The woman inside banged a fist against the glass. The closed windows muffled her cries but didn’t mask the sheer terror on her face.
Clark dodged through the jammed traffic to the wreckage. He elbowed through the crowd rushing in the opposite direction. “Move out of the way. I’ve got it.”
With one hand, Clark grabbed the driver’s side door handle and pulled. It snapped apart and came away with his hand. He couldn’t open the door. The SUV’s impact had crushed the driver’s door and jammed the locks.
“Look the other way!” he shouted at the woman behind the wheel. “I’m going to break the window.”
When the woman raised her arm to shield her face and slid back against her seat, Clark punched the glass with his bare hand. The window cracked, then shattered, spraying glass pebbles everywhere. Grasping the door with both hands, Clark pulled. Metal groaned and shrieked. He yanked the door from its hinges and dropped it on the ground where it shuddered then stilled. He ripped the seatbelt from its moorings, freeing the woman from inside.
Stumbling out, she collapsed against Clark’s chest. He caught her up in his arms and rushed down the street and away from the car. A safe distance away, he set her back down on her feet. The woman looked shaken but unharmed. Then someone took her aside.
He glanced back at the wreckage. Flames flared and swelled, lapping around and beneath the car. He tensed, waiting for the explosion. But nothing happened. The fire, its tendrils caressing steel and metal, faded with each ragged breath Clark took in. It was a damn miracle the car hadn’t exploded.
The sound of a siren broke over the noises of traffic and voices, and with each second, grew stronger, louder. Clark looked up and noticed the crowd. He’d heard the woman’s cries, smelt the fire and gas, and acted, thinking of nothing but the need to rescue the passenger from inside.
He should have stopped at breaking the window, should have left the door alone, and should have helped the woman crawl out instead. He should have done many things, but he hadn’t. He’d reacted without thought. And from the stunned looks and thick silence of the immediate crowd, Clark realized his mistake. Clark had exposed his unnatural powers for all to see. Powers he was beginning to believe were more a curse than any blessing.
Everyone started talking.
“Did you see that?”
“He pulled the door right off as if it was nothing?”
“Look what he did?”
“The guy’s a freak!”
“Who is he?”
Clark flinched and backed away. He needed to get out of here. Before the police arrived and started asking questions. Before people were able to pick him out of a crowd.
Amid the chaos, Clark glanced across the street and froze. His gaze caught and held Katherine’s. She stood in front of the Morning Dove. The shock stamped on her face told him she’d seen everything. Nausea rolled in his stomach.
Someone grabbed his arm. He shrugged it off and rushed forward, but Katherine bolted back into the shelter.
“Hey! Where are you going?”
Clark didn’t turn around and answer. Instead, he veered onto the sidewalk. He couldn’t talk to Katherine. Not now. He wouldn’t make any sense. His pace quickened until he was running down the street and away from the car accident, the questions and the stares. But he couldn’t run from the truth.
Someone wanted him dead.
~~*~~
Katherine rushed back into the Morning Dove. At the sound of a car accident, she and everyone within hearing distance from inside the shelter had run outside to see. But Katherine hadn’t planned on seeing Clark outside, tearing off a car door as if it were nothing. She couldn’t fathom the amount of strength a person needed to do something like that. Such lethal power in one person. In the hands of the wrong man... Katherine didn’t know if Clark used that power for the right reasons. He’d lied so many times...yet...his actions revealed a man with integrity.
Then from across the street, she’d seen him staring at her. She’d panicked and retreated back inside, unable to face Clark and her feelings.
From the safety of the front window, she watched Clark run from the accident and... Katherine blinked. She searched the crowd and street as an ambulance pulled up behind the wrecked car. Impossible. Clark had disappeared. Almost as if into thin air.
No. There’d been a flash of movement. As if... A shiver raced up her spine, and Katherine hugged herself. Could Clark’s powers also entail the ability to run faster than the naked eye could discern? If so—lethal didn’t even begin to describe him.
