by P. C. Cast
“But she was your first choice.”
“A choice made in a moment of insanity.”
“So?”
“So, you’re going to throw it in my face the whole time we’re together, aren’t you?”
The whole time we’re together. That was relationship talk, and it was the only thing that mollified her. “Yeah,” she said. “I am.”
“I probably shouldn’t admit this, either, but that’s kinda hot.”
And he was hooked on her, she remembered him saying. Well, okay, then. She wouldn’t punish him too badly.
“Lana,” she called when she was inside their place, hoping to give her friend time to wake up, dress or whatever she needed. “Lana!”
Silence.
“Wait here,” she said, and went to Lana’s bedroom. Inside, she flipped on the light. The bed was empty, the covers askew. The closet was empty, as well, no clothes remaining.
As she flattened her hands over her stomach to ward off an oncoming ache, she felt rather than saw Levi come up behind her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“She’s gone.” And she’d left in a hurry. Some of her things were on the floor—a shoe, a pair of panties and a brush—as if they had fallen out of a hastily thrown-together bag.
Levi brushed past her and searched every inch of the room. She stood there, numb, as she watched. Why had Lana left her? And she had left her.
“What are you doing?” she asked when Levi crouched on the floor and traced his fingertips over the carpet fibers.
“Checking for foul play.” He went through the entire space from top to bottom before ushering her to the dresser and motioning to a wrinkled piece of paper. “Read it, but don’t touch it, okay? I want it dusted for fingerprints. And tell me if it’s her writing and if she sounds normal.”
Harper’s eyes watered as she glanced down. She had to wipe them three times before she could make out the words.
Please do not be mad, Harper. Your painting…I do not know why you paint me. I was not there, I swear to you. Nothing was done to me, and I witness nothing done to anyone else. I do not know what it means, but this has scared me. I will take off for a while. I must figure some things out. Don’t worry about me, okay? I will be fine. And so will you. Your detective will take care of you now. I am sorry I couldn’t. I love you more than anything on this earth and nothing will ever change that.
P.S. I know I told you the OKC branch of A.M. did not wish to take your case, but that was a lie. I do not want them involved in this, no matter what. Promise me. Instead, I want you to go to Tulsa and visit the A.M. offices there. I called, and they expect you. They will take you seriously. Go to them, please, you and your detective both. What if you’ve seen into future?
Harper could see the tearstains on the paper, knew Lana had cried while she’d written this. “She definitely wrote this, and not under duress, but I don’t understand it,” she whispered.
What if Lana was right and she had seen into the future? What if Lana would one day suffer atrocities at some madman’s hands? What if—
“I can see where your thoughts derailed, and you need to get back on the right track. What if can be two of the cruelest words ever created if you let them.”
True. They lit a fire under fear while proving nothing, stopping nothing. And they could be wrong, her worry pointless. “If the painting is a glimpse of the future, why am I missing so much of my life in the here and now? Why am I having blackouts, but Lana’s not?”
“Maybe she is. Maybe she lied. Why would she not want you to visit After Moonrise here in Oklahoma City?”
Lied…lied… Lana could have lied to her. Always they’d shared everything. Money, clothes, cars, food, sorrows and pains, joys and rewards. Brutal Honesty had been their motto.
Do I look fat in these jeans?
As a rhino.
What if my date tries to kiss me?
He won’t. Not with that garlic breath.
“Maybe she didn’t want her coworkers involved in my potential crazy,” Harper said. Maybe. So many maybes.
Levi’s hands settled on her shoulders. “I’ll ask one of my friends to track her, watch her, guard her. She’ll be kept safe, I promise you.”
He hadn’t said “and question her” but she heard the words in his tone. No matter how much Harper hated the way things were playing out, an interrogation needed to happen now more than ever. “Thank you. She’s my best friend. I love her no matter what, same way she loves me, and I want her safe.”
“She will be.”
Emotion clogged Harper’s throat, and her chin trembled.
“What are your plans today?” he asked.
“I want to paint the killer’s face.” She had to paint it. No longer would she resist.
Even thinking about him caused a flicker of rage to erupt inside her. If he had—or would—hurt the girl in the painting, then he had hurt other women, and would doubtless hurt many more. He had to be stopped.
“Okay. All right. I’ll give you a few hours, but then we’re taking Lana’s advice and heading to Tulsa. We’ll take your painting, whatever shape it’s in, and let them have a look, tell them what’s been going on. I want to hear what they have to say.”
“O-okay.” Maybe they could explain the blackouts, too. Because…no matter how wonderful it was to know she wasn’t alone in her suffering, it was bizarre that both she and Levi were experiencing them, that they’d started at the same time. “You don’t have to work?”
