A Whisper in the Dark (3 page)

“The sins ye do by two and two ye must pay for one by one.” Julia quoted the passage from memory as she walked down one of the narrow aisles and pulled out a book. “Kipling, maybe.” She carried the book to the counter, set it down and both women began paging through it. “Let’s see. Oh, here it is. Rudyard Kipling’s ‘Tomlinson.’”

Silence reigned for a moment while both women read the poem. Then Claudia blew out a breath. “This guy is obviously some kind of nutcase, Julia.”

“I’m getting that impression, too.”

Claudia looked down at the letter in her hand. “What does it mean? Why would someone send letters like this?”

“I don’t know.” But after this latest letter, Julia had an idea as to the why, and it disturbed her almost as much as the letters themselves. She was going to have to do something about it. The question was what. “This one was hand delivered, Claudia.”

Her sister’s eyes widened. “He was
here
? He knows you run this shop? My God, I always thought he was, you know, in another state or something.”

Julia nodded, resisting the urge to rub the gooseflesh that had come up on her arms. “No postmark.”

Both women were silent for an instant, and then Claudia said, “I think it’s time you reported this to the police.”

“I’m not sure what the police can do. I mean, it’s not against the law to send letters.”

“These are more than just letters. They’re . . . disturbing. Threatening. Julia, this creep could be dangerous.”

More than anything, those were the words she hadn’t wanted to hear. “He’s quoting books, Claudia.”

Her sister made a sound of annoyance. “He could be some kind of wacko stalker. He could be watching you. He could walk right into the bookstore and you wouldn’t even know it.” She looked at the letter and quoted. “Soon thine blood will be hers and vengeance will be mine? It sounds like he wants revenge for something you’ve done.”

Julia hoped her sister didn’t notice the shiver that went through her. In the two weeks since she’d received the first letter, she’d found herself jumping at shadows, watching her customers more closely than normal. For the first time since opening the Book Merchant, she was uneasy working alone and staying late at night, both of which she did often.

She knew her sister was right. To ignore the situation any longer would be not only foolhardy, but also potentially dangerous. The problem was, she wasn’t sure how to address it without opening a can of worms she had absolutely no desire to deal with.

Julia chose her words carefully. “Do you have any idea the embarrassment this could cause Dad if the wrong person caught wind of this and decided to sensationalize it?”

“A few cryptic letters aren’t exactly a scandal.”

“For God’s sake, Claudia, I’m not talking about the letters.”

“Oh.
Oh.
” Understanding dawned in Claudia’s eyes. “You think this is related to your book?”

Julia slid the letter from the folder. “Read the latest letter again.” She tapped her nail against the ivory paper. “Her tainted pen spills sin onto the page like the fevered blood from a sickle slash.” She sighed unhappily. “I think it’s obvious.”

Claudia bit her lip. “There’s got to be a way to keep you safe without spilling the beans.”

The beans her sister was referring to were the publication of Julia’s first book, which had been released six months earlier under the pseudonym of Elisabeth de Haviland. Few people knew about Julia’s writing. Certainly not her father, pillar of the community and New Orleans’s religious icon Benjamin Wainwright. Julia wanted to keep it that way. “Dad has worked long and hard to get where he is. I would hate for my writing to affect him in any way.”

“Or embarrass him.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious,” Julia said dryly.

“Maybe it’s time you told him. I mean, come on, you’re his daughter. He loves you.”

Julia couldn’t help it; she laughed even though the humor of the moment eluded her. “I don’t think he’s prepared for Elisabeth de Haviland.”

“You don’t have to tell him
what
you write.”

“You know how Dad is. Once he finds out his daughter is an author, he’ll tell all of his friends and rush out to buy the book.”
And they’ll all get the shock of their lives
, she thought with a shudder.

“Look, the fact of the matter is there’s some weirdo out there sending you threatening letters. You can’t ignore something like that these days.”

Julia knew her sister was right. She should have done something when she’d received the first letter. “I hate it when you make more sense than I do,” she muttered.

“At least file a report with the police. I’ll check, but I think Louisiana has a stalking law.”

“That will help. Thank you.” Julia sighed. “If the police ask, I’ll simply tell them the stalker must be referring to a book I carry here at the shop.”

“I think it’s a good compromise.”

Taking the letter from her sister, Julia looked down at the cryptic words and felt a stir of anger. She’d finally found her place in the world, and now it seemed some warped individual had his sights set on disrupting her life. She wasn’t going to let him do it.

“And in case you’re wondering, there’s nothing wrong with what you write.” Sipping her coffee, Claudia looked at her over the rim.

Julia smiled. “Thanks. But I still don’t want anyone to know about the book.”

“You know your secret is safe with me.”

“Is there a but coming?”

“I just hate for you to feel you have to keep such a big part of your life hidden.”

“Come on, Claudia. Dad is about to become director of the Eternity Springs Ministries, the third largest church in Louisiana. There are people out there who think what I write is pornography and would use that to hurt him. He’s worked hard to get where he is. He’s got so many wonderful ideas on how to help people and families in need. It would kill him to lose that.” She shook her head. “Besides, I just don’t think Dad is prepared to find out his daughter is writing something so . . .”

“Hot?” Claudia smiled.

“Misunderstood,” Julia finished.

“Or maybe you’re the one who’s not prepared.”

An unexpected quiver of emotion went through Julia at the wisdom of her younger sister’s words, and she surprised herself by smiling. “Since when did you get so smart?”

“I have a really smart older sister.” Claudia crossed to her and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. “My lips are sealed, Julia. But whenever you’re ready to tell him, I want to be there because I have never seen Benjamin Wainwright speechless.”

