Into the Dark (14 page)

At this time, Metro Police still have no information regarding the identity or whereabouts of the cunning ‘Taker.’

Nathan jumped out of bed and searched for a clean pair of jeans. “That dirty son-of-a-bitch. Anonymous source my ass.”

* * * *

An endless white blur hovered above Emilie. Streaks of light became visible, stretching across the blur’s surface. Then, texture. The mist wasn’t entirely smooth. There were strange, grainy patterns within it. She realized it was an unfamiliar ceiling.

She blinked. Her eyelids felt heavy.

“Em?”

“Jeremy?” Her unfocused gaze descended, searching for the voice.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Am I in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you remember?”

Her right hand hurt. She raised her arm and searched for the pain’s source. An IV. Why did she have a damned medicine tube stuck in her?

“Remember what?”

Jeremy’s hand rested on hers. She was struck by its femininity: soft and smooth, his fingernails perfectly manicured. Weren’t a man’s hands supposed to invoke a feeling of strength and power? Unlike Nathan Madigan’s calloused touch, Jeremy’s left Emilie feeling insecure.

Why was she thinking about Nathan Madigan?

“You had a panic attack last night,” Jeremy said. “You called me and passed out before I could get to the phone. Can you remember anything?”

She touched her aching head. “I tripped over Otis.”

“You hit your head on the corner of the kitchen table. Doctor kept you overnight.”

Images from last night played back in her head like a movie: darkness, the paralyzing fear, the inability to breathe, and the mysterious face.

“He was there.” Emilie attempted to sit up. Jeremy laid his hand on her shoulder, pressing her tired body back into the bed.

“Lie down. Who was there?”

“The Taker. I saw him.”

Jeremy’s sun-kissed cheeks turned white. “That’s impossible.”

“I saw him.”

Jeremy ran a hand through his hair making it stand on end. “Em, no one was in the apartment with you when I got there. I unlocked the door with the spare key and let paramedics in. There was no sign of a break-in. He wasn’t there.”

“He was.” Even as the words fell from her mouth, uncertainty set in. Had she been hallucinating? The sense of not being alone had been incredibly real, and the Taker’s face was solid as he bent over her. His features were etched in her mind.

And yet she was in the hospital with an IV and a pounding headache.

“How bad am I injured?”

“You hit your head. You were unresponsive when paramedics showed up, and your pulse was sky high. I thought you’d had a heart attack. You regained consciousness in the ER, but you were a mess. They had to sedate you.”

“Well, I’m fine now.” She kicked off the scratchy sheet and sat up. Her head throbbed. “Can you get a nurse in here to take out this IV? I want to go home.”

“You’re not going anywhere. Judging by the circles under your eyes, I’d say you’ve barely slept in the past few days. You’ve lost weight, and the doctor said you were dehydrated. You’re not taking care of yourself.”

“I had a few bad days. I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

Emilie ground her teeth. “I need to tell Agent Ronson about my flashback.”

“She and that detective were here last night, but you were in no shape to talk. They’ll be back this morning.”

The chair scraped against the floor as Jeremy stood up. He pulled his hair again.

“What?” Emilie didn’t need a lecture.

“You don’t really think the Taker was in your apartment, do you?”

“I saw his face.”

“But you’ve never
seen
his face, Em. How do you know the face you saw wasn’t just some random man your mind conjured up?”

“Because I’ve talked to him before.” The answer came without thought, but she knew it was true.

“Are you sure?” Jeremy’s normally smooth tenor cracked with anticipation.

“Yes. I just have no idea when or where.”

* * * *

Nathan ignored the desk sergeant’s greeting. He stormed down the hall and across the crowded squad room. Avery wasn’t sitting out with the common folk. His narrow ass was planted firmly in his posh leather chair as he lounged in his office, no doubt admiring all the faux awards on his wall.

Nathan shoved open the door without bothering to knock. “What do we have here? Giving some more anonymous information to that shady reporter?”

Avery dropped the cellphone that had been pressed to his large ear. “Madigan. Who do you think you are barging into my office?”

Nathan pushed the fancy gold nameplate out of his way and planted his hands on Avery’s gleaming mahogany desk. “You’re a piece of shit.”

