Colder Than Ice (22 page)

She had pulled the Jeep into the driveway of one of the neighboring houses. Bryan glanced at the place; it looked occupied but currently empty. No one was home. Dark windows, not a car in sight. “I can't quite make sense of the fact that this maniac we're all so terrified of is your father.”

“Birth father.” She shrugged. “Hell, I've got three fabulous parents and one psychopath. It balances out.”

“Guess that's one way to look at it.”

“He came after me a year ago. Thought I was going to inherit his so-called gifts and decided it was time to start my training.”

“What kind of gifts?”

She shrugged. “He's so crazy it's hard to tell, but there's definitely some genuine talent there, too. I think he's psy
chic, and he might actually be able to channel things from…you know, from the other side or whatever. But his mind is so twisted, it's hard to tell what's real and what's delusion.” She sighed, shook her head. “After Beth got me away from him, he sent papers surrendering all parental rights to me. I guess he decided I wasn't worthy of his gifts after all.”

“You should be thanking your lucky stars.” Bryan searched her face. “But you're not, are you? You almost sound a little sad.”

Dawn met his eyes, and hers were unguarded and potent. “There are such beautiful parts of him. It's like…when he first kidnapped me. He ran Julie's car off the road, but he only meant to force her onto the shoulder.”

“Julie your adoptive mom?”

She nodded. “She's such a lousy driver, we wound up over an embankment. Julie was hurt bad, unconscious. I climbed up to get help, and he was there.”

Bryan narrowed his eyes on her. “Not seeing the beautiful part yet, Dawn.”

“I think her injuries were serious. I don't know how I know it, I just do. I begged him to do something, to help her. And he did. I mean, he didn't want to, I could see that. But then he said it wasn't her time, and he looked down there at the wreck and was just quiet for a moment. And then he told me she would be okay. And she was.”

“You think he…healed her?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. I think he tried. I think he knew she would come after me, and that it would be better for him if she died in that wreck, but he tried to save her. I think there's a goodness down deep inside him.”

Bryan tipped his head to one side. “He's killed a lot of peo
ple. I think my dad suspects he killed Maude. No good in that, Dawn.”

“No. But he thinks he's following instructions straight from God. He won't hurt anyone unless he believes God tells him to, even if it would be better for him. You see what I mean?”

“That deep down he's a
nice
homicidal maniac?”

She sighed. “I don't expect you to understand.”

He studied her for a moment. “You have to see something good in him, because you know his genes are in you. You're part of him. And you want to believe the part you came from was the good part. I totally get it.” Reaching out, he smoothed a hand over her hair. “And looking at you, I can't believe you came from anything else. There must be good in him. And you got all of it, Dawn.”

She sniffled, lifting her head, and he was surprised to see that her eyes were wet. “It scares me sometimes. I wonder if I might have gotten some of the bad, too.”

He shook his head slowly. “There's nothing bad in you.”

Her lips thinned. “Sometimes…I know things.”

Bryan was silent as a little jolt of surprise zapped through him. His hand stilled in her hair.

“I knew Beth was in trouble. I knew Mordecai had found her. I knew Maude was going to die before it ever happened.” Her tears spilled over. “I think I have whatever it is that he has. And what if that's what made him insane?”

“Oh, hell, no, Dawn. That's not it.” Bryan slid his arms around her, and she collapsed against his chest and let him hold her. Her shoulders spasmed as she cried, giving way to the fear that must have been eating at her for a long time. “Dawn, I swear that's not it. There are plenty of people who
have…you know…a little something extra. You see them on TV all the time. They write books, lead seminars, have great careers, and they help people. You know that. You've seen them, read them.”

“But—”

“But nothing. He had a gift, but his mind wasn't right. His insanity twisted and corrupted his gift, not the other way around. You're not crazy, Dawn, and you're not evil. God, when I first saw you, I thought you were an angel.”

Sniffling again, she lifted her head from his chest. Her cheeks were tear-streaked, her eyes wet and red. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

She swallowed hard. “I've never told anyone about this. Not anyone.”

He could hardly believe she'd told him something so private, something she hadn't shared with anyone else. It made him feel special, and strong. “I'm not going to tell anyone,” he said. “You can tell me anything you want. Any time you want.”

“I'm glad you're here, Bryan. I'm not sure I could get through another encounter with my father alone.”

He nodded. “I'll make sure you won't have to.”

She smiled just a little, wiping her tears from her eyes.

Bryan drew a breath for courage, leaned closer, and very gently, very slowly, pressed his lips to hers. She didn't push him away. In fact, she leaned in a little, kissed him back a little. But when they parted, she was searching his eyes again.

He looked past her. “It's dark outside.”

