Tapestry of the Past (20 page)

The darkness receded. Crawled away, snapping and snarling. Everything became sharp and clear again. “I thought you decided it was Crump both times in that vision.”

“I did,” she agreed slowly. “I’m not so sure now. There’s something very familiar about that man in my vision tonight.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

Sweat dampened his underarms. He tucked her head back under his chin. “Still could be Crump. That would explain the sense of familiarity.”

“But why would I have another vision about him? We found his body.” She sounded skeptical.

Gabriel searched for a logical explanation. “Don’t know. Because his murder is somehow linked to the vision of yours?” Shit, that was weak but it was the best he could come up with.

To his surprise, she considered it. “How do we find out for sure?” She smoothed a finger over his nipple, then traced the wickedly curved scar that stretched from shoulder to ribs.

Gabriel caught and stilled her fingers. He knew she wasn’t aware of what she was doing. The gesture was absentminded. But he couldn’t think with her touching him like that.

“I’ll ask Harley tomorrow for the result of the autopsy.”

“He’s not allowed to give you that information.”

“I have no scruples about blackmail, remember?” He forced amusement into the statement. He was rewarded with a watery chuckle.

After a long while, she stirred. “Gabriel? If the man in my vision isn’t Crump that means someone else is in danger, doesn’t it?”

“In danger? Not dead?” The lid slammed shut on the darkness. He closed his eyes in relief.

She froze. “In danger.” She spoke slowly, as if she were working it out in her head. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Whoever it is, he’s not dead, is he?”

“No,” she said, very softly. “No, he’s not dead.”

“Yet,” he amended.

* * * * *

“What did Harley say?”

At
Kalesia’s
impatient query, Wolf Devlin looked up from sorting stacks of official looking paper into manageable piles. His glance slid from her to Gabriel.

“Crump wasn’t tortured before he was killed. At least, not beyond his arms being bound.” Gabriel ran a hand behind his neck in frustration. “It seems that no sooner do we find a lead to follow than it sprouts ten more shoots.”

“Am I missing something?” Wolf asked in that slow, deep drawl of his that gave the impression of a sloth, slow to anger, even slower to move. An impression that was immediately shattered when you looked into his eyes.

Sam and Badger looked at each other in puzzlement and then turned toward Gabriel. “If you are, so am I,” Sam said.

“I wasn’t sure until I talked with Harley that I had anything to tell you.” Shit. He’d really, really hoped that Harley would tell him Crump was tortured. That, somehow, last night’s vision was a loop of Crump’s.

“Now that you’ve talked to Harley?”

“Let me explain.”
Kalesia
crossed and sat next to Wolf on the sofa, careful not to disturb the papers. “Last night I had what might have been a vision.” She stuck her hands between her knees and rocked back and forth. “I say might because it was different from usual. I didn’t see a death. I saw a man’s torture. Where it gets really confusing is I think I’ve had a snatch of this vision before. When I saw Crump’s murder.”

“Jesus H. Christ!” Badger shot to his feet. “
Kalesia
, why didn’t you say something earlier this morning?”

“Because I couldn’t be absolutely certain that it wasn’t Crump. Ever since I had the vision of my own death, my visions have been erratic, strange. Before, there was at least a consistency in the manner in which they occurred. Now, sometimes I see through the victim’s eyes, while at other times it’s like I’m watching from the sidelines. Don’t you see? The last time I saw this man I believed he was a fragment of the Crump vision. One blurry and out of focus because I was fighting it so hard. I didn’t want to say anything until Gabriel checked it out with Harley.”

“So now we have another body to find.” Sam’s voice was grim.

Gabriel felt a great deal grimmer. “No. Now we stop the person behind the threat before the man in
Kalesia’s
vision becomes a body.”

* * * * *

Gabriel and his friends disappeared upstairs to the room Sam was using, an air of dark urgency about them. Restless,
Kalesia
wandered around the house. The men had rejected her offer of assistance in no uncertain terms, telling her that she’d be more hindrance than help at this point. She had neither the training nor the objectivity needed. Protest,
Kalesia
had quickly discovered, was futile.

