Chasing Darkness (14 page)

“Sure
you can. But do you know how much it would cost to replace this collection?”

A
chair and an old bass sat across the room. She walked toward them and ran her
hand over the polished wood. “Runt’s?”

He
nodded.

“Not
much furniture,” Sam commented.

“Sheila
took most of it. I never got around to getting any more.”

She
caught his eye, but saw no feeling there. Perhaps he felt like she did about
her divorce. She didn’t miss Brent at all. The last name Chase was the only
thing she’d kept from the relationship. And that was only because she’d sworn
that she’d never be an Everett again.

She
dropped her purse on the floor and turned to the one other door in the place.
It was half open, and she stepped forward, glancing inside. The bedroom. She
caught sight of a double bed with a plaid comforter, a chest of drawers, and a
small bedside table. She backed up quickly, but Nick was standing right behind
her. They collided and Nick caught her arm, righting her and quickly letting
go. They laughed awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“That’s
the bedroom.”

She
nodded and turned her back to it, taking a few steps away. She rubbed her hands
together and looked at the blank white walls. Everything about the place felt
lonely.

Nick
crossed the room and knelt at the stereo, selecting an album and setting it on
the turntable.

Sam
walked slowly around the small room, glancing into the kitchen, where one dish
sat in the sink. Nick was wrong. It wasn’t messy.

When
the sound of a low horn started, Sam froze, unsure whether to stand still or
run away and hide. Her palms felt moist and her legs and chest shook. She was
cold but hot, dizzy but clearheaded.

Nick
stepped out of his shoes and reached his hand out to her.

She
stared at it and then shook her head. “I can’t dance,” she said, breathless.

“You’ll
be perfect.”

She
felt the wings of a million butterflies in her belly. Exhaling, she let herself
put her hand in his, let him pull her close, let her body mold against his.

“I
really should be going home soon—”

“We
have all the time in the world. Whatever it is, Sam—whatever happened in your
past, I’m willing to wait. But you have to trust me.” He tapped her head
lightly with two fingers. “You have to tell me what’s going on in there.”

She
tucked her head into his chest and squeezed her eyes closed. If it were only
that easy. She had spent eighteen years fighting to be independent, only to
fall into the trap of what she thought was a caring man. It had almost killed
her—the drinking, the desire to die. She had been that close. Only the job had
pulled her through.

Then
she’d gotten the boys and gone to the Department of Justice and things had
become stable, even comfortable. She loved those boys. They had needed her and
she took care of them. It had been simple when they were young. But now, with
Rob misbehaving, it was becoming tougher.

Nick’s
arms tightened around her and she yielded to the comfort of his strength. She
wanted to believe she could trust him.

But
what if she was wrong? What if he was another Brent? She couldn’t take that
again. She wouldn’t.

Gerry
crouched in the dark along the side of the house, waiting for the little girl
to come to bed. He had a perfect view of her room. He’d first seen her with
little Molly down the street, the one whose mother was dead. It made him smile.
Any mother who would hurt her little girl deserved what she got. He thought
about his own sister and how beautiful she was. He’d never let anyone hurt her.
He would never hurt kids. He loved them—he would love them forever. He grew at
the thought of getting a chance to love the little girl inside the house.

But
the best part was that he’d found Sam Chase. She had come here that same day.
He’d been following her for two whole days now. He’d been to her building. And
he’d seen her house.

He
felt like he was even getting lucky, and he knew if he found the right time,
Sam would help him get back to prison. He just had to do things exactly right.

Everything
was better since he’d figured out that the old lady downstairs left the keys to
her car tucked above the sun visor. The car was as old as she was, but she
parked it down the street from their building and almost never used it. She
wouldn’t miss it in the dark, and the way he figured it, the worst that could
happen was they would send him back to prison. He just hoped he could get Sam
Chase to do it. He wanted to go back to the same place, see Wally again.

He
had wanted to follow Sam Chase yesterday afternoon, too, but the old lady had
taken her car before he could get it. Probably better, too. If she’d found out
it was gone, then he’d have been in big trouble.

This
morning, he’d been up at four and had found money in his neighbor’s laundry
downstairs—eight dollars, so he’d had a good breakfast. He wasn’t sleeping
much, but the pills he’d found in the old lady’s glove box made him feel
better.

The
light came on in the room, and Gerry ducked down. The Levelor blinds were bent
in one corner, so he could see in perfectly.

“Get
in your pajamas,” someone called.

Gerry
thought it was her mother.

The
little girl stomped around her room, ignoring her mother’s request. It made
Gerry smile. She was independent. He liked her.

He’d
seen her on the street earlier. There were a lot of kids on this street, but
she was the best. She wore tight pink leggings and a T-shirt that was a little
too short. She still had a belly. He loved that. And those pigtails.

He
shifted against the building, pressing himself against the hard shingles as he
watched her.

A
fat, ugly woman appeared at the door, hands on her hips.

He
dropped down into the corner, but he knew she wouldn’t see him. He was
invisible to her. He was always invisible to the parents.

Only
smart people like Sam Chase would discover him.

“Whitney
Anne, you get in your pajamas this minute.”

Just
then a little boy came running into the room, making a horrible moaning sound.

Whitney
covered her ears, and so did he. But the fat woman picked up the boy and took
him away, closing Whitney’s door.

He
watched her turn her head and stick out her tongue at the door, and he covered
his mouth to keep from laughing. She was perfect.

Whitney.
What a wonderful name. He couldn’t wait to get the chance to talk to her.

Someone
yelled something again and Whitney stomped across the room toward the dresser
and began to take her clothes off.

Turn
toward me, he thought. Turn and look at me.

But
she didn’t. He watched her bare shoulders and the way her hair cascaded across
her ivory skin. She was beautiful.