She nodded. “We should try to get a closer look at Daddy Dearest before we leave here. I didn't see what he looked like, did you?”

“I figured you'd be able to recognize him.”

“No way. He's way too good for that. Come on.” She opened her car door and got out.

Bryan didn't like admitting, even to himself, that he was scared shitless as he got out, too. But at that point, he thought he would have followed Dawn Jones McKenzie straight into hell if she asked him to. He just hoped that wasn't exactly what he was about to do.

 

Beth followed her nose and grumbling stomach down the stairs. She'd combed out her hair, partially dried it, and put on the muslin nightgown, terry robe and fluffy slippers Joshua had laid out for her. She felt cozy. Refreshed, clean and warm. And though still wary of him, and his motives, lies and intentions, she was grateful for the royal treatment.

When she stepped into the dining room, she stopped walking and stood still, surprised yet again. Maude's old table had been polished to a high gloss shine and set as if for a queen. Silver and china glittered in the light of two tall, white tapers set in silver holders. A candelabra sat on the sideboard, glowing and casting dancing light into the room. And the smells from the kitchen were tantalizing.

“I hope you're hungry,” Josh's voice whispered from very close behind her. Then he moved past her and pulled out a chair. “Sit, relax.”

“I don't know what you're trying to pull, Joshua, but—”

“I'm not trying to pull anything. I lied to you. I feel bad. I want to make up for it and come clean.”

She lifted her brows, staring at him as he stood there, his hands on the chair. “You're going to tell me the truth?”

“About everything. Over dinner. I promise.” He nodded at the chair.

She wasn't sure she believed him, but she moved forward anyway, taking the seat as he pushed it in for her. His breath warmed her neck when he leaned over her to take an immaculate white napkin from the table and lay it in her lap. She tried not to let her shivery reaction show too much.

“Be right back with the food.”

He hurried away into Maude's kitchen, returning moments later with silver serving bowls, covered and steaming.

She started to get up. “Let me help—”

“No, don't you dare. You'll ruin my plans.” He set the bowls on the table and started back.

“And just what are your plans, Joshua?”

“To give you a little pampering, a little TLC. Something Maude told me you'd been too long without.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he was gone again. When he returned, he brought a huge covered basket and another silver bowl, this one uncovered and brimming with a tossed salad. He took the cover from the basket, revealing hot, freshly sliced garlic bread. The other two dishes held spaghetti, and a sauce so full of meatballs and veggies that it held the serving spoon upright.

“I hope you like spaghetti.”

“Everyone likes spaghetti,” she said, and she let him wait on her, deciding she wasn't being given a choice in the matter. He filled her bowl with tossed salad and set the selection of dressings and toppings in front of her, waiting for her to finish before fixing his own. She took a handful of croutons and some Italian dressing. He used the croutons, as well as the bacon bits and shredded cheeses, before soaking the bowl in creamy ranch dressing. But before he sat down to eat, he ran back to the kitchen, returning this time with a bottle of chilled wine
and two glasses. He filled them both, then raised his own. “To honesty and maybe, if I'm very lucky, a fresh start?”

She lowered her eyes. “To honesty,” she said, and she clinked her glass to his.

B
ryan could see Dawn shivering as they crept from the back lawn of the empty house to the back lawn of the one next door. The thing that got to him was that it wasn't all that cold outside. He tried to edge a little closer to her as they moved, bending low, almost tiptoeing through the grass and dry leaves that crunched with every step they took.

Damn noisy leaves.

The darkness seemed to grow thicker, denser, by the second. Or maybe that was just the thick black clouds gathering and shifting, breaking apart and regrouping over the thin cradle moon.

Just as well. When the moon did shine through, it only reminded Bryan of a scythe, and that made him think of the Grim Reaper, and that was too damn close to his image of Dawn's demented father for comfort.

They walked like cartoon characters trying to be sneaky, backs bowed, knees bent, with their arms bent at the elbow and hands hovering in front of them in an almost defensive position. The only difference between them and a classic episode of Bugs Bunny was that they were tiptoeing more slowly and lacked the accompaniment of a tinkling piano.

When they were close enough to touch the white clapboard siding on the back of the house, Dawn stopped moving. She stood still, one hand braced on the house, and Bryan thought she was listening, so he listened, too.

The wind rattled through dead leaves that still clung to the trees and littered the ground. An owl hooted. A car passed by on the highway.

“He's in there,” Dawn whispered.

“Well, yeah. We know that. We saw him go in there.”

She nodded. “We have to get a look at him.”

“I was afraid you would say something like that.”

“Maybe…maybe you should go back. Wait in the car.”

