Darker Than Midnight (12 page)

He stared into her eyes, his own as clear as she had seen them so far. “I'm not insane,” he whispered. “At least, I wasn't.”

“But you had blackouts,” she said, repeating what she'd read in his file.

He nodded, closing his eyes.

She felt cruel to keep on questioning him when he needed help on so many levels. But she had a decision to make, and she had to make it now. Before this went any further. “And it was during one of those blackouts that your house was set on fire?”

He kept his eyes closed, but she thought moisture was
darkening his lashes. “I don't remember what happened that night. I don't remember.”

“When did you decide you had to know the truth? Why now, I mean? You've been holed up at the funny farm for what? A year?”

He shook his head slowly. “A couple of weeks ago. I was sick, threw up my meds a few times, and managed to get lucid just long enough…realized what was happening to me.”

“And what was that?”

He opened his eyes then. “Getting worse. Sicker. Losing myself—my mind.”

“And did you do anything about it? I mean, busting out wasn't your first move, was it?”

“No. I wrote a letter to my lawyer. Told him I had to know the truth. I wanted…the files sent to me.”

She nodded. “And when was the first attempt on your life?”

He met her eyes, frowning. She wondered if she was grasping at straws. Why did she want to believe him?

“The day after I wrote the letter,” he said, and she knew from the look in his eyes that he hadn't made the connection himself until just now.

She drew a deep breath, nodding slowly. Okay, okay, so it was possible someone didn't want him to know what had happened that night. Not likely, but possible.

“I won't turn you in tonight,” she said. “I'll give you that much. You can rest easy here. I need to…mull things over. I'll figure out what the hell to do in the morning.”

He brought his head level. “Even that's too much to ask.”

“You didn't ask, River.”

“H
ere,” Jax said. “Try this.”

River opened his eyes, and she was there in front of him, pale angel hair like a silk veil over her face as she bent, placing things on the coffee table. A bowl of steaming soup, a small plate with a handful of crackers on it, a cup of what looked like hot, tinted water and smelled like flowers. Two aspirin tablets.

He'd dozed off on the sofa, he realized. He barely remembered her walking him in here, setting him down. God! Of all places, why did she have to be living in this one? She might look like an angel, but she was a cop. She'd probably already dropped a dime on him, and if she hadn't she would before morning came, despite her promise not to. She was a
cop.

As she straightened, she turned and caught him looking at her. She wasn't smiling, seemed…pensive. Nervous. Hell, why wouldn't she be?

“It's chicken noodle,” she said, nodding at the soup. “Might be easier to keep down than fried chicken.”

He nodded and sat up straighter, leaned forward and picked up the spoon. But as he drew it toward his mouth, his hand shook so badly the broth rained onto his lap. By the time he got to taste it, all that remained in the spoon was a single noodle.

He closed his eyes, cursing himself inwardly.

And then he felt warmth—her hand, closing around his as if to take the spoon away. “Let me,” she said.

River opened his eyes again, staring at her hand, and he couldn't believe how shaken he was by her touch. It had been a long time. “I'll manage.”

She lifted her brows. “They didn't take the pride out of you then, huh? Well, too bad. Lean back, relax. I've got this.”

He leaned back against the sofa as she sat down beside him, drawing the bowl of soup with her. Then she spooned a bite into his mouth. It tasted good, warmed and moistened his parched, sore throat and heated his belly when it landed. He accepted another bite, then waited a moment just to see how his stomach was going to react.

“Well?” she asked.

“So far so good.” She nodded and spooned up another mouthful. When he'd swallowed it, he said, “I've been pretty heavily drugged.”

“Yeah, I knew you were under the influence of something that first night.”

“Haldol,” he said. “Mostly. I don't know what else they've been giving me.”

“You think you need it?” She fed him some more soup.

He decided to stop feeling self-conscious about his helpless state, and knew her matter-of-fact attitude had a lot to do with that. “I never needed anything before…. I was normal. Functional. Except for the occasional blackout.”

She nodded. “From the bullet you took on that drug bust.”

He blinked. “How do you know so much about my past?”

“First day auditioning for police chief, and in comes a fax featuring the face of the man who saved my life the night before.” She shrugged. “I was curious.”

