Duplicity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance

by H. D. Thomson

  She shook her head, sadness replacing the flash of anger in her eyes. “I tried to tell her she was being used, but she didn’t see it that way. The pretty words and free drugs were blinding her to the truth. By the time they’d gotten tired of her, it was too late. She’d become an addict. But unlike the others, Miranda didn’t have a safety net.”

  “Did she try to get help?”

  A tear slid down Katherine’s cheek. “She came to me a couple of times, asking for money. I gave it to her until I realized I just encouraged her drug habit. Everything came to a head when I caught her stealing some of my jewelry. We got into a huge fight. A couple days later, she came by, begging me to give her another chance, asking for my help. I never answered the door.”

  He reached across the table and cupped Katherine’s hand. “And you blame yourself.”

  Sniffing, Katherine jerked her head up and down and grabbed Clark’s hand as if it were a lifeline. “Every time I think of her death, I think of my selfishness, of my inability to—˝ She cleared her throat. “She died in a public restroom. A cleaning crew found her in one of the stalls in the morning. I guess she’d been there since the night before...”

  Clark closed his eyes against the image. “Oh, hell. I’m sorry.”

  “If only I’d been there for her. If I hadn’t turned my back like everyone else, she’d be alive.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “But don’t you see?” she asked as she leaned forward, sorrow and desperation etched starkly across her face. “By doing nothing, I killed her.”

  “Don’t say that. I don’t want you ever thinking that. How could you know she’d overdose? You can’t blame yourself for someone else’s bad choices, Katherine.” Clark wanted to reach over the table and wrap his arms around her, hold her, take away her pain and make it his. “You’ve lived with this guilt all these years, haven’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  Clark swallowed with difficulty. Now he understood. The shelter. The kids. Every single one of them was a Miranda walking through the front door of the Morning Dove. For years, Katherine, on a desperate mission to fix these kids, didn’t realize she needed fixing herself.

  Clark struggled for a way to make Katherine see. “Even if you’d opened that door, do you think Miranda would have stopped the drugs and gotten help? Can you honestly say that? If she needed money for another fix, she would have said or done anything to get it.”

  Katherine sighed and withdrew her hand from his. “You’ve got a point.”

  He saw the skepticism in her face and realized nothing would convince her of the truth until she was ready to see it herself.

  When the waiter came with their food, Clark stared down at his plate. No doubt the chili-cheese dog smelled and tasted good, but he’d lost his appetite. And he wasn’t the only one from the way Katherine picked at her salad.

  Dressed in a simple white cotton blouse and jeans, her thick golden hair cascading past her shoulders, Katherine looked like she hadn’t yet graduated from college, but beneath her youthful appearance lay a woman with far more years of experience than many. She’d seen a hell of a lot because of the Morning Dove, but even so, she hadn’t become completely disillusioned. Compassionate, stubborn, sincere, honest, and so damn gentle-hearted. Amazing. Hell. Everything about her amazed him.

  Clark had yet to thank her for the other night. He’d been so caught up in his own drama, he hadn’t thought of what Katherine must have felt at getting nearly shot at or seeing him bleeding all over the damn place.

  She’d acted, not reacted, somehow managing to rein in her own fear to take care of the situation. Someone with less character would have left him to deal with everything on his own.

  But she had left, another part of him argued. He’d woken that morning, disoriented, disappointed and alone. Clark understood, though, why she’d vanished. The way his body reacted to a couple of bullet holes must have scared the hell out of her.

  Clark cleared his throat. “I want to thank you.”

  She glanced up from her food, a question in her eyes.

  He shifted awkwardly in his chair. “Last night...helping me, being there. It meant a lot. I just wanted you to know that,” he said the last in a rush.

  “Clark, seriously, it was nothing.”

  “No. You’re wrong. It was far more than ‘nothing.’ I was at a pretty low point. Thanks for being there.”

  When she nodded, he cleared his throat again. “I can understand why you left. Anyone would have been repulsed.”