Bryan made a face. “Yeah, right. I'm gonna go cower in the car like a little girl while you risk your neck spying on a lunatic.
Not.
”

“He's my father. My problem, not yours.”

“Actually, right now he's my dad's problem, which sort of makes him mine, too.” He shrugged. “Hell, maybe
you
oughtta go wait in the car.”

“He's Beth's problem. That's what he really is,” Dawn whispered.

“Is that why you're doing this?”

“Partly. I guess. I owe her. But it's more than that. It's like—you gotta clean up your own garbage, you know what I mean?”

He shook his head side to side.

Dawn pursed her lips. “Well, as far as I know, I'm the only blood relative he has. I feel like…I ought to be the one to rein him in. You know?”

“Yeah. I guess I get that.” He turned to look at the back of the house. Uncomplicated, a flat broad wall, with several windows and a back door with no porch, just a simple concrete stoop, three steps up, wrought-iron railings. “How do you want to do this?”

“Fast and silent,” she said. “And…with you holding my hand.”

He would have smiled if she hadn't looked so damned petrified. Even in the dark, he could see it. It was in her eyes. He quickly closed his hand around hers and let her lead. They crept along the rear of the house, but each window they came to was blocked by carefully drawn curtains. It was looking more and more like the glass panes in the back door were the only ones through which they might be able to steal a glimpse of the man. Light spilled from that doorway.

It was only as they drew still closer that they realized the reason why.

The door stood wide-open.

A sound, metal clanging against metal, shot through Bryan's chest like a lightning bolt, and he jerked in reaction. It came from the side of the house, the opposite direction from which they had approached. Dawn's hand clutched his hard enough to crush his bones as he peered through the darkness to see a dim silhouette that included one man and two trash cans. The man was at the corner of the house, facing away from them, cramming a bag into one of the cans.

Three things zipped through Bryan's brain at the speed of light. That man was going to turn in their direction any second now. When he did, he would see them, because they were
standing in the pool of light from the back door. And there was no time to run back to the opposite corner of the house, and no cover between here and there.

There was only one option to keep from being seen. He knew it, though it made him want to throw up. Dawn knew it, too. He knew she did when she lunged forward, jerking him right along with her, up the three concrete steps and
inside
Mordecai's house.

His heart hammered rapid-fire, and he could hardly stop panting, though they'd only moved a few yards. They stood in a kitchen, yellow and white and spotless. There was something that smelled fantastic bubbling in a Crock-Pot, and a waft of heat that was coming from the oven.

“He's coming back,” Dawn whispered. She was peering out the door, backing away from it now. “God, we're trapped!”

“Come on.” Bryan pulled her with him, out of the kitchen, into the next room, a large formal dining room. The table was set for dinner. Dinner for a group, not one man alone. He didn't have time to count the place settings—barely noticed them, in fact—as he ran through the room. Then he slowed his steps, quieted them, because he heard other footsteps. Mordecai Young's footsteps as he came into the house. The back door creaked softly as it closed. The man was humming a little tune.

Bryan's throat went dry, and he kept moving, straining not to make a sound. Through the dining room and into another room—sitting room or living room. Soft furniture, fireplace, coffee tables. No TV. God, the man
was
insane. Where the hell was the front door?

The humming stopped abruptly. The man said, “Oh, really? Well, I wasn't expecting more company, my dear guides, but if you're sure….”

Bryan swung his gaze to Dawn's. Her eyes were huge. “Who the hell is he talking to?” he mouthed.

She shrugged, and they kept moving.

“Hel-looo,” Mordecai called. His footsteps were coming softly. Crossing the dining room now, Bryan thought.

The sitting room was dim; a hallway led off it in one direction, a stairway in another. An archway at the end. He chose the arch and hurried toward it.

“A little birdie tells me someone is in my house,” Mordecai called, his voice lilting and light, as if he were speaking to a small child. “Don't be afraid now. Come out and say hello.”

They ducked through the archway and into what appeared to be a foyer just as Mordecai's footsteps entered the sitting room. There, Bryan thought, spotting the front door. A way out at last! They ran toward it, and Bryan grabbed the knob, twisted and pulled.

Locked!

Dawn shoved his hands aside, gripping it herself, even as Bryan turned to look behind them. The man stepped into the archway. Backlit, and that just barely. He was a dark shape, a ghost.

A demon.

“There you are. Let me just get the light so I can greet you properly.”

“Hurry,”
Bryan whispered.

Dawn was shaking, rattling the door. She twisted the dead bolt, yanked the door open, only to have the chain stop it. She was shaking so hard he didn't know how she could function as Mordecai started across the room toward them—and the light switch.

She slammed the door closed, fumbled with the chain.

