Books by Maggie Shayne (12 page)

She spoke volumes with her eyes. And he heard her. "But this troll talk is off the subject," she said.

"I suppose it is." His voice came out slow, lazy. He had to shake himself before he could remember what they'd been talking about initially. When it came back to him, he blinked, breaking the grip of her gaze, breaking the spell she'd been putting him under.

"Alex, why are you so determined to go back to the house, anyway?"

"Why are you so determined not to let me?"

"Because it's risky."

"The risk has to be minimal, Torch. At least admit that much. There's very little chance Scorpion left anyone there, and you know it."

He chewed his lip and nodded. You're fight, there's very little chance.

But that's still a chance and it's a chance I'm not willing to take. "

"We could at least look, couldn't we? I mean, if we head over there at night, sneak a look at the house from the woods, we could see for ourselves if there's anyone around."

He propped himself Up on one elbow.

"This is about that cat of yours isn't it?"

Her face was turning red. She nodded upside down. "Your blood's rushing to your head, Alex: And if you think I'm gonna risk everything for a cat, it must be interfering with your ability to reason."

She pulled her head up, but a second later her legs hung over the side.

Bare feet and smooth calves. And then she hopped to the floor, pacing.

"He has to be fed, or he'll die." "He'll catch a mouse." . "

"I don't have mice."

"A bird, then'."

"But he was shut in! He can't get out to hunt, Torch. He needs me."

She paced to the little stove and set a kettle of water on the burner, then. rummaged in the cupboards. "Alex, it's just a cat."

She located the box of hot cocoa mix he'd bought, opened a packet and poured it into a disposable cup. Her back was to him. She wore a T-shirt and, as far as he could tell, nothing else. ~ She looked toward him, tried for a smile, but it was crooked and endearingly sad.

"You want a cup?"

 
"He'll be okay for another day or so, Alex. A cat the size of that one can certainly last forty-eight hours without food."

She nodded.

"Maybe."

"We'll get your father's papers from Jim McManus tomorrow. We'll get that formula into the right hands. After that it won't matter."

Her brows bunched together.

"There is no formula," she said, her voice a little stiffer, colder than before. But it sounded to Torch as if she were mainly saying it to convince herself. She tore open a second envelope, dumped it into a second cup, then poured the hot water.

"And even there was, what difference will it make? Scorpion will still come after us if we're seen up here, won't he? How would he know we'd already put this imaginary formula somewhere beyond his reach?"

"He won't know. And yes, he'll still come after us." She stirred the cocoa, carried a cup in each hand and sat down on the edge of his bed.

He sat up, taking his from her hand, touching her fingers as he did so, wishing he hadn't.

"But I'll make sure you--and your damn cat--are someplace safe, by then.

When Scorpion gets here, there's only going to be one person waiting for him."

She held her cup between her hands, her doe eyes probing him.

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

He said nothing. Didn't nod, didn't answer. Just averted his gaze and sipL~xl from his cup.

"What if he kills you, instead?"

"He already did that." Damn, there he went again, blurting things that were none of her business. He took another drink, set the cup on the floor.

"He killed your family," she whispered.

"But not you. You're still alive."

"My body is; Alex. That's all, though. There's nothing left inside."

"There is." She put her cup on the floor, not having taken a single sip of the liquid it held. He shook his head in nial, but she caught his face between her palms, held it still, staring so deeply he felt her touch his soul.

"There is, Torch.

I see it, right there in your eyes. "

"No .... " "You don't want to be alive anymore, because it hurts. You wish it had been you. But it wasn't, Torch. It wasn't. It was them, and they're gone, and it's horrible and unfair. But they wouldn't want you to stay dead inside. They'd want you to go on. Do your grieving, and miss them and love them always. But go on."

His hands rose, closing over hers on his face. He moved them away slowly, and he shook with emotion. He held both her hands between his.

"I can't do that," he whispered roughly.

"You can, if you just" -- "You don't understand, dammit!" HIS words exploded from his chest, vibrating through the small camper, making Alexandra jerk in surprise. He released her hands, clasped her shoulders hard, his fingers sinking into her flesh. "It's my fault they died! I screwed up. I underestimated that bastard, and he killed them.

