A Deep and Dark December (29 page)

“You don’t believe me,” Erin said.

Graham let out a frustrated breath. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Graham rubbed her shoulder. They sat side by side on the couch in front of the fire. Outside the wind had kicked up, rushing through the trees and rattling the windows. Inside the fire leapt and spat, licking up in spiraling tendrils. Every once in a while, the wind dashed down the chimney and flattened it, but the fire would surge up again, more determined than ever to burn on. A lot like Erin and her indomitable spirit, he thought.

“How do we find out who it is and stop them?” he asked. “Is there some kind of ability detector? Can you or your aunt or your dad tell if someone you meet has a talent of some kind?”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Have you ever met anyone else with abilities?”

She shook her head.

He waited a beat then asked, “Did your mother have an ability?”

“No.” Her answer closed the door on any other questions he might have had about that side of her family.

He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. He still shook inside from seeing Erin lying on the floor, her gaze fixed and blank. He’d thought for a moment that she was dead and it was Patricia all over again without all the blood and the sickening knowledge that he was to blame. Only it
would
be his fault if something happened to Erin.

He sat up and turned to face her. “I have to tell you something.” He hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but if he couldn’t be honest with himself, he could at least be honest with her.

She shifted, pulling away from him a little. “What.”

Not a question. Maybe she already knew. That was why she’d been acting suspicious toward him, standoffish. Even now he could feel her withdrawing from him, watching him as though he’d turn on her at any moment. She deserved better than him, better than a son who couldn’t stand up to his father, better than the failure he was. She was right to mistrust him. He would let her down as he’d let Patricia down. He was a disappointment to his father, this town, himself.

“What, Graham?”

He looked down at her hand on his arm, then up into her eyes. The wariness was there, but at the center was something he hadn’t expected and didn’t deserve. She cared for him. He’d have to find a way to nurture it, make it crowd out the doubt until it disappeared entirely.

“I came here to break things off between us.”

Her head jolted back a little and her lips parted. She hadn’t been expecting him to say that. Then what—

“Why?” she was asking, her hands now clenched in her lap. “I mean okay. Sure. If that’s what you want.”

“No, I—”

She took a breath and lifted her chin. “It was a stupid idea anyway and never would have worked out. You’re right. It’s best to end things now. I guess I should thank you.”

“Is that what
you
want?”

“It doesn’t seem to—” Her body went stiff and she clamped her eyes shut, grabbing her head in her hands. “The…pain.”

He dropped to his knees in front of her and gripped her forearms. “Erin. Break out of it.” He gave her a little shake. “Stop it!”

Her eyes popped open. She blinked slowly as though she expected the pain to strike again.

“Gone?”

“Yeah. I think so. You can let go of me.”

He eased back, his heart pounding so hard, the backs of his eyes stung. “It hit faster that time.”

“I’m fine now. You can go.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“I’m not up for any more of your games.”

“What do you mean any more?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head as though breaking free from thoughts she couldn’t trace. “Nothing. Poor choice of words.”

“Let me start again.” He returned to the sofa, giving her the space she seemed to want. “I came here
intending
to break up with you.”

“Yeah, we went over that part.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Graham, I’m tired. This has been a really,
really
crappy day.” She rose and moved to the door. “I think you should leave.”

He jumped up and followed her, the need to make her understand riding him hard. He was going to disappoint someone either way. It may as well be the person who was used to it. “Let me explain.”

Sighing, she leaned back against the front door and crossed her arms over her chest. He would only get one shot at this.

“I’m an idiot, I know.”

“You’re finally starting to make some sense.”

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. God, he loved her smart mouth. “I couldn’t do it. I don’t want this to stop. Whatever is going on between us is good. Well, I think it’s good.”

She gave a reluctant nod, spurring him on.

“My pop thinks you’re a…distraction.”

“He knows about us?”

“Yeah.”

“And he doesn’t approve,” she said, her tone as defensive as the look on her face.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You really are an idiot.”

“He’s sick. He’s not seeing things clearly.”

“I know what your father thinks of my family. I’ve grown up with that attitude my whole life. I get it. He doesn’t want his precious son contaminated by the likes of me.”

“You’re wrong.” But she wasn’t. That was exactly what his father had said.

“We’re done here.” She started to pull the door open, but he slammed it closed hard enough to rattle the windows and send her staggering.

He gripped her shoulders, steadying her. “We’re not done.”

“Don’t you get it? We were finished before we started. It was stupid to think this could work.”

“What about last night?”

Something aching and hot flashed in her eyes and she swallowed hard. He could almost hear her heart pounding in her chest, could see the pulse throbbing in her neck. He breathed in her scent and before he thought to do it, he was tracing a finger from her jaw to the hollow of her clavicle and back again. She shuddered. He eased closer and replaced his finger with his mouth, licking kisses under her jaw to her ear. She put her hands on his shoulders, but didn’t push him away. Instead she held him there, their bodies brushing but not touching.

“What about last night?” he asked again, whispering the question over her skin, causing dots of her flesh to rise as though she were chilled. “What about tonight?”

“We shouldn’t.”

“Please let me stay.”

Her fingers flexed on his shoulders, kneading. He leaned in, pressing his body against hers. She could probably feel his erection, but that wasn’t why he wanted to stay.

“Let me care for you,” he found himself saying, the headiness of being near her heavy in his voice. “Just that. Nothing else. Please.”

“Okay. Yes.”

