“Hello,” the person answered on the other end.
“I want the place closed down.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Not hard enough.” Paul glared at the wall where an ornately framed seascape hung. “I want the screws tightened. Too much is at stake.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
“She’s starting to get suspicious. You know if she starts asking too many questions—”
“Calm down. There’s no way she’ll uncover the truth.”
“You don’t give her enough credit. She’s smart.”
“Not that smart. Plus, you can’t off a senator’s daughter without someone asking questions. It’s not that simple.”
Paul frowned. “I hope you’re not getting soft on me.”
A long pause followed, then, “Of course not. You know, if it comes down to killing her, then so be it. But it’s not going to get that far.”
“Let’s hope not. I’m not the only one with their ass on the line.”
“Don’t panic. I’ll take care of the shelter.”
“You do that.”
The phone went dead.
Chapter 5
The scrape of a match cut into the night. The flame’s light illuminated the haggard, sullen face of a man, who stood with a shoulder against a signpost by the entrance to the parking lot. After he lifted the match to his cigarette, he inhaled, and the glowing ember of the cigarette flared and retracted. Then he extinguished the match, thrusting his face back into shadow.
The sun had fallen over the horizon hours ago, and with its disappearance, night had formed, thick and filled with the scent of oil and fuel exhaust. Snow, wispy and steady, fluttered from the black sky and caressed her lashes, hair and cheeks as Katherine, having finished work for the day, walked toward the parking lot. She needed to pass the man to get to her car. Unless, that is, she wanted to look paranoid and leap over the metal chain that circled the lot and give the man a good laugh. She wasn’t going to feel threatened. She’d crossed some pretty rough characters over the years and come out swinging. She also had the added comfort of her pepper spray hidden away in her purse.
But even after all her reassurances, Katherine still tensed when she walked past. Moments later, the scrape of shoes against cement echoed behind her. He was following her, she realized in alarm. From the very beginning, she’d known the shelter wasn’t in the best neighborhood, but she’d foolishly thought nothing would happen to her. After all, she’d always led a charmed life.
Katherine sensed the predatory interest of the man behind as she crossed the lot to her car. It was too late to go back to the shelter; he blocked her way, and the stores and businesses within hearing distance had long since closed.
Don’t hurry. Don’t look like a victim. Above all, appear confident.
Slowly, and oh so very casually, she opened the zipper of her purse and slipped her hand inside to find her pepper spray in the side pocket. When she reached her car, Katherine clutched the small canister and glanced over her shoulder.
She jerked back. Only feet separated them. She didn’t have time to react. He lunged and grabbed her wrist, pulling it up and around her back. The pepper spray dropped to the ground. Her purse fell and banged against her thigh; its strap caught against her inner elbow.
From behind Katherine, he rammed her elbow higher against her back. Pain blazed through her arm and ripped a cry from her throat. She shoved him with a shoulder, but he twisted her wrist harder and drove her against the side of her car. Katherine tried to protect her face with her free hand but wasn’t fast enough. The metal border around the window smashed against her cheek. Then he wrenched her up from behind with such force her neck snapped back.
Something cold touched her throat. Oh, please, no. The flat of a blade.
“Move and you’re dead.”
Katherine froze, stifling the swallow lodged in her throat. One wrong step on her part and he could slice her neck. She didn’t dare talk, didn’t dare move.
He panted heavily behind her. His breath washed past her ear. He smelled of stale alcohol and evil. Katherine closed her eyes, wanting to vanish from the nightmare that evolved around her. She didn’t want to die. Not yet. Not when she still needed to atone for Miranda’s death.
His hand groped at her jacket and yanked the zipper open. Buttons popped and scattered to the pavement as he tore open her blouse and bit his fingers into her breast. Her purse swung drunkenly against her leg.
“Hey, bitch. Feel like a big, hard dick between your legs?”
Rape. That’s what he wanted. Maybe murder when he finished with her. She didn’t dare lose control. Not with a knife at her throat.
Suddenly the blade vanished from her neck. From behind, the man grunted. Katherine, shoved to one side, caught a flash of movement, a whisper of sound. She stumbled and dropped her purse, spraying its contents across the ground.
Pivoting, she backed up against the side of her car and watched another man, larger and taller than the other, grab and lift her assailant. Fabric tore. Someone cried out. The knife, flashing silver from a nearby light post, arched through the air, tumbled to the pavement and skidded to a stop.
The smaller of the two dove across the air and crashed into the ground, where he remained. For a moment, her rescuer stood, head bowed, motionless. The faint rasp of his breath traveled the distance between them. Then he turned and walked toward her. Katherine tensed, not knowing if this new man was any better than the last. With each step he took toward her, his features grew more distinct. Dark hair, large jaw, and thick-framed glasses.
“Clark?”
“Yeah. Are you all right?”
Katherine sighed, feeling her body grow heavy with relief. “I think so. Maybe a little weak in the knees is all.”
“Your cheek looks swollen and bruised. What about your throat?”
When he moved closer and grazed a knuckle against the side of her neck to nudge her braid aside, she stilled, fearful of what he’d find.