He killed Marcy and he killed my little boys because of me." He released her suddenly, shoving her away from him as he did. The force of it sent her tumbling off the bed, to the floor. But he'd~had no choice, because he'd been damn close to pulling her closer, to clinging to her and embracing the healing light she wielded with her brown eyes.

She scrambled to her feet again, but he didn't want her coming back to him. Not now. If she touched him again, he'd do something utterly stupid. He turned onto his side, facing the wall.

Alex sat down on the bed again, and her hands caressed his shoulders.

"It wasn't your fault, Torch."

"It was."

Her fingers wove through his hair.

"Why?"

He closed his eyes. He did not talk about this. Not to anyone. He never had. And he wasn't about to begin now.

 
And even as he assured himself of those things, the entire ugly story was taking shape in his mind, readying itself to be told. To be shared. With her.

He rolled onto his back, looked up into her brown eyes. With one hand, he reached out to tuck a lock of satin hair behind her ear.

"There was a bomb threat phoned in. That's how it started," he began.

He'd told her the entire story, and Alexandra had tried not to cry at the pain in his voice, but she hadn't been able to help herself. And he hadn't turned away or pushed her away again.

He talked for a long time. It was as if the floodgates had broken, as if once he started he had to tell all of it, right to the end. He told her about his last conversation with his wife, and how D.C. " the man Torch called his best friend, had stood by him afterward. D.C. had never doubted him, even when some higher-ranking fellow named Stem had suspected Torch of being involved in the murder of his own family.

She we red her head onto his pillow, and she put her arms around him, and she held him while he talked. She stroked his hair and his back and his shoulders, and she listened.

"How could he possibly have suspected yo" she whispered, holding him a little tighter.

 
"The obvious reasons. It was a bomb, Alex. They're my specialty."

"But your own family..."

He stroked her hair. She lay in the crook of his arm, with her head on his chest and her arm anchored around his waist.

"Stern knew Marcy and I only married because of the boys."

Alex frowned.

"You didn't love her?"

"I did," he said quickly.

"Just not the way..." His words trailed off, and he tried again.

"We were friends, good friends. Things got out of hand once, when we were both feeling lonely, and Mamy got pregnant. So we married."

"But it was working out," Alex guessed.

"Yeah. Kids have a way of... of bringing people closer.

It's hard to explain it . but you'll know what I mean someday, Alex, when you have children of your own. "

That hurt. It hurt beyond belief, but she swallowed the pain, fought it into submission. Talking would do Torch a world of good. She wasn't about to change the subject.

"How did this Stern know about how things were between you and your wife?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"He was half in love with Marcy himself. Hell, I often thought she might have fallen for him, in time, if ... if things had been different."

Alex didn't know about that. She couldn't imagine any woman falling for another man if Torch were the competition.

"She never said so, though. Never did a thing to make me think that."

His voice was sleepy now. Long pauses came between his words.

"She was too kind to risk hurt!,ng me... and she was loyal." His hand stilled on her hair. A lot like you," he whispered.

The last pause drew out. In a few minutes, she realized he'd fallen asleep. Exhausted maybe, from the sudden release of such long pent-up emotions. A soul-deep sleep, she could tell. His chest expanded, lifting her head with his deep inhales, and fell smoothly as he exhaled.

She sat up, staring down at his relaxed face.

"The only person to blame for what happened is Scorpion," she whispered.

"You did your job. You did what you were supposed to do." She ran her fingers through his hair.

"Torch, they're at peace. They've returned to meld with whatever force you believe created them. You're the only one in hell. Can't you see that?"

His eyes were still closed, his breathing deep and even. He slept as if comatose, and she knew it was his body's response to the emotional stress of sharing his past--the past that had almost destroyed him--with her.

Alexandra thought he'd probably never released any of the rage he'd been feeling over the murders of his family.

Perhaps he'd never talked about it before.

But he had now. And she was glad.

Alexandra slipped silently away from him, pausing to pull the covers over his still body. She ached for what he was going through, but she also knew that his past was coloring his judgment of the present.

There was no danger in going to the house. There were no men hiding there, waiting for her return. Not when Scorpion believed she and Torch were in New York tight now. Even Torch had admitted the chances of such a thing were slim. But he was being overly. cautious, And it would be foolish of her to think that was out of concern for her. It was fear of failure making him so careful. He was afraid another death would be added to his list of imaginary sins. He was afraid of what that would do to his soul and maybe even to his mind.