Katherine opened the door and hoped no one else noticed Clark’s strange disappearance. “Come on guys. Let’s all get back inside. You’ve got better things to do than stare at someone else’s problems.”
When no one moved, Katherine threatened, “If I have to ask again, I’m going to be assigning double kitchen duty.”
“Not on your life. I hate dishes,” one of the girls said as she followed Katherine and the others inside. “But did you see what that guy did?”
“Hell, yeah,” Tracy said. “He tore the door off that car. Talk about weird. I was just talking—”
“That’s impossible,” Katherine cut in. She had no clue why she was protecting Clark. She didn’t owe him a thing.
“I wasn’t the only one who saw it.”
“Yeah,” Zack, a mass of dreadlocks sprouting from his head, agreed. “I saw it too. The guy was psycho.”
“Okay, people. Let’s say he did manage to do that. It doesn’t mean he’s psycho. There’ve been documented cases where a person will perform extraordinary feats under a life or death situation. This could very well be one of those cases. After all, it did look as if the woman might get seriously hurt.”
“Whatever you say.” Tracy glanced out the window where most of the crowd had scattered. “I still think it’s fucking weird.”
Weird. Is that what Clark thought of himself? Weird? Katherine had never envisioned Clark’s thoughts or impressions. But she couldn’t forget Clark’s expression when their gazes had locked from across the street. For one, brief but shocking moment, she’d seen absolute horror on Clark’s face.
This man was terrified of his capabilities. It made her realize he had feelings and failings. Yes, something was deathly different about Clark, but he’d never been unkind, never used what he had to hurt another. At least, from what she’d learned of him.
Katherine realized she might have completely misjudged Clark. Maybe he wasn’t the one who’d wronged her, but she him.
“I’d like to talk to you, Tracy. In my office.”
“What did I do?”
Leading the way to her office, Katherine laughed. “Nothing.”
Katherine didn’t sit down but leaned back against the front of her desk. “Earlier you were outside talking to the man who pulled the woman out of the car.”
“Yeah. Shit. How weird is that?”
“Tracy.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay. ‘Shoot’ then.”
“That’s better.”
“Yeah. Your boyfriend seemed nice.”
Katherine decided not to argue about the boyfriend bit. Their relationship or lack of was too complicated and too confusing. “Nice? Since when do you describe someone as ‘nice’?”
“Because that’s the feeling I got from him.”
“So you don’t get the feeling he’s dangerous?” Katherine trusted Tracy’s opinion. The girl might be young, but she was far from green. One month on the street had the tendency to add decades to a person’s age.
Tracy’s brows sprang skyward. “Dangerous? You’ve got to be kidding, right?”
“Hum, sure,” Katherine retracted. The truth was when it came to Clark, she didn’t know what to believe. “So what did he have to say?”
“Nothing much.”
“Really?” Katherine bit back the urge to volley off several questions.
“Yeah. We talked about my sister and Luke.”
“I didn’t think you were the typ
e to talk to complete strangers.”
“I’m not, but he caught me right after I got off the phone with Amy. And he seemed nice. He didn’t act like I was some lowlife. He listened. You know, like he cared.”
Many a time Katherine had believed the same. Clark cared, and always appeared to have.
“You know, it was strange. Like we were talking about... what was it? Oh, yeah. We were talking about Luke, and I swear it looked like someone had rammed a pipe up his ass.”
On either side of her, Katherine gripped the edge of the desk with both hands. “Luke?”
“Yeah. I’d seen...Clark. Yeah, that’s his name— talking to Luke a couple of days before he took off.”
“What about?”
“Haven’t a clue.”
Katherine’s growing excitement wilted. The meeting must have taken place before Clark’s memory loss. What in the world was he doing talking to Luke? And again talking to Tracy? Only God and Clark knew. Then again, Clark might not even know. He could be going on pure instinct.
