The Dark Gate (4 page)

If he didn't blow it with her first. And he would, if he pressed her too hard about this case. Yet if he didn't…how many more would die?

 

Larsen rose as the final scene of the James Bond movie slid into the fifteenth car commercial of the evening. She'd paid little attention to the flick, too aware of the cop watching her from the sofa.

“I need a bath,” she told him.

He visibly started. “Can't you wait until…tomorrow?”

“No, I feel gross. I'll sleep better after a hot soak.” She still had flakes of dried blood on her shoulder and arm. “Can I borrow something to sleep in?”

Jack's eyelids sank over those blue eyes, sending tendrils of warmth snaking down her limbs. “Lady, you can have anything of mine you want. You sure you want clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain you're up for this?”

“I feel fine.” And, amazingly, she did. Her brows pulled together. “My shoulder doesn't even hurt anymore.”

Jack set his Coke on the coffee table, his gaze skimming leisurely down her bare legs. “Don't get dressed afterward.”

She jerked her head to face him. “Jack…”

His smile dawned sexy and playful. “Relax, Larsen. I just need to change your bandage. Wrap your top half in a towel so you don't have to take your shirt off.”

She stared at him, scrambling to gather the wits he'd scattered to the wind with his suggestive comments. “Right,” she said at last, and spun on her heel toward the bathroom, wondering if she should forego the hot bath and opt for a cold shower instead.

 

Steamy moisture hung in the air, clinging to the mirror in a wet fog. Standing on the terry bath mat, Larsen slipped into the borrowed pajama pants she'd brought in with her, then wrapped a dry bath towel tight around her breasts, tucking the end under her arm. Clutching it tight to her chest with one hand, she fluffed her wet hair with the other and called to her host.

“Jack, I'm ready for you!”

Larsen groaned as the raw double entendre echoed in her ears, making her cheeks flood with heat, which just flustered her more. She was twenty-eight years old. The
Ice Bitch,
for heaven's sake. Ice bitches did not get flustered over hot cops. They weren't supposed to blush over
anything.

She heard the doorknob twist. As the door opened, she tried to fake a calm disinterest, but the sexy smile Jack leveled on her sent heat of a different kind flooding her system.

He leaned against the doorframe, teasing lights dancing in his blue eyes. “You're ready for me, are you?”

She tried to look haughty, but failed miserably as she met his grin. “You're impossible.”

The worst part was that she
was
ready for him. Never in her life had she been so aware of a man. But he couldn't know. She couldn't go there with him.

“The bandage, Detective,” she said crisply, struggling to hide her reaction to his nearness.

He made a mock face of disappointment that did nothing to dim the smile in his eyes, but his hands busied themselves with the first-aid supplies.

His gaze dipped to take in her outfit, lingering a moment too long on her hands…or what they covered…making her feel hot and damp.

“How was your bath?” he asked, his smile turning friendly.

An answering smile escaped her mouth. She didn't want to like him, but he made it so hard not to.

Larsen tucked the towel in tighter. “The bath felt great. I'm finally clean again.”

“No trouble with that shoulder?”

“No. Like I told you, it's stopped hurting.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Let's see how it looks, shall we?” He motioned to the closed toilet lid. “Have a seat.”

He stood close, his knee brushing her thigh as he carefully pulled at the tape holding the bandage to her shoulder.

“This might hurt.” He eased the bandage off her skin. His brows pulled together as he stared at the wound.

“Damn, woman, you heal fast.” His expression registered both surprise and approval. Beneath dark lashes, his blue eyes slid to her face.

Larsen shrugged. “It must have been a small arrow.”

Jack stared at her shoulder, frowning. “I don't care what size it was. This wound looks like it's been healing for days.” He shook his head. “Amazing. Anyway, I think we can probably switch you to a couple of Band-Aids.”

“Great. Let me get back in the bath and wash the tape marks off.”

