Duplicity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance

by H. D. Thomson

  She arched a brow. “Do you always barge into a woman’s bedroom without asking?”

  Straightening, he caught her half smile and flushed. “No. Not unless I’m invited.” He cleared his throat, amazed at how easily a pair of teasing brown eyes made him feel mentally challenged. “But we need to take care of your neck. There’s also your cheek.”

  She laughed. “I’ll take care of it later. All I need is a good night’s rest, and I’ll be good to go to work in the morning.”

  “You shouldn’t be working. Your body needs to recuperate.”

  “Well, the way things are going, I may not have a job for very much longer.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

  “Tell me. I want to know.”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “Fine. It’s called a problem with cash flow. The shelter’s running out of funds, and I’m running out of options.” Sighing, she shook her head and grinned. “Forget I said that. I’m sure everything will work out.”

  Katherine’s smile and the buoyant tone to her voice didn’t fool him. She was worried. It was there in her eyes.

  “You never know,” he mused aloud. “You might get that funding from the least likely source. Stranger things have happened. But right now, can you humor me and let me take a look at your face and neck? I’d feel better.”

  “I guess I can do that.”

  When she dragged back her hair and inched closer, he realized this wasn’t going to work. The crown of her head barely reached his chin.

  “If you sit on the counter, I can see better.”

  She raised a finely drawn brow but complied. “Anything else, while I’m at it?”

  “How’s your cooking?” Seeing how he managed to wipe the worry from her eyes, Clark smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll ask for a home cooked meal another day.”

  “Oh, no. You’re asking the wrong person here. Unless you like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

  Clark laughed. She had a sense of humor. He liked that. “I’m sure you can make anything taste like haute cuisine.”

  He glanced at her cheek and sobered. “There’s not much that can be done for the contusion to your cheek other than an ice pack to bring down the swelling. As for your neck ...” He wiped the antiseptic over her throat, gently edging closer to the cut, which was a horizontal line by the lower edge of her larynx. Thank God, it wasn’t serious. “You were lucky. You only have a surface scratch with minor clotting. If he’d had a mind, he could have easily sliced through to your trachea ...”

  When he caught her shiver, he straightened and realized that she was looking at him oddly. “Are you all right?”

  “Fantastic, considering that I could have been sliced and diced by some sick pervert. You know, it’s starting to hit me how lucky I was.” She wrapped a strand of blonde hair behind an ear. “It’s also reassuring to have someone so capable. I swear you sound like a doctor.”

  He dropped the pad into the wastebasket, and as reached for the Neosporin, he paused, his hand in mid-air. “Really?”

  Leaning back with her palms against the counter, she closed her eyes and smiled softly. “Hmmm. Hmmm. A regular Marcus Welby.”

  “Marcus Welby?”

  “You know? The doctor on television? I used to watch all the reruns when I was a kid.” She opened one eye and then the other. A second later, both of them widened in wonder. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him either? You haven’t, have you? That just tells me how much I need to get a life. Obviously, I watch way too much T.V.”

  “A doctor,” he murmured.

  Could he be? It was possible. He glanced down at his hands as he opened the Neosporin. What did doctor’s hands look like? Like his? Hell. There he went again. He had to stop asking himself questions he didn’t have answers to.

  Determined to let it go for now, he concentrated on the task at hand, glancing down at the tube. The ointment had expired last year. “Do you have any other antibiotic cream?”

  “It’s in the medicine cabinet. No wait—”

  But Clark had already opened the door. He immediately saw the box of condoms. Not just one. Four packages stared back at him. A party pack, no less—lubricated, flavored, colored, and yes, king-size. Trying to appear unfazed, Clark reached passed and retrieved the cream on the top shelf. So she had some condoms in her bathroom. So what if she had enough in there to throw a neighborhood orgy for a good week. Katherine’s sex life wasn’t his business. His glance skirted past her face and down to the tube as he unscrewed the top.

  Okay, so it bothered him—a lot.

  “They’re not mine.”

  His hand tightened on the tube, squirting cream from the opening and onto the counter between her legs. Of all places. He grabbed a Kleenex from the box above the toilet and was about to wipe the cream off but stopped. There was no way of cleaning it off without touching her.

  “Here.” He offered Katherine the tissue and noticed her face had turned pink. “And about your cabinet—that’s your business.”

  “I know, but it’s just that I don’t want you having this idea that I go around having sex with every guy I meet.” Shifting, Katherine wiped the cream from the counter. “It was a stupid joke from a friend. His way of telling me I needed a sex life.”

  “And do you—?” Clark caught himself from mutilating the tube again.

  “Have a sex life?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. What I mean is do you have someone you’re seeing?”

  “No.”

  Clark relaxed. Until now, he hadn’t noticed how tense he’d been. The idea of Katherine in a serious relationship with someone else had bothered him. If he didn’t watch out, he’d get tangled deeper in her life, which wouldn’t be the smartest move. She might be involved in the murder of the teenage boy in Arizona. Then he realized how crazy that sounded. She worked at a shelter helping others. Someone like that didn’t go around killing people.

