Threshold of Pleasure (Mills & Boon Nocturne Cravings) (3 page)

If only there was a way out.

After drying off, Eden took the robe from the back of the door and wrapped herself in it. Even after seven months she could still smell her ex-lover Charlie’s cologne in the blue terry cloth. She had washed it several times since his departure, but still his scent remained to taunt her.

Just another thing to attest to her past failures.

Eden shuffled down the hall and into her kitchen to make coffee. Strong black coffee. Opening her refrigerator, she took out the white pizza box, opened it up and grabbed the last slice. Taking a bite, she poured a mug of coffee, then took it and her breakfast into her living room. Plunking down on the sofa, she grabbed the remote and clicked on the TV.

There usually wasn’t a hell of a lot on during a Thursday morning, but the background noise was all Eden was looking for. Something, anything, to drown out the incessant thoughts and images bombarding her mind. She only had an hour to kill before she had to head out to work anyway. Flipping through cooking programs, ridiculous talk shows and infomercials was just the mundane sort of distraction she needed.

After she’d folded the last of the pizza into her mouth, Eden flipped to a news station and paused. On screen was a picture of a young woman with black hair and blunt-cut bangs, dark eyes, and a thin, unsmiling mouth. Something about her made Eden shiver. Somehow, she knew that face.

The picture panned back to the newscaster, and he went on about how the woman in the photo, identified as Lilith Grae, had been missing since yesterday afternoon. A phone number flashed on the screen. Eden recognized it as the number for the missing persons’ division.

You tried before
...

The woman’s voice echoed in her ears. Eden had no reason to believe that this was the same person, except for the churning and gurgling in her gut telling her it most definitely was.

Eden reached for the cordless phone on her coffee table and dialed a number.

A man answered on the third ring. “Moser.”

The timbre of his voice made her shiver even after seven months apart. Clearing her throat she said, “Hey, Charlie.”

There was silence for a moment, and Eden thought for a second that he might hang up on her. “What’s up, Eden?”

“What do you know about the missing Grae woman?”

“Not much. Twenty-one years old, troubled home life, last seen two days ago, no note, no phone call, no nothing.” He paused, and Eden imagined that he was popping a piece of gum into his mouth. He’d quit smoking years ago and replaced the habit with gum-chewing. “The question is, what do
you
know about the Grae woman?”

“I don’t know. Nothing probably.”

“Spill it, Swain. You wouldn’t be phoning me otherwise.”

Eden pinched the bridge of her nose. Her headache was getting worse, likely Charlie-induced; he possessed an innate ability to give her one. “I think I talked to her last night on the help line.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“I don’t know for sure. The woman on the phone didn’t give me her name, but there was something in her voice that told me she was scared, maybe even running from something.”

“Look,” he said, and she could hear the exasperation in his voice. “There’s nothing I can do with that. You know how this works.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You have anything else? Anything I could use?”

“No.” Eden didn’t want to mention the conversation about the devil and demons—for some reason she wanted to keep that to herself. “Maybe I just related the two because I was bothered by her call last night.”

He sighed and she could hear the rustling of paper. “What time was the call?”

“About midnight.”

“From a cell phone, do you think?”

“No, it sounded like a pay phone. It had that hollow echo to it, you know?” She chewed on one of her fingers, nerves zinging through her. A sense of urgency jolted her mind. Something was happening. And it was happening now. “Where did she work?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Just humor me, okay?”

More rustling of paper. “Some club called The Gate. Does that ring a bell?”

“No.” The feeling of urgency increased. Eden felt as if her heart was going to burst out of her mouth. “Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“I think she might’ve been the woman from my shooting.”

There was a long pause, then a sigh. “Eden, you know that’s impossible. Lilly Cain died, remember?”

Eden dragged a hand through her hair. “I know. I know. She just looks exactly like her. And her name...so similar.”

“Have you been seeing Dr. Clarkson?”

“Yes.” She hated when people brought up her therapist as if she was going mental. Who knew? Maybe she was.

