Darker Than Desire (17 page)

They were comfortable with each other.

Too comfortable. This wasn't just something that had sprouted over the past few weeks, since David had come out of his hand-crafted Amish closet. Sorenson smirked at bit, amused with himself as he continued to ruminate. They'd been together awhile. Quite a while.

Hmmmm
.

Now, Sorenson hadn't had a steady lady in his life since his divorce. His ex had taken him for a ride and a half, not that he blamed her. Being married to a cop, even a small-town cop, was a lousy deal and she'd found that out the hard way.

Too many nights alone, too many missed dinners, and she'd gotten colder and colder. He'd gotten lonelier and lonelier. A pretty young woman who'd been working dispatch had made a move and he hadn't backed away, a fact he regretted to this day.

He still stung from the way his wife had torn into him. For the betrayal, for the lies, for the humiliation.

He knew all about how a woman hated the lies. It was
more
than the betrayal. A woman hated being misled, hated the dishonesty.

Would a woman like Sybil be so fast to cozy back up to a man who'd misled her for years?

Now that was a question.

*   *   *

David didn't remember moving into a waiting room, but he looked around and realized that was where they were. With little interest, he studied the carpet, the walls, the news on the small, wall-mounted TV.

The noise from it was too loud and the light was too bright. Turning his head away, he found Sybil next to him, watching him.

He closed his eyes, feeling too exposed.

She reached down and caught his hand.

Convulsively he squeezed.

She squeezed back.

“Has anybody told you what happened?”

He lifted his lids, stared at her from under his lashes. “Nobody will tell me shit, even if I ask,” he muttered. “I'm not
family
.”

Her eyes held his. He saw something flicker there, and he wondered, as he had so many times, if she could see right through him. It was an ugly, miserable thought, because there were so many things inside him that he wanted nobody to see, nobody to know.

“I found somebody to talk to.”

David swung his head up, looked at Noah.

He stood in the doorway, his features shadowed by the bright lights shining in around him.

Then, with a quick look behind him, he ducked inside, shut the door behind him. He came over, eyed David narrowly.

David saw the assessing look in the other man's eyes. He met that gaze levelly. He didn't care enough to be pissed at Noah and he suspected that probably showed in his eyes. After a few more seconds, the other man just looked away. “One of the nurses had checked on him around two forty. The guards were at the door. Then a couple of visitors got violent, roughly two forty-five. They had that cleared up and under control within five minutes. The cop returned to his door, but got distracted by the patient's kids—it's an older guy, from someplace across the river. I don't know them. It was a few more minutes before he looked in on Max—the nurses were switching shifts then and they opened the door.…”

Noah stopped, looking away. He had his arms crossed over his chest and David saw the way the muscles in his arms clenched and went tight. Then, slowly, Noah looked back at him, holding his eyes. “There was a pillow over his face. Somebody killed him.”

The only thing that kept David in that seat was the way Sybil's hand tightened on his.

Blood thudded dully in his ears as he gazed at Noah.

But he wasn't seeing the man.

He was seeing old Max.

Standing on his porch.

He heard his voice, the way the judge had sounded when he called him that last day, before somebody had shot him. The endless ringing of the phone. The way Max had sounded when he'd answered.

“I need to speak with you.”

“I don't want to speak with you.”
David never really wanted to speak to the old man. It wasn't easy facing the man he knew was family, knowing he wouldn't ever claim him. But at the same time, he'd wanted to be around Max, as much as he could. Even though he was well into his thirties, far past the age of boyhood, he'd needed that connection.

“I don't give a damn, boy.”

For years, David had convinced himself that
he
hadn't given a damn.

He'd told himself that lie for so many years.

It was too late, now.

A hard shudder wracked him as he surged up and strode out the door.

Too late … just like always.

Sybil called out his name, but he ignored her.

He'd taken too much comfort just from her being there. But really, what right did he have?

*   *   *

Shoving to her feet, Sybil went to go after him.

Noah caught her arm. “Maybe you should leave him alone for a while. The judge and him were a lot closer than people realized.”

“Gee, I never would have noticed, Preach,” she said deadpan, staring up at him. She rolled her eyes when he started to try again. “I hate to tell you this, big guy, but I know that man out there better than anybody else
here
. Just move out of my way already.”

She shoved past him and looked around.

David was already gone.

Stubborn son of a bitch
. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, she tugged at it, hoping it would clear her head and let her think.

Would he go back to Max's?

Heavy, solid footsteps caught her ears and she looked up, found Chief Sorenson in front of her. And he just stood there. Watching her.

Dread crept through her and she lowered her hand to her side. A few years back, when Layla still lived at the house and Sybil had to deal with cops showing up at the door—or, worse, searching the damn house because of Layla's drug issues—she'd had to deal with Sorenson and other cops. She knew how to do it, but she sure as hell didn't like it.

There was a way to handle it, though. At least for her. She didn't try to blank her features, because it was already obvious she was upset. Instead, she made sure to keep just
how
upset she was tucked down inside and settled on frustration. She had years and years of experience at masking her emotions. She could thank her sister for that. Nobody could work your emotions like an addict could.

Huffing out an impatient breath, Sybil penned him with her eyes. “You need something, Chief?”

“Just curious about a few things,” he mused, cocking his head.

“It's a bad day for curiosity,” she bit off.

Max was dead. David was hurting. And now, thanks to Noah, David was probably also
pissed
. That was a very, very dangerous combination.

“Seems the two of you have some sort of connection.”

She arched a brow. “Who?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at him.

