained her lips a dark, intoxicating red. She resembled a fairy princess waiting for her lover’s kiss. A lover he’d give anything to be for just one day. A kiss he’d give even more to share.
He froze as she shifted, staring at the errant wisp that had slipped down the side of her face to brush the corner of those mesmerizing lips. Though he knew better, he reached out as she stilled. But instead of smoothing the wisp aside as he’d intended, he wound the ringlet about his finger, savoring the feel of that cool silk against his flesh—until she stirred again. This time, her lips parted, sending the warm, seductive wash of her breath across his hand. Her lashes fluttered and he regained his senses. Instantly. He carefully eased the curl from his hand, the breath from his lungs, as she snuggled deeper into the pillow and back into sleep.
It was definitely time to leave before Pike’s voyeuristic suspicions came to pass—at least in the privacy of his own mind. His dreams.
Dare turned and crept across the bedroom, stopping at the window he’d passed through the week before. He unlocked the latch and eased the pane up before removing his shoes. Though the oxfords sported laces, he didn’t bother taking them with him. He’d be back in the morning. Instead, he slipped out of the window and closed it behind him as quietly as he could, finding his bearings and his grip through years of practice. He ignored the glowing lights of the city spread out beneath as he headed for and reached the window to his own bedroom.
Fortunately, his pane was already open, waiting.
Charlotte must have been by.
He thought about hanging out on the side of the building for a while. He climbed inside instead. Though the added time spent clinging to any ledge tended to increase the numbing effect, he already knew that tonight nothing short of a bound up Mount Everest could counteract the blitz of emotion ricocheting along his nerves—because these emotions were his.
For Abby.
Somehow, he had to find a way to block them—her—and soon. Before it was too late. But first—
Dare reached for his cell and cursed. He’d left the phone in his coat. In Abby’s apartment.
Damn.
There was no way he would risk waking her, just as there was no way he would risk waiting until morning to arrange her security. He headed out of his bedroom and down the hall, into his office. As he reached for the phone on his desk, he noted even more evidence that Charlotte had been by. The mail. He flipped through the stack as he retrieved the cordless phone, immediately returning the receiver to its cradle as the third envelope caught his eye. The return address had been left blank. While that wasn’t unusual given the niche he and Charlotte had carved out for themselves, the postmark was.
The letter had been franked in Flo
rence, Italy.
Odd. He didn’t know anyone there. Had one of the women they’d assisted over the past decade relocated again, this time on her own?
Curious, he retrieved his letter opener and slit the top of the envelope, his lungs damned near imploding as he tapped out an index card and scanned its single typed sentence: He who seeks to destroy your heart also seeks you.
Abby?
He slammed the suspicion aside. Forced his gut to stop clenching. It took a good five seconds, but he managed to persuade his lungs to accept its next, albeit searing, breath. No way. There was no conceivable way this card referred to Abby. He had feelings for her, yes. There was no way he could deny it. Not with the icy panic still hammering through his gut.
But she was not his heart. Not yet.
Besides, other than Pike and his flat-footed cronies, who would even know what Abby had seen tonight?
The man who’d attacked Van Heusen?
Even as the thought entered his brain, he discarded it. The envelope had been postmarked six days ago. Van Heusen had been stabbed mere hours ago. Unless the sender was psychic, there was no way he or she could know about Abby and her ex. Dare tossed the index card to his desk, only to have his lungs implode once more as the card fluttered end-over-end to land unlined side down in the center of his desk, a simple design facing him.
A triquetra?
He studied the black-and-white sketch of the trinity symbol bound by an even simpler circle, unable to move.
Impossible.
But it wasn’t.
Nor did he need to wrench his shirt from his chest to prove it. But he did. He dumped his shirt on the floor and retrieved the card, sealing it to his skin—directly beside the trinity tattoo he’d never been able to fully explain even to himself since the moment he’d first seen it in that shop all those years ago and needed to brand it into his flesh. The sketch on the card and his tattoo were a dead-on match.
Right down to the size.
Someone wanted to get his attention—and he intended on finding out who. Even if it meant starting at the home of the one man he’d sworn he’d never speak to again.
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