  But there was still the unexplained cash and gun. Both indicated a mysterious and possibly dangerous past—a past he had no right to involve her in, Clark realized, as he refocused on Katherine’s injuries and applied a bead of medicine over the wound across her neck.

  In time, the abrasion would fade and completely disappear. It would have been a shame to have a scar against such flawless skin. The sweater’s low neckline exposed more silken skin and hinted at the shadowy valley between her breasts. He tried not to think how the material hugged her firm, full breasts or how close they were to his hand.

  It wasn’t working. Not when he was conscious of the heat of her body, the rise and fall of her breasts and how her splayed legs bracketed his hips. His groin tightened and the air around him thickened to where he couldn’t catch his breath. Then he made the mistake of glancing at her parted lips. They reminded him of pink, crushed velvet.

  Sex. He was tied up in knots, and he didn’t know how to get himself untangled. He wanted to sink himself in her, drown in the sensation of having her legs wrapped around his hips and her mouth on his skin. This need was inexplicable, overpowering.

  Why now? Why Katherine? Was he that inexperienced that merely touching a woman sent him into a tailspin? Did he even know what to do with a woman if he had one in his arms? And most importantly, did he even have the right to think of Katherine in any sexual light if he was involved with someone from his past?

  No. He couldn’t be married. It wasn’t the lack of a ring or indentation on his wedding finger, but the feeling deep in his gut that he would remember someone of that importance in his life.

  It took him a while to realize he’d finished applying the antibiotic ointment and had moved his palm to the hollow between her neck and shoulder and was rubbing his thumb absently along the line of her collarbone. As she shifted, her neckline inched lower, which exposed the beginning of a bruise.

  How much of an ass could he be? He’d let his hormones overtake what little sense he had, while Katherine was probably feel
ing sore and battered.

  “How’s your...” He glanced up and met her gaze and was further caught off guard by the awareness in her large, brown eyes.

  He dove right back into thinking of sex, tangled sheets, and long legs. Knowing a box of condoms was within arm’s reach only aggravated the images.

  She flushed. “They’re fine. And no. I can take care of them.”

  “Yes, well...that’s good.” He was probably blushing as badly as Katherine.

  Abruptly, he turned back to the kit, shut it with hands that had a distinct tremor, and cleared his throat. “You do know we need to call the police. We can’t delay it any longer.”

  ~~*~~

  Katherine, so focused on his every touch and movement, didn’t understand his comment immediately. When it finally sank in, she felt as if she’d plunged into a frigid bath on a January morning.

  “I don’t want to talk to the police,” she managed to get out.

  “You can’t let something like tonight slide.”

  The room was too small, too stifling, too intimate while Clark was too big, too male, too obstinate. Sliding off the counter, she brushed up against his hard body, inhaled sharply at the contact, and backed away from him and the room. “I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

  “Why?” He followed her out of the bathroom.

  “I have my reasons, so can you drop it?”

  If she wanted, she could be as obstinate as Clark. He, himself, had told her that he was a reporter. If she let him know that she was Senator Spalding’s daughter, he’d have a field day—him and any number of other reporters if tonight leaked out. Her mother was having enough problems. Because of her mother’s views on fetal cell research, her popularity as senator was on the decline. The last thing she needed was to have her daughter splashed over the newspaper.

  “As long as you know that by not reporting this you’re letting this creep go—”

  “You don’t have to tell me something I already know. And anyway, even if I did go to the police, do you actually think they’d be able to get the guy? He’s long gone.” She bit her lip, realizing she sounded antagonistic and ungrateful. “I want to thank you for everything. I can’t imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t stepped in. It was a miracle you were there in the first place, which all makes me wonder why you were.”

  She watched his expression change, almost as if the animation in his face had shut down. “I wanted to check up on you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you interest me.”

  “I interest you?” she echoed like an idiot. She didn’t know whether to be charmed or alarmed.

  “Yes. Everything about you and your life.” Shoving his fingers through his hair, he didn’t look thrilled with the idea. “If you only knew the half of it.”

  She hugged her middle. Something didn’t add up. Then it dawned on her that all this time, their meetings had been planned. She’d met Clark too many times in too many places and all within a week. He even lived in the same complex. A coincidence? Fate? She didn’t believe in either. Maybe if they’d only crossed paths once or twice... But he’d shown up at the coffee house, by the shelter twice, and lived on the same street.

  “All this time you’ve been following me. I want to know why. Are you some sick stalker who—”

  “I knew you’d react like that.” A bleak look crossed his features.

  “Why wouldn’t I be upset? How else am I supposed to react?” she asked in disbelief. “And you didn’t answer me. Why?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  Clark rubbed the back of his neck and opened his mouth as if to answer, but then he shook his head. “No. Not now. Maybe later. I don’t know,” he said the last in frustration. “I better go. You’re exhausted. I just need to get my jacket, and I’ll be out of here.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.” She didn’t want him in her house. Katherine didn’t trust him.

  When Clark came back with his jacket, she’d moved into the hall by the front door. She tried not to flinch as he walked past and grabbed the doorknob.

  Then Katherine stumbled on the only logical reason he’d been following her. “Are you doing a story on my mother?”