But he was already reaching for her. His thumb ran along one of the tape lines, the look that entered his eyes warming her to her toes. “I'll help.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

He grinned at her. “As much as I'd enjoy seeing you in that tub, we'll do it here.” He picked up the washcloth and began to ease the glue from her damp skin.

She stared at the speckles in the tiled floor while he worked. The subtle scent of his aftershave gave an exotic touch to the steamy, soapy smell of the bathroom, stirring her senses, as if his nearness and the rough pads of his fingers skimming her bare shoulder weren't doing enough.

His breathing no longer sounded calm. She glanced up to find him watching her, his eyes hot with wanting. The room turned stifling. Airless.

“Larsen…” Her name was little more than a whisper on his lips. He slid his palm along the side of her neck, sending shivers rippling through her. His gaze held hers captive. Tension built and coiled within her as she waited, breathless.
Wanting.

Slowly he slid his thumb beneath her jaw and lifted her face, bending toward her. Even as part of her begged to push him away, she reached for him, lifting her hand in turn to slide along his stubbled jaw.

A low growl escaped Jack's throat a second before he covered her mouth with his own. The kiss started out gentle, then turned harder, more insistent, stirring feelings in her that quickly turned raw. Hungry.

How long had it been since she let a man get this close? She'd forgotten how good it felt to be touched, to be filled with passion and life. And need.

Larsen wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, opening her mouth on his. A growl rumbled deep in Jack's chest as his tongue swept inside to claim hers. He tasted like heaven, like warm, sinful fantasies.

His hands gripped her waist and he rose, lifting her to her feet and into his arms. She forgot the towel, forgot everything but her need for this man. She lifted both hands to his face, holding him just where she wanted him, that wonderful mouth fused with hers. He pushed her gently backward, against the sink cabinet, pressing against her. He was hard. Aroused.

Reason wormed its way into her passion-fogged mind. Sex.
Too much. Too close.

She pulled back from the kiss. “Jack…”

He dragged in short ragged breaths as he watched her, his passion-drugged eyes brimming with impatience, an impatience that slowly turned to resignation. Jack sighed and let her go. But as he stepped back, the towel that had covered her dropped to the floor between them. With a gasp, Larsen grabbed it and yanked it over her breasts, but the damage was done. The moment shattered.

“I…need to get dressed.” She tried to push past him but he put out an arm to bar her way.

“You still need a Band-Aid.”

Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “Okay, but no sexy, lingering touches this time.” She couldn't quite meet his gaze.

It was one thing to kiss him. Something entirely different to flash him, accident or not.

To his credit, he didn't say anything that would compound her self-consciousness. Instead he applied the Band-Aids to her shoulder with quick, clinical movements.

“All done.”

She hazarded a glance at his face and found him watching her with amused sympathy.

He lifted one wry, teasing brow. “You do know how to get a guy's attention.”

“Yeah. Well…” Her embarrassment melted beneath his gentle humor. “On that note, I'm going to bed. Alone,” she added as she walked with forced calm down the hallway to Jack's bedroom.

Larsen closed the door, then sank back against it, her legs refusing to hold her upright a second longer. She struggled to suck air into her lungs, struggled to remember how to breathe after that kiss.

Every nerve in her body hummed with electricity. She could probably light the entire room if she shoved her finger in the light socket. Her fingers went to her lips, trailing over flesh that still tingled.

The man could
kiss.

With a groan, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door. Why had she let him do that? Now he was going to want more.
She
was going to want more.

When what she needed to do was put distance between them.

She banged her head silently against the door at her stupidity. It was time to find that rock-solid control she'd always prided herself on, and find it fast.

The sound of Jack's cell phone ringing in the living room permeated the room, followed by the low murmur of his voice.

With a determined sigh, Larsen pushed away from the door and grabbed the borrowed sleep tee off the bed. She was just pulling it on when she heard the rap on her door.

“Larsen, that was my partner on the phone. Come watch the news. There may be a break in the case.”

Her pulse leaped with a bone-deep if fragile hope. “Thank God.” She wrenched the door open and followed him into the living room as the newscasters appeared on the television screen.

