As Darkness Gathers (Dark Betrayals Book 2) (27 page)

He was livid, his jaw clenched, a vein pulsing in his temple. “We need to call the police.”

“No!” I shoved the curtain back in place over the window. “No, I don’t want to look at it anymore. I want it gone. Now. Please, I want it off my window.” When he wrapped his arms around me and I leaned against his hard frame, I noticed how badly I was trembling.
 

“Shh.” He cupped the back of my head, pressing my face into his chest. “Shh. It’s okay. I’ll go to the hardware store and get something to remove that shit.”

“Don’t leave me here alone.”

“I won’t. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
 

Chapter Fourteen

We spent the night on the couch, Clay holding me securely against him, but even so, I couldn’t sleep.
 

I thought of Tula and how close she’d come to never meeting her first great-grandchild. I thought of Vera’s devastation in the face of losing Edgar. I remembered Bryan’s pain, the tearful faces of Mark’s wife and daughters, Henry’s anger. I remembered Daniel’s support and Timothy’s strength, Clay’s confidence and determination.
 

Their lives had been altered in one harrowing instant.
 

At the hospital, I’d been thanked and commended, and it had made me uncomfortable. I was no hero. The passengers on the flights I worked were in my charge, and when their lives were threatened, it was my responsibility—my
duty
—to ensure their safety. But I’d been grappling with the knowledge I very well may have been the reason they were in harm’s way to begin with.
 

That, paired with my own lingering fear, drove me to meet with my supervisor in the crew room at the airport the next morning.

“You know there’s no rush,” Susan said after I’d explained. “So if you need more time to think about it, even just until the investigation is complete . . .”

“No, it’s not that.”

“You’re certain?”

I handed her my badge and smiled. “I am.”

“We’ll all hate to see you go, but I’ll start processing your resignation paperwork.”

“Thanks, Susan.” I breathed a sigh of relief when I stepped from her office.
 

There was no reluctance or sorrow. Had there been when I’d made my decision that morning, I would have done as Susan suggested and extended my leave. Instead, I felt almost giddy as I cleaned out my mail file.

I took one last look around the crew room.
 

I didn’t have a plan, but I knew if I couldn’t find anything over the next few weeks, or if one day I started to miss working for an airline, I could return. I wouldn’t fly again, I knew, but there were plenty of positions within the company I would be qualified for.
 

I was almost smiling, flipping through the random flyers and announcements I’d received while away as I exited the crew room. My head was lowered as I turned the corner, and I yelped when I slammed into something large and unyielding. The papers I’d been shuffling through fell scattered to the floor, and I staggered back.

A hand caught my arm, too tightly, and I winced, but the grip kept me upright as I regained my balance.

“Thank you,” I said before even glancing up. “Oh! William, nice to see you.”
 

Sydney’s brother released me, and I resisted the urge to rub my arm where he’d grabbed it.

He shuffled back, face twisted in a grimace, gaze flinching away from mine. “Sorry. Sorry.” His voice was slow and stumbling.

I smiled. “It’s fine. It was my fault. I wasn’t paying any attention to where I was going.”
 

He hunched his shoulders and stared at the floor.
 

“I’ve missed you,” I said as I stooped to collect the fallen papers. “How have you—”

The smell of jet fuel exhaust enveloped me, and I froze.
 

I didn’t even have to close my eyes to be transported back to that paralyzing moment when the shadow had separated from the darkness in my room. I remembered with sudden, terrifying clarity the bulk of the intruder slamming me against my front door. The weight of him, the brutality of his grip, the heat of his breath against the back of my neck. The acrid smell that had clung to him.
 

Jet fuel exhaust.

A frightened whimper escaped before I could contain it. I stayed crouched on the floor, a trembling beginning to spread through my limbs, and stared blindly at a blue piece of paper announcing an annual bake sale. It was several long moments before I gathered enough courage to lift my head.
 

From under his hooded brow, William stared at me. There was no malice in his gaze, only confusion. And guilt.

I left the papers where they’d fallen and staggered upright. William shuffled back another step, and as I skirted around him, I couldn’t look at him or even muster a smile.

I rounded the corner and had to force myself not to run down the long, empty corridor to the elevator. My heart thundered so hard I was having trouble catching my breath, and my fingers were numb and shaking as I pawed through my purse. When I finally found my cell phone, I fumbled and almost dropped it as I punched in Clay’s number. I glanced repeatedly over my shoulder as I hurried down the hall.
 

“Please. Please,” I whispered, praying that the call would go through despite the weak reception I always had down there.

He answered just as I reached the elevator and slapped a hand against the call button. “Finished?” he asked.

“It’s William,” I said in a rush, almost sobbing when the button lit up but the doors remained closed. The elevator was on the floor above.

“What?” His voice was sharp.

“William! Sydney’s brother. Mr. Beecher’s son!” I glanced back again and a small scream escaped when I saw William shuffling down the hallway toward me. Frantic, I jabbed at the call button.

Clay swore. “You’re still downstairs? He’s there?”

“Yes,” I gasped.
 

