When Katherine drove into the parking lot of her townhouse, reality set in—hard. As she stepped out and closed her door, she met Clark’s gaze over the top of her car. The irrational side of her wanted to blame Clark for forcing her into this situation, but at the same time, honesty with herself made Katherine realize she had to own up to her own responsibilities.
“We need to talk. But not here.”
~~*~~
Inside Katherine’s townhouse, Clark shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the coat rack while Katherine snapped on the hall light. She looked pale but composed. When she draped her jacket alongside his own, Clark saw the slight tremor in her hand and realized the sham. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was running on pure adrenaline.
He wasn’t doing much better, but hopefully, between the two of them, they might be able to form some picture of tonight’s jigsaw. Instinct, nothing more, nothing less, had drawn him to Spalding’s home. The house itself held no memories, but the person living within those brick walls evoked deep feelings of revulsion—even hatred. Paul Spalding. A link meshed somehow with Clark’s past.
“How about a drink?” she asked.
“Sure. After tonight, I think we both need something.”
“Hah. Tell me about it. Wine or beer?”
“Beer.”
In the kitchen, Clark leaned a hip against a counter and watched Katherine pour a glass of Merlot, pull a frosted mug from the freezer and a bottled beer from the refrigerator. She was amazingly resilient and quick-witted, the way she’d slipped out of Spalding’s house without being detected. Each time she got hit by some unforeseen agenda, she pulled herself up without complaint, censure or self-pity. He couldn’t help but admire such unwavering strength.
Clark poured his beer into his mug, took a couple of deep swallows and followed her into the living room. As he sank down on the sofa, Katherine placed her wine on top of the mantle, dropped down to one knee and lit the gas fireplace. Orange and yellow flames sprang up and wrapped around the ceramic logs, but their warmth couldn’t dispel the chill to his bones. At this point, nothing could.
Rising, Katherine turned and faced him across the coffee table. Color had inched back into her face and softened her once drawn features, but Clark quickly noted the expression in her eyes didn’t look the least bit friendly. Naked suspicion glittered in their depths. Just what he needed.
“What were you doing in my Uncle’s house?”
Light conversation wasn’t an option. She planned on diving right in. Fine. Clark, sick and tired of trying to keep up with the lies, intended to do the same. More importantly, he knew that if he wasn’t honest right this minute, he’d lose the tentative alliance he’d found with Katherine. He couldn’t afford that. It wasn’t just because he believed she could help him unravel his past. It went deeper than that. Call him weak, but at this point, he desperately wanted someone believing in him, because he was having a hard enough time believing in himself. Being thrown into a world of ambiguity, he was weary of questioning his sanity and his competence.
Clark met and held her gaze. “There’s no story. Never has been.”
“Then why were you at my uncle’s house if not for a story? Did you plan on stealing something from the house?”
“Of course not!”
“There’s no ‘of course not’. For me, everything’s possible, because you’ve told me absolutely nothing.” She grabbed her glass from the mantle and took a large swallow. “I want answers. And if you’re not going to give them to me, I’ll go to my uncle. Because I know as surely as I’m standing that you’ve got some vendetta against Paul.”
Clark banged his mug on the coffee table and stood up. She couldn’t go to her uncle. She didn’t know what he was capable of. Murder. The word screamed and vibrated through his body. He couldn’t prove Paul Spalding was a murderer, couldn’t fathom why he knew it, but the knowledge of it was there just the same.
“I won’t let you go to your uncle.”
“You won’t let me? I couldn’t have heard that right, because that would mean you have this grand delusion of being my boss.” She drained the last of her wine. “I don’t think so. I’ll do what I want, when I want and with whom I want.”
“Katherine, you’re not thinking.” Hell. That hadn’t come out like he’d wanted. Nothing was going right. “That’s not what—”
“Save it!” Gaze narrowing, she set her glass down on the mantel. “Who are you? Why are you so interested in my family? If you don’t tell me, I swear I’ll walk out of here this second and get the answers from someone else!”