“In our top story, two congressional interns are missing tonight. The young women were last seen leaving a pharmacy on Dupont Circle this morning with an unidentified male. The event was caught on the store's security camera.”

Larsen watched the screen change to the grainy black-and-white videotape, then gasped as she saw him.
The albino.
His back was to her as he stood in the middle of the tape, but she was certain it was him. The same stark white hair, the same odd clothing.

Her heart began to pound.
She hadn't imagined him.

In the background, the two young women chatted as they walked into the store. Neither seemed to pay any attention to the white man standing feet away.

The albino lifted his arm and the pair stopped abruptly, going suddenly, unnaturally, still. The purse one carried dropped, unnoticed, to the floor.

Chills raced over Larsen's skin as she watched the evil man step around them and leave the store, the two women turning to follow. As the three exited onto the sidewalk outside, two small figures emerged from the right and followed them out the door.

The station cut back to the newscasters, but not before Larsen got a look at the last two. Though she wore a baseball cap and a different T-shirt, one of them was the cancer girl—the girl who had shot her.

She heard the click of the remote and the television screen went dark. Larsen turned toward Jack, suddenly afraid she hadn't hidden her reactions. Her heart sank when she met his gaze. Gone was her friendly companion of a minute ago. In his place stood an angry, hard-eyed cop.

“I want the truth, lady…and I want it now.”

J
ack's sugar-spun fantasy of spending his life with the one woman who could cure his madness crumbled beneath a slug of hard reality. How could he have forgotten Larsen Vale was a liar?

She stood beside him, her fingers gripping the back of his leather sofa, her face pale, her eyes wide with guilty dismay.

He'd called her into the living room to ID the bald girl Henry had seen at the end of the tape. Instead she'd visibly jerked at first sight of the prime suspect, the latter-day Pied Piper who seemed to have led the little group right out the store.

“You know him.” The implications ricocheted across his brain.

“What?”

“The Pied Piper. The leader. You've seen him before.”

Something pained moved through her eyes. “No.” She unhooked her fingers from his sofa and turned to face him, raising that stubborn chin. “I recognized the cancer girl.”

She looked so damned innocent standing there in her soft pajamas, her golden hair damp and curling under her jaw. Another man might have believed the act of innocence, but not a cop. Not him. Beneath those soft golden lashes, her wide eyes crawled with guilt.

Jack slammed the remote on the table. “
Don't.
Don't lie to me. You nearly came out of your seat when you saw him.”

Larsen crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze sliding away. “If I reacted to him, it was only because of his weirdness.”

He stared at her, feeling the fragile connection between them fray and split. “How stupid do you think I am?”

She froze, then seemed to shake herself loose, her gaze shifting to the blank television screen. “I swear to you, Jack, I've never seen him before.”

Dammit.
His fingers flexed with the need to grab her and shake her, to scare the crap out of her until she told him what he wanted to know. At the same time, he wanted nothing more than to sink to his knees and beg her to trust him.

He turned away from her, shutting his eyes over the battle raging inside him. “Go to bed, Larsen.” Before he destroyed what tenuous connection remained between them, losing his only chance at a life without madness, his only chance at a future.

 

Larsen paced the darkened bedroom, the room lit only by the soft wash of light slipping under the door from the hallway. She'd been pacing for more than an hour, but she wasn't the only one still awake. Beyond the door she could hear the low sound of the television and knew Jack was still up. And probably still furious with her. What was she going to do?

She couldn't tell him what she knew. As a kid, she'd believed she somehow caused the tragedies she foresaw. The shame and self-loathing kept her silent. Then in college, she'd done some research on visions and premonitions and realized she was just a type of fortune-teller. Seeing the future didn't mean she was causing it. But neither did it mean others would understand, if they knew. It didn't mean they'd accept her, not think she was a freak. It wasn't a risk she was willing to take.