Just
then a door slammed and he heard someone outside talking.

He
took a last look at beautiful Whitney and ducked down.

The
voices got closer, and he knew they were coming to the side of the house. He
thought about getting back to prison and then about Whitney again. Maybe he
wasn’t ready. Not quite yet. Wally would wait, but Whitney—he had to see her
again.

Moving
in slow circles across the floor of his apartment, Nick held Sam as Thelonius
Monk brought the song to a close. He wondered what she was thinking about, what
her dreams were. So many things about her were a mystery: her bold, ruthless
manner with criminals, her soft vulnerability when he held her.

She
was hiding something. He wanted to shake it out of her, to command her to spill
it. One thing was clear: Sam Chase wasn’t used to relying on anyone. He could
see that. If he wanted to be a part of her life, he knew he’d have to give her
time. He just hated to think how long it might take.

He
leaned back and met her eyes. Their faces only inches apart, he paused, giving
her a chance to pull away. When she didn’t, he leaned forward to kiss her.

He
longed to pick her up and drag her into the bedroom, to tear her clothes off.
Instead, he kissed her gently, holding her close. He could smell her soap, like
flowers, light enough that only when he held her did he get a scent of it. He
came closer, holding her mouth to his—

She
stepped away.

He
was suddenly confused. “What—”

She
touched her lips and turned away. “It’s late.”

What
had happened? What had he done? He had pushed too much. Damn.

“I
should get home. I’ve got some stuff to do early, and I want to be there when
the boys wake up.”

He
watched her brow furrow as she ran her fingers through her hair. The
vulnerable, soft Sam was gone. The window he’d seen open had slammed shut, and
she was self-sufficient again.

He
should be happy. Sheila had been too dependent. He’d always told himself that
if he fell for someone else, it would be someone strong and independent. He
just wished Sam would let him in a little.

She
stepped away from him and straightened her coat, looking like a girl caught by
her parents in the backseat of a car.

He
wanted to laugh, but he wished there was something he could do to stop her from
running. Instead, he didn’t move.

“There’s
something I need to tell you about. I didn’t want to ruin the evening, but I
need to show you.”

He
rubbed his face, trying to pull his mind back to business. “What is it?”

“It’s
a picture of me.”

“What
do you mean?”

“I’ll
show you.”

He
watched her cross the room and felt as though the temperature had just dropped
twenty degrees. He tried to put his mind off the feel of her in his arms. Why
the hell did everything have to be so damn complicated?

She
pulled a small manila envelope from her purse and walked back, her arm
outstretched. “Don’t touch it.”

Nick
opened the envelope and looked in. He met her gaze. “What is this?”

“I
found it in a file that had been missing.”

He
walked across the room, his mind on track again. Frustrated, he slid the
picture onto the table and used the corner of the envelope to flip it right
side up. It was a candid shot of her, and the first thing that struck him was
how beautiful she was. Damn, he wanted to kiss her again. But in the center of
her forehead, someone had made a red splash. It was meant to look like blood.
He looked up at her.

Her
gaze met his, her eyes narrow and unhappy. “I need you to run prints on it.”

“When
did this happen?”

“I
found it this morning.” She pulled out a standard envelope and handed it to
him. “This came yesterday.”

He
took it and emptied it onto the desk beside the picture. It was a pink message
slip with a message written in caps.
You’re not invincible.
Jesus. Nick
ran a hand through his hair and looked up from the threats. “Yesterday?”

She
tucked in her shirt and straightened her shoulders, then nodded.

He
stepped forward and took her hand. “You should have told me sooner. Are you
okay?”

“Of
course. I’m fine,” she snapped.

He
held her hand and tried to soften his tone, but he was frustrated. “I want you
to trust me. I wish you had brought this to me when it happened. Maybe we could
have already stopped it.”

She
shook her head. “Please don’t, Nick. I’m doing the best I can. It’s been crazy.
I am trusting you. I brought them here tonight.”

“Are
you telling me all of it?” The words came out in a flash, and she flinched as
though he’d stung her.

She
shook her head and turned toward the door. “I’m supposed to trust you, but you
treat me like a child.” She snatched her purse and swung it over her shoulder.

He
grabbed her as she reached the door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m
just worried, is all.”

She
faced the door. “I just need you to check it for prints. It’s probably a prank.
Corona didn’t think it was a big deal. He thought I should just forget about
it, but I don’t find it amusing.”

He
held himself from touching her. “No. It’s not funny. I’ll get them to the lab
first thing.”

She
looked up and met his gaze.

He
felt his gut tighten.

“Thanks.”

He
kept his lips closed, wishing she would give him a sign, something that said it
was okay.

She
turned her back and pulled the door open.

“Thanks
for the birthday dinner,” he said as she moved out of the apartment.

She
smiled, not meeting his gaze, and he wondered what the hell was going through
her mind. “It was fun.”

He
watched her turn her back again and walk to her car. He should have taken her
out, opened the door for her. But he couldn’t move. Instead, he watched her get
in, start the car, and give him a quick, friendly wave as she pulled away from
the curb.

Shutting
the door, he let out a string of curses and then walked into his bedroom. What
had he done? Where had the mood been broken?

He
pictured her high cheekbones, her wide, oval green eyes, the feel of her
fingers through his shirt. He thought he was going to burst. Why in the hell
couldn’t he date someone normal? Hell, he’d had offers. There were normal women
out there. And they would pick him. But he wanted Sam Chase. Damn, did he want
her.

He
crossed into the bathroom and leaned over the sink, staring into the basin,
wishing he could banish her from his head, and at the same time wishing he
could understand her. He turned on the tap and splashed his face with cold
water. He looked into the mirror and saw her full lips. Shaking his head, he
moved to the shower and turned it on.

“Damn,”
he said again.