An unexpected shiver raced across her skin, and Katherine rubbed at her arms as she stepped into the room. She remembered seeing the file on top of the desk, but one quick glance showed someone had removed it. So where else would be the most logical place?
Of course. The filing cabinet. But which one? The credenza by the window or the tall, three-tiered cabinet in the corner? She didn’t have much time.
Katherine hurried to the chrome colored cabinet in the corner and opened the top drawer. Rapidly, she thumbed through the alphabetized files, realizing almost immediately the drawer contained only the beginning of the alphabet. In her hurry to readjust the files and close the cabinet, she knocked a set of keys that dangled from an inside hook. With fumbling fingers, she replaced it before moving onto the files in the next drawer. She combed through the Ks with hands that grew shakier with each passing second. She was taking too long.
Kirkwood wasn’t anywhere. Then Katherine realized the file must be in Sharon’s main, downtown office. She swore under her breath and snapped shut the middle drawer. She couldn’t go into the downtown office in the middle of the day. Even if she dropped by while her mother was out to lunch, too many people would find it odd. She’d never spent much time at Sharon’s headquarters, only showing up for a quick visit or for lunch with her mother. She’d have to go by after the office closed. But she didn’t have a key.
The set in the filing cabinet. Of course. The office key had to be on that ring. Re-opening the top drawer, she wrapped her fingers around the keys.
“Can I help you?”
Katherine froze.
Why now? Why not later? A couple more minutes and she would have been fine. She clutched the keys, digging the metal painfully into the flesh of her palm as she wildly wondered how to hide the blasted things. Her shirt and blouse didn’t have pockets. Her bra was out. And she wasn’t about to leave them in the drawer, not when she’d gone to all this trouble.
With her back shielding her movements, Katherine closed the drawer with an arm, cupped the keys against her stomach, and folded her other arm across her middle. Hoping her face didn’t look as red as it felt, Katherine turned and found Jason McFadden in the doorway, watching her with an unfathomable expression.
“Is there something you wanted?” he asked.
Katherine floundered for a reason why he’d caught her with a hand in Sharon’s files. No brilliant comeback came to mind. Absolutely nothing.
“No. I’m fine.” She realized she’d let guilt and fear distort her thinking and straightened. So she was in her mother’s office. So what? She was family. She’d grown up in this house for God’s sake. Why would she think she needed to explain herself to this man? “I didn’t realize you worked this late.”
“I don’t normally, but we’ve got this black-tie dinner at the end of the month.” Tall and gaunt, he reminded Katherine of a gray stork—maybe because of the way he walked away from the doorway with his hands clasped behind his back, his long, spindly legs moving slowly and gracefully out in front of him with each step. “I’m putting in extra time to make sure the evening goes smoothly.”
“I see. Well, I’ll let you get to work.”
She really didn’t know Jason even though he’d worked for her mother for over three years. He’d just been there one day, smoothing out her mother’s life at home and in the office. Sharon never talked much about her day-to-day life, and frankly, Katherine admitted with some embarrassment, she’d never been interested.
With her arms still folded against her middle, Katherine skirted past Jason and walked from the room. She turned down the hall to the front entrance. After she slipped the keys inside her purse, she found everyone in the media room. Wanting to get out of the house as quickly as possible, Katherine made some excuse about work and said goodbye to her parents and uncle.
By the coat rack, she shrugged on her jacket. Suddenly, she stilled, sensing someone watching her. She glanced over her shoulder. Paul had stepped into the hall with her.
He stood there, silent, unmoving, staring at her in a way that made Katherine draw her coat tighter around her. She wondered if he knew she’d been looking for Kirkland’s folder and taken the keys in the filing cabinet. Impossible. But still, something about his expression gave her the creeps.
She grabbed her purse and opened the front door.
“Be careful.”
Paul’s words, although spoken softly, carried down the hall to slither across the back of her neck. Katherine paused but didn’t turn around.
“If I were you, I’d watch your back. You’re delving into areas far greater than you can imagine.”
His blatant threat followed her as she stepped through the threshold and into the brisk evening air. Shivering, she snapped the door closed behind her. Even outside, and far enough away from Paul, Katherine didn’t feel any safer.
She’d be stupid to ignore her uncle’s warning or the amount of power he had, but she didn’t intend to give up. If he thought a few words would scare her off then he was in for a surprise. Such arrogance. The way he’d looked at her like she wasn’t worth his time or energy. Like she was some—some annoying insect that needed to be squashed.
Katherine slipped inside her car and gunned the engine. Lips thinned into a grim line, she pulled the car out of the drive. The tires skidded against the asphalt as she turned into the street. Well, his confidence would be his downfall. She’d make sure of that. Hah. Paul completely underestimated her.
She hadn’t learned much tonight. But she’d come close to something. The mention of the fire and Miltronics had sure gotten a reaction from her uncle. So much so that he felt compelled to use threats.
But why? Could Paul have something to do with the fire and not the janitor? If so, Katherine didn’t understand the motivation. Greed? A possible insurance scam? None of that made sense. Her uncle had money. There had to be another reason. But what?