“Do they know I was here?”

“No one knows but me, River. Hell, I wasn't even a hundred percent sure you were the same guy in that photo. It was
grainy, black-and-white, and last night it was dark. Besides, you don't look the same now. You're damn scrawny.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, hey, it's not a problem.” She looked downward at her chest as she said it, and he noticed the print on the front of her T-shirt, read it for the first time. It said “I Dig Scrawny Pale Guys.”

River's mouth pulled into a smile, and it felt foreign, unfamiliar. It had been a while since he'd had reason to smile.

“I decided to keep my mouth shut until I could be sure you were the same guy. Decided to read your file first, see if my gut instinct about you was on target.”

The bowl was half-empty. He decided to give it a rest, held up a hand to tell her so. She set the spoon down. “Your gut instinct?” he asked.

“Yeah. That you're a good cop having a bad time. That I ought to give you the benefit of the doubt. And that, with a few good meals and some rest, you'd probably be a great lay.”

He looked up fast, saw the spark of mischief in her eyes and allowed himself to ignore her teasing. She was trying to lighten the mood, put him at ease. The odd thing was, it was working. “So have you made up your mind?”

She shook her head. “I'll have to let you know on the lay thing. As for the rest…I haven't finished my reading.”

His breath caught for a second. “You have the case file here?”

She averted her eyes, and he knew her next words would be a lie. “Not here. You know it wouldn't be allowed out of the station.”

He blinked and faced her. He didn't have to ask, because she had to know what he wanted. She pursed her lips. “And even if it were, you're not in any shape to stay up all night reading. Shit, I doubt you'd retain anything even if you could manage it.”

“I need to see that file.”

“What you need is a hot bath and a good night's sleep. We'll talk about the file in the morning.”

He sighed, sensing he'd get nowhere by pushing her. But also sensing she'd be turning him in to the authorities in the morning. If not sooner.

“Try the aspirin. They're coated, and you might have enough in your stomach now to keep you from getting sick. You need to get that fever down.”

He took the pills, swallowed them obediently with a sip of the warm tea, wishing to God he had half his old strength back.

“Good. Now, let's try to finish the soup.”

Nodding, he let her continue feeding him, and somehow, he managed to down the bowl. Then he drank about half of the tea before his stomach told him enough was enough.

“Come on,” she said, taking his arm. Touching him again, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. As if she didn't know he could feel every point of contact like an electric shock. “I ran you a bath while you were passed out on the couch. It ought to be just about cool enough to get your temperature down by now.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

“It'll help with the fever,” she told him.

But he just kept staring, and then he voiced what was on his mind. “Why are you helping me?”

She held his gaze, didn't look away, but met his eyes dead-on, let him probe and search hers all he wanted. As if she had nothing to hide. She had a frankness to her, a practical, no-nonsense sort of attitude that struck him as genuine.

“You think it's a trick, don't you?” she asked. “Hell, that's what I'd think, in your place. You probably figure I've already turned you in and am now just trying to keep you distracted until someone arrives to cart your sorry ass away to the cracker factory.”

He swallowed hard. “It's what I'd do.”

“I don't think so.” She studied his face for a long moment. “No, not a guy who risks his life to save a stranger who could blow his cover.”

“That's why you're helping me, then? Because I pulled you out of that pond?”

Pursing her lips, she looked away from him. “I didn't say I was helping you. But I wouldn't leave a dog out in the cold if it was in the shape you are.” She shrugged. “This is just for the night, okay? In the morning…I'm probably going to have to turn you in.”

He was surprised she would admit it. Then she met his eyes, and he was even more surprised by what he saw there. She didn't
want
to follow through on that threat. But he thought she'd do it, anyway. “Thanks for the warning.”

“I'll feed you breakfast first,” she said. “Let you know what I've decided when I've made up my mind. Hell, I'll even give you a head start. And then we're even.”

“We're already even,” he said. “And then some. If I had a choice—I don't like putting you in this position.”

“You didn't put me here. I did. Now let's go. The bath is waiting. And I've got a brand-new spare toothbrush, still in its wrapper, and a pack of disposable razors—so long as you don't mind that they're pink and the shave cream has some kind of prissy floral scent. My mother stocked the bathroom.”

