Carved in Darkness (17 page)

When he’d agreed to come in and play nice, FSS decided it would be wise to keep track of their newly acquired asset. They’d chipped him like a dog and tracked his whereabouts nonstop. They claimed it was for his own safety, but Michael had never bought that. As his handler, it was Lark’s job to monitor him and report his activities to the boss. At the time it had seemed like a small price to pay for the protection and resources FSS would provide. Now, given the unforeseen turns the situation had taken, FSS was proving to be more hindrance than help. Without Lark, he’d probably be dead by now. Without the possibility of finding Frankie’s killer, he wouldn’t care.

He looked at Sabrina. She turned on her side, facing him. Her face was relaxed, eyes closed, hands curled under her chin. It happened again—that sudden sense of free fall he’d experienced yesterday on the trail.
This can’t be happening …

Where had he been while Frankie was dying? Raped and tortured, waiting for him to rescue her for days and days? He hadn’t been sitting at
her
bedside, ready to protect her.

The free fall ended in a bone-splitting splatter against the rock-hard surface of his anger.

“Find me a job. Something close and quick.”

“That’s my boy. I’ll call you back.” The relieved tone in Lark’s voice told him just how critical the situation with Shaw was becoming.

“Thanks, Lark.” He flipped his phone shut and stared out the window. That douche-bag Sanford’s truck was still parked in front of her house. The guy shows up at her house, drunk and looking to put a beating on her, and she calls him a cab and promises to bring his truck to him. He couldn’t even begin to understand her.

Standing, he retrieved the clip from his back pocket and shoved it into the gun’s grip. He racked a bullet into the chamber and put the gun back on the nightstand.

He scribbled a quick note and tossed it on top of the gun before he fished the asshole’s keys out of her pants pocket. The bouquet of daisies she’d kicked under the bed peeked out at him. He frowned and gave them another boot. Before he left, he opened the bathroom door and turned on the light.

TWENTY
-
SIX

A
FTER LEAVING
L
UCY’S, HE
drove all night, stopping only for gas. Each mile added to his sense of urgency, built his excitement until he could think of nothing except seeing his Melissa again. He relived every second of every moment he’d ever spent with her. Every smile and look she’d given him before he’d made her his, every sob and scream he’d ripped out of her afterward. It was almost too much to believe, too impossible to be true. All he had to do to convince himself that it was real, that she’d come back to him, was think about the picture. The look he’d seen in her eyes was all the proof he needed.

A sudden storm brought rain in El Paso. The surrounding desert offered little shelter from the torrent of water. The girl sat on a bus bench, huddled beneath her coat, arms wrapped around her middle to ward off the biting wind. The moment he spotted her, he knew she was meant to be his. He brought the car to a stop in front of the bench and rolled down the passenger side window.

“Hey, are you alright?” He fixed a pleasant smile on his face—the perfect mix of regret and concern with just a dash of exasperation. She looked at him, wary.

“Yeah, I’m just waiting for my dad.” She glanced in the direction he’d come. He caught it and gave her an apologetic expression.

“If he’s coming off loop 375, he’s going to be a while. The storm caused a six-car pile-up,” he said. The lie was convincing enough to make her shoulders sag beneath her coat. “Tell you what—hop in, I’ll take you home.” His look now was one of reluctance, like he really didn’t want to give her a ride but decency forced his hand. But now she didn’t look defeated—she looked skeptical and a little scared.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll wait, but thanks anyway,” she said, the rain practically drowning out her refusal. He shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head, careful to look a little relieved that she said no. This was the delicate part—he couldn’t force it. She had to come to him.

“All right, suit yourself. You try to stay dry, now,” he said and in a move made casual by years of practice, he flipped his visor down for just a moment and flashed the badge he clipped there. Her eyes caught the reassuring gleam of it, and she stood.

“Hey,” she said just as he put the car into drive and prepared to pull back into traffic. He suppressed the urge to smile and looked at her but said nothing. “It’s just a few miles from here.” She was still wary but she wanted to trust him.

“No problem,” he said and reached over to open the door for her. She slid in, shooting him a shy smile, folding her hands in her lap.

“Thanks a lot. I’m Katy, by the way.” The color of her eyes—a cornflower blue—deepened and darkened until they weren’t her own anymore.

They were Melissa’s.

He fixed that pleasant smile on his face again and put the car in drive. “Nice to meet you, Katy. I’m Detective Conway. And don’t worry, it’s my pleasure.”

TWENTY
-
SEVEN

S
ABRINA IGNORED THE KNOCKING.
When it didn’t stop, she sandwiched her head between a couple of pillows to muffle the sound. A cold nose nudged her cheek, and she lifted the blankets without looking. The dog dove under the covers and snuggled his furry body into hers. She flipped the covers over him and continued to ignore the pounding until it abruptly stopped. She started to drift off again, relaxed by the sunlight that surrounded her.

Knocking again. This time closer—on the door that led from her room to the rest of the house. Again, she ignored it. Noodles buried his head under the pillow next to her. The door opened. She ignored that too.

“I know you’re awake, dumbass.” It was Valerie.

“No, I’m not.” Her voice echoed inside the pillow cave she’d built for herself and her fugitive.

“The Harpers want their dog back.” She sounded amused.

“What dog?” She looked at Noodles and rolled her eyes. He licked her face.

“Sabrina.” Now she sounded annoyed.

