Sleeping in Eden (44 page)

But then something snagged at her foot and she tripped, plunging headlong as the shotgun fired a third time. There was blackness and distance and a feeling like falling.

Then pain.

Something was hot against her chest, but she was aware of a cold and spreading numbness that wasn't alleviated even slightly by the heavy blanket Dylan had obviously tucked around her. Dylan? She tried to say his name, but the vowels and consonants wouldn't form, and all she could do was exhale.

One long, low breath passed her lips like a wordless whisper. Like a cry in a foreign language filled with love and longing and loss. It floated and fell, a wisp of damp fog that dissipated into shadows tinged gold, shadows that were just beginning to fade.

To be shot through with light.

T
here were lights on in the house.

Lucas could see the warm glow from the windows of Number 439 even before he turned down the street. The air seemed different somehow. It was blushed and expectant, charged with possibility.

“You promised,” Lucas reminded Angela as he pulled into the driveway and put the car in park. She was leaning forward, her hands on the dashboard and her neck craned toward the house as if she could pierce the blinds with the intensity of her stare. He half believed she could. “You promised.”

It was pointless to wait for Angela to respond, so Lucas threw open his door and crossed the driveway. She didn't follow, and he was both grateful and surprised.

Lucas took the steps at a deliberate pace, and paused on the porch. He was so close. So close. Adrenaline made him feel invincible, ready for whatever he would face behind the gilded front door. But he knew he had to handle the situation with a level head. He inhaled in a deep, steadying breath and rang the doorbell. There was the muffled sound of footsteps, the metallic clack of a lock, and then the door swung open wide.

She stood a full head shorter than Lucas, a slightly built woman with pretty, steel-colored hair and a sweet face creased by innumerable laugh lines. “Can I help you?”

Lucas didn't give himself even a second to think. To stop and consider what he was doing and why. “Hi,” he said, trying to look honest and affable. He stuck out his hand and she shook it without pause. A small-town woman accustomed to friendly neighbors and the occasional Jehovah's Witness, whom she would undoubtedly invite in for tea and cordial religious debate.

“My name is Lucas Hudson. I'm actually looking for someone who may or may not live here. Is this the Langbroek residence?”

“It is,” she said, now with a hint of wariness.

He grinned. “This is a total long shot, but does Jess Langbroek live here?”

“He used to.” The woman seemed to relax. “You one of Jess's friends? He meets so many people . . .”

“Yes,” Lucas latched onto the bit of information she unknowingly provided, trying to scrabble together a believable story. He hadn't really thought about what he would say if someone answered the door. “Old friends. Actually,” he thought of the Woman, “we have a friend in common.”

“I don't suppose it's Dylan Reid, now, is it? Because he's in town, too. Can you imagine that! Two of Jess's old friends popping in on the same day. Dylan stopped by this afternoon. He was looking for Jess, just like you.”

“Dylan Reid?” Lucas sifted the name, trying to come up with a connection. It seemed odd that he and Angela weren't the only people looking for Jess Langbroek. But he came up blank.

“Oh,” she waved her hand dismissively. “Someone he knew in high school. I had forgotten that Dylan even existed until he showed up on our doorstep. But you are definitely not familiar. You didn't go to high school with Jess, too, did you?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Thank goodness. My memory's not as good as it used to be. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?” She stood back to let him in, and down a short hallway, he could see a cozy living room and the flicker of a television. “My husband is in the shop, but I'll call him in. We like meeting Jess's friends.”

“That's very kind, but I'm in a bit of a hurry. We were just passing through and thought we'd stop.” Lucas jerked a thumb over his shoulder and watched as Mrs. Langbroek took a glance at the car. By some miracle, Angela was still in the passenger seat, silhouetted in the glare of a floodlight that had clicked on when Lucas pulled up.

The older woman smiled. “She's pretty. Looks a lot like the girl that Jess and Dylan used to fight over. Long blond hair just like that. Such nice cheekbones . . .” She shook her head quickly, her smile faltering as she tried to bury whatever memory had dimmed the light in her eyes. Or maybe she was trying to dig it up. She seemed disoriented for a moment. Flustered. But she steadied herself and said, “No matter. If it's not a cup of coffee you're after, what can I do for you?”

Lucas could hardly believe his luck. “A phone number?” he asked. “An address? Jess and I lost touch and I'd really like to track him down and say hi.”

If Mrs. Langbroek was surprised that Lucas couldn't simply e-mail or Facebook Jess to ask for that information, she didn't show it. Lucas felt a rush of affection for a generation that wasn't shackled to the god of technology. It probably never crossed her mind to wonder about Lucas's inability to locate his so-called friend by more savvy means than driving to his hometown.

Mrs. Langbroek insisted on writing down Jess's information, and while she was scrounging in the hall desk for a piece of scrap paper and a pen, Lucas gave Angela a tentative thumbs-up. She snubbed him by turning her head to look out the far window, but he knew that she'd be pleased with the success of his operation. Even if she wouldn't admit it.

“Here you are.” Mrs. Langbroek pressed the paper into Lucas's palm and gave his hand a squeeze. “I'm sure Jess will love to hear from you. He might be a big-shot lawyer, but he's lonely, you know? It's hard to see your kids lonely. I wish he'd find a nice girl and settle down . . .” she trailed off, and Lucas gently extracted his hand from hers. Things were getting just a
tad too personal, and he was eager to leave Mrs. Langbroek to her memories. It felt disingenuous to lead her on in this way. He hated himself a little for lying to her.

“Thank you very much,” Lucas said, inclining his head in the slightest of bows.