“I don’t know!” The words, filled with dread and despair, ripped from his lungs. “I don’t know who I am!”
Chapter 10
“I don’t understand. What are you saying?” Katherine asked in obvious confusion.
Clark thrust his fingers through his hair and groped for the right words. “One day I woke up with no memory, no past, no concept of who or what I was.” He explained about the car accident, the murdered passenger, fleeing the scene, and the note on the back of a photo that led him to the Morning Dove.
As to his powers and the duffle bag he’d found in the car, he didn’t go down either route. His story already sounded far too crazy without adding more twisted elements.
Finally, he pulled his I.D. from his back pocket and tossed it on the coffee table between them. “The only concrete part of my past is my driver’s license and the photo. I do have fleeting feelings and images, but none of it significant until I read about Miltronics and Paul Spalding.”
She frowned at the license but didn’t pick it up. “Do you have the photo?”
“Not on me. But I can show it to you later.”
“And you expect me to believe all this?”
“I know I’m asking a lot—probably too much. I don’t have any proof. I’m hoping you’ll give me the benefit of the doubt like you’ve done with kids at the shelter.” He sighed. “Can you give me that? I know I’ve nothing to offer you other than my word, but my word’s everything to me, because that’s all I have.” He didn’t see any signs of her softening.
“Why me? What’s so special about me?” She looked at him as if he’d mutated into some mega-sized reptile. “I’ve never met you. I would remember if I had.”
“In the photo you were standing by the murdered teenager.” Clark grabbed his beer and downed the rest from his mug, but the chilled alcohol didn’t do a thing to deaden his frustration.
“I don’t know what to think. I need another drink. I’ll be right back.”
A minute later, Katherine returned with another glass of wine for herself and a beer for him. Instead of handing him his drink, she placed it on the coffee table, an obviously effective way of avoiding his touch. Posture rigid, she sat down on the edge of the loveseat. “Can you describe the teenager?”
“I tried not to look at him.”
Clark rubbed at his jaw and forced himself to visualize the car accident. The teenage boy slumped in the passenger seat, the blood seeping from the bullet hole to his head. At the images, his stomach rolled.
“He looked Caucasian,” he said finally. “He had brown hair. Shoulder length, I think. I didn’t look at the color of his eyes, and as to his height—I haven’t a clue. He was sitting down.”
“That’s not enough of a description. There are just too many kids I’ve met with brown hair. He might have had a haircut when he came through the shelter.” She continued to sit on the edge of her seat. “This is way too much to swallow.”
“I know.”
“Have you thought of going to the police?”
“And tell them what?” Clark shook his head as he sank back down on the sofa. “They’d never take me seriously. How can they, when I don’t know who I am? Yeah, granted, I have a name but nothing else. It wouldn’t be long before they directed me to the nearest psychiatrist.”
“And my uncle? You think he plays a big part in your past?”
“I
don’t think. I know. I have no proof, but I’ve been going on instinct since I stepped off the bus in Boston. How our lives are crossed—I’m at a loss. The link could be an indirect tie or something much more.”
“You know this is all conjecture—the same with the missing boys from the shelter. Paul might be completely unaware of what’s going on. Maybe someone else hid the license and ring.”
He knew she was grasping, desperate for her uncle’s innocence. “Do you honestly believe that?”
“He’s not a killer. He can’t be. There’s no sense to it.”
“Maybe not from your viewpoint. It’s possible there’s a logical explanation for him hiding those identifications,” he admitted. Unable to stomach the anguish etched across her features, Clark focused on the task of pouring his beer into his mug. Once filled, he placed the can on the coffee table, slipped off his glasses and set them down by his mug. “Or someone else might be involved.”
“But you don’t believe it. You think he killed them, don’t you?”
He met her gaze and tried to formulate a reply.