  “Repulsed?” she asked in disbelief. “Never. I left because—just because.”

  She frowned as if she’d said too much.

  “Then why?”

  She placed her fork down. “Okay. I left because I was afraid if I stayed something would happen. I didn’t want my attraction to you clouding the situation.”

  “Oh.”

  As he watched Katherine’s face turn a wonderful shade of red, euphoria rolled through him. Katherine saw beyond his oddness. She saw him as a man. His chest expanded, and he bit back a smile as the husky warmth of her laugh washed over him. To the day he died, he’d never get tired of that laugh.

  “See?” Katherine made a face. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. And you can stop smiling like you’ve got a big bucket of fish in front of you.”

  “I look that obvious, do I?”

  Katherine nodded.

  His smile wavered, and then disappeared as an image of her naked in his bed flashed in his mind. “I wish you hadn’t left.”

  Katherine’s eyes darkened with awareness. Suddenly, the tension thickened around them, and Clark couldn’t stop thinking of sex.

  “Let’s get out of here.” His voice sounded husky and unused, but damn, he felt like being used.

  She nodded again, her expression far more serious than moments before. “First, I have to go to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

  He frowned. “I don’t like you being alone.”

  “Clark, I’ll be okay. I’m just going to the bathroom.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll make sure I don’t drown in one of the stalls. How’s that?” she shot back with an arched brow but didn’t wait for a reply.

  As Katherine weaved her way through the diners and disappeared down the hall to the restrooms, he watched several men turn in admiration. Katherine didn’t notice or didn’t seem to care. But then, she was a woman who didn’t focus on outer appearance; otherwise she wouldn’t be working at the Morning Dove. She saw beyond these kids’ coarse exteriors to their broken hearts, and in the process, tried to heal them and rebuild their trust and self-esteem.

  If they both got out of this alive, Clark wasn’t going to let her go. This wasn’t some fling. He knew the element of danger heightened the sexual awareness between them, but Clark’s feelings for Katherine went far deeper than surface attraction.

  Somehow, he’d convince Katherine they were right for each other. He stilled. Who was he kidding? He didn’t have anything to offer Katherine. He had no job, no stability, and no memory. Worse yet—no future.

  “Will that be all?” Their waiter interrupted Clark’s brooding thoughts. “How about dessert? We have a wonderful selection—”

  “No. I’m fine. I’d like the bill now.”

  When the waiter came back with his tab, Clark slipped two bills between the folder and searched the restaurant for Katherine.

  She was taking too long. He didn’t like it. Clark should have followed her, and to hell with any protests from Katherine or anyone else he happened on in the restroom. He slowly scanned the diners in the booths on both sides of the wall. The open floor plan didn’t afford any room for a person to hide. Except the one hallway that led to the restrooms Katherine had disappeared down.

  He didn’t like this at all. Another thirty seconds and he didn’t care if he caused more than raised brows; he planned on walking into the women’s restroom. Frowning, he glanced out the window and caught
a brief image of a man and woman before they disappeared from view.

  But it was enough. That distinct shade of blonde hair. That slim, youthful frame.

  Katherine.

  Terror sent Clark’s heart free-falling to his stomach. She wouldn’t leave her jacket behind unless something was horribly wrong. Right now, this second, she was out there with some strange man—a possible wacko, pervert—killer.

  Clark jack-knifed to his feet, shoving his chair back, sending it flying against the carpeted floor.

  “Holy shit.”

  Chapter 26

  Somehow the person in the SUV had returned and lured or coerced Katherine from the restaurant. While Clark stood gaping at the window like some idiot, that same person might be forcibly dragging her into a car.

  He might have a gun.

  Already it might be too late—

  No.

  Clark wheeled around and careened through the restaurant. He hit a leg on a table. Silverware flew. A thick oak table crashed to the floor.

  “Hey, watch out!”

  But Clark didn’t care about the stares, the shouts, the chaos he left behind. He cared only about getting to Katherine.