“Well, you're very welcome. I was happy to give his number and address to Dylan, too. Maybe you three could get together and reminisce about the old days.”

Bemused, Lucas took a small step backward and glanced at the paper in his hand. The address was in Minneapolis, and there were ten digits in what looked like a legitimate phone number.

“Thanks again.” He nodded once and headed back toward the car, but he wasn't halfway there before Mrs. Langbroek stopped him.

“I almost forgot!” she called, waving him over. “Could you give this to Dylan when you see him? He left it here this afternoon.”

“Pardon me?”

“Here . . .” she crossed the space between them at a light jog and handed Lucas a cell phone clip. “I probably won't see him again, but you can give it to him when you boys get together.”

“But—”

“I don't even know what it is!” She laughed, breathless and cheerful as a new grandma. “But you must be staying at the Gaslight Inn, too. Just pop it on over to his room. I'd really appreciate it.”

Lucas didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything at all. Instead, he pocketed the clip and accepted the unexpected hug that Mrs. Langbroek gave him. She smelled faintly of cinnamon.

“You two are sure on friendly terms,” Angela grumbled when Lucas slid into the driver's seat. Mrs. Langbroek was standing in a dim circle of porch light, waving at the car as if Lucas was a beloved friend instead of a complete stranger.

“What can I say? I bring out the best in people.”

Angela snorted. “That's nice and all, but we didn't come here so you could make friends with an elderly lady.”

Lucas held up the slip of paper, and Angela snatched it out of his hand. “It's Jess Langbroek's phone number and address,” he explained. “And I got it cheap.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“All we have to do is return this phone clip.” He dug the accessory out of his pocket and passed it, too, to Angela.

“You're joking.”

“Some friend of Jess's left it at her house this afternoon. He's supposed to be staying at the Gaslight Inn.” Lucas gave Angela a sidelong look. “We drove by it on our way into town. It won't kill us to drop it at the front desk on our way out.”

Angela didn't say anything.

The air in the car was alive, volatile. Angela was sparking with energy as she squinted at the paper in her hands. It was too dark to read anything, but Lucas understood her desire to stare, to cement the reality of what they had uncovered. She was doing the same thing he was: trying to imagine where it would lead them.

When he pulled into the parking lot of the Gaslight Inn, Angela wrenched open her door before he could stop her.

“I'll do it,” she called over her shoulder. “Back in a sec.”

But she didn't even know his name. Lucas turned off the car with a sigh and followed her into the lobby of the shabby hotel.

The room was small, but it was lit up like Christmas, strung with tiny lights that blinked on and off in a rhythm Lucas was sure could cause seizures. There was a ratty couch, a table with outdated magazines, and the shadowy entrance to a small pub across from a middle-aged man behind the check-in counter. He was looking at Angela as if she was a present to be unwrapped. Lucas was glad he'd come along.

“What's his name?” Angela asked, turning to Lucas. The cell phone clip was already on the counter between her and the man, who was openly gawking.

“Dylan something or other.”

The desk clerk blinked a few times and tore his attention away from Angela. “There's only a couple people staying here. I think the guy you're looking for is in the bar.”

“Can you just give him the clip?”

“He's right in there.” The man gestured, and turned his gaze back to Angela. “Do it yourself.”

Lucas pushed a hard breath through his nose and reached over Angela's shoulder to snag the clip. “Fine,” he snapped, waiting for Angela to back him up and annihilate the desk clerk with a single wicked look. But she wasn't paying any attention to their exchange.

Instead, her eyes were fixed on an unfamiliar man as he walked out of the bar behind them. Lucas couldn't see his face—the man was looking over his shoulder—but he was wearing jeans and a light Columbia windbreaker that seemed too insubstantial for the deepening cold. His hair was dark, yet sand-streaked at the crown, as if he spent a lot of time in the sun. Squinting at his back, Lucas tried to place the swagger, wondering if he knew the guy. Angela obviously did, or thought she did, because she took a few steps toward him.

He watched Angela muster a stunning smile then call, “Hey!” just as the man reached for the door handle. The stranger turned and looked straight at her. Even at a distance, Lucas could tell that this was no case of mistaken identity—the set of his features in the second he caught sight of Angela was enough to betray that he was exactly who she thought he was. In the blink of an eye, his look flickered from bland disinterest to shock to what Lucas interpreted as fear. Reaching for Angela, Lucas almost put a protective hand on her elbow, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

“I thought it was you,” Angela said, her smile faded but intact as she considered his curious response. “I'm Angela,” she added, touching her fingertips just beneath her collarbone. “You probably don't remember me. It's been years . . .”

Something in the man's eyes caught fire. “Eight years, to be exact.”

Lucas noted with alarm that the man across from him was breathing hard and his chest had started to heave with the gasping effort. “You okay?” Lucas asked, taking a step forward to put himself between Angela and the stranger. “You don't look so hot.”

But the man ignored him. “What happened?” he said between clenched teeth. His attention was directed over Lucas's shoulder, and he fixed Angela with a gaze so filled with loathing, it seemed to drain the air of warmth. “What happened?” he repeated, low and lethal. And then, he suddenly shouted it: “What happened?”

The room went absolutely still. Lucas could feel blood rushing in his ears, and he felt rather than saw Angela take a step backward. He already had his hand on his phone, prepared to dial 911 or at least threaten to, but before he could do anything at all, Angela whispered from somewhere behind him, “I don't know. I swear to you, I have no idea.”

Time seemed to stutter and stop. Then, all at once, the man from behind the check-in counter yelled a string of angry, indecipherable words, Angela let out a slow, sad moan, and something that could only be described as agony settled over the stranger's features.