“That doesn’t make sense. You know, I’ve never seen him, but I would have known if he was in the house. There’s the guest list—”
“He’s going under the name of Clark Kent. I’m sure it’s his way of telling us the joke’s on us. Talk about the audacity. It’s obvious he plans on sticking it to us. I just don’t know how.”
“You can’t be serious. You know, I thought he was another one of Katherine’s homeless cases.”
“Far from it. Davenport’s playing some sick game. If he thinks I’m going to sit back and play, he’s got another think coming.” Ice cubes rattled as Paul refilled his glass. He needed something with a kick. Tipping back his head, he took a long, deep swallow. It didn’t help. “Of all people, Katherine introduced us. Talk about acting. He gave nothing away. It was almost like he’d never seen me before. I swear, I’ve never met anyone so damn bold.”
“How much do you think he’s told Katherine?”
“The son-of-a-bitch.” Paul thought he was going to be sick. When he thought back, she’d acted strange, even nervous. Shit. He drained his glass. What the hell had he ever done to deserve this? “I don’t know what he’s said to Katherine. It could be nothing or everything.
“We’re up the fucking creek if he has.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re both dead.”
~~*~~
With a shoulder braced against a no parking sign, Clark stood across the street and, he hoped, far enough from the entrance to the Morning Dove to be unrecognizable. From watching the shelter and Katherine’s movements, he’d learned she usually went out for lunch. He glanced down at his watch. Almost twelve-thirty. He didn’t have much longer to wait.
Almost a week ago, he’d left Katherine’s townhouse after scaring the hell out of her and ruining her door. He’d since hired a handyman to repair her door, and according to the man, he’d completed the job to Katherine’s satisfaction. As for Katherine—Clark hadn’t heard back from her.
A total of five days of her silence, of feeling like crap, of keeping away from her. Five days of uncovering absolutely nothing new on Katherine, Spalding, Miltronics or his memory. And the sad part—he didn’t see that changing any time soon. More importantly, he was afraid to uncover the truth because of what it might reveal about himself. The idea of being a paid killer didn’t exactly make him feel all warm and fuzzy.
Two days ago, he’d attempted to break into Miltronics, but its sophisticated security system had blocked his clumsy attempts. Granted, muscle might have gotten him into the building but more than likely gotten him killed or arrested. Clark could live with never stepping foot inside Miltronics; if Spalding hadn’t destroyed any important documents or incriminating evidence by now, the fire had. Plus, Clark hated the idea of walking through the building’s corridors and various rooms. The whole place stunk of filth and malevolence.
Clark flipped the collar of his jacket up against his neck. As for Katherine, he’d left her alone these last several days, believing in time, she wouldn’t see him as a threat. If he’d kept his hands to himself that night, she would be talking to him. But, no. Not him. Unable to stomach the idea of going back to his place with only his thoughts for company, Clark hadn’t been able to keep away. After all, what was one more sin, when his past might hold a multitude?
He’d created a hopeless situation. Now Katherine couldn’t stand the sight of him and probably thought of him as some sick freak. And could he blame her?
Katherine stepped from the building. Straightening, Clark adjusted his glasses and watched her stride in the opposite direction. When she disappeared around the corner of the next street, Clark crossed the road. Over the last couple of weeks, he’d discovered a number of teenage residents, stomaching the cold snap of winter to smoke by the building’s back door.
Today, a girl of about sixteen, with a cigarette affixed to the corner of her mouth, sat on a wood fence that circled the raised porch. Tapping the heel of her boot against the bottom rung, she glanced down at Clark’s approach.
“Is Katherine around?”
“No. She went to lunch. She might be awhile. If you want, you can wait inside.”
“No. I’m fine.”
Clark wanted to question anyone who’d stayed at the shelter for more than a couple of weeks. Hopefully, he might uncover a link to the shelter and Miltronics. But as to how? He didn’t know yet.
Pausing at the foot of the stairs to the porch, Clark eyed the girl and wondered what had forced her out on the street. Other than her pierced chin and eyebrow, she looked like any typical teenage girl, with short, black hair and clear skin.
As Clark climbed the shallow stairs and walked over to the opposite side of the fence, the girl sniffed and wiped her eyes with her forearm. That was when Clark noticed the girl’s pink nose and red-rimmed eyes, which, he realized, had nothing to do with the cold air.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah.”
But the girl wouldn’t glance Clark’s way as she dragged hard on her cigarette.
“You sure?”
The girl’s chin trembled. She opened her mouth and then closed it.
“Sometimes talking it out can make a big difference.”
She rubbed the back of her hand beneath an eye, but another tear reappeared down her cheek. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Clark realized Katherine’s attraction to the shelter. He didn’t even know this girl, but her obvious pain tugged at his heart and made him want to ease the hurt. Getting through life as an adult was hard enough, but being thrown a couple of low blows before getting there sure as hell was unfair.
“Try me.”