The detective’s neck turned red. “What’s your problem, Wonder Boy?”

“Let me jog your memory.” Nathan opened the browser on his phone. “Getting information from her is like pulling teeth. She prefers to berate the abilities of law enforcement rather than assist them. Her breakdown is no surprise.”

“What are you referring to?” Avery picked at his fingernails.

“Cut the shit. You’re the anonymous source. You’re feeding this reporter information because you’re pissed Emilie stood up to you.”

“Please. I have better things to do than talk to the vultures.”

“Right. You’re so busy on this case you didn’t even go back to the scene with Ronson.”

“How would you know that?”

“She asked me to guide her through the tunnel. Were you afraid of getting your suit dirty or just scared of the creepy-crawlies?”

Avery jumped from his seat, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Nathan raised his eyebrow. “Touchy subject I see.”

He didn’t flinch as Avery circled the desk and came to stand toe-to-toe with him.

“You’re a cocky prick, Madigan. A jealous kid from the wrong side of the tracks. What would Jimmy think of your attitude?”

“Don’t bring him into this.” Nathan grabbed Avery by his expensive lapels.

“Watch out, Madigan.” Avery’s skinny fingers clawed at Nathan’s grip. “SWAT wouldn’t want its superstar suspended, would they?”

“Knocking your teeth out would be worth a suspension.” Nathan shoved Avery away, sending him into a filing cabinet. “But not today.”

“Typical.” Avery adjusted his suit. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not this ‘source’ you’re so upset with.”

“Right.” Nathan picked up a crystal paperweight and envisioned leveling it at Avery’s bulbous head. “I’m warning you, Dalton. Stop feeding the press information about Emilie Davis. It’s bad enough reporters are digging up dirt on her when she’s the one who’s been harmed. Don’t add to her problems by using the media in a personal vendetta because your delicate ego is bruised.”

Avery snatched the paperweight and set it carefully back down on the desk. “I find your concern about Davis interesting. Personal, even.”

“I really don’t care what you think.”

“It’s just fascinating to me. You’ve barely had any contact with her, and yet here you are, acting as her champion. Odd thing to do for a near stranger, even if she is a hot piece.”

“That’s why I’m a negotiator, and you sit behind a desk.”

“Do you offer this service to every victim you help?”

He didn’t. Although he frequently checked on those he’d assisted, Nathan never had any personal contact after SWAT left the scene. That wasn’t his job.

But Emilie was different. No, her case was different. Emilie was just another survivor.

Avery’s lips twisted condescendingly. “Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“Makes me think you’re an asshole.” Nathan stalked toward the door. “Remember what I said. Back off.”

He pushed past the nosy officers trying to nonchalantly observe the argument, kicking a wastebasket as he left the squad room. Damned Dalton Avery. He was a pompous bastard who never should have made detective. Nathan had no doubt Avery was the one talking to the press about Emilie.

How was her head injury? What had happened to send her into a panic attack?

Why did he care?

He didn’t hear Ronson calling him until she grabbed his arm and shouted his name.

“Jesus.” Nathan rubbed his ear. “I’m not deaf.”

“You sure? I called you half a dozen times, and you just kept right on walking.”

“Preoccupied.”

“So I heard. You and Avery?”

“You read
The Sun
?”

“About Davis? Yep.”

“Avery’s the source—the leak.”

“You got any proof?” Ronson looked hopeful.

“I don’t need it.”

“Well, I do. Unless we can prove it’s him, I can’t get him kicked off the case.”

“It’s good to know you’d like to.”

“Did I say that?”

“You didn’t have to.” Nathan smirked. “Skilled at reading people, remember?”

“Right.”

“Have you talked to her yet?”

“No,” Ronson said. “We’re headed to the hospital soon. Hopefully she’s better than she was last night.”

“What happened?”

“She called Jeremy Vance—the bank president—for help. She panicked and hit her head. She regained consciousness in the ambulance but freaked out. Fought the docs, too. Had to sedate her.”

“You saw this?”

“Avery and I were there.”

“Of course.” Avery had given the reporter first-hand information.

“You should stop by and see her,” Ronson said. Nathan was aware of her scrutiny as she waited for his reaction. “You established a connection. She might talk more frankly about what happened.”