“Who are you? Don't run off. I've made a lovely soup, and there are rolls in the oven.”

Dawn yanked the door again, and the two of them stumbled through, then launched themselves into a sprint, running for all they were worth even as the light flashed on behind them, first the foyer light, then the outdoor lights. The pools of brilliance pursued them and stopped just short of Bryan's heels.

The man stepped out onto his porch, calling after them. “Was that you, Bryan? I thought you'd gone out of town? Who is that with you?”

Bryan's blood seemed to turn into ice water when the man said his name. They dived into Dawn's Jeep, Bryan ending up behind the wheel without either of them consulting on it. He twisted the key, ground the gears, almost stalled it, but managed to back them rapidly out of the driveway. Then he slammed the car into second, skipping first altogether, and the vehicle jerked itself into forward motion.

“Jesus, that was close,” he muttered, belatedly fastening his seat belt and glancing sideways at Dawn to see if she was okay.

She wasn't. She'd buckled up, but now she sat there, staring at nothing, her eyes kind of dazed, her skin pale in the greenish glow of the dashboard lights. She looked bad. Close to tears, or maybe even something worse. Shock or something. He didn't know.

“Hey.” He reached over, closed his hand around hers. “It's okay, we're clear.”

She closed her eyes, shook her head. “He knew who you were. Dammit, Bryan, I'm sorry. I never should have brought you here.”

“So he knows it was me. So what?” He shrugged, tried to seem unconcerned. The truth was that when that maniac had
called his name, he'd been so creeped out he'd almost keeled over. “He'll think I'm a punk playing Halloween tricks or something. Hey, we can sneak back later and toss some toilet paper on his hedges. He'll think that's all we were up to.”

Dawn opened her eyes, looked dead into his. “You don't understand, Bryan. We can't fool him. He knows things.”

“Yeah, I'll bet he knows lots of things. Like two and two equals eighty-seven. The guy's freakin' fried, Dawn. I mean, no offense, but he's buggy. Sets the table for a crowd when it's just him there all alone? And talking to someone who isn't really there?”

“His guides. He calls them his guides. Spirit guides. They tell him things.”

“Right. Dawn, the man's insane. Don't let him draw you into his delusions. There was no one there.”

“If there was no one there, Bryan, then who the hell do you think told him
we
were there? How did he know you were supposed to have been out of town today? How does he know any of the things he knows?”

A little shiver crept up Bryan's nape. He shrugged his shoulders a little to try to chase it away. “We, um…we need to find a place to spend the night.” Better to let the other subject go, he decided. Better not to argue against the existence of a homicidal maniac's supernatural helpers. If he lost the debate, he would be too scared to continue. He would probably hop on the next plane to the West Coast, where the crazy people were normal.

“There's a motel outside of Pinedale. I passed it on the way in. It didn't look very busy—I guess it's far enough beyond the tourist area that it doesn't get over whelmed like everything in either town does. And there's a parking lot in the back, too, so we can park the Jeep out of sight, in case he got a good look at it.”

“Good plan.” Bryan was pretty sure the nutcase
had
managed to cop a look at it, and he didn't want to think about that guy creeping up on them while they were asleep. “We should get something to eat.” He nodded at the control panel. “This thing needs gas, too.”

“How much money do you have on you?” she asked.

“Around fifty,” he said. “You?”

“I've got eighty in cash, and the credit card my mom gave me for emergencies.”

“We won't use the plastic,” Bryan said. “She'd know where you were if you did, wouldn't she?”

She shook her head. “You watch too many cop shows. She won't know until the statement comes, and by then I'll be back home. I'll probably tell her anyway, once this is over. Speaking of which…” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket, reached for the charger that was plugged into the car's cigarette lighter and plugged the phone in. “Better keep this baby charged. Mom will be calling to check in.”

“She hasn't already?” Bryan asked.

“I circumvented that by calling her first. And I told her to use the cell if she wanted to reach me tonight, 'cause I might go over to my friend Kayla's house.”

“Smart. So she's not suspicious?”

“It's been a year since I pulled anything this harebrained on her.”

“Yeah? What happened the last time?”

She lifted her gaze to his, her smile vanishing. “Mordecai got me.”

 

“So you're going to be honest with me,” Beth said.

She sat in the antique settee—though Maude had always
called it a love seat—in front of the fireplace. Josh had built a small fire in the hearth, poured them each a third glass of wine and settled himself there beside her.

She wasn't entirely comfortable with his proximity. No, scratch that, she thought. If honesty were the theme of the evening, she might as well be honest with herself. She was entirely
too
comfortable with him this close. She was tempted to curl into his strong arms and just forget about everything else.

He nodded. “When we finish the wine.”