Guilt filled his eyes, quickly masked. “Not today. Why don’t you get started? I’ll make that call about Lana, gather a few things from my apartment and come back. I don’t want you alone today.”
“Okay,” she repeated, peering down at the note. Why had Lana taken off without some kind of a confrontation? Running wasn’t like her. In fact, Lana had never backed down from a challenge, any challenge. And where had she gone? Like Harper, she was without any family. They only had each other. Now she was out there, alone, scared.
Strong hands cupped her face. “Harper. Look at me.”
A tear trekked down her cheek as she obeyed.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” he said gently. He wiped the tear away with the pad of his thumb.
“I don’t like the uncertainty. I don’t like that every time I get a question answered, a thousand more pop up. And I hate being afraid.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I won’t let anything happen to you, either. You have my word.” He didn’t wait for her reply, didn’t ask permission, but lowered his head the rest of the way and claimed her mouth.
Without any hesitation, she wound her arms around him, holding on tight, allowing him to consume her bit by bit. Glad for him, glad for this, shocked by her need to touch and be touched, but more so by her lack of panic. This was real, and this was necessary. This was everything she hadn’t known she’d needed. If any man could protect a woman from harm—from unseen forces, even—it was this one. He knew his power, his authority, and he wasn’t afraid to wield it.
When he pulled away, lines of tension branched from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and stomped out of the apartment. Through the wooden door she heard him growl, “Lock this.”
On shaky legs she followed his trail. Even her fingers shook as she flipped the lock.
“Good girl,” he said, his footsteps sounding a moment later.
She rested her forehead against th
e door. That man…oh, that man. The kiss hadn’t panicked her, but now the thought of losing him did. In a very short time, she’d come to depend on him…to need him. And maybe he needed her, too. He could have washed his hands of her. After all, this wasn’t his problem. But he hadn’t. He’d immediately taken up the reins of control, arranging their next steps. A good thing. She wasn’t sure she would have had the strength to visit After Moonrise without him.
You’re wasting time. Buck up and get to work. For Lana. She had to save Lana—so that she could yell at her for daring to abandon her.
With a sigh, Harper marched into her bedroom.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Levi merged onto the highway. First he’d had Harper in his apartment, now his car. He’d allowed her to borrow his clothes—which she’d changed out of, and he kind of wished she hadn’t. Letting someone else play with his toys should have put him on edge, but he was strangely settled. This felt right. He liked having her near, within reach, surrounded by his things.
“Did you reach your friend?” she asked. She chewed on her nail, watching as cars and buildings whizzed past. “Is he going to track down Lana?”
“Yep.”
“You trust him? He’s decent at what he does?”
“Yep.”
“Well, that’s good enough for me, I guess.”
Her grumbling tone told him she reeeally wanted him to elaborate, but how could he elaborate, when the details were sparse? Why did he trust Bright? Instinct. How long had he known the guy? Years. What kind of cases had he solved? Complicated.
Half an hour of silence followed that little interaction before Levi could stand it no longer and asked, “Were you able to paint the guy’s face?” He’d hoped she would open up on her own, and he wouldn’t have to press. He wanted her to be comfortable with him, but he was also tired of waiting.
“No,” she said, and he caught the taunt in her tone. He’d given little, so she would give even less.
This woman really cranked his chain. “Why not?”
“Blocked.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” He purposely didn’t mention Topper because he didn’t want to increase her worry for her friend. Not unless absolutely necessary.
“Yes,” she said, and he could feel her gaze on him, as if she were judging his reaction. “You could pretend you know how to have a conversation and, I don’t know, stop barking out one-word answers anytime I ask a question.”
Won’t grin. “Sure.”
“Argh!” She leaned over and punched him in the arm. “You’re a hard nut to crack, you know that?”
“Yes.”
That earned him another punch. “Well, despite your sparkling wit, I’m going to let you stay with me tonight. I paint in my sleep, but fear somehow finds me and wakes me up, stopping me from finishing. If you’re there, I’ll feel safe and I’ll continue painting until it’s done. I know it.”
Safe. Good. “Consider me there.” Over the years, with as many victims as he’d dealt with, he’d learned a thing or two about fear. You absolutely could not meditate, or feed upon, thoughts that scared you. You had to cast them away, and force yourself to focus on something else. He would be her something else…his hands…his lips… He’d move slowly, take a little at a time, demand a little at a time, until she was ready.
Then he’d take all. Everything.
She must have sensed the direction of his thoughts because she said, “Now then, about the kiss.”
“Yeah. What about it?” He wanted more, and if she expected him to enter some kind of friend zone, they’d have a problem.
“This is gonna tick you off.”
“Say it, anyway.”
“I know we’ve only kissed, like, once, but you’re staying the night tonight, and…well…”
“And, well, you want me to keep my hands to myself.” It was better than the total rejection he’d anticipated from her, and something he could work around.
