A Whisper in the Dark (22 page)

Her expression must have relayed her shock, because an instant later John made eye contact with her and mouthed the words “Keep him talking.”

Not knowing what to say to the caller, Julia stammered, “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’ve got the devil inside you. If I don’t intervene, he’s going to win, Julia. Is that what you want? To spend all of eternity in hell?”

“I want you to stop calling me.”

“I’m your last hope. You don’t know it, but you need me. You need someone to save you from what you have become.”

In her peripheral vision, she saw John slide behind her PC and hit a few keys. The monitor blinked and the tracing software filled the screen. “You’re sick,” she said. “You need help.”

“Succubus,” he whispered.

“You’re wrong about me,” she said.

But the line went dead.

She glanced at John. “He disconnected.”

John glanced up from the monitor. “That’s okay because I got the son of a bitch’s number.”

EIGHTEEN

John dialed his brother’s home number without setting
down the phone. Mitch answered on the fourth ring, with a hostile “What?”

“I got the stalker’s number.”

A groan emanated through the line. “It’s after midnight.”

“Yeah, well, our stalker pal’s a night owl.”

Rustling sounded on the other end of the line and John imagined Mitch sitting up, tossing the covers aside. “Can you run the number for me?” John asked.

“Whaddya got?”

John tapped a key and recited the number.

“Probably a cell.”

“Probably, but sometimes these guys are pretty stupid.”

“Let me make some calls.”

“I’ll wait up.”

John disconnected and turned to Julia. He knew he should be focused on the stalker, but the only thought his mind processed when he looked at her was how good she’d felt in his arms. How responsive she’d been. That he was still aroused . . .

“What did he say to you?” he asked.

Her eyes were wide and frightened and very dark against her pale complexion. “A lot of strange things.”

“Give me specifics, Julia.”

“He—he said he was going to save me. That I had the devil inside me. That he was my last hope. He called me a succubus.” Her eyes widened. “When I first picked up the phone he said something like ‘You let him put his hands on you.’”

Fury spread through him as realization dawned. “The son of a bitch is watching.”

“How? The blinds are closed.”

“I don’t know.”

Cursing, John crossed to the front of the store. He paused to run his hands along the blinds, but they were closed tightly. He flung open the door and stepped onto the sidewalk and looked both ways. The street was nearly deserted. How the hell did the bastard know what had happened between him and Julia?

Furious at being spied on, John walked back inside and closed the door behind him. Julia had walked to the blinds. “These blinds are tight, John. I was adamant about that when I had them installed last year. There’s no way he can see inside.”

The hairs at John’s nape prickled. A feeling of near paranoia swept through him. He looked around the shop. If the blinds at the front window were indeed secure, how did the son of a bitch know what they’d been doing?

Without speaking, he walked the perimeter of the shop. He looked at the knickknacks scattered about. A bright red vase filled with greenery and orange and white silk flowers. The antique books squeezed between gargoyle bookends on the occasional table. A set of three colorful plates hung on the wall.

“What are you looking for?” Julia asked.

“I’m not sure.”

But he found what he was looking for a few minutes later. The tiny wireless camera had been wedged between two books directly across from her desk. Something male and protective slithered through him at the thought of some scumbag spying on her, watching her when she was totally unaware.

“He’s been in the shop.” John stated the obvious.

Julia came up beside him. “My God.” She reached for the camera. “Unbelievable.”

John grasped her wrist before she could touch it. “Might have latent prints.” All too aware that her wrist was small and warm in his hand, he let her go abruptly.

“This seems sophisticated,” she said.

He hated it that the bastard had been spying on them. John felt as if he should have somehow known. He was getting rusty. Drinking too much. He’d lost his focus. The edge that had once made him a good cop.

“Wireless cams are becoming more and more commonplace.” Using a pencil from the desk, he moved the camera so the eye could not watch them. “Any Joe can pick one up for under two hundred bucks.”

“I wonder how long it’s been there.”

He studied her face, remembering what it had felt like to kiss her, pulled himself back. “When’s the last time you moved these books?”

Her brows snapped together. “Claudia dusted this area last Tuesday.”

“You sure? She dusted these bookends?”

She nodded. “She always dusts on Tuesdays.”

“That means that at some point between last Tuesday and today, he’s been in your store.”

“That’s creepy.” She shivered.

The urge to reach out and touch her was strong, but he resisted. “Do you remember anyone hanging out in this area of the shop? Any of your customers behaving strangely?”

Julia shook her head. “I can check with Jacob and Claudia.”

“I’ll talk to them tomorrow.” John looked at the camera again, felt another rise of male outrage go through him at the thought of some bastard getting his rocks off watching her. Watching
them.
And he wondered if seeing them together had added fuel to the flame.

“How did this guy sound when he called?” he asked. “The same as before?”

Julia thought about it for a moment. “He sounded . . . intense. A little breathless.” Her gaze met his. “He was watching us like some sick voyeur.”

John nodded. “Sounds like maybe he didn’t like what he saw. Like maybe he didn’t want things to go any further.”

“That is so sick.”

“Yeah.”

He watched her cross to the desk. The baggy drawstring pants and T-shirt didn’t do much for her figure, but he knew just how shapely she was beneath. She’d been incredibly responsive when he kissed her. He could still taste the sweetness of her mouth. Feel the softness of her skin. Hear the hiss of her breaths as he’d brought her to peak . . .

Still semi-erect, he found himself wishing they hadn’t been interrupted. It was one thing to be attracted to a woman he couldn’t have. It was sheer torture to come so close to . . . something.