“Don’t bother. I can see it in your face.”
If Clark denied it now and lied, he’d come across as condescending—something he didn’t want. He thought too highly of Katherine. So instead, he asked gently, “How well do you know your uncle?”
“Enough to know that he can’t be a murderer. I refuse to believe that. It’s not possible! He’s family. Something like this doesn’t happen in our family. What possible motive could he have?”
“That’s what I want to find out.”
“Well, you’re mistaken if you think I’ll sit by and let you slander my uncle.”
“Then prove me wrong.” Resting both forearms on his knees, Clark leaned forward. “Your uncle’s having a birthday party on Saturday. Bring me with you. If he knows me, I’m bound to get a reaction from him. Who knows? The meeting might even jar my memory. And if I’m wrong, I’ll leave you alone.”
“And what if you’re right?” she whispered. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Worse yet, you’ll put yourself in danger if there’s any truth to what you believe.”
“I can take care of myself.” She didn’t know the half of it. “And anyway, don’t you want to know the truth?”
Clark didn’t like how she shook her head. For a while there, he’d thought he’d managed to get through to her.
“No.” Katherine rose to her feet. “I don’t like playing games. Why not just be honest? If we went up and talked to my uncle, I’m sure he has a logical explanation. I’ll see him tomorrow.”
“You can’t do that!” Clark jack-knifed to his feet.
Her eyes flared with anger. “Yes, I can. It’s only right.”
Panic hauled him around the coffee table. “That’s if you want to end up with another knife at your throat.”
She flinched.
“Oh hell, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It just came out.”
In two steps he was in front of her and clutching her shoulders. Beneath his hands, Katherine stiffened and looked up. She searched his face, reproach in the depths of her large, brown eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said again in a hoarse whisper. “Whenever you’re around me, I can’t think—I react.” He glanced down at the perfect shape of her mouth and rubbed the pad of his thumb along the full curve of her bottom lip. “You’re beautiful—everything about you. You have the most soulful eyes. Every time I look into them, any coherent thought I have crumbles into nothing. I feel like some raw schoolboy with his first crush. I want to...”
“What?”
Clark saw the uncertainty, the desire in her eyes and something clawed not only at his gut but also at his heart.
“I want...”
“To kiss me?” she murmured, inching closer.
“Yeah...and so much more,” he breathed, unable to deny himself the feel and taste of her as he replaced his thumb with his mouth. Fearful of her rejection, he tangled his fingers in her hair and cupped the back of her head with his palm, anchoring her so he could deepen the kiss.
But his worries were groundless. Katherine kissed him back, sinking deeper against his body while her hands splayed over his arms and rose to his shoulders. She tasted better than he’d imagined, better than his wildest fantasy. The scent of lemon wrapped around him while the heat of desire rolled inside him.
Clark couldn’t have asked for a more responsive woman. Katherine was a contradiction, one moment shy and inquisitive and the next hot and bold, but she was also so much more. As she slipped her hands beneath his shirt to touch his bare back, he caved into the sensuality of her touch, and even if he had the will to stop, he wouldn’t, because he wanted this moment, this hunger, this woman.
Craving the feel of naked skin against naked skin, Clark pulled open the buttons of her shirt, then peeled the material to the side. He sucked in one quick, hard breath. A black, mesh bra covered her full, rounded breasts, while the fire’s glow turned her skin to warm honey and her hair to molten gold. She was beautiful in his arms.
Bending, he suckled her breast through the material and savored the way she groaned and trembled in his arms, the way her hands clutched at his shoulders, and the way she arched against him, drawing her hips snug against his own. She panted, little erotic puffs that stoked his hunger. With his arm wrapped hard around her waist, Clark drew back. The heat of her gaze caught and held him spellbound. He watched her reaction as he unsnapped the top button of her pants, edged the zipper slowly down and slid a finger along the waistband of her panties. She swallowed and closed her eyes.