“Can’t.” The prospect of seeing Emilie again made Nathan happier than it should. “We just came off a long shift. I need to sleep.”

“Just came to confront Avery?”

“Few things in life are black and white, but this is one of them,” Nathan answered. “You don’t throw a vic to the wolves because she pissed you off.”

“Very honorable. Passing on much-needed sleep just to fight the good fight. I’m impressed.”

Nathan didn’t miss the innuendo in her tone. “Good luck interviewing her. I gotta get going.”

“See you soon.”

Nathan hurried to his car regretting his hasty decision to confront Avery. The argument had clogged Nathan’s head with ideas he wanted no part of. He threw his Toyota Camry in drive, zoomed out of the parking lot, and merged onto the busy street.

Better to leave Emilie Davis in the capable hands of Agent Ronson. She didn’t need Nathan’s interference. His career was his life, and his interest in Emilie was in danger of crossing the line between professional and inappropriate.

* * * *

Hospital beds had to be the most uncomfortable creations in the world. Emilie’s back ached, and she was miserable no matter which way she twisted. She sat up and reached for her toes in an effort to stretch out her sore muscles.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sarah strolled into the room.

“Advanced yoga. What does it look like I’m doing?” She eyed the large handbag Sarah hauled around. “There better be chocolate in that thing.”

“What do you take me for? Of course there’s chocolate.” She fished out a king-sized Hershey’s bar and tossed it onto the bed. “You’re welcome.”

“I dare one of the nurses to try to confiscate this.” Emilie tore off the wrapper and shoved a generous bite into her mouth.

Sarah settled in the chair Jeremy had vacated an hour ago. “Cops come back yet?”

“No.” Emilie took another bite of chocolate. Her head throbbed when she chewed. “How bad was I last night?”

“Bad. I was afraid they were going to restrain you.”

“I don’t remember any of it.”

“What do you remember?”

“The lights went out, and I panicked. I really thought the Taker was there with me.”

“You were hallucinating.”

“Maybe, but I know I saw his face. I’ve met him before.”

“Fine,” Sarah said. “Does that really come as a surprise? His infatuation with you didn’t just materialize. Something about you obviously piqued his interest. Then his ‘crazy’ gene kicked in.”

“But who is he? If I could remember where I first saw him, I could actually give Agent Ronson something useful.” Emilie slammed her fist into the hard mattress. “All I do is sit around, looking over my shoulder, waiting for something to happen. I need to do something.”

“You need to get help.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on.” Sarah shook her head. “You’re having flashbacks and hallucinations and panic attacks. You’re consumed with stress. It’s only a matter of time before you really do break down. And then you’ll end up back in a damned psych ward.”

Anger and embarrassment flared up inside Emilie. She glared at Sarah, resenting her perfect life.

“Talk to someone professional. Find a counselor or a support group. There’s got to be a bunch in the city.”

“I don’t want to tell my life story to a bunch of strangers.”

“Who said anything about your life story?”

Emilie blanched at her slip of the tongue. “Never mind.”

“No, no, let’s get into this.” Sarah scooted the chair closer to the bed. “Everything happens for a reason. Maybe this whole deal with the Taker is fate’s way of getting you to face the past and finally deal with it all.”

“I have dealt—”

“No, you haven’t. You’ve put the divorce behind you, but you still harbor guilt for getting yourself into that position in the first place. And you haven’t even touched the surface on your issues with Mommy Dearest.”

“Claire has nothing to do with this.”

“She has everything to do with it.” Sarah’s voice rose in the small room. “She’s the reason you allowed yourself to be manipulated by a man like Evan in the first place. If she hadn’t treated you the way she did, you would have never fallen for your—”

“Enough.”

“Yes, it is enough,” Sarah implored. “Enough running from the past. Face it.”

Hot tears pricked at the corners of Emilie’s eyes. The door to her past held an entire well of pain, and to open it even a crack would bring everything crashing down around her.

“And there’s more than just the Taker to consider.” Sarah laid her hand on Emilie’s arm. “Who helped him? What if it’s someone you work with? You’re going to have to go back to WestOne and deal with that.”