“You and Sutter.” Calm blue eyes watched her as he reached up to stroke a brow. He waited a minute and then moved in closer. “I saw the two of you. He was pretty pissed there, thought he might haul off and hit Preach. Then in you walk and all you do is touch him. Now that is something I've already noticed is a dangerous thing. He holds it in, but you can tell that man does not like being touched.”

Sybil bared her teeth at Sorenson. “Can you blame him?”

“No.” He shook his head and said again, “No, ma'am, I cannot. But that's neither here nor there. You lay one hand on him and everything about him changes. Just why is that?”

“I got the magic touch.” She shrugged flippantly. “Just ask Drew.”

“I'm more interested in talking to you. Just how long have you known David?”

Well, hell
. She fought the urge to heave out a sigh.
Just where are you going with this, Chief?
Holding his gaze, she said levelly, “He's lived here for years. Maybe not as David, but he's still been here. Maybe you haven't noticed, but Madison's a small town.”

“And you knew him as Caine?”

“That's the name he gave me.” She gave an abbreviated version of the night they'd met, how he'd come across her and Vernon and played the knight in shining armor, even if he was somewhat dour about it. “When it was all said and done, he told me his name was Caine, and that's all she wrote. Since then, yes, we've become friends.”

“Friends.” Sorenson drew the word out slowly, like he wasn't quite sure what it meant. Then he shook his head. “Somehow I don't look at the two of you and see bowling buddies, Sybil.”

“Well, that's because I don't bowl.” She shrugged again.

“You want me to think there's nothing between you two.”

“I never said that.” Then she went to go around him. “But what's between us is our business, not yours.”

*   *   *

Feeling like his demons chased him, David all but ran out of the hospital, unable to move fast enough, focusing on the ground underneath him and nothing else.

Which explained why he crashed into Taneisha Oakes.

He moved reflexively to keep her from falling, his hands going to her arms. The feel of skin against his own had him clenching his teeth and he wanted to jump back as though she'd burned him, but he'd all but barreled over her, so he remained there, waiting until she was steady.

“Sorry,” he said, gritting the word out.

She sniffed and dashed a hand over her cheeks.

Aw, hell.

Then she looked up at him, the elegant lines of her dark face softening into a faint smile. “It's okay. I wasn't really watching where I was going. I'm…” She paused and then blew out a sigh. “You … you're David, right?”

He uncurled his hands and took a slow step back. He was tired of the questions, the stares, the looks. “Yeah. I need—”

Her soft comment stopped him: “I'm sorry.”

He looked back at her.

“Max was…” She shook her head. “That's why I was lost in my own world, thinking about him.” She moved a little closer, apparently unaware of the way he stiffened. “He was a mean old grouch sometimes, but I owed him a lot.”

Frozen, David watched as she reached up and worried the necklace she wore. “He's the reason I was able to graduate high school, go to college. He's probably the reason I didn't end up dead or in jail,” she murmured, sliding David a look. “I was one of the kids he mentored. Don't know if you knew about that, but he meant a lot to me.”

David looked away.

“I'm sorry. I just … I saw you sneaking in to visit him in ICU, saw you coming in three or four times to visit him the past few weeks. Figured you were close.” Her dark eyes held his.

Slowly, having to force the words out, he said, “We were.”

Then he had to force himself not to move as she moved in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“He was a unique man. I can't believe he's gone. I…” She moved back, a soft blush rising under the warm, smooth brown of her skin. “I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry.”

Then she was gone.

That uneasy feeling crawled through his skin, and because he didn't trust himself just yet David waited there, gave himself a minute to just … stand. Do nothing.

The red had pulled back from his vision, but now the only thing inside him was misery.

Why had he left Sybil?

If he were with her, he could pull her up against him and just lose himself inside her, in the soft strength of her arms, and forget about everything else.

Sucking in one slow, steady breath, he turned to go back.

That was when he felt it.

Eyes.

Crawling all over him.

It was a hard, stinging impact like he'd fallen into a pit full of hornets, and he held still for a moment. Everything in him wanted to swing his head around, look for whoever it was that watched him.

There was hate in that glare.

Hate, and anger.

David knew the feel of malevolence, how it could rip the air and burn the skin. It didn't much worry him, but since the few people who mattered to him were all inside the hospital behind him, he started to walk, away from the hospital, each footstep slow and measured.

In the back of his mind, he thought,
Come on. Follow me. I'm feeling mean enough to take on an army
.

He walked the distance from the hospital to Max's house, barely able to think about being inside the walls again.

Each step of the way, he felt those eyes.

Each step of the way, he felt like whirling to attack.

But as aware as he was of being watched, he had no idea where it was coming from.

*   *   *

This wasn't done.

The old man was dead.

But it wasn't done.

It had been so easy, though, to break that fragile grip the man had on life, send him off.

Anger brewed inside, made it almost impossible to think.

There had been all the insanity after.

People talking, prattling on.

Cops swarming the hospital. Perhaps that should have been a consideration. It was so hard to think. This had been necessary, but to plan for everything …

It had been easier last time, but now there were others around, more who could see. Taking the pillow away—should that have been done? Would that have helped?

Too late now.

I don't know what to do
. A walk to the river might help. A clear mind made everything easier, and it wasn't possible to think when one was angry, after all.
Anger
was an ugly, evil thing, but it had a tight, firm grip. Time to let that pass. Time to be calm.

Time to think.

This wasn't done.

The old man was dead.

But there were still others.

Others who had to be stopped, eliminated.

It had been easier a few weeks ago, but now it seemed like the list was growing, and growing and growing.