Katherine shook her head. “I can’t. It’s too soon. The wine, the shock of my uncle.”
His fingers tensed around the waistband of her pants. “Why? You want this just as much as I do.”
“And what if I regret it? I’ve got too many regrets in my life already.”
He brushed his cheek against her temple and the smooth cap of her golden hair. Clark wanted to be selfish and carry her into the bedroom. He wanted her naked, writhing and arching beneath him. He wanted to slide into her, feel her heat, burn with it. If he chose, he could seduce her. One more deep, long kiss and he’d have her.
But because he didn’t like to think of himself as selfish or insensitive, he nodded and drew away. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. Tonight, not even submerging himself in the icy Atlantic would deaden the raw, unappeased hunger that gnawed at his insides. “Fine. But this thing between us isn’t over.”
Katherine didn’t deny it, but she didn’t look happy about it either.
“Go, Clark. Please.” She pulled her shirt together with two, white-knuckled fists.
He grabbed his glasses and jacket and silently left the house. Once outside, he lifted his face to the night sky, never feeling more out of control than that moment.
“What the hell am I doing?”
Of course, no one answered him.
~~*~~
“I don’t know how you talked me into this tonight,” Katherine said beside Clark as they walked up the car-lined drive to her uncle’s estate. Light from every window on the ground floor illuminated the snow-covered grounds.
“Could it be my dazzling personality?”
“More like your pig-headedness.”
Actually, Clark’s charm and conviction persuaded her, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. He might use it later to get what he wanted—just like he’d done a couple of days ago when he’d shown up at her door after work. He’d asked once again, “Can you take a chance on me? You’ve done it with the kids at the shelter. Can you do the same for me? Bring me along with you to your uncle’s house?”
There’d been those guileless gray eyes of his and their silent plea. They’d held more power than mere words. Yes, she’d given many teenagers the benefit of the doubt when society had abandoned them. So would it be so wrong to give Clark that same opportunity?
It hadn’t taken long for Katherine to capitulate. When it came dow
n to it, Clark took her breath away. Masculine, tender, determined, compassionate, dangerous—he possessed all those traits.
Memories of the other night flooded her thoughts. Katherine shivered and remembered the heat of his mouth, the strength and sureness of his hand, the way he’d unsnapped the top button of her pants and how close she’d come to letting—
No. She pulled the collar of her coat up higher against her neck and rubbed her chin against the faux fur lining. She didn’t dare delve into such craziness. She needed to focus on this evening.
Katherine eyed the two-story brick house. Plumes of light gray smoke wafted from one of three chimneys, while the scent of burning cedar drifted over the night air. The place looked harmless enough, though somewhat intimidating in size. As a child, she’d grown accustomed to all those rooms. She’d played hide and seek, dove in the pool in the back and been invited for many a dinner within those four walls.
But all that past didn’t change the fact her uncle could be involved with the disappearance of several boys and even murder. How was she going to look at or talk to him without her suspicion and unease showing?
“I’m not getting a good feeling,” she said.
“You’ll do fine. It’s a simple birthday party. Nothing you haven’t experienced before.” Clark placed a reassuring hand against the small of her back and climbed the shallow steps to the front door with her. “And as for me—don’t worry. Paul’s valuables are safe. I promise I won’t pilfer the silver.”
At his attempted humor, she laughed half-heartedly. “I see you’re throwing my words right back at me.”
“And of course, you wouldn’t do the same, given the opportunity?” Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes.
“Never.”
“Right.
Katherine reached for the doorknob, but Clark caught her hand and stepped in front of the door. She looked up, surprised at his sudden sober expression.
“Thanks for inviting me,” he said. “Most importantly—believing in me. It means a lot.”
“Yes, well. It’s nothing,” she said, distracted at the way he rubbed his thumb over her wrist. Actually, everything about Clark was distracting, particularly when he turned serious on her. Like that night he had her in his arms and—
Duplicity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance Page 8