Eden jerked forward on the sofa, her fingers itching to grasp the cool glass of a bottle of scotch. “I got to go. Sean’s here to pick me up,” she lied.

“Yeah, I heard you were working for your brother.”

“It’s a job.” Eden stood. “I’ll talk to you.” She pressed the end button on the phone and tossed it onto the sofa. Pacing the room, Eden mulled over what Charlie had told her. Not much information, but enough that she could do her own investigation.

The urge to do something, to track down this woman, munched on Eden’s insides. Her gut told her something was seriously wrong. For some reason she was certain that Lilith Grae had called the help line to talk to Eden specifically. That the woman somehow knew her.

Fate.
Normally, she didn’t believe in it. But it seemed as if fate was starting to believe in her.

Chapter Four

The heat was unbearable as Eden drove home from work. Sweat trickled down her back and pooled into the dip of her pants. She rolled down the window and took in some deep breaths of the smog-tainted air. She didn’t care—she just needed to feel some sort of breeze on her face. She was overheating from the inside out. Panic raced through her. Black spots started dancing in her eyes.

She rubbed her face hard, digging her knuckle into her eye to try and erase the dark dots. Something was wrong. She felt light-headed, dizzy even. She’d drunk water most of the day and she hadn’t hit her head at the job site. So what was the problem?

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Eden wished for a drink. Scotch would calm her down, soothe her nerves. Just a little sip to take the edge off her anxiety.

Ahead on the right, the word
liquor
jumped out at her in red neon. Swerving, she cut across two lanes of traffic to take the turnoff. Car horns blared. Tires squealed. But all Eden could concentrate on was the cool, calm feel of a bottle of scotch in her hand and the way it would numb her tongue and throat on the way down to warm the hollow pit inside.

Screeching to a stop in front of the liquor store, she swung open her door and rushed in. She went straight to the back, knowing instinctively where the scotch was kept. She reached for a bottle, then stopped. This wasn’t right. She had to fight the urge. Instead, she snatched a bottle of Gatorade and rushed down the aisle to the checkout. A man in a black hoodie cut in front of her and set his purchases on the counter.

The clerk quickly put the man’s items into a plastic bag and rang him through. Eden tapped her foot impatiently as she waited, when all she wanted to do was run back and grab a bottle of booze and guzzle down half the amber liquid.

Finally, it was her turn. Setting the drink down, she tossed in a couple candy bars—chocolate soothed her urges sometimes—and slid a twenty across the counter.

The guy in the hoodie still hadn’t left. He had moved over to give her space, but was busy putting the change back in his wallet. Eden glanced over at him. She couldn’t see his face because the dark hood obscured it. He was tall, though. Lanky like an athlete.

The clerk handed Eden back her change, smiling at her the whole time. His fingers fumbled against her hand and all her coins scattered onto the counter and floor. Swearing, Eden bent down to retrieve them. Tucking the money into her pants pocket, she stood up to get her bag.

The tall stranger had left. Funny. When she was down on the ground she didn’t recall seeing him leave. He had been there, but then he was gone.

Obviously more tired and upset than she realized, Eden grabbed her purchases and left. Once home with a glass in her hand, she’d feel better. Maybe then she could figure all of this out. Maybe then, she wouldn’t feel so disjointed and confused.

It took her only a half hour to return to her apartment. The second she walked through the door, she went into her kitchen and grabbed a glass and ice. Sitting down on her sofa, she slid the Gatorade out of the bag, already feeling the panic subsiding with the expectation of the sugary drink.

Except it wasn’t Gatorade in her hand, but vodka.

She never drank vodka. Angry, she set the bottle down on the table and looked in the bag. Her candy bars weren’t in there either. Just a newspaper. An alternative arts magazine by the looks of it.

“Damn it.” Sighing, she leaned back on her sofa. The guy in the hoodie must’ve taken her bag by accident, and now she was stuck with his stuff.

It just wasn’t her day.

Rotating her stiffening neck, Eden leaned forward and screwed the cap off the vodka. Well, she couldn’t let the ice go to waste. She filled her glass to the rim. Lifting it to her mouth, she took a healthy swallow. It burned on the way down. At least it was better than panic and anxiety drowning her in its swirling vortex.