Her words washed through him. He might not have heard her if she hadn’t had her face buried in the side of his neck. But it wasn’t satisfaction that flooded his system. It was relief. He’d nearly blown it with her, still might yet. But for now she accepted him, maybe even wanted him. He’d take that. He’d take whatever she was willing to give. He knew then that he could take anything—his father’s disappointment, failure in front of the town, anything—as long as she stood with him.

Wrapping his arms around her, he nearly groaned at the feel of her body lined up against his. There was no way to deny what was between them. No way to hide from it. His father would just have to understand…or not. Most likely not.

~*~

As they turned to head to her bedroom, Erin wondered how he’d done it. Somehow he always managed to change her mind at the last moment. Or maybe she’d wanted her mind changed. She really hadn’t wanted him to leave. He’d started to talk about breaking up and her self-preservation instincts had kicked in. And the next thing she knew, she was asking him to leave, practically throwing him out. When he’d slammed the door shut and asked to stay, she’d been so relieved.

They went into the bedroom and through the motions of getting ready for bed. He used the extra toothbrush she’d given him the night before. It still sat in the holder next to hers. It looked right there. As did his reflection beside hers in the mirror. They slipped into bed and she turned to him, expecting they’d make love. Instead he brought her close and held her, tucking her tightly to him. She smoothed her cheek on his chest, luxuriating in the feel of his skin against hers. His scent was familiar now and she craved it.

They would stay together long enough to fall in love, move in together, get engaged…hurt each other. This was why she hated looking at the future. Premonition never brought her anything but heartache. And too many unanswerable questions.

Light flashed behind her eyes, bright and white hot. Her head felt as though it would crumble under the incredible pressure. Graham’s scent lingered, like a blown out candle, flittering at the edges of her consciousness. She could almost hear the echo of him calling her from far away.

She stood at the edge of a pool of blood. In the center of it lay the woman with dark hair and sightless eyes from her earlier vision. Across the room, Graham bent nearly in two, gripping his bleeding side and gagging back vomit. The fat man Graham had argued with sat on the floor, his head on his chest. A trail of blood smeared down the wall behind him.

Erin started to shake. Graham shouted her name, the sound reverberated inside of her, bouncing away and back so she couldn’t grasp it to know if it was real. The Graham in her vision stumbled over to the woman and dropped to his knees beside her. His face twisted with grief. He mumbled something, took a deep breath, and began to search the woman’s body. Finding nothing, he stopped. Gripping his knees, he sucked in a shaky breath. His gaze shifted to her torso.

“Goddammit, Patricia,” he murmured. And then he pulled her shirt up, exposing her bra. He reached toward her, then pulled his hand away. “Goddammit.” As though mentally preparing himself, Graham inhaled deeply, squaring his shoulders. Then he pulled her bra up, exposing her breasts and a small, black cylinder taped between them with a thin wire attached to it. Graham pried it loose and rolled her to trace the wire. He removed a small black recorder-looking thing that was taped to the small of her back.

From far away, Graham’s voice grew insistent, but Erin ignored it, fascinated by the scene before her of this other Graham, stuffing the recorder into his pocket, then putting the woman’s clothing back to rights.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

A show of affection that Erin had thought belonged only to her. It wasn’t clear what this woman—Patricia—was to Graham, but it was clear they’d been lovers, had maybe even been in love. Whatever they’d been, it was something less than that now. The regret etched into Graham’s features, the same expression he’d shown Erin in the future, recounted a litany of failings and failure, of inescapable culpability and conflict.

He stood and looked around. Sirens pealed in the distance, spurring Graham into action. He pulled a gun from the back of his waistband and used the hem of his shirt to wipe it down. Careful not to touch it, he bent over, wincing in pain, and put it in Patricia’s hand, pressing her fingers to the trigger and the grip. He stood and rubbed his hands on his pants, gave the room one last look, then left, taking care not to touch the knob on his way out.

Erin knelt beside Patricia and put her hand to the woman’s forehead. Suddenly she was shoved back out of this room full of death and into another, sun filled room. Curtains fluttered in the hot afternoon breeze. Outside, the city went about its day, sending up street noise as evidence. Erin went to the window and gazed out, trying to get her bearings. She didn’t recognize the room or the view. Los Angeles maybe? She glanced around and spied a group of photos on an end table.

Making her way over to them, she noticed the feminine touches in the room— a ruffled pillow, a black and white print of a flower, a pair of high heels on the floor, and the photo frames. Only a woman would choose something so ornate and delicate. Patricia’s lovely face gazed back at Erin, her smile wide and infectious. She stood next to a woman who looked remarkably like her. A sister, perhaps. The next photo made Erin gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. Graham and Patricia locked in an embrace, clearly more than friends.

Erin’s gaze swung to the next photo of Patricia and Graham again. This time they were both in uniform—dress blues—standing side by side. The familiarity in this photo was suppressed, but there if you knew to look for it. Patricia had been an L.A.P.D. cop just like Graham. Had they worked together? What had happened between them, leading up to the scene in that cheap apartment?

A laugh down the hall brought Erin’s attention back to her surroundings. She started to look around for a place to hide before she remembered that she couldn’t be seen by whoever was coming into the room. This wasn’t real. None of this was real. The past. Nothing but the past.

Patricia came into the room; her laugh, full and bright, entered ahead of her. She glanced back at someone following her. “You hate Branson. And he hates you. I don’t know why you’d want to go.”