“Not at all,” she said, surprising him. “You can get handsy if you want…maybe…if you go slow. But I don’t want you seeing another woman while we’re…you know, involved.”
Wait, wait, wait. She was demanding exclusivity from him? Giving him exactly what he wanted from her? He gave a mock sigh. “If you insist…”
“I do.”
He liked knowing she was as possessive as he was. “Then I guess I can—”
“Oh, just forget it!” she huffed. “I’m not dog food, you know. I don’t want a man who’s this resistant. I don’t have to throw myself at anyone, so you can just—”
“You’re not throwing yourself at anyone. You’re with me, and there will be no other men for you.” Anger with himself—shouldn’t have teased her over such an important subject—morphed into anger with any other man who’d try to hook up with her.
“You’re sure?” she said in a snippy tone.
“Very. You?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw her flick her hair over one shoulder. “Kind of.”
Really won’t grin. She was sure all right, but her mean streak had kicked in.
Now to figure out what was happening to the world around them.
Finally they made it into Tulsa. Here, the trees were thicker and there were a few more hills. There were buildings of brownstone and stucco, brick and siding, some tall, some short, some thin, some wide. The sky created an eerie backdrop, a long expanse of dark gray layered with fat, rain-heavy clouds.
After Moonrise came into view. Eight stories high, with smoked-glass windows and a waterfall in front, it was one of the city’s classier structures. The front doors were arched, all about the welcome.
He parked in one of the only empty slots, got out and moved to the other side of the car to help Harper. Clutching the sheet-covered painting in her hands, she gifted him with a soft smile of thanks. He couldn’t stop himself from smoothing a strand of hair from her cameo face and luxuriating in the perfection of her silky skin.
She leaned into his touch, her eyelids dipping to half-mast—but not before he caught a glimpse of apprehension. Not directed at him, but at the coming meeting, he was sure. He knew she expected to be told she had predicted her best friend’s death, knew part of her also expected to be told there would be nothing she could do to stop that death from occurring. He knew because he’d battled the same thoughts.
“Let me ask you a question,” he said. “When you first came to my apartment, what would you have done if I’d kicked you out without listening to you?”
Her brow furrowed as she gave serious consideration to her response. “I guess I would have annoyed you so badly you would have done anything to get rid of me. Even listen.”
Exactly what he would have guessed. “How would you have annoyed me?”
A shrug of those delicate shoulders as she said, “By knocking incessantly on your door, following you around like a puppy and ultimately shoving the painting in your face.”
“That would have taken balls of steel.”
“And I polish mine every night. So what?”
Again, exactly what he would have guessed. “So,” he said, trying not to grin, “I just wanted to remind you that you do, indeed, have them.” He linked their fingers, confiscated the painting with his free hand and dragged her to the entrance.
As they strode across the pavement, he heard her praying under her breath. “Lord, give me the strength to hear what I need to hear and to do what I need to do.
Thank You.”
A bell rang as they stepped from outside to in. Soft music played in the background. The temperature rose considerably, from misty and cold to dry and bone-meltingly hot. Incense saturated the air, sweet and spicy at the same time, somehow pleasing and repugnant at once. His nostrils burned, but he endured the sensation as a necessary evil.
He scanned the area, taking in every detail at once. There was a reception desk, a long table with coffee and other refreshments, and a waiting room with big, comfortable-looking chairs.
Six people—four males and two females—reclined in those chairs, but only the little dark-haired girl perched on her mom’s lap paid Harper and him any attention. She smiled and waved, and Levi waved back, charmed. The mom looked over at him, frowned and gently admonished the girl to behave and mind her own business.
The lady at the reception desk alternated between answering the phone and typing into her computer. In her mid-fifties, with hair dyed the darkest of jet, skin aged from sun exposure and features that were lovely nonetheless, she glanced up at his and Harper’s approach—
—and screamed.
Her hand fluttered over her heart, and she jumped to her feet. “What are you doing here?”
He was used to alarming people with his gruff appearance and no-nonsense demeanor, but screams and accusations at minute one, when he wasn’t waving a gun? Yeah, that was a first.
“It’s okay, Mommy,” he heard the little girl say. “He’s not gonna hurt anyone. He just looks scary.”
“My name is Detective Reid, OKCPD,” he said loudly, hopefully calming the people in the waiting room who’d begun to mutter in distress. He lowered his voice and added, “Milana Bonnie Wee Cutie should have called to tell you we were coming. We have a few questions for whoever’s in charge of…” Just how did you explain the weird things happening to Harper? And to him, for that matter.
“Lana works for the OKC branch,” Harper blurted out. At least she kept her hands at her sides, opting not to chew on her nails.