Through narrowed eyes, she stared at him for a long moment while smoke wafted past her face. Finally, she shrugged a shoulder. “Fuck. Why not? It’s like everyone else here knows my business.” She took another drag from her cigarette. “I just got off the phone with my sister.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah. That’s what she says, but I haven’t seen her for over six months.” The girl laughed harshly. “But who’s counting.”
“And you can’t go see her?”
“So the bastard can stick his fist in my face again? I don’t think so. This place is a hell of a lot better than that shit hole. At least here I don’t trip over my old man after one of his drinking binges.”
At the image, Clark winced. “Do you think your sister’s safe?”
“I thought so. He hasn’t ever touched her. But I’m not so sure now.” She pulled the cigarette from her mouth and frowned at it in her hand. “I took off and let her deal with him on her own. She’s only twelve. He’s strong. One punch from him, and he could kill her.”
The poor kid. Somehow his problems seemed insignificant. At least Clark, being an adult, could defend himself.
“Is she here in Boston?” he asked gently. “If she is, I can set up a meeting for you. That’s if—˝
“No! I can’t face Amy. Not after I took off and left her to deal with him alone. I was the only one she trusted, and I screwed up. I thought getting high would make it go away, but it didn’t. I ran and took the coward’s way out.”
The coward’s way out. The girl’s words touched something deep inside Clark. A memory. A feeling. That one word—coward. It filled him with shame and remorse. He’d been fleeing, taking the coward’s way out. But what had he been running from? Spalding or himself? Or something more?
“I don’t think she’ll ever want to see me again.”
Hearing the self-loathing in the teenager’s voice, Clark couldn’t find anything to say other than, “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, life’s a bitch.” The girl’s chin lifted, and her eyes narrowed with determination. “But I’m going to make it, and I know one thing—I’m never going to be like my old man. I’ve been clean for two months, and, unlike my father, I plan on staying that way. One way or another, I’m going to help get Amy away from him
.”
Clark believed her. “You’ve already made that first step. Taking a look at yourself and changing what you don’t like takes a great deal of courage and strength. It’s damn hard to do. Even harder to kick an addiction. It’s something I’d be proud of.”
“Proud? I don’t think so.”
“Of course you don’t right now, but in time.” Clark nodded in reassurance. “I think living here is going to be good for you, and ultimately, your sister. You can trust Katherine.”
“I know.” Her face softened. “Like, she’s awesome.”
“Yes, she is. With her on your side, you can’t go wrong.” Clark knew he spoke the truth. There was a strength, an aura about Katherine that soothed a person’s soul. Maybe it was her faith in humanity. Or maybe something else, but whatever it was, Clark found himself drawn to it.
Twisting at the waist, the girl flicked her butt over a shoulder, dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. She lit another.
“Want one?”
“Sure.” Clark eyed the cigarette dubiously but took it anyway. He rolled the filter between his fingers. It didn’t feel familiar. “Thanks—?”
“Tracy.”
“Thanks, Tracy. My name’s Clark.”
The back door opened. Clark didn’t turn. He didn’t have to. Whenever Katherine appeared, Clark knew, would always know. The feel, the sense, the essence of her went deeper than flesh, deeper than bone.
“What are you doing here?” Katherine asked.
“I was in the neighborhood.” Clark turned then.
Katherine had closed the door but hadn’t moved more than a foot away from it. She’d dropped the sophistication of black velvet from the other night, and today looked as if she’d stepped from some college campus with her thick, blonde braid, faded jeans and black, turtleneck sweater. Damn, but she looked good in black. It drew out her creamy complexion and the vibrant color of her hair. But her expression was anything but warm. Clark never thought brown eyes could look like ice, but somehow Katherine managed it, and then some.
Great. Clark took the lighter the girl offered. Katherine was angry. So what the hell had he expected? A smile of welcome? Not likely. But it was better than fear. Hell. Anything was better than the horror he’d seen in Katherine’s face when he’d crashed into her room the other night.
“I thought you were going to lunch,” Tracy said, somehow managing to keep her cigarette fastened to the corner of her mouth.
“I decided to pick something up instead. I have far too much paperwork to get through.”
Clark put the cigarette in his mouth and lit the tip. Smoke curled into the air and around his face, hitting his nose and stinging his eyes.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
Clark ignored the disapproval in Katherine’s voice and inhaled. The second the fumes hit his lungs, he convulsed into coughing. Eyes watering, feeling as if he were hacking his lungs out from his ribs, Clark flung the cigarette into the snow where it hissed a protest. Finally, he grabbed enough clean air into his lungs to clear his vision and get a handle on his breathing.
“I don’t.”
Katherine eyed the spot where he’d tossed the cigarette. “You can clean that up before you leave.”
The door slammed shut after her, but not before Clark caught the frigid look on her face.
“Wow. She doesn’t like you much.”
“Sure seems that way.”
“Must have been some fight. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that angry. I didn’t realize she’d hooked up with some guy.”
Clark’s face warmed. “It’s not like that between us.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Tracy took a long, deep drag and tossed her cigarette into the snow inches from Clark’s.
Clark decided not to argue. “So Katherine doesn’t normally get angry?”