But there was no danger. He wouldn't believe that unless she proved it to him, so she would. She needed to go back there, and her reasons went beyond. her desire to be sure Max was all right. Torch wouldn't.

understand them. She wasn't certain she understood them herself, yet.

But she had to go back. There were some things she needed to think through and she couldn't do that here, with Torch and his pain so close, so reachable.

Things about herself. and her relationship with her father. Things she hadn't wanted' to delve into before, because they were too painful. But it was time, she realized. It was past time. And for some reason, it would be easier to analyze and dissect these things back there at the house where they'd spent the last days of his l{fe together.

She closed her eyes and turned away from Torch, silently apologizing for what she was about to do. But she wouldn't be gone long enough for him to wake up and perhaps worry. She'd just do what she'd suggested earlier--get close enough to the house to take a look around and assure herself no one was there. And in the morning, she'd tell him what she'd done, and what she'd found, and he'd stop being so stubborn about going there.

Making barely a sound, she picked up her clothes. She pulled on a pair of the heavy socks he'd purchased, and then donned one of the sweatshirts. She finished off with his leather jacket, and she took the flashlight, too. On tiptoe, she slipped into the front of the RV and then out the passenger door, rather than the one in the back, where he might hear.

And then she stepped away from the camper, stretching her arms out.

to her sides and inhaling deeply of the clean night air. Snow fell softly but thickly, dusting her face and hair. And it was colder than it had been earlier. Quite a lot colder. It wouldn't be a problem, though. She could find the house blindfolded.

She took a step, then stopped, blinking at the unfamiliar surge of feeling that last thought had evoked. She felt'. capable. She felt sure of herself and. and strong. She couldn't remember feeling that Way before. But she didn't have to spend much time analyzing it or trying to figure out where it was coming from. She knew. The time she'd spent with Torch was changing her.

 
She looked back at the camper, remembering the way he'd looked lying there, hsleep and drained and even a little vulnerable. Yes, he was changing her. In more ways than one.

She only hoped she didn't end up regretting it.

Torch 'dreamed of his children. Jason and Josh were playing in a square patch of grass, their faces bathed in golden sunlight. He heard their laughter, saw the sparkle in their eyes as they ran and tumbled and rolled in the lush grass. He saw himself, too, running and rolling right along with them, and then he remembered. He'd been teaching them football in the backyard. The summer before. He stopped thinking and just looked, watched the scene unfold in his mind's eye and devoured every second of it. It had been so long since he'd been able to see them like this, alive and happy. So long since he'd been capable of bringing up a single memory. But now, it was like being there again. So real. The redness of theft plump cheeks, and the way the wind ruffled their curls. The comic' size of a regulation football when clutched in the small hands of a four-year-old.

"Josh, Jason, time to come in."

Torch turned at the sound of Marcy's voice. She stood at the back door, smiling as the boys ran toward her. They begged to stay out just a little longer. It was such a familiar scene, one that had played out a thousand times in real life. But it didn't have the feel of a memory anymore.

Smiling, Marcy granted the boys an extra half hour in the backyard.

They raced back to their game, and automatically Torch started toward the back door. He had to talk to Marcy. There was something. "You called them inside," he said.

"They asked for more time."

"Yeah." Torch smiled.

"They always ask for more tune." "And I always give it to them."

He started up the back steps. Marcy caught his gaze and shook her head.

"No. You need to wake up now." "

 
He frowned, saying nothing, just staring, confused.

"It was my time, not yours," she said softly.

"And it's not Alexandra's time yet, either. She needs you. They need you."

He tried to argue, but when he opened his mouth the words that came out had no form, no substance.

"It was my time, not yours," she repeated.

"Accept it, and go on."

And then it was as if the lights went out. Utter blackness descended, engulfing everything. He couldn't see Marcy anymore, or the house, or the yard. He couldn't hear the voices of his sons. There was only darkness, and the unearthly howl of the wind.

It took a full minute for Torch to realize that his eyes were opened.

He was awake, in a pitch-black camper. It had been a dream, for God's sake. A dream.