“You’ve got a shallow scratch, but it’s hard to see in this light. We need to get you out of here. Do you know where your car keys are?”
When he continued to act concerned, Katherine relaxed a little further. “They’re on the ground somewhere. I dropped my purse. I don’t know how we’re going to find—”
“Here they are.”
He bent down and dangled them from his index finger. How he managed to find them so quickly, Katherine didn’t know—and didn’t care. She just wanted to get out of here. After he retrieved her purse and the items that had spilled from inside, she followed him around her car on unsteady legs.
Clark opened the passenger door. The interior light broke through the shadows, illuminating the condition of her clothing. Her jacket hung off one shoulder, while her blouse gaped wide, exposing her torn bra. Four long, red gashes marked the top of her right breast. With shaking hands, she clutched her shirt closed.
The reality of the situation hit her. She’d been lucky. If Clark hadn’t been around... Her legs buckled. Clark caught her by the elbow and urged her down in the passenger seat.
“I don’t understand how you got here. Just what were you doing—”
A shuffling sound carried over the night air. Katherine glanced through the driver’s side window and saw her attacker scramble to his feet. As he half ran, half limped across the parking lot and away from her car, his figure melded deeper into the shadows. Clark turned as if to go after him.
“No! It’s not safe.” Katherine lunged from the passenger seat and grasped his wrist, slick and warm against her fingers. “What in the—”
She snatched her hand away and looked down. Blood. Then she looked at Clark’s hand and the thick, dark liquid dripping from his fingers.
“Clark, you’re bleeding all over the place! We need to get you to the hospital.”
~~*~~
Clark shifted away from Katherine’s gaze, lifted his arm and pulled back his sleeve. T
he creep had slashed him across the wrist.
“It’s nothing.”
But it was. Blood flowed from the cut and had smeared across his arm and into the white shirt beneath his jacket. Even with the bad lighting, he could tell the cut was deep and close to the artery. Too close. Dizziness floated against the back of his eyes. Not a good sign. If he continued losing blood, he wouldn’t be much help to anyone, but he’d worry about it later. Right now, he needed to concentrate on Katherine’s safety.
“We need to call the police,” Clark said.
“No.”
“What do you mean, ‘No’?”
“Later. I can’t think. All those questions. I just—I can’t deal with it all.”
“Fine,” he conceded, not wanting to upset her further. And in all honesty, talking to the police didn’t appeal to him either. “Then let’s get you out of here. Hop in.”
When she sat back down in the car, Clark closed the passenger door and got behind the wheel.
“Hey, wait a minute. What about your car?” Katherine asked.
“I don’t have a car, and anyway, even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. I’m not about to let you drive. So how about you sit back and relax until I get you to a hospital?”
“I don’t need to see a doctor. And anyway, if anyone needs help, it’s you and your arm.”
“My arm can wait. It’s you I’m concerned about.”
“But the blood—”
“It looks a lot worse than it is.” Clark started to believe his wrist wasn’t half as bad as he’d first thought. Strangely enough, the dizziness had disappeared.
“Then can you just take me home? I’m not up to waiting around for hours only to be given a prescription for painkillers. My stomach’s already upset as it is. I just want to get home where I feel safe.”
“I still think a hospital would be the best—”
“Please.”
“Fine,” he agreed reluctantly, going against his better judgment.
When she’d snapped on her seat belt, Clark started the motor and ran his good hand over the steering wheel to get the feel of it. Until now, he’d relied on taxis and the public transit system, but he knew at some point he’d driven because of the crash. He did fine, though, as he guided the car out of the parking lot and headed toward Katherine’s house. During the drive, he eased his left hand down by his side to shield the wound from Katherine. With her already battered emotions, he didn’t want her worried even more.
Clark pulled up in front of her townhouse and hurried around to help her from the car, but she’d already slipped out by the time he reached her side. Granted, she didn’t look too stable the way she grabbed the side of the car for support.
“I don’t think I’m feeling very good. I think—”
He swept her up in his arms, ignored her mumbled protest and carried her to the front door. Considering his wrist, he was surprised at how light she felt in his arms. The weakness he’d felt earlier had eased significantly, which reconfirmed his wound wasn’t half as bad as he’d first thought. But he’d still get it dressed, and if bad enough, get himself to a doctor.
After Katherine showed him the correct keys to the house, he managed to balance her weight in his arms, open and unlock both the storm and front door without much struggle. He carried her into the house and kicked the door shut with heel of his shoe while Katherine snapped on the foyer light to his left. As he lifted her more securely in his arms, her blonde hair, thick and partially unbound from her braid, brushed against his cheek, and its fragrance, a hint of lemon and something elusive teased his senses. He’d never been this close to her. He’d thought about it, wondered about it, but not under these circumstances.
A wave of protectiveness surged through him. She didn’t deserve what had happened tonight. No one did. He glanced down and saw the marks above her right breast. Several dark contusions fanned out from four, shallow gashes to her skin. Jaw taut, he glanced quickly away.
What type of man would do this to a woman? No. Man wasn’t the correct word. Katherine’s attacker was a sick creep, worse than any animal. At least with animals, they had their own code they followed. He should have gone after the bastard while he’d had a chance.