  With the flat of his hand, he smacked the thick wooden door open. Metal hinges groaned and cracked from the force. Clark exploded outside and around the corner of the building to the parking lot. Winded, he paused and searched wildly around for Katherine. An oppressive gray swathe of clouds pressed down from the sky, turning the parking lot, the cars and surrounding buildings and snow into duller, darker facsimiles.

  Clark found her standing between two compact cars and only feet from a man in a long, tan, mole-haired jacket—the same person he’d glimpsed in the window. Even though the raised collar of the man’s jacket shielded a good part of his face, he looked vaguely familiar. But Clark couldn’t place the where and when. It had to be somewhere recent, in Boston. He struggled to remember...

  Other than the three of them, no one else moved toward the restaurant’s entrance or amid the parked cars. Tires against asphalt sounded from the traffic bordering the parking lot, while the blast of music from a passing vehicle traveled over air tainted with the taste of car exhaust and kitchen grease.

  Clark strode across the asphalt. He focused on the man, his dark, almost black hair, the way he pulled open the top two buttons of his coat with a bare hand. Then the man, slowly, ever so slowly slipped his hand inside his coat. Clark’s heart rocketed. The bastard was grabbing for a gun.

  Had to be.

  Clark broke into a run and watched in horror as the man started pulling his hand from inside his jacket.

  Holly shit.

  Clark leaped. The ground rushed from beneath him; wintry air caught in his hair and dug into his sweater. His breath sounded odd, deep, uneven, and not his own.

  He hit the creep, ramming a shoulder into his chest and knocking him off his feet. A grunt. A moan. Clark didn’t know from whom as he grasped the bastard’s jacket. He reined back the fury boiling within him, knowing his hands possessed the power to kill, to maim, and forever silence the answers to his past.

  They smashed against the side of a car, spun and bounced off the driver’s window. Glass burst into a firework of jagged fingers. They hit the adjacent car. The force of their bodies connected against the metal and pushed them up, across and over the car’s hood to land on the cement on the other side.

  Clark got the better deal, landing on flesh instead of unforgiving ground, and he felt just as unforgiving as he glared down at the man lying flat on his back. The creep squirmed beneath him. He reminded Clark of a fish flung from the water, his mouth expanding and contracting wildly for air. The guy didn’t look so dangerous now. Pain contorted his face—a face covered in a patchwork of ruddy, ugly red.

  Good.

  “Clark!”

  “Jesus! Get off me!” The man cried. “Tell him to get off me!”

  But Clark wasn’t finished. He wanted answers, and if it took physical force and a little more pain, then so be it.

  “Clark! Stop it.”

  “My arm! You’ve broken my arm!”

  The man’s words barely registered over Clark’s pounding heart. He scrambled to his feet and yanked the shorter man up by his jacket’s collar. Eyes wide with panic, he looked terrified of Clark.

  Good.

  “Let go!” Katherine tugged at Clark’s arm. “For God’s sake, let him go! He’s okay! He’s my neighbor—a friend. Ethan lives two doors down from my place!”

  The word friend cut into Clark’s consciousness. Frowning, he released his hands from the friend’s jacket and stepped back, realizing now why the man looked familiar. He was Katherine’s gay neighbor, Ethan. The one he’d spied the first day he’d followed Katherine home from the Morning Dove.

  Reality hit, and with it, mortification. It burned into Clark’s face and left him floundering. He’d jumped Katherine’s neighbor, pounded the guy’s head into the ground and enjoyed it. Clark hadn’t waited around to ask questions. No. Not him. Oh, no. He was too much of an idiot to act like a rational human being.

  And how fitting. He’d gloated over Ethan’s fear and mottled face, but Clark had a good idea his own face looked far redder than Ethan’s ever had.

  “Hey, I’m sorry—”

  Clark lifted an apologetic hand, but Ethan, horror flashing across his face, cupped his arm and stumbled back.

  “Get away!” Sniffing, he looked at Katherine in disbelief. “He broke my arm. He actually broke my arm! Since when have you started associating with lunatics?”