But deep inside he was glad they had stopped. The last thing either of them needed was to send this guy over some edge—or complicate the situation by falling into bed.

“Are you all right?” he asked after a moment.

“I’m okay.” She turned to him. “I just feel . . . violated.”

“Julia, I can’t tell you how important it is for you to be careful.”

An unhappy sigh slid from her lips. “Come on, John. For God’s sake, I’m not stupid.”

“No, but you are a little too independent for your own good.”

“John . . .”

“All I’m saying is stick to the plan we talked about, okay? Keep someone with you at all times. Be alert. Be aware of what’s going on around you. Of who’s in the shop. Above everything else listen to your instincts. Trust them. Most people don’t.”

She nodded. Her eyes went to the bottle of gin he’d left on her desk. John knew what he had to do. He knew it was going to be painful. But twice he’d nearly blown it with Julia. The last thing he wanted was for her to get hurt because of him. His conscience couldn’t handle another death.

He crossed to the desk, picked up the bottle and carried it to the storage room. Trying not to think about what he was doing, he uncapped it and poured the gin down the sink. When he finished, she was standing at the door.

“Thank you for doing that,” she said. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

“I’m not an alcoholic.” He said the words, but figured they both knew the jury was still out on that one.

“I know what happened in Chicago has been hard,” she said. “If there’s anything I can do—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He could feel himself shutting down. His emotions crawling back into the deep, dark hole where he didn’t have to deal with them.

“All right. You don’t have to. Just know that I’m there for you if you need me.”

Because he didn’t want to need anyone, John turned away from her and walked into the storage room, closing the door behind him.

 
The whore.

Succubus.

If he hadn’t called when he had, she and that second-rate ex-cop would have consummated the act. They would have had intercourse right there on her desk. Gone at it like a couple of dogs in heat.

It had been sheer torture for him to watch the other man kiss her, touch her, put his fingers inside her body. But even through the pain, watching them had aroused him in a way he’d never been aroused before.

The weakness shamed him. Made him realize he’d been wrong about her. There was no goodness left in her heart. Nothing to be saved in her soul. The evil inside her had taken over, grown into something monstrous.

The realization hurt more than he’d ever imagined possible. He’d always seen the goodness in her. Evidently, he’d been blinded by his own weakness. She could not be saved.

His only recourse was to destroy her.

NINETEEN

John didn’t sleep, but for the first time in two months the
insomnia was not because of the nightmare. At some point in the last couple of days, he had become preoccupied with Julia. He’d found himself watching her. Listening to her voice, the sound of her laughter. He enjoyed being with her, missed her when he wasn’t. He knew it was a stupid waste of time and energy, but he wanted to know everything about her. What she liked to do in her spare time. Her favorite foods and movies. He wanted to know what her hopes and dreams were.

He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had affected him so profoundly. He’d spent the entire night thinking about her, reliving the kiss, the way she felt in his arms, the way she’d sighed when he’d brought her to peak.

It was still dark when he gave up on sleep, kicked off the blanket and rose to start his day. Making his way into the shop, he dumped coffee beans into the grinder.

It was damn silly getting himself worked up over a woman he had no intention of getting involved with. Someone should tell his libido that.

He guzzled half a pot of coffee, then began the task of replacing the old alley door with a new steel one he’d picked up at the hardware store. Julia had told him she wanted it painted glossy black, so he’d picked up a gallon of paint as well. He was about to apply the second coat when Julia came down the stairs.

“Good morning,” she said brightly.

John looked up from the can of paint. She was wearing a red jacket and skirt with matching shoes. Beneath the jacket, he saw pink lace that should have clashed with the red, but didn’t. It matched the color she’d painted her lips.

“Nice knees,” he said.

She looked down at her knees and laughed. “Thanks.”

“I made coffee if you want some.”

“I knew there was a reason why I hired you.”

“You might want to withhold the compliments until you’ve tasted it.”

Smiling, she walked to the coffee station. John knew it was a mistake to watch her, but he did. Damn, she had the sexiest legs he’d ever seen on a woman, and she didn’t even seem to realize it.

“You’re up bright and early this morning,” she said.

He glanced away from his painting. She was watching him with a little too much interest, sipping from a steaming cup.

“You look . . . rested,” she said.

Or maybe it was the first time she’d seen him when he wasn’t suffering with a hangover. “Overnight courier came a little while ago,” he said. “You got a package from New York.”

“Probably fan mail from my editor.” Turning away, she started toward the counter at the front of the shop.

Setting the paintbrush on the bucket, John followed. He reached her as she tore off the top of the envelope.

“Let me.” He eased the envelope from her hand and pulled out a manila folder. He opened the folder on the counter. A short stack of letters stared up at them.

“What are we looking for?” Julia asked.

“Anything that strikes you as odd.” He shrugged. “A disgruntled fan. A letter that crosses a line.”

“A fan who thinks I’m a succubus?”

“That would be way too easy.”

“Thought so.”

They paged through several letters without speaking. Most were from female readers who were writing to let Julia know they’d enjoyed her story. Some were lighthearted and poked fun at the level of sensuality of the book. Some were deeply emotional. A few were scolding, but appeared harmless.

Halfway through the stack John came upon a letter from a man by the name of Nicholas Vester. The envelope was stapled to the letter. The return address was the Orleans County jail.

“What about that one?” Julia asked.

“Let’s take a look.” John skimmed the letter.