He sat up in bed, pushing his hands through his hair, gnawing his lower lip a little, just to be sure he was really awake. Seemed he was. And his first instinct was to call to Alexandra. To hear her voice answering him would be reassuring. It would confirm everything was all right. Just as it should be.

She needs you.

He gave his head a shake, trying to rid himself of the haunting memory of that dream. It had been so real. He cleared his throat and very softly, not wanting fo wake her, he said, "Alex? You awake?" He waited, remembering with a flush of embarrassment the way he'd poured his heart out to her earlier. The way she'd held him as he had told her everything. Every single thing he'd vowed not to talk about with another living soul. And how she'd listened, and seemed to understand every word. And how sharing it with her had made him feel like maybe he could survive this hell after all.

There was no answer. Okay, so she was asleep. He shouldn't feel such an intense need to fiear her voice, anyway. It was ridiculous.

 
She needs you. t Torch rolled his eyes at his own apparent mental instability. But he decided there was little use fighting it. He got out of bed, reached for the gas lamp nearest him and turned the knob.

The flame came to life, reaching its yellow fingers into the corners, chasing shadows away.

Torch turned toward the bunks, standing now. He'd just look at her, assure himself that she was okay, and maybe he'd be able to get some sleep.

Only, she wasn't there. The bunk was empty. The sight of it was like a blow between the eyes, so much so that he took an involuntary step backward at its impact.

He swore, and cheeked the bathroom, and swore some more as he poked his head into the cab, finding both as empty as her bed had been. And her shoes and jeans were gone, and so was his jacket and the flashlight.

"Damreit straight to hell, she's gone to that house," he yelled at the walls, the ceding. Okay, okay, calm down. So, she'd sneaked OUt while he slept. So she'd deliberately, blatantly done actly what he'd told her not to do. So what? It didn't mean the world was going to end. He gathered his clothes, picked up his gun. She'd been right from the beginning. There was barely a snow bali chance in hell that Scorpion had left men behind to watch the place. She'd be all right.

She'd be just. He squinted through the windshield, frowning. And then he reached past the steering wheel and down to the side to pull on the headlights.

But even their blazing white glow couldn't penetrate the blizzard blanketing the night. He couldn't see a yard in front of the RV. Not a yard. Sometime while he'd been sleeping, a brutal wind had kicked up, and the result was a blinding snowstorm. And Alexandra was out there somewhere. A chill of foreboding slipped up his spine, and again he heard his dead wife's meaning-laden whisper. She needs you.

He swore. It couldn'~t have been this bad when she'd left. Couldn't have been, or she wouldn't have gone. Alexandra was too smart for that. This was the Adirondack forest, for God's sake. She wouldn't have gone out there alone in a storm like this. He could only pray she'd reached the house safely, before the blizzard had unleashed its fury. He could only hope there had been no one there waiting for her when she had.

He pulled on every sweatshirt that remained, wrapped a pale blue blanket around his shoulders in lieu of a coat and snatched up his duffel bag.

Hunching forward, he headed out into slashing white chaos.

She made it halfway, she figured, before the snow began flying horizontally instead of ve~cally, driven by an ever-strengthening, frigid wind. She lost her bearings. It was ridiculous. Stupid, to get lost in a place she knew so well. All she had to do was follow the fire road," for God's sake. Problem was, she could no longer see the fire road, and the flashlight she gripped was a joke against the power of the sudden storm. When she'd left the camper, it had been cold, yes, but not like this. Now there was this bitter, harsh wind that turned wet snowflakes into razors. There was no light, no darkness. Just snow.

She couldn't make out the shapes of the trees she moved among, until she was nearly inhaling their bark. There was nothing to guide her. The wind moaning eerily through the boughs overhead seemed to Alexandra like the voice of her father.

"Condemning. Scornful.

Her nose and cheeks burned, razed by the blizzard's claws . It hurt to inhale the frigid air, and her lungs screamed with every breath. Yet she breathed ever faster as panic crept into her veins. The cold and the fear tried to send her bronchial tubes into spasm, but Alex fought it. She forced herself calm. She ordered her body not to betray her now. She'd left the inhaler at the camper.

Her hands were wet and slowly going numb, and her feet had long since mutated into solid ice chunks. She couldn't ~ feel them anymore when she stepped on them, so she lurched along, trying to find her way.