The girl laughed. “Hell, no. At least not what I’d call angry. Kath can get her point across real well without yelling. Like, everyone listens to her.”
“Really?”
“Sure. And if they don’t, they can take it up with George. But on the most part, everyone likes her.”
Clark’s own feelings for Katherine went beyond “like”. He just wished she felt the same, but right now she didn’t even trust him. Not that he’d given her any reason to.
“You know,” Tracy was saying, “when I first saw you, I thought you looked familiar, and I couldn’t figure out why. But now I remember.”
Clark grabbed the fence’s top rung with rigid fingers. The cold wood barely penetrated his senses, because fear, thick and smothering, roped around his throat.
“How so?”
“I saw you talking to Luke a couple of times.”
Clark tried to sound casual. “When was that?”
“A couple of months back.”
“Is he here now?”
“No. He took off. A couple of days after I saw the two of you talking.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Well, yeah. I thought we were friends. I could have rated a goodbye or something. But I didn’t know he was an asshole.”
“Did he act strangely before he disappeared?”
“I don’t know, man.” She started to pull a cigarette out from the package but stopped and tapped it back inside. “I guess so. He seemed scared for some reason.”
Scared of someone or something? Or worse yet, scared of Clark? What he wouldn’t give to remember.
“What’s with all the questions? You a cop or something?”
“No. I’m just curious.”
Tracy grunted. “Well, I got to go inside. It’s fucking cold out here.”
Clark stood on the porch for several minutes. He thought of going inside and talking to Katherine but decided against it. He didn’t think he had a chance to get past her fear and anger. Not when she had the familiarity and reassurance of the Morning Dove and people around her.
Eventually, they would have to talk. Clark knew Katherine would balk at a confrontation. Too many things still remained unsaid. Damn, but he missed her smile, her big, brown eyes and sense of humor, her dogged determination and plain, good old spunkiness.
Coming here today hadn’t resolved anything. His situation appeared bleaker than when he’d first arrived. He’d been seen talking to a teenage boy only days before the kid disappeared. Why would he be talking to a homeless boy, decades younger than himself? Unless Luke had information Clark wanted. If that were the case, had it been important enough to involve murder? And if so, could Clark have been that killer? After all, Clark did have a gun.
Hell. He didn’t even want to go there. Unable to look at his hands and wonder what they were capable of, Clark stuffed them in his pockets.
He still didn’t understand why he felt this connection between the Morning Dove and Miltronics. Two completely different entities. One a homeless shelter and another a pharmaceuticals company. The only tie between the two was that of Katherine and her uncle. But how the hell could that be a key? A family vendetta? No. That didn’t sound plausible. But then, none of it made sense.
A breeze kicked up and urged him from the back porch. The sun, though high over the horizon, didn’t diminish the air’s bite as it brushed over his exposed skin. Several inches of snow had melted from yesterday’s mild weather, but with the drop in temperature, icicles speared down from tree branches and storefront overhangs. His breath fogged out with each exhalation as he reached the sidewalk and avoided a slick ice patch and a woman barreling down the walkway with a shopping cart filled with her ragged belongings. Shoulders hunched against the cold, Clark paused on the edge of the road and checked for oncoming traffic. When both sides of the street cleared, he crossed.
Movement by the corner of his eye caught his attention. Something—a hunch, fate, whatever he wanted to call it—made him turn. A gleaming black and chrome SUV raced down the street toward Clark. He froze. Holy shit. Sunlight bounced off the windshield and camouflaged the driver. It d
idn’t slow but accelerated toward him.
Chapter 17
Clark dove forward and onto the sidewalk. But the car veered, hit the curb and locked into his direct path. At the last minute, less than a few feet away from the deadly vehicle, he backpedaled. The car swerved. Tires screamed against the pavement.
The driver overcorrected, missing Clark by inches, but now swerved out of control. The smell of rubber filled the air. Tires ground into a dry patch of road, and then skidded, hitting the slick pavement. The SUV careened, spiraled around and broadsided a compact car moving in the opposite direction. Metal screamed against metal, melding with the cries from pedestrians.
The SUV’s impact sent the other vehicle sliding against the icy road. Several bedraggled men fled from the oncoming car and the warmth of a garbage can, its flames from inside keeping the cold at bay. The car hit the can and sent it and its contents flying. Fire and debris shot into the air and landed on the hood and trunk of the car as it fishtailed, slammed into a light post and stilled.
The SUV straightened and hit a snow pile, firing bits of rock and ice in its wake, before plunging forward and speeding off. It jerked around the corner of the next street and disappeared.
A scream crashed over the other cries. A horn blasted from somewhere. The smell of gas and fire wafted in the air. Flaming debris had skated off the car and landed on the ground beside it. Gas snaked out from beneath the car’s belly and confirmed what Clark suspected. A damaged fuel line.
“Look out! It’s going to blow!”
People fled, running in the opposite direction from the accident, while braver onlookers rushed to the car. Someone grabbed the driver’s door handle and pulled but couldn’t get it open. A light post rammed up against the passenger door blocked the only other escape route from the car.
Duplicity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance Page 13