 
He stood naked inside the door of her bedchamber, his body trembling with anticipation and a dark wanting he was helpless to control. Arousal was like a slow burning fire inside him, taunting him until he thought he might scream. The wanting was an agony that ripped through him with every violent thrust of his heart.

She lay on her side, anticipation dark in her eyes. A fallen angel with lips the color of blood. The flickering light of the wall torch danced like warm fingers over the silk of her flesh. His eyes drank in the sight of her. The round, golden flesh of her breasts. The thatch of dark curls at the apex of her thighs. The full force of her beauty snatched the last of his breath from his lungs and his head spun. He couldn’t bear to look at her and not have her.

 
Fury blurred the words on the page. He slammed the book closed, the sound coming like a gunshot in the silence of his study. Filth. Filth.
Filth!
He was aware of his heart pounding, the blood rushing hotly to his groin, where his penis swelled uncomfortably against his fly.

He couldn’t believe she could do this to him.
Him!
He wasn’t weak like other men. He had the highest moral convictions. He had beliefs. Faith. And yet this whore could make him lust. A powerful lust that tore down his resistance and left him sweating and hot and weak.

She was a whore. A woman without virtue, contributing to the moral decay of a society already in the throes of ruination. New Orleans was filled with them. Sinners. Men and women of weak moral character.

But Julia Wainwright was worse than the others. Not only did she look like an angel, but she was the daughter of a religious man. She knew better and yet she continued to spread sin using the pages of her books. He thought about Benjamin Wainwright and wondered how a man with such strong religious convictions had raised such a harlot. Hadn’t he taught her that lust was the devil’s tool?

The Bible foretold how the devil would return in the form of an angel. Julia Wainwright looked like an angel in every sense of the word. Only she was an angel of Satan. He was duty bound to stop her. The only question that remained was if he was strong enough to withstand her deadly charms.

He looked at the photograph. She was standing behind the counter in that dusty little bookstore. She wore a turtleneck, just snug enough to reveal the curves of her breasts. The kinds of curves that made a man weak. Her brown hair had fallen into her eyes and she’d raised her hand to shove it back, giving him that woman’s smile when he’d snapped the shot. She wanted everyone to believe she was good. Innocent. But he knew better. He knew her secret. And when she’d looked at him with those gypsy eyes, he’d smiled back, but deep inside he’d hated her.

He’d hoped the letters would stop her, but they hadn’t. He was going to have to step up his efforts. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. But he knew all too well how powerful and utterly deceitful Satan was. It was going to take more than gentle persuasion to stop her. He was going to have to hurt her in order to save her from herself and deliver her from evil . . .

The image of his hands around her slender throat sent another hot rush of blood to his groin. He looked helplessly at the bulge at his crotch, and shame cut him like a blade. She made him weak, and he hated her for it. Hated himself.

Embarrassment choked a sound from his throat, but the lust was stronger. It had taken hold of him like a fever. She did this to him. It was her fault. Her
fault
!

The need pulsed inside him. An agony he could no longer stand. He was weak. A mortal in the hands of Satan.

“Forgive me,” he whispered as he unzipped his fly.

His hands trembled as he wrapped his fingers around his swollen penis and began to pump his hand. He stared at the photo, pleasure wrapping around his brain like a powerful narcotic. A drug he would never get enough of.

He could hear his breaths rushing between his clenched teeth. His hips moved in time with his hand. Oh, God. Oh, God! So good.

“Whore,” he spat. “Bitch.”

Shame sent tears to his eyes. He could hear his father’s voice inside his head.
You’re an evil boy. A demon. You’ve got the devil inside you!

“No,” he whimpered. “It’s her fault.”

But when he closed his eyes, the memories descended.

TWO

John Merrick stood beneath the green and white striped
canopy outside the Book Merchant and watched the traffic along Royal Street bump and grind into the night. Around him, a cold February rain fell in sheets, bringing a rise of fog. He’d been in New Orleans for almost two weeks, but it wasn’t long enough for him to forget why he’d come back—or why he’d run in the first place.

His lieutenant had tried to persuade him to stay in Chicago, but John had turned him down flat. As far as he was concerned all of the things that had once made him a good cop had died the night his bullet had killed DEA Agent Franklin Watts.

After the grand jury cleared him of charges and Internal Affairs ruled Watts’s death a friendly fire incident—a euphemism John had come to hate—he’d resigned from the force and walked away from a career he’d invested twelve years of his life building. He’d broken the lease on his apartment, loaded all of his worldly possessions into his restored 1971 Mustang fastback and headed to his hometown in the hope of putting the incident behind him and moving on with his life.

Yeah. Right. The way things were going he figured he’d be lucky to find a way to live with himself.

He’d found a one-bedroom apartment in a shady neighborhood on the east side of the Quarter, and set his sights on getting a job. But for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what the hell to do. All he’d ever known was law enforcement. Who wanted a broken-down ex-cop with a ruined career and a shitload of baggage? An ex-cop who hadn’t been able to pick up his gun since that terrible night . . .

He’d been surprised as hell when he’d gotten the call from an old friend of his father’s, Benjamin Wainwright. Something about his daughter needing some additional security at her French Quarter shop. John hadn’t wanted to do the rent-a-cop thing. He’d tried to wriggle out of the meeting, but Wainwright wasn’t a subtle man when it came to getting what he wanted, especially when it came to his two daughters.

John knew he should go inside and make nice with her, but he wasn’t in the mood for nice. He sure as hell wasn’t in the mood for small talk. He barely remembered Julia Wainwright; hadn’t so much as given her a single thought in all the years he’d been away. Last time he’d seen her she’d been a chubby fifteen-year-old with bottle-cap glasses and a mouth full of braces. He didn’t even want to think about what she might look like now. She’d had a crush on him if he recalled, though John had never so much as spared her a second glance. He’d never gone in for the bookish type, especially the quiet, brainy ones.