She drained the glass and filled it again. Taking another big swallow, she absentmindedly flipped through the newspaper. Nothing but industry music news and club dates. Not something she was into. She liked her music hard à la Metallica, not with Mohawks and facial piercings.

After draining the glass a second time, she turned a few pages. That’s when she saw it.

The Gate.

While she stared down at the advertisement, her heart skipped a few beats. Hands sweating, the glass nearly slipped from her fingers. Setting the drink down, Eden leaned close to read the ad.

The Gate was a club downtown. A hip, alternative place that catered to all-night ravers. Chills ran down her spine. This was too much of a coincidence.

Something wanted her to follow the clues.

* * *

After eating Chinese takeout, Eden found herself standing in line to get into The Gate.

Among a motley collection of Goths, punks and bohemian chic, she stood out like a pimple on a perfect, pale face. With her black tank top, worn jeans and black combat boots, she appeared more grunge than subculture, which wasn’t really all that cool since grunge had officially died with Kurt Cobain.

As she waited, she searched the crowd in front of her and behind for Lilith Grae. Although there were plenty of girls with long black hair and pale complexions, she didn’t see Lilith.

The line moved and Eden found herself at the front. Two beefy bouncers manned the door like sentries to an army base. One of them glared at her when it became her turn to go through.

“No cops allowed,” he grunted.

The people pushing at her back suddenly moved away as if they’d been told she had an infectious disease.

“I’m not a cop.” She added softly, “Anymore.”

The bouncer looked her up and down, then held out his hand. “Wallet.”

Digging into her back jeans pocket, she slid out her leather billfold and handed it to him. She ground her teeth as he rummaged through it, inspecting her driver’s license, then glancing at her. She could’ve taken him down in a matter of seconds if she had wanted. She’d taken down bigger and faster men during police training. She was a firm believer in
it’s not the size of the dog in the fight
,
but the size of the fight in the dog.
And she had a lot of fight inside.

After sliding two twenties out of it, the bouncer tossed her the wallet. He stuffed the money into his pocket and unhooked the rope from the line, gesturing her forward.

“Go ahead, sweetheart.”

She muttered a few choice curse words as she passed him.

The club was a massive, raucous menagerie of strobe lights, neon and writhing bodies. Eden could smell the sweat from the doorway.

The place was packed with wall-to-wall tattoos and metal studs, and she had to push her way through to the bar, which was up on a platform away from the throng of dancers. Two large birdcages hung on either side of the bar—girls in skimpy leather outfits danced and gyrated inside. Despite the view, it would provide a good position to survey the club.

After shoving through, she realized there were no available stools at the bar and absolutely no room to maneuver to get a drink. After several attempts to push through, she was about ready to give up when a rail-thin girl with pink cornrows fell off her stool and landed on her back right at Eden’s feet. Eden stepped over her and slid happily onto the seat.

One of three bartenders gestured to her. “What do you want?”

“Scotch, rocks.” Then she groaned. “No wait. Cranberry soda.”

The bartender smirked, then grabbed a short glass, slammed some ice into it, and poured in the juice and soda. He handed it to her. Instead of putting money into his waiting hand, Eden gave him a picture. The picture of Lilith Grae she’d downloaded from the missing persons’ website.

“Do you recognize her?”

Glowering at her, the bartender didn’t look at the photo. “No.”

She glared right back. “Just look at the damn picture, please. I’m not asking for anything but that.”

Slowly, he glanced down at the photo. Eden knew he was really looking. Not like some people who just glanced and never really saw.

“She used to work one of the cages.”

Eden took the photo back and gave him some money. “What happened to her?”

“She quit obviously.” He yanked the money from between her fingers.

“You better be back with my change.”

The bartender scowled at her but did return with a few bills and some coins.

Satisfied, she took a sip of her drink and swiveled on her stool to survey the crowd. It was like looking for a grain of sand on a beach. Lilith would blend well with the pack. Eden would never be able to pick her out among the dyed black hair and pale complexions.