But now she didn't know what to think. The albino saw her. He
saw
her. If she were merely a fortune-teller, merely a seer of the future, that wouldn't be happening. So, what did that make her visions? What did that make
her?

The old fear that she was somehow to blame clenched like a fist in her stomach. The feelings that she was evil rose like bile in her throat.

She couldn't tell him. She couldn't tell
anyone.
But those cop eyes of Jack Hallihan's saw way too much. He already suspected she knew something. He had an uncanny ability to see right through her lies. He was dangerous. She needed to get away. In the morning, she'd make some calls. She wasn't a prisoner…yet. But he certainly wasn't going to let her walk out of here after she'd given herself away with that video.

No, she needed help. The kind one got from friends in high places, which she happened to have, thanks to her skill in the courtroom. She'd rescued the daughter of a D.C. circuit court judge from an abusive marriage just last month. She had little doubt George would put a bug in the right ear and she'd be free of Jack Hallihan before lunch.

Regret pressed down on her with surprising force.

She'd been attracted to him for months. But that mild infatuation was nothing compared to the attraction that had built over the past couple of days, catching fire in his arms tonight. Strangely, her attraction to him was more than physical. When he wasn't playing cop, he was good company. Fun, sexy.

Her fingers trailed over her lips. And the man could win awards with his kissing. She remembered the way he'd held her, the way he'd pressed her against the sink cabinet until she'd had no doubt of his desire.

A warm rush of longing turned her knees weak and she sank down onto the bed. If only things were different. If only—

Her sight suddenly vanished. Pain split her skull.

Heart lurching with fear, Larsen grabbed her aching head as another vision hit her like a sledgehammer.

 

She recognized the Old West decor of Tony Jingles, a restaurant on Q Street, not far from the pharmacy where the young intern had been abducted. As before, she watched from above, as if she hovered near the ceiling, wrapped in an unnatural silence.

Dread balled in her stomach.

She didn't want to see this.

She tried to close her eyes, tried to wake herself up or to shake herself out of the scene, but she remained rooted.
Trapped.

The scene below appeared disturbingly normal. The afternoon sun shone through the slats of the window blinds, illuminating a half-empty restaurant. On the television in the corner, the Baltimore Orioles mascot bounded across the field in what appeared to be pregame shenanigans.

A flash of white caught her eye and everything changed.

The albino strode into the restaurant, turning the patrons and wait staff to stone. Forks and glasses dropped onto the tables, food-laden trays crashed silently to the floor.

The only natural movement came from a booth nearby. A middle-aged woman with a round, intelligent face stared around her in disbelief. She opened her mouth as if yelling, then began to shake the two people in the booth with her—a man Larsen presumed was her husband and a pretty young woman, probably her daughter.

The woman looked up to see the albino approaching. Her eyes widened with shock, then turned to fear as her husband's hands closed around her throat and he began to choke her. The albino motioned to her blank-faced daughter. The girl climbed out of the booth and, like the bridesmaid before her, stood motionless as he raped her in front of her mother's dying eyes.

With his white hair swirling around his face, his eyes glowing like yellow-green embers, the albino's head jerked up and he met Larsen's gaze. Through his song, he smiled malevolently.

And reached for her.

 

Jack paced his living room, slapping the television remote against his thigh in an agitated, bruising rhythm as the newscaster droned, becoming just one more voice in his head.

Who was she?
Ice Queen or siren? Angel or devil?

Winning her trust was a luxury he could no longer afford.

His last doubt that she was involved in this case had evaporated as he'd watched her react to the surveillance video.

His sanity be damned. His first responsibility was to the people of D.C. It was high time he got to the bottom of Larsen Vale's involvement. Before that bastard committed another murder or assault.

With weighted feet, Jack strode to his bedroom and rapped on the door. “Larsen?” When she didn't answer, he pounded harder. The door, not fully latched, swung open to reveal a figure huddled on the floor in the sweep of hall light.

His heart lodged in his throat. “Larsen, what happened?”