Despite knowing they were trying to protect her, she couldn’t help feeling a bit resentful. They were her visions. It was her life that was in danger. She should be helping, not twiddling her thumbs. Heck, she couldn’t even work on her business. Not only did they have all the files but she wasn’t to contact any of her clients until this was over.

About to go stir crazy, she stalked from living room to kitchen and back again. In the middle of the living room, she came to an abrupt halt. The silver unicorn on her ankle tinkled wildly. She didn’t feel like cooking and she was too wired to sit and read. So that left what?
Kalesia
racked her brain and came up with zilch. In desperation, she studied the large room. A wild idea began to form. It was rash, reckless and certain to piss Gabriel off.

A wicked smile curved her lips.

Perfect.

Even that first night she met Gabriel, the bleak austerity of his home had disturbed her on a very basic level. The neutral furniture and stark white walls struck her as…wrong somehow. Instinct told her Gabriel needed warmth, light.

She turned an assessing eye on the house. Her palms literally itched. His home could be magnificent. If she had to guess, she’d say it was well over a hundred years old. It reminded her of a gracefully aged Southern belle. No matter the passage of time or fashion, you could not completely hide the elegant bones or innate grace.

She grimaced. In this case someone, who in her completely biased opinion ought to get a load of buckshot in their
derrière
, had sought to bury its charms under a coating of generic modern. The result was as inviting as a cheap motel room.

Not Gabriel. No, Gabriel wasn’t the culprit.
Kalesia
pondered her certainty for a minute. She shrugged. Okay, so she had no proof. She just knew.

Kalesia
turned in a full circle. It definitely needed a splash of light, airy color and clutter. Something besides dust to fill the nooks and crannies.
Kalesia
planted her hands on her hips, disgruntled. Well, okay, so there wasn’t actually any dust. Gabriel was a better housekeeper than she was. Which brought up another point. It just could not be healthy to live in a house this neat and…and mundane.

Take that floor-to-ceiling bay window on the side wall. It cried out for a window seat. A place where you could sit and watch the sun set. A place to relax and daydream.

It was harder to picture Gabriel utilizing the window seat. She grinned. Somehow, she thought he’d still prefer sitting, stark naked, on the balcony. Hmm. Come to think of it, she preferred that too. All that male flesh.
Mmm
.

She fanned her face. Okay, enough of that. Concentrate,
Brannigan
. Priorities, here. First a little creative mischief. Strictly for his own good, of course. Lord knew, if there was ever a man who needed a homey, inviting atmosphere, it was Gabriel.

She could jump his bones tonight.

In the ancient garage,
Kalesia
struck the proverbial gold mine, can after can of paint. And, miracle of miracles, several of them were not white. She chose one that was the bright, cheerful yellow of a crepe myrtle.

Drop cloth spread to catch any stray drips, she set to work with a will on the wall with the bay window. She’d start with just this one wall, pique his curiosity. And maybe mute his anger at her meddling, she admitted to herself as doubt began to stray in. Placing the paintbrush on the edge of the can, she stepped back to survey her work.

What if Gabriel hated it? How mad would he be? She swallowed and consoled herself with the thought that the guys wouldn’t let Gabriel strangle her. At least, she was fairly certain they wouldn’t.

“Damn,” she said under her breath. Her mother had warned her that one day that the streak of impulsiveness she’d inherited from Granny
Brannigan
was going to be her downfall. Well, it was too late to stop now, the wall was over half-finished. She picked up the brush.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

The wall finished,
Kalesia
returned to the garage to see what else she could find. Tucked away in the very back, wrapped in protective clear plastic, she unearthed some throw pillows in bold, jewel colors, a very old hand-sewn magnolia-pattern quilt in a frame and several beautiful hand-blown pieces of glass.

Why in the world had they ever been relegated to the garage? She shook her head. Imagine taking the chance that weather or bugs could ruin them. It boggled the mind. A ray of sunlight was caught and trapped in a ruby and amber bowl. The sheer beauty of the glowing glass robbed
Kalesia
of breath. She knew the perfect place for it.