  “I’m not crazy. And I might not have broken your arm. You could have a torn ligament instead.” Clark watched Katherine rub a hand over Ethan’s shoulder, slowly, reassuringly.

  “Do you think I’m stupid? I know when something breaks!” Ethan, cradling his elbow against his chest, sank against the side of the car—the same one where moments before he and Clark had slid across its hood. “Who is this jerk, Katherine?”

  “A friend,” Katherine said, her brown eyes dark with concern and lingering shock. “Clark made an honest mistake. He was only trying to protect me.”

  Clark glanced sharply at Katherine, surprised at how readily she’d backed him up. Stranger still, it looked like she believed every word.

  Even so, Clark didn’t feel any better by jumping to wild conclusions. He’d just broken some innocent man’s arm. What the hell type of person was he? He felt like a damn fool.

  “I thought you were someone else.” Even to Clark the explanation sounded lame.

  “Yeah, who?” Ethan’s lip curled with scorn. “Jack the Ripper?”

  “I thought you were reaching for a— Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” He glanced over at Katherine. “Katherine disappeared. She didn’t tell me where she was going.”

  “And who made you her keeper?”

  Clark ignored Ethan’s snide remark. “Why?”

  “I didn’t think.” Katherine, her face just as pale as Ethan’s, stared back at Clark. “I saw Ethan and followed him outside. He had the number to a dog breeder I’d wanted. I’ve been thinking of getting a guard dog for the shelter.”

  “But what was in his pocket?”

  “What are you talking about?” Ethan frowned.

  “You were reaching inside your coat for something.”

  Ethan sniffed in disdain. “I needed my keys. I left the dog breeder’s card in my car.”

  “Your keys?” Clark asked stupidly.

  “Yes. My keys.” The other man glared at him.

  Just then, the last of Ethan’s color leached from his face, and he crumpled onto the parking lot in a dead faint.

  ~~*~~

  Clark paused by the sidewalk in front of Katherine’s townhouse. Daylight had disappeared hours ago, and the moon, somehow brighter and larger than usual, hung in the black sky, inches above the trees and buildings. Its quicksilver glow touched Katherine’s face and illuminated her delicate features but also drove shadows below her b
row, concealing the expression in her eyes. Hell. He was surprised she was willing to be on the same sidewalk together.

  Moments before, Ethan had vanished inside his own townhouse, leaving them with an icy expression and an even icier farewell. Not that Clark could blame Ethan. He didn’t know how he’d react if some stranger tackled him to the ground and broke his arm.

  At the hospital, Clark did try to alleviate the situation by trying to pay for all medical expenses, but Ethan flatly refused, and, between looks of disgust and dislike, he ignored Clark.

  “It wasn’t your fault. It could have happened to anyone.” Katherine cupped his upper arm, and he tried not to stiffen at the contact.

  “Really?”

  “Okay. I take that back. But it was a logical conclusion to think Ethan was the person in the SUV. I should have told you I was going outside to talk to him. And since I didn’t, I’m just as responsible.”

  Clark stepped back, which widened the distance between them and forced her to drop her hand to her side. Right now, he couldn’t handle having her touch him. “Don’t take responsibility for something I did. I’m just lucky Ethan didn’t press charges. Not that I’d blame him—what with me acting like a maniac.”

  “Yes, well...” Katherine trailed off and stuffed both hands into her coat pockets. “We still have no idea who was in the SUV. If only you could—”

  “Remember?” He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but it came out thick, raw and unmistakable.

  “Yes. But there are still those photos I mentioned,” she said the last in a more confident voice. “I have a couple of Luke—the boy you were seen talking to. Did you want to come in and look them over?”

  For a moment, Clark thought of refusing, but he nodded instead and followed her up the path to her townhouse. Once inside, Katherine snapped on the hall light and shrugged out of her coat. As she hung it up alongside his, she turned, brushing against his arm. Clark quickly sidestepped.