Clark. What was she going to do about him? Fear of him and fear of her feelings for him had kept her clear of Clark over the last couple of days. But that didn’t mean she didn’t obsess over him. Katherine knew she needed to reign in that preoccupation. If she didn’t, her work was liable to suffer.
For the moment, she thrust Clark from her mind and focused on her client. “Before you leave, I’d like to know how your talk with your sister went.”
Trace shrugged a shoulder, but a telltale shimmer touched her eyes. “Okay, I guess.”
Tracy’s nonchalant attitude, Katherine knew, shielded a deep vulnerability. Not that Katherine blamed Tracy for putting up a tough front. Life had knocked her around pretty hard. But one person always managed to crack through that façade—Tracy’s sister, Amy.
“I just wanted to let you know I haven’t given up on her or your situation. I’m going slow, because I want to do this right. No mistakes. I’ve hired an investigator to compile what he can on your father. Don’t worry, we’ll get her out of there.”
Katherine didn’t let on that she’d used her own money for the detective. Tracy didn’t need to feel any more obligated than she already did. Also, Katherine could afford it.
There was one advantage of being born into the Spalding family. Money. She’d inherited a trust fund at twenty-five. Not something she advertised, knowing how unfair it seemed when she had so much while others had so little. Yes, she’d never once pulled a cent from the shelter for living expenses, drawing from her inheritance for her monthly salary, but even knowing that didn’t stop the guilt from rearing up. She quickly pushed it aside. After all, she’d learned to live with guilt for years now.
“Thanks.” Tracy jerked her head into a nod and slipped from the room.
A couple minutes later, Katherine followed Tracy from her office, walked back to the lobby and peered out the front window. A crowd still milled around the street, but several uniformed police had backed them away to make room for the ambulance, which left the scene to merge with traffic. Katherine hoped the lack of lights and siren indicated the driver had minor injuries.
She also noticed a police car parked across the street and an officer talking to several pedestrians. Of course, the officer would have to fill out the necessary paperwork. Katherine wondered what would be in his report and how he’d justify Clark’s actions. More importantly, she wondered what Clark was doing at the moment.
Chapter 18
With the sun high on the horizon, Clark stood outside the front entrance of the Spalding estate and listened. A vacuum sounded from one of the rooms upstairs. Probably the housekeeper. As he placed a gloved hand over the door handle, a male voice filtered over the whirr of the vacuum. It came from the back of the house, possibly the kitchen. But even with all the noise, Clark knew that voice.
Spalding.
What the hell was he doing home in the middle of the day? Clark had expected him to be at work, many minutes and miles away. Well, Spalding’s unexpected presence didn’t matter.
Ignoring the hard, rapid bang of his heart and the sense of foreboding heavy against his chest, Clark glanced over his shoulder one last time before he slipped inside and eased the door closed behind him.
This afternoon, Spalding, the housekeeper—no one—was going to keep him away. Granted, Clark knew walking into an occupied house wasn’t the most brilliant move on his part, but, hell, nearly getting mowed down by a car called for desperate acts.
Someone wanted him dead.
Clark should have paid closer attention to the car accident and the reasons behind it. He’d mistakenly focused on uncovering his identity and not on the magnitude of danger around him—until today.
Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to sit back and let someone turn him into a statistic. All the signs pointed to Spalding. But Clark couldn’t discount the possibility of someone working at Miltronics or living at the shelter.
Enough. He didn’t have time for speculation.
When he started walking down the hall toward the interior of the house, the housekeeper turned off the vacuum. A chair scraped against the floor from another room. Footsteps, heavy and with purpose, moved in Clark’s direction.
Spalding again.
Damn it. On silent feet, Clark slipped swiftly into the office and waited, back against the wall. The echo of footsteps grew fainter as Spalding climbed the stairs to the second floor. Voices now. That of Spalding and the housekeeper.