She stared at nothing, her eyes glassy and filled with horror. He crossed to her in three quick strides and knelt in front of her, searching for sign she'd been injured, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. No arrow sticking out of her. No blood.

He cupped her face in his hands, his palms encountering the cool clamminess of her skin. “Talk to me, Larsen. What happened?”

Long lashes swept up. Tormented eyes met his gaze and slowly filled with tears. Sobs began to rack her slender body.

“Are you hurt?”

She pressed her lips hard together, but shook her head.

His fear slid away. Keen protectiveness warred with frustration even as he pulled her against him in a move that was at once alien and utterly natural. She fit against him perfectly, her arms sliding around his neck, her face buried against his shoulder.

She belonged to him. In a way he couldn't describe, he felt it in his bones.

Jack stroked her damp hair as her crying slowly subsided. She wasn't injured, not physically at least. Whatever tormented her came from within. Was it fear that hounded her? Guilt?

He felt the tension drain out of her as he rubbed her back.

“I need to know what's going on,” he said quietly. “I can't help you if I don't know.”

Too late, he realized she'd cried herself to sleep. Resigned, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, then lay beside her, his fingers twined with hers.

Blessed silence filled his head, perhaps for the last time, as he gazed at the woman who stirred so many conflicting emotions in him. Come morning he was going to have to break through her defenses to get at the truth. No matter what it took. Even if it meant earning her hatred, and losing his last chance.

 

Larsen woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of a soft rain pattering against the window. Her arms, which were always on top of the covers when she slept, were buried beneath a sheet tucked up to her chin, as if someone had pulled the sheet over her during the night.

Jack.

She'd woken just before dawn to find her back pressed against his chest, his arm tight around her. She'd felt so safe, so secure, she'd fallen right back to sleep. Something warm and soft moved in her chest. If things were different, if
they
were different, he might just be a man worth taking a chance on.

But though he might be able to protect her physically, he was, ultimately, a cop who saw too much. And she was a woman with secrets she could never share. Premonitions. Death.

Tony Jingles.

The terrifying memory slammed into her and she struggled from beneath the snug sheet and sat up, heart pounding. The albino would strike again. Another rape. Maybe another death.

She raked her hair back from her face and stared at the plain blue sheet bunched at her knees, her mind spinning. She'd seen her own death at the wedding reception, yet she hadn't died. For the first time ever, one of her death visions hadn't come true. Were these visions different from the ones she'd had as a child, or had she simply never believed she could change things, so never before tried?

Oh God, what if she could have saved her mom from that car accident all those years ago? Her scalp began to tingle with the horror of the thought.
Don't. Don't go there.
What was done was done. She couldn't change the past. But maybe…
maybe
…she could change the future.

The horror charging through her system slowly changed to excitement. What if she could stop the murder at Tony Jingles? What if she could save that woman and her daughter, and possibly end the albino's rampage once and for all?

Sudden restless energy shot down her limbs. With a kick of the sheet, she climbed out of bed and began pacing the room. Jack was a cop. He could stop the attack and catch the murderer.

But how could she tell him what she knew without telling him how she knew it? She'd find a way. She
had
to. For once, just maybe, her death visions could be used for good instead of bringing evil.

 

Jack poured himself a cup of coffee as he dug his fingers into his scalp, trying to ease the volume in his head. The damned voices were getting louder, as if each day they invited more and more guests into the party.

“Headache?” Larsen said from behind him, entering the kitchen.

He jerked his hand away, nearly spilling the coffee, and turned to face her. She looked soft and delicious this morning, her hair sleep-tousled, her pajamas clinging in all the right places. Blood pooled between his legs as he remembered the feel of her pressed against him during the night. He'd slept. Eventually. But now, with her awake, all he wanted to do was to sweep her up and carry her back to that bed, preferably without those soft, clinging pajamas.

He tore his gaze away from her and shoved the coffee carafe back under the brewer. It was time to play tough cop, not horny fool. But damn, she looked good.