Katherine, her anger, sudden to materialize, just as quickly vanished. Her uncle was right. She was way over her head.
Chapter 20
Clark wrapped his fingers around the cold metal of the gun he’d found inside the duffle bag. He sat slumped on the sofa in his living room. Alone. Night had fallen, and the lamp by his elbow illuminated the few pieces of furniture he’d bought after moving in. A couch, lamp, coffee and end table pretty well did it. All cheap and expendable, since he didn’t have a clue where he lived or even if he had a house of his own. Talk about sad.
Clawing his hair back from his brow with his free hand, he stared at the boys’ identifications he’d stolen yesterday. They lay on the coffee table along with several comic books he’d bought earlier in the day. Talk about desperate.
Had he really thought he’d get answers beneath the pages of a comic book? Still, something about the character and his story bothered Clark.
Leaning forward, he set the gun on the adjacent cushion and grabbed the top comic. He frowned at the colored picture of a superhero in a cape and tights. He started to open the cover, but instead flung it on the table in self-disgust and watched it slide off and disappear on the floor. He’d searched through every single page a dozen times. Had he gotten any answers?
No.
Would going through it again give him something new?
No.
Clark glanced over to the gun on his right and grasped the handle, the metal still warm from holding it earlier. He tilted the weapon back and forth and noticed how the polished metal gleamed against the lamp’s light. The weapon looked simple, efficient and lethal. As to the make or model—he hadn’t a clue.
With his free hand, he lifted a long neck beer from the end table and took a deep swallow. What the hell. Flinging back his head, he emptied the rest down his throat and set the bottle on the end table beside the three other empty ones. The way he was going, he’d be drunk within the hour—if he weren’t already. Granted, he really shouldn’t be drinking the way he felt, but right now he didn’t give a rat’s ass.
&n
bsp; Turning back to the gun, Clark opened the loaded cylinder. With a thumb, he spun the revolving chamber and watched with narrowed eyes as the bullets spun around and around. When the cylinder slowed, he snapped it back into place, flipped off the safety, and aimed the gun at the front door. Clark closed one eye and squinted down the barrel, grasping from some sense of familiarity. Had he looked down this same barrel, aimed at some boy and shot him dead?
He didn’t know.
But the more important question—did he have it in him to kill another human being? The idea made him want to throw up. Because he knew, somewhere deep inside him lived a twisted and dark side, one in which, given the right circumstances, he’d do just that.
Unable to look away from the revolver and the way it rested naturally in his hand, he eased back the hammer with one thumb. One shot and he wouldn’t have to think, wonder or worry. He had no family he knew of, no job, no past. Clark might never know, and that reality filled him with mind-numbing panic. It wouldn’t take much. All he had to do was lift the barrel to his head and pull the trigger.
The doorbell chimed. He jerked, the gun nearly going off in his hand.
Holy shit.
Carefully he eased back the trigger and snapped on the safety, all the while eyeing the door with dislike and suspicion. Tension rolled through his muscles as he rose. He couldn’t make out the person’s identity on the other side of the door, just agitated breathing.
The bell chimed again.
Holding the gun behind his back, he walked to the door. “Who is it?”
“Katherine.”
He inhaled sharply. The muscles across his back and shoulders tensing even further. He’d made a point of keeping away from Katherine, giving her space and time to deal with what she’d seen at the accident. More importantly, he’d kept away because he’d jeopardized her safety and pulled her far too deep into his own nightmare. He flipped on the outside light, unsnapped the lock and opened the door.
The porch light illuminated Katherine’s cap of golden hair and her delicate features. He expected to see horror, fear, even repugnance written on her face, but the light touching her deep, brown eyes revealed none of those emotions. Just uncertainty and something else, something Clark didn’t know what to make of.
“Do you have a minute?” she asked.
“Sure.”
Opening the door wider with a shoulder, Clark stepped aside. As she walked into the house, her scent, reminding him of sunshine and summer breezes, played across his senses. The fragrance evoked images of the night in her apartment. She’d been beautiful, all quivering limbs and hot, silken flesh. For several nights now, alone in bed, with nothing but his thoughts for company, he’d relived those hot, passionate minutes in her arms, the way those incredible legs of hers wrapped around him and how her eyes grew all heavy-lidded with desire—
“Clark?”
He jerked back to the present, feeling his face flush, his chest tighten. “Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
“Of course,” he lied and closed the door with the same shoulder. He pulled his hand from behind his back.
~~*~~
When Katherine saw what was in Clark’s hand, she stiffened and twisted her fingers around the strap of her purse. “You have a gun. Why?”
“Self-protection?”
“You don’t sound too sure.”
He shrugged a shoulder.
Katherine took in Clark’s disheveled appearance and realized it might not have been such a good idea coming here tonight. His shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, unbuttoned halfway down his chest and pulled from his jeans looked like he’d slept in it, while he’d had some type of battle with his hair and lost. A flush stained his prominent cheekbones and something in his eyes boded of dark, tormented thoughts. Barefoot, he stood tense, almost antagonistic in front of her, over six-feet of muscle and sinew, and filled with such terrifying power.