Over an hour later,
Kalesia
stopped to admire her handiwork. Excitement bubbled up, her earlier doubts banished. How could Gabriel not love it? Against the backdrop of the newly painted wall, the faded but still bold blues, greens and creams of the quilt drew and held the eye. Tucked in a seemingly random pattern, the glass bowls and vases were brilliant spills of color. Even the forgettable beige sofa took on new life once the equally bland throw pillows were replaced by the jewel-toned ones, inviting one to sit and curl up.

She glanced at her watch, wondering if she dared start painting another wall. Nah, she decided. Better not. Who knew how much longer he’d be up there. Her mouth quirked. Besides, small doses might go down better. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know Gabriel didn’t accept change well.

Out of the corner of her eye,
Kalesia
saw a plume of dust race up the road and recognized the mail truck. Mindful of Gabriel’s instructions, she waited until it left before walking out to the box. Enjoying the smell of just-cut grass and the earthy, freshwater scent of the river, she automatically sorted through the mail as she strolled back to the house.

Odd. One of the letters was addressed to her. Frowning, she tapped the legal size manila envelope with one thumbnail. Perhaps Tom had found some information he believed useful and sent it along.

Back inside the house, out of the broiling heat,
Kalesia
studied the envelope more closely. There was no return address but it was postmarked yesterday. Almost shaking with a combination of excitement and dread, she opened the envelope and shook out the contents.

Several black and white photographs drifted to the floor before she could prevent them. Kneeling, she reached out a hand to gather them only to use it to cover her mouth instead. Nausea rose, threatening to choke her at the vile images.

Images of graphic scenes of torture and death were scattered like confetti on the hardwood floor. Her legs refused to support her and she half-fell, half-sat on the cool surface, her mind vehemently denied what it was seeing. Feeling dazed, she remembered the envelope.

Hand shaking, she reached for it and opened it again. Inside she found several reports. Bile burned the back of her throat as she read, making her eyes water.

Or was she crying?

Kalesia
shook her head. It didn’t matter. What mattered was what she held in her hand.

Unable to believe her eyes, she reread the reports a second and then third time, forcing herself to absorb the typed words. They didn’t change. She gathered the damning evidence, making herself look at the pictures again, one at a time.

The evidence was irrefutable.

The truth was spelled out in black and white.

A slight sound caused her to look up from the horrifying pictures. Gabriel stood at the base of the stairs. From his stillness,
Kalesia
knew he realized something was drastically wrong.

Her stomach lurched. She put her hand there, rubbing the ache. He had been lying to her all along.

Gabriel Steele hadn’t been a police officer, undercover or otherwise.

“You were an assassin.”

Chapter Ten

A shutter dropped like a stone, veiling the gray eyes of all emotion. Gabriel glanced at the reports and photographs clutched in her hand.
Kalesia
hadn’t the faintest idea what was running through his mind. It was almost as if she were back at their first meeting, confronted by a stranger who eyed her with cold dispassion.

“Is that what you believe?” Gabriel sounded as if he didn’t care one way or the other what she believed. He looked almost bored.

“Can you deny these?” she choked out, her hand shaking as she waved the damning pictures in the air. Gabriel moved to take them and
Kalesia
shied away from him before she could prevent it. A flicker of emotion moved in his eyes then but it was gone too quickly to read. He took the sheaf, careful not to touch her.
Kalesia
held her breath as Gabriel studied them thoroughly. Maybe she had jumped to a conclusion, she thought, unable to prevent the tiny flame of something not quite hope.

Gabriel handed them back impassively. “Would you believe me?”

Something vital in
Kalesia
shriveled and died. A lie. All a lie. The man she had trusted more than any other, the man she had learned to depend upon, was a lie. A façade. Bitter, hysterical laughter welled up.
Kalesia
bit her lip, determined not to allow Gabriel to see how devastated she was. Unable to bear the pain, she lashed out, wanting to hurt him as he had hurt her.

“You lied to me,” she accused in a tight whisper.

Raw, naked agony slashed across his face, shattering the controlled mask for a single instance.