The Weeping Lore (Witte & Co. Investigations Book 1) (53 page)
Read The Weeping Lore (Witte & Co. Investigations Book 1) Online
Authors: Gregory Ashe
“Put those on. Behind your back.”
Cian did as Harper said. From behind the glass of the Majestic’s doors, a bellhop stared out at them. Cian gave the boy a glare, and the boy dropped out of sight.
“There,” Cian said, displaying his bound hands. “You can lower the revolver, Harper. Don’t do something stupid.”
Harper hesitated and then holstered the gun. He grabbed Cian’s arm and walked him down the block. A battered, converted Ford truck sat there, with a scuffed Army seal on the door.
As they walked, Cian said, “I’m glad you were ok, Harper. Back at the hotel, I mean.”
Harper jerked like a man who’d been shot. After a moment, he pushed Cian forward.
“I . . . saw,” Harper said. “I saw those things.” He paused again. An icy wind swept over both of them. Cian risked a glance back. Harper’s eyes were wide, and he was chewing an unlit cigarette. He pulled the cigarette free and continued, “I got out of the cuffs. I saw them. Huge. Snakes. Lizards. I don’t know what. Shit.” He chewed on the cigarette again. His eyes were wider than the moon. “Shea, listen. I’d—”
Cian shook his head. It was ok, now. Things were ok.
He’d stopped running.
“Don’t worry about it, Harper. I won’t say I’m sorry about what I did to Dunn. But I’m ready to face up to it.” He paused and felt a sharp pang of disappointment. “I don’t suppose you’d let me stick around long enough to have breakfast tomorrow?”
Harper blew out a stream of white breath. He dropped the mangled cigarette. It lay on the snow like a broken flower. “You saved my life. I know you did. And I know Dunn was a bastard. We’d had a dozen complaints and we ought to have done something about it.” He took a deep breath. “If it were just Dunn, I’d turn around, Shea.”
Ice punctured Cian’s skin. “What do you mean?”
“I’d let you go, Shea. If it had only been Dunn.”
“What do you mean if it had only been Dunn?”
Harper shook his head. “I don’t get it.” He gave Cian another shove and then helped him up into the back of the converted Ford. “You save an old piece of shit like me. The things you did to that girl, though.” He shivered. “There wasn’t even enough left to bury. Why do a thing like that? She was just a girl.”
And then he slammed the door.
The needles of ice had worked their way down to Cian’s lungs. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. All he could think about was that last night, outside her window, and the look in her eyes.
Corinne.
The knock came after midnight, after Irene’s bath, after she’d wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped into a warm, puffy, white bathrobe.
It was Cian, of course.
The tremor in her heart was anticipation and fear.
He’d thought about it. He had wanted to see her tonight. He was going to persuade her, woo her.
She was ready now. She’d just needed time. Time to push out all the thoughts of Francis, time to bury the feel of his hands on her, time to escape the feel of him inside her.
The memories were like a cold, wet rag around her neck, but that would get better in time. In time, she might even feel normal.
But tonight, she would make herself be ready, for Cian’s sake.
When she opened the door, though, it was Harry who stood there. Not Cian. Harry looked different. A sheen of water covered his face. Not individual drops, as though he’d come in from the rain, but a perfect sheet. As though Harry had just broken the surface of a deep pond and the water still clung to him.
He smiled. Harry Witte’s perfect smile.
And then Irene realized what she was seeing on his face.
It was a mask.
Irene tried to pull back and shut the door. She was too slow.
Harry grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the door frame.
The world went dark.
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