Katherine swallowed. She’d never seen Clark like this, and she didn’t like it or how it made her feel—too darn helpless and uncertain.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“Would you believe to apologize?”
“Why?”
“For doubting you. For thinking—”
“That I’m some freak.”
“No,” Katherine denied, maybe too quickly.
Something flickered in his gray eyes, but it was enough. Pain. Clark didn’t trust her. He’d encased himself in this thick, defensive wall against her, and she couldn’t blame him. Not entirely.
“Really?” he asked in obvious disbelief.
“Yes. Really.”
With Clark, the lie tasted sour against her tongue. She’d never been one to hide behind half-truths. At least not until recently.
“That’s too harsh a word,” she admitted, deciding Clark deserved the truth. “You have to understand, I was scared. Without any warning, I’m seeing this incredible power from someone else. We’re not talking about a person who’s worked out every day and pushed their body to normal limits. It goes way beyond that. The whole idea was too foreign and incomprehensible to me—so much so that I couldn’t wrap the reality of your powers around my head. I’m still having a hard time of it. And seriously, not many people would take it in stride. Don’t you think, given the same situation, you’d have reacted the same way?”
Clark rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve got a point. But somehow it’s hard to swallow when you’re on the receiving end.”
“I can imagine.” She glanced to the gun in Clark’s hand. “You never answered my question. Why the gun? It can’t be for protection. Not when you’re, well, you know...”
“Just as deadly? Is that what you’re trying to say, but being too polite to spell it out?” A half-smile played across his lips. He shook his head, backed up several steps and placed the revolver on top of the coffee table.
Realizing Clark was intentionally avoiding the question, Katherine decided to let it go and focused on her surroundings. She noticed the littered coffee table and—
“You’ve been drinking.”
She pointedly looked at the bottles on the table.
“I’ve had a few.”
She arched a brow.
“Okay. Probably more than a few.” He drove his fingers through his hair, standing the shorter strands on end. “And right now, I could use another. Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
But Katherine, too tense to sit down in one place, followed him into the kitchen. As Clark flipped on the light switch and strode to the fridge, she noticed he hadn’t yet furnished this room. The only things keeping the area from being completely barren were the major appliances—fridge, stove, dishwasher—all glossy black to match the charcoal speckled countertops. Face grim, he grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge, popped the tops and handed her one. After he took a long swallow, Clark wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What’s wrong?” Katherine finally decided ignoring Clark’s dark mood wasn’t going to make it go away. “At first I thought you were just angry with me. But you’re wired tighter than someone on amphetamines. Are you drunk?”
Clark laughed without humor. “Not as drunk as I’d like to be.”
She frowned, searching Clark’s face, the taut lines, the drawn brow, and the hopelessness in his eyes. He’d lost that drive, that force. “Don’t—”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do this to yourself.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Katherine followed him into the living room. “Oh, yes you do. You’re giving up.”
“I’ve nothing to give up on.”
“You can’t say that. I’ve seen too many kids at the shelter quit. When that happens, nothing or no one can help them. Hope and faith are so powerful. They can turn a child’s life completely around. Given the chance, the future can have so many wonderful possibilities.”
She clasped his fo
rearm, but his muscles tensed beneath her hand, and Katherine quickly let go.
“A future with no past? Oh, yeah. That sounds wonderful. Along with my fictitious job and fictitious life.”
Her other hand tightened on her beer bottle. She didn’t like this new Clark. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”
“And what does?”
“Not this—this anger. This bitterness.”
“How else am I supposed to act?” He shook his head, and a look of disgust crossed his features as he rolled his bottle between his palms. “I’m sorry. You’re the last person I should be taking this out on. But you’re the only one...”
“Who cares?” she asked softly.
Pain flashed in his eyes. “How can you? I’ve put you in this terrible situation.”
“No one put me anywhere but me. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think...” She bit her lip, feeling uncomfortable at where she was going with this conversation. But it didn’t matter. She’d gone this far. “If I didn’t think you were worth it.”
And she spoke the truth. Emotionally, Clark touched her beyond any other man she’d met. Her feelings might be confusing, even turbulent but they were genuine.
This time when she grasped his arm, Clark didn’t flinch or draw away. Katherine grew bolder, cupping his jaw and rising on her toes to brush her lips against his. Slowly, ever so gently, he kissed her back, a whisper of warm lips, more poignant than any passionate kiss.
Then he touched his brow against the crown of her head and whispered, “Thank you. I don’t deserve your friendship. I’ve taken it for granted, and it’s time I put a stop to it.”
Abruptly, Katherine drew away. “What are you talking about?”
“I need to keep away from you. Something I should have done long ago. Don’t you see, by involving you, I’ve put your life in jeopardy? It’s got to stop. Someone tried to kill me again the other day. You saw it. That woman in the other car might have died! I’m not about to be responsible—”
“You don’t see, do you? I’m not your responsibility. I’ve told you that before. We’re talking about my uncle being a murderer. I’m drowning in ‘involvement.’” Seeing Clark’s stubborn jaw and the unyielding look in his eyes, Katherine groaned. “You’re not listening.”
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