  “Your mother?” He looked back at her in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” Katherine backpedaled. He didn’t know. Even if he was a born actor, he couldn’t fake that much surprise.

  Clark opened the door and paused. “Are you going to be all right tonight? Is there someone you can call if you need to?”

  She swallowed. “I’ll be fine.”

  He nodded grimly. “Well, if you wake up during the night and get scared...I’m only a couple of doors down. That’s if you—”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The hall light exposed the hard, austere lines of his face and the haunted look in his eyes before he slipped out into the night. She closed and locked the door behind him, but with his departure, Katherine didn’t feel any safer. Next, she slid the deadbolt in place. That didn’t help either.

  She turned away from the door but couldn’t forget the expression on Clark’s face. He’d looked lost, abandoned, almost as if he’d been pleading silently for her help. Whatever demons chased his heels, it wasn’t her problem. She had enough on her plate. Just the same, it didn’t stop her from wondering.

  She walked over to the living room window and peered outside. The clouds had since broken and moonlight pooled across the yard and the parking lot beyond, painting the patches of snow into blue-silver. Clark had since disappeared.

  She couldn’t get their conversation out of her mind. And after a while, she gave up trying.

  He’d been following her, all because of this so-called interest in her, and if it wasn’t because of her mother, then why? She wasn’t egotistical enough to think it was her looks and personality alone to warrant such an obsession. She should have pushed more, but she’d been fearful of his anger and his answer. In time, whether or not she wanted it, she had an idea she’d get her answer. Dread banded around her chest. She knew when that time came, she wouldn’t be ready for the truth.

  It all circled back to one question. Who was Clark Kent?

  Chapter 7

  Gasping for air, clawing at her throat, Katherine woke with a start. She sat up and kicked at the sheets snarled around her body. Her heart thrashed against her ribs, while a thick layer of sweat chilled her flesh. The curtains hadn’t been drawn closed from the previous night, and sunlight, bright and unforgiving, speared into the bedroom. Quiet blanketed the house, which belied the turmoil swirling through her body.

  Katherine hated nightmares. She hadn’t had any since Miranda’s death. This one had been just as vivid and horrifying as those others, but so very different. She’d been clutching her slashed throat, unable to staunch the blood that gushed over her fingers and bathed her shirt. On her back, her body bound to the ground, she’d been alone, dying, crying mutely for help. She’d—

  Pushing her tangled hair back from her face, she slipped out of bed and shoved those visions from her mind. Every muscle and bone in her body rebelled when she pulled herself into the bathroom. She had the misfortune of getting an eyeful of herself in the mirror. She not only felt like a wreck but looked it. Her hair appeared as if she’d had a fight with the blow dryer and lost. The bruise on her cheek had turned to an ugly purple and her brown eyes, normally filled with a cheerful sparkle, were dull, listless and dead inside.

  “Come on girl, things aren’t that bad.” Katherine lifted the corners of her lips, and her reflection returned a facsimile of a smile. “How about some coffee? That might do the trick.”

  Her smiled dipped. Not a good idea. At least not over at The Coffee Company. She didn’t want to risk meeting Clark. And anyway, coffee wasn’t going to help. She needed more than a jolt of caffeine to drag herself to work today, but staying home with her thoughts didn’t appeal—

&n
bsp; The ring of the telephone cut off her dark musings. She caught it before the machine answered and found George on the line.

  “Are you all right?” George asked. “You usually call if you’re not coming in.”

  “Why? What time is it?” Frowning, she glanced over to the clock on the kitchen wall.

  “Almost nine.”

  “Oh, shoot. I overslept.” Did she ever. She’d never done that before. At least not to that extent. “Sorry for worrying you. I’m not feeling up to coming in.”

  “Flu?”

  She grasped at the explanation. “Yeah, it’s that time of year.”

  “Well, get some rest. It’s got to be bad for you to miss work. Oh, while I’ve got you on the phone, your mother called. She sounded ticked that you hadn’t come in yet.”

  Katherine rolled her eyes. She could imagine. Her mother expected things and people to conform to her own time schedule. Katherine glanced down at the answering machine and saw it blinking with a message. The call must have come in while she’d slept. Probably her mother.

  “Thanks for the warning,” Katherine said and turned her thoughts to Clark and his inordinate “interest” in her. “I was curious... Have you noticed anything odd at the shelter?”

  “Not that I can remember. What are you getting at?”

  “I don’t know. What about some stranger asking questions or hanging around?”

  “I’ve had a couple of phone calls asking about the shelter. More than normal, but nothing strange.”

  She’d thought for sure... “Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  After Katherine hung up, she checked her messages and heard her mother’s abrupt request to call her. Great. Her mother didn’t sound like she was in a good mood. She’d call back tonight. By then she might feel up to dealing with her mother.

  For the rest of the day, Katherine hung around inside, watched a little television, dusted a little of the house, washed a little of the laundry. She hadn’t been lying to Clark. When it came down to it, for years now, she’d focused all her energy on the shelter. She’d lost contact with all her friends from college and had zero social life. Maybe her mother did have a point.