William’s rubber-soled boots squeaked on the floor.
 

I stabbed one last time at the glowing button and then turned and ran.

“Finch—” The rest of what Clay said was garbled as the signal on my phone cut out.

My sprained knee throbbed, but I ignored it as I raced down the hallway, my purse banging into my hip. I knew there was a stairwell around the next corner, and fear added speed to my flight, though my ballet flats struggled for purchase on the slick tile floor.
 

Disbelief churned in my stomach.
William? Why?
 

I heard him calling my name—pleading—over my own hoarse, wheezing breaths, but I couldn’t stop.
 

As I rounded the corner, there was a tug on the back of my sweater. A scream ripped from my throat, and I wrenched away, spinning and swinging my heavy, oversized bag with as much force as I could muster.
 

It caught William in the temple, and he groaned and slumped to all fours.

I shoved into the stairwell, and the heavy door banged against the wall. Halfway up, I tripped, bruising my shins and scraping my palms on the concrete. I used my hands to propel me further up the steps, managing to gather my feet back under me. When I reached the turn in the split-level stairs, I slammed into a hard body and yelped.
 

“Finch!”

I recognized Clay even as he said my name and clung to him with a sob.
 

Two TSA agents burst into the staircase from the floor above us. “Sir!” one of them shouted, pointing at Clay. “You can’t be down here.”

At the bottom of the stairwell the door crashed open, and I shrieked. Clay shoved me behind him and took up a defensive stance as William staggered in.
 

He stumbled against the wall, shaking his head, then he looked up at me and spread his hands beseechingly. “Fi . . . inch. Sorry. So sorry.”

One of the TSA agents unclipped a radio from his belt and held it to his mouth. “This is Dessler to command. We have a situation in the southeast stairwell. Threat level one.”

William’s shoulders slumped and began to shake. He sagged to the floor, his knees hitting hard. “Sorry. So sorry.” He lifted his head and, meeting my gaze, began to wail, tears and drool trailing down his chin as he sobbed.

“Oh, William,” I whispered as the huge bulk of a man cried as brokenly as a small child. I stepped away from Clay and sank shakily onto a stair, my own eyes burning at the sight. “Why? Just tell me why. Please.”

But he only rocked back and forth and cried.
 

“I don’t understand,” I said several hours later. I sat in Bernadette Walker’s office, staring into a sludgy cup of coffee that had long since grown cold.

“He’s in interrogation now, but so far he isn’t saying anything aside from apologizing. He’s not even speaking to that lawyer who showed up.”

Clay had been silent, leaning against the wall and staring out the window. “You have enough to hold him?” Clay asked Bernadette.

“He’s being charged. We ran his fingerprints, and they were a match for the ones found at the break-in. And he had the knowledge and the access to tamper with the plane.”

“Circumstantial,” Clay said.

“We’ll get a confession and evidence now that we know what to look for.”

“He’s ill,” I whispered, and they both glanced at me. “He had a brain injury as a teenager.”

“They’ll take that into consideration,” Clay said. “He’ll be considered a flight risk, though. With his father’s company.”

Bernadette nodded. “They’ll request no bail at the arraignment.”

I listened to them talk with a sense of numbness cloaking me. When Clay’s hands settled over my shoulders, I jumped, and he kneaded the tight knot of muscle.
 

“Let me take you home. We’ll come back later and get your car.”

Bernadette squeezed my hand and smiled. “It’s over, Finch. We got him. You’ve given your statement, so go home. We’ll be in touch.”

Clay drove, and I stared out the window, plucking at the pleat in my trousers. “I don’t feel relieved,” I said after a long bout of silence.

Without looking away from the road, he caught my hand, stilling its nervous movement, and lifted it to press a kiss against my knuckles. “I know.”

I stared at our clasped hands and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.
 

He stopped at a red light, and when I felt the weight of his stare, I lifted my head. The heat and relief in his eyes stole my breath.
 

Still, so much didn’t make sense. I thought I would feel a sense of finality when it was all over, but instead I felt even more unsettled.
 

“I need to see Sydney,” I said.
 

She would have heard about William by then, since Mr. Beecher had sent the family attorney. She would be devastated.
 

He silently followed my directions, but after he pulled into Sydney’s driveway, he caught my arm before I could get out. “Wait.”

I wasn’t being fair to him, I knew, so I let the door fall closed and turned back to him. “I—”

But then his lips were on mine, and I fell hard into the kiss, returning it with just as much passion and relief and desperation as he was giving. His fingers tunneled through my hair and gripped the back of my head. I clutched his shirt in tight fists.

When he drew back, both of our breaths were unsteady. A curl of hair fell across my cheek, and he pushed it behind my ear. “You’ll text me when you need me to come get you?”

“I will.”
 

Clay leaned across me and opened my door, shoving it wide, but it took me a moment before my knees felt strong enough to hold me upright.
 

I climbed from the car and closed the door then stepped up the walk to Sydney’s front door.
 

Clay didn’t drive away until she answered my knock. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and they welled with tears at my tentative smile.

“Don’t cry, Sydney. Please.”