Thank God he’d been following her over the course of the last couple of days. To think what would have happened to her— No. What mattered was that she’d be okay after a good night’s sleep.
The living room lay to the right. A loveseat and sofa circled a ceramic fireplace. Magazines were splayed out across a thick legged coffee table in some type of dark wood, while large potted plants were strategically placed to add a touch of the outdoors. The room was a mosaic of earth tones, warm and inviting. No doubt an extension of her personality.
When he moved to set her down on the sofa, Katherine placed a hand on his arm.
“No. Let me down here. I really need to—”
The minute her feet touched the floor, Katherine rushed to the bathroom, clutching her stomach.
Clark stood uncertainly by the closed door but decided she wouldn’t much appreciate having him listen in, so he backed away, walked into the kitchen and flipped on the light switch. After he shrugged out of his jacket and placed it on the counter, he snapped on another light above the kitchen sink and pulled back the sleeve of his shirt. Frowning, he rubbed a thumb along his wrist. Dried blood flaked away from his arm, but the skin appeared fine. Odd. He moved his wrist beneath the faucet, he turned on the water and washed the blood from his inner arm.
When the water flowing over his arm turned from pink to translucent, he shut off the faucet and stared at his arm beneath the harsh glare of the overhead light. No scar, no wound. Nothing. The gash had completely disappeared. But his blood-stained sleeve still remained. Quickly, he rolled his sleeve to his elbow to hide the stain from Katherine, but Clark couldn’t hide it from himself.
Too long Clark had ignored his situation, but after tonight, he couldn’t. Something was wrong with him. And he wasn’t talking about a cold or infection. This went way beyond normal.
Clark thought back to the car accident and how he’d run from the scene with such incredible agility, and this evening he’d been able to lift Katherine’s attacker as if the man had been filled with air, not bone and muscle. Then there’d been the door to the newspaper stand he’d broken and now his arm. The gash on his wrist hadn’t been a surface wound. So how could something of that magnitude disappear? It didn’t make sense. Nothing about him made sense.
Who in the hell was he?
Chapter 6
Clark had no idea who or even what he was. Man or animal? Or something worse? The answers were locked somewhere in his brain. If he looked hard enough, there were clues all around him. He only needed to decipher them.
There was his name. Clark Kent. It was odd and easily recognizable. Was there any truth behind it? Was he named Clark Kent for a reason? Could he be some type of superhero after all? No. Impossible. He was talking about a damn cartoon character.
He looked around Katherine’s kitchen. Several copper bottom pots hung suspended above the kitchen island. He took one from its hook and palmed the handle. He hesitated. Did he really want to know? No. Not really. But he needed to know.
With a thumb and index finger, he pinched the rim and pulled it toward the pot’s center. The metal crumbled into itself. He jerked his hand back.
Holy, shit. It had felt like he’d been moving warm wax beneath his fingers. It had been that flexible.
He snapped his index finger against the pot’s side and watched in horror as a dent appeared in the metal. And he hadn’t even been trying. What could he do if he really put his strength into it? Would he be able to tear the metal beneath his two hands?
“How’s your arm?”
The pot slipped from Clark’s grasp and tumbled toward the floor. With the flick of his wrist, he caught it in midair and turned to where Katherine stood by the doorway. She still wore a pair of faded jeans, but she’d changed her shirt. The
black sweater accented the pallor of her face and the dark crescents below her eyes. She’d pulled her hair from her braid, and their waves flowed gold against the black material. The trauma of the night gleamed in her pain-filled, brown eyes.
“It’s fine.” He lifted his arm to show her, which was a mistake.
Her eyes widened with shock. “What happened to my pot?”
He glanced at the misshapen metal in his hand. How was he going to get out of this one without sounding nuts? Oh, by the way, I thought I’d try my hand at modern art? Or he could try the truth with I only wanted to test out my special powers. Yeah, right. She’d have his butt out the door before he had a chance to blink.
“I dropped it,” he said finally.
Eying him and the pot with skepticism, she walked over and took it gingerly from his hand. “Really? It looks like you took a sledgehammer to it.” She glanced around as if to find the alleged hammer, then frowned at the floor. “The tiles fine. I would think it would have done some damage to the floor.”
“I guess they really don’t make things like they used to.” What type of lame comment was that one? He needed to change the subject and quick. “How’s your stomach?”
Katherine made a face. “It’s still there, but I took some Pepto Bismo, which helped a little.”
Clark didn’t like how she kept on staring at the pot. And he particularly didn’t like the look of her neck or the bruise to her cheek. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”
“It’s in the master bathroom—under the sink.”
After retrieving the pot from her, he placed it on the counter behind him and hurried from the room.
“Why?” she called after him. “I thought you said your arm was okay.”
“Oh, it is.” He walked down the hall, realized the floor plan was the reverse of his own rental and stepped into the larger of two bedrooms. In the bathroom, he pulled the kit from the cabinet beneath the sink and placed it on top of the counter. As he slipped an antiseptic pad from a package, he glanced over a shoulder and found Katherine by the doorway.
Duplicity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance Page 4