“
Fine
.” She tossed the pillow away and pulled the covers back. Noodles tried to burrow himself deeper. She stroked his muzzle a few times before pointing toward the door. “Sorry, Noodlehead. Warden’s here.” He slunk off the bed and out the door. She closed her eyes and listened to him shamble down the stairs like a dead man walking. A moment later, Jessica Harper shouted, “Thanks,” and shut the front door behind her.

“You know … ”

“I don’t want a dog.” Sabrina opened her eyes and looked at her friend.

“Okay,” Valerie said. She leaned against the door frame and looked down at her. “How’d you sleep?”

Okay. So they were going with the old stand-by—
let’s just ignore the fact that we’ve been fighting for days and call an unofficial truce.
“Like a baby.” It was true. She hadn’t slept that hard in months. Her eyes wandered to the window and the chair Michael had placed below it. She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. She’d woken up at some point during the night to see him sitting there, staring out the window. He hadn’t left like she’d told him to—like he said he would—and instead of throwing back the covers and kicking his ass out the door, she’d stayed quiet.

He sat, slouched in the chair, knees parted, hand wrapped around a gun while the other drummed its fingers against his knee. His short, dark hair stuck up in random tufts and spikes like he’d been pulling at it in frustration. His handsome face, tired and grim, as he watched the front yard.

She’d closed her eyes, but she was pretty sure he knew she was awake. He’d been talking on the phone with someone but she’d been unable to make out much of what he said. Instead of threatened, his presence made her feel something she hadn’t felt in years.

Safe. She’d felt safe …

“Whoa. What the hell happened to your neck?” Valerie pushed herself away from the doorframe and sat on the bed. She prodded at the spot on her neck her friend was staring at. She sucked in a hissing breath and sat up.

She remembered Michael sitting on her chest while she tried to blind him. She’d screamed at him, tried desperately to make him hit her. It would have drawn a line, thick and dark, between them—a barrier to keep him out. Instead he took what she threw at him and watched over while she slept.

“It’s nothing. Matt wanted to know how to do a rear naked choke. He caught on quicker than I thought he would.” She gave Val a sheepish grin.

“Charming.”

“Whatever. I think I’m done with him, anyway.”

“Why? I thought things were going good between you two.” Val was forever trying to force her into what she called
normal rela-
tionships.

She flexed her grip, felt the pull of bandages across her knuckles. Thought of Michael’s dark head bent over her hand while it lay in his lap. His calm gray eyes looking at her while hers spat fire at him. “Look under the bed.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and looked at the chair under the window again. Valerie leaned over and ducked her head under the bed.

“Ohhh … ” Val came up with a sad-looking bunch of daisies. “That bastard.” She pulled a flower free and took a whiff.

“It’s not funny.” Sabrina snatched the bouquet and tossed it in the general direction of the trash can. Valerie arched an eyebrow at her and stood up.

“I agree. It’s not.”

“Don’t start—”

“Start what? I’m not starting anything … but if I was, I’d say that letting someone love you isn’t such a terrible thing,” Valerie said.

“I let the kids love me.”

“They don’t count.”

“I let
you
love me.”

“That’s cute.” She cocked her head to the side and smiled. “You say it like you have a choice in the matter.” Valerie reached over and tucked the bloom she’d pulled from the bunch behind her ear. “You know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about a norm—”

She slapped Val’s hand away, grabbed the flower, and crushed it in her fist. “Yeah, yeah—
normal relationship
… I’m thirty-two and afraid of the dark. Not exactly conducive to normalcy.”

“You have good reason to be,” Valerie said as she straightened.

She did have a good reason. She knew what waited for her in the dark, but it didn’t make her any less pathetic. Her eyes wandered over the windows again. Sunlight streamed through the bare expanse of glass. You’d think that she’d hide behind curtains, keep her windows covered to block prying eyes. Nope. She’d tried curtains and blinds, but waking in the dark sent her into a panic spiral.
Pathetic
didn’t even begin to cover it.

“I just—I just want you to be happy,” Val said.

No, you want me to be normal.
“I am.” For some reason, saying the words brought on the sudden sting of tears.

“No, you’re not.”

“What about you? You’ve saddled yourself with a paranoid whack job and a couple of kids that don’t even belong to you. Tell me
you’re
happy.” She was lashing out, regretted every word.

Valerie recoiled as if she’d spit on her. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Pretend you don’t matter.”

“I matter more than I should.” She reached for the hand she’d avoided only seconds before. This time it was Val who pulled away. She sighed. “You can’t keep doing this.”

Val shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” she said. “I’m not the one who needs normal—a husband, kids of your own—
you
could actually have those things.”

“I have what I want,” Val said forcefully.

She shook her head. “It’s not enough. You can’t spend the rest of your life sitting vigil over me—”

“Stop—just stop.” Valerie pressed the tips of her fingers into her eyes and took a deep breath. She let it out slowly. “I’m not doing this again.” She shook her head before dropping her hands. “I’m not fighting with you.”

Sabrina looked down at her hands in her lap and somehow managed to feel even worse. “I’m sorry.” God, she’d been saying that a lot lately.

“Don’t be.
I’m
the one who started it.” Val cleared her throat. “I’m meeting Greg after work, so you and the kids are on your own for dinner.” Greg, a textile designer, was Val’s latest attempt at normal for herself. He was good for her, but Sabrina knew it wouldn’t last—they never did.

TWENTY
-
EIGHT

S
OMETHING CLOSE AND QUICK
turned out to be Chicago. Michael deboarded a commuter flight wearing the harried expression and the rumpled, moderately priced three-piece suit of a middle management office drone. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbow and his tie was askew. His suit jacket was stuffed through the handle of his wheeled carry-on. He blended in perfectly.