The tension digging into Clark’s muscles ebbed. Talk about close. Not waiting around for another near encounter, Clark pushed off the wall and strode to the desk. Quickly, but quietly, he pulled the drawer out. He found the package attached to the bottom. At least something was going right today. With a gloved hand, he yanked the boys’ identifications from the bottom, replaced the drawer and stuffed the package inside his jacket.
Evidence. Too valuable to let Spalding keep. Fingerprints on the IDs implicated not only Spalding but also Clark and Katherine. When it came down to it, Clark’s prints were everywhere—the desk, safe, doors, everything—too many places to retrace and wipe clean.
He would love to hang around and see Spalding’s face when he discovered someone had snatched the identifications from under his nose. Or if Clark was smart, with the boys’ items in his hands, he should walk away, this minute, this second, and not look back. Start over in another city, with a new life and forget Boston and his past. Clark had enough cash to do it. After all, he might never remember.
Then he thought of Spalding. By turning his back, Clark would let a killer walk, allow the deaths of innocent lives to go unpunished and have to live with that knowledge.
He didn’t know if he could do it.
There was also Katherine. How could he ensure Spalding didn’t turn on her? Being bound by blood didn’t guarantee Katherine’s protection. Clark would leave her defenseless.
He hated the idea. That and never again seeing the deep brown of her eyes go dark with wonder and excitement or smelling the scent of summer in her thick, glorious hair. She possessed so much power over him...the power to calm yet incite...
He couldn’t do it. Damn it. He cared too much.
The sound of a car rolling up the drive cut into his thoughts. Someone else. Great. Just what he needed. A damn airport terminal. He hit a leg against the edge of the desk as he rushed from the office.
A car door slammed. Hurried footsteps. In seconds, they’d be at the door.
Leaving through the front wasn’t an option. He’d have to escape through the same door as he’d done earlier with Katherine. Holding his jacket and the package close to his chest, Clark moved down the hall toward the back of the house. He reached the game room when the doorbell rang, and Spalding hastened down the stairs to answer.
Clark paused by the doorway to the game room. Something didn’t add up. Since watching the estate, Clark had yet to see Spalding miss a day of work. He had an idea the reason was about to walk throug
h that front door.
“We’ve got problems,” a man said.
Clark didn’t recognize the voice.
“Tell me something I don’t already know,” Spalding retorted snidely. “What is it now, Jason?”
The door closed, and judging by the silence, Clark suspected neither man had moved from the entrance.
“The hit didn’t go as planned. He’s still walking.”
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Spalding lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “What do I pay you guys for? And keep your voice down. My housekeeper’s upstairs.”
Realizing they were talking about him as the hit, Clark tensed. So he was still walking. How terribly inconvenient of him. Maybe he should have stood in front of the car and solved all their problems.
And who the hell was this Jason? Neither the name nor the voice sounded familiar. But obviously, he was another low life.
Clark flexed his fingers and choked back the urge to run out and beat the crap out of them. Yeah, he might get some satisfaction by laying a fist or two into Spalding’s face but with the housekeeper upstairs and a call away from the police, Clark was more liable to end up on the run. And even if he got the scumbag talking, how would he know Spalding’s words weren’t all lies?
He’d also expose his one vulnerability—the loss of his memory.
The hell he would.
“I thought you told me this guy was good,” Spalding said in a hushed voice.
“You know he is,” Jason said just as softly. “He’s done fine before.”
“But we’re dealing with an adult, not some delinquent spaced out on drugs.”
“Well, that’s all I have. Unless you want to try your hand at finding someone new?” Scorn coated Jason’s question and the low laugh that followed. “I didn’t think so, and I’m not about to start offing people. That’s not my job.”
“It could be with what I pay you.”
“I don’t think so. Not when it comes to this hit. Something’s really strange about him,” Jason murmured, his voice drawing nearer.
Clark backed away from the doorway, but curiosity kept him from completely retreating. If he could just get one look at Spalding’s visitor.
Duplicity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance Page 14