He wondered for a moment what kind of razor she used when her mother didn't stock the bathroom. A straightedge?

No. Hell, she probably didn't bother to shave at all.

* * *

She left him in the bathroom, then took her file folder from her bedroom and tucked it underneath the sofa cushion. Frankie shouldn't have let her remove it from the office, much less make copies to take home. But she saw no harm in it, no risk. Hell, Frankie
trusted
her.

So far Jax hadn't done anything to betray that trust. Not
really. She could cuff this guy and haul him in at any time, so long as he was here. She wouldn't have betrayed anything until and unless she let him walk out of here.

But she didn't intend to do that. Not really. She was going to do some good old-fashioned police work tonight, and by morning, she would have some answers. And then, by God, she was going to personally escort the woebegone suspect directly to Frankie for processing. No matter how much torment she saw in his eyes. She just had to be sure, first—just so she could act with a clear conscience.

She owed him that much.

Moreover, she thought, she owed Jeffrey Allen Dunkirk.

She heard River when he finished in the bath. He pulled the stopper, and the water gurgled down the drain. His footsteps crossed the floor.

Jax hurried back upstairs and met him at the bathroom door. Clean-shaven, wet hair. He wore nothing but a towel slung around his hips, and for a moment her gaze lingered on his chest. He was too thin, but she could see the shadow of the man he must have been. When he filled out again…

She swallowed hard, drew her eyes up to meet his and found them fixed powerfully on her. With a sheepish grin, she shrugged. “Hey, don't act like you mind me looking.”

“How do you know I don't?”

“Because you're a guy,” she said. “Bedroom's this way.” Turning, she led him down the hall, into the only furnished room he'd seen, and snapped on the light.

“I assumed this was your bedroom,” he said.

“It is. It's also the only one with a bed at the moment.” She moved inside, pulled back the covers for him and turned.

He was standing in the doorway. Hell, this had been his bedroom—his and Stephanie's. The memories that were flooding him threatened to take over.

“Hey.” The pretty blond cop snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Earth to River. What's the matter?”

He licked his lips, and she lifted her eyebrows as if she thought she got it.

“Hell, you think I plan for us to sleep together. Again.” She rolled her eyes. “I'll be downstairs on the couch, River.”

“Oh.” He blinked, not bothering to correct her. He wasn't too worried about her sexual teasing. “I can't take your bed and let you sleep on the couch.”

“Why? 'Cause you're the big, strong guy?”

River smiled a little. “Yeah. Except for the big, strong part.”

It surprised her that he was able to make a joke; he could see it in her eyes. Hell, it surprised him, too.

“You can't sleep on the sofa, River. Anyone who came by would see you. And God forbid that should be my family or Frankie Parker.”

“You have family here,” he said, nodding slowly.

“My parents. That's part of the reason I'm leaning toward taking the job. To be closer to them.” She patted the bed, and he moved slowly closer, sitting down on it. “What about you? You have family, River?”

“Just Ethan.”

Lifting her brows, she asked, “Brother?”

“Might as well be. We were best friends growing up. When my parents were killed, his family took me in.” He shook his head slowly. “I imagine even he's given up on me now, though, after this latest stunt. Especially if he thinks I murdered that orderly.”

She frowned. “Ethan…knows the guy?”

“Probably. He worked at the hospital.” When River saw her still frowning, he went on. “Ethan's my shrink. He's the only person who's stood by me through all of this. And I know he's tried his best, but it just wasn't working.” He shook his head.
“He didn't believe me, about the attempts on my life at the hospital. He said he did, but…”

She closed her eyes, and he didn't know why. Maybe because she didn't believe him, either. He lay back in the bed and pulled the covers over him. “Whatever you decide in the morning, Cassandra, thank you for tonight. And…for last night.”

“Last night you were barely coherent,” she said.

“Coherent enough to cling for all I was worth to the one lifeline I'd found in a long time.”

He was referring to the way he'd held her, and he could see in her eyes that she knew it. The memory of it made his stomach clench tight, partly with embarrassment at such a show of desperation and emotion. Partly with something else altogether.