Desires of the Dead (19 page)

But that wasn’t what stole Violet’s breath, making her lean forward to get a better view.

And it wasn’t the sudden appearance of a flashing white light that clung to Megan’s alabaster skin. Because it wasn’t there. The light. The imprint.

It wasn’t there.

Violet blinked, thinking that she’d seen wrong. She was tired, exhausted, and maybe her eyes were playing some sort of trick on her. But they weren’t.

Megan wasn’t the one.

No matter how many times Violet blinked, or how hard she tried to tell herself that she knew what she’d seen that night in the woods, she couldn’t make herself see it now—
here
—if it didn’t exist.

She tried to make sense of it, of what it could have been. Could someone else have been in Megan’s house the night the power had gone out? Someone who
had
been responsible for the cat’s death? Or maybe Jay had been right all along. Maybe she hadn’t seen an echo at all, maybe it had been something else altogether. A flashlight. The flicker of candlelight.

Violet didn’t know. But she was certain of one thing now.

Megan hadn’t killed that cat. She didn’t carry the imprint on her. Violet had been wrong. And the truth stung. Knowing that she’d accused this girl of something so unspeakable. And that she’d fought with Jay because of it . . .

Jay.

How was she going to fix this? How was she ever going to explain it to him?

What if he wouldn’t listen?

Violet watched numbly as Megan got into a car with her friends, and she realized that she needed to stop her from leaving. Maybe none of it had been Megan—the cat, the phone calls, the note—but Violet had accused her, and now she needed to apologize. Even if the other girl didn’t understand why.

Violet’s fingers fumbled with the door handle, feeling clumsy and unsure. But she was already too late; the other car was pulling out of the parking space, and Violet stared helplessly as it drove away.

Violet hesitated outside the auto-parts store. She didn’t want to interrupt Jay at work, but from where she stood she could see he was alone in there, and she couldn’t go one more second without talking to him.

She needed to tell him that she’d been wrong.

As she pushed the door open, Jay looked up from behind the counter and saw her. Her heart lodged in her throat, making it impossible to breathe.

Her face crumpled, and the speech she’d practiced was lost on a whimper the moment she saw him racing around the counter to reach her. He didn’t say anything right away, just gathered her in his arms, squeezing her to him. It was his way of saying he was relieved she’d come.

She buried her face in his jacket, inhaling his familiar scent. She clung to him, unable to stop herself, even though she didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve him.

“God, Violet, I’m so sorry. I’m so,
so
sorry. . . .” He pressed his face against the top of her head, and she realized then that he needed her as much as she needed him.

She moved closer, molding her body against his, afraid that if they parted, somehow the moment might crumble. His arms tightened as if he knew what she was thinking, and she could
feel
his heartbeat thrumming beneath her own skin, bringing her back to life.

She tried to tell him, to explain, but her voice failed her, coming out on a strangled sigh.

Jay must have misunderstood the sound, and his grip tightened, pinning her against him.

“Don’t, Violet. Please, just listen to me. I can’t take it anymore. You win. I was wrong. I should never have doubted you. I do trust you. I love you, and I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to be . . .” He struggled to find the right words. “. . .
without
you.” And then, finally, his arms slackened, releasing her, giving her the choice again. She felt his shoulders slump, and his heart shudder. “Please . . .”

Violet didn’t want him to be sorry, but she couldn’t speak just yet. She shook her head, rubbing her cheek against his chest, trying to make him understand. She moved her arms around him, beneath his jacket, and clutched his shirt in her hands, refusing to let him go.

That was all the encouragement he needed, and his hands were on her, touching, reassuring. He held her. He kissed the top of her head. And her cheeks.

He waited for her to be ready.

And when her heart rate returned to normal, she tried again. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Jay,” Violet finally insisted, and this time her voice didn’t falter. “I was wrong . . . about everything. I shouldn’t have been so quick to jump to conclusions, or to force you to admit that I was right. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.” She trembled, and Jay pressed her against him again, lending her his calm.

“Shhh . . .”
he whispered into her dark curls.

“No, let me finish.” She cleared her throat, tipping her head back so she could look at him.

She felt bad for what she saw there. His eyes were bloodshot, and Chelsea was right: He seemed worn down. It was the same way Violet felt.

But when he smiled at her, all lopsided and sweet, everything felt better. He was beautiful. And he was hers. Still, she needed him to understand.

“Jay, it wasn’t Megan.” The words felt hot against her throat, like poison.

The smile vanished, and Violet’s stomach tightened as she searched for the right words.

“What are you saying?” Jay asked, confused.

“It wasn’t Megan who killed the cat. Either it wasn’t
her
who I saw at the house that night, or it wasn’t an imprint at all. I saw her today. She didn’t kill anything. I was wrong.
I’m sorry
.” She was pleading with him, hoping he understood.

He didn’t say anything right away, but Violet knew that something was wrong. She could
feel
it. His body stiffened, and she felt him move away from her, slightly—barely—but enough. The gap felt vast.

She was suddenly aware of where they were standing. That they were still in the auto-parts store. Somehow, surrounded by Jay’s arms, Violet had forgotten where they were.

“Jay, don’t,” Violet begged.

Maybe she hadn’t said it right. Maybe her explanation had fallen short and he
didn’t
understand. She needed to try again.

“Please, I can’t be without you either. I don’t want to be apart anymore. I was trying to tell you I was wrong—”

But she didn’t get a chance to finish, because Jay pulled her back, squeezing her against him, this time leaving no space at all. He leaned over her, wrapping his arms, and his body, around her, and she could feel him shaking his head.

She struggled to move, and to breathe, beneath him, and when she heard his words, she understood.

“No,
I
was wrong. I wasn’t thinking about this the right way. It would have been better if it was Megan. It’s worse now. It means you aren’t safe, because
someone
left that cat.” He loosened his hold only enough so that Violet could breathe. “Shit!
Shit
, Vi, someone left you a dead cat. Someone who’s still out there. You have to tell your parents. And your uncle. We need to find this guy.”

Violet thought about the note she’d received, the pink paper with the flowing script and the disturbing poem inside.

She tipped her head back and stared at Jay, realizing that he was right. “Or girl,” she corrected absently.

Chapter 23

Violet didn’t tell her parents, or even her uncle, right away. In fact, she didn’t plan on telling them at all. Instead, Violet proposed a different solution. An alternative.

Jay wasn’t crazy about her idea at first. Or at all, really. He would have preferred to go to her uncle. Someone he knew. Someone he trusted.

But Violet was adamant, insisting that they keep her family out of it this time. She didn’t want to worry them. And selfishly, she didn’t want them crowding her, smothering her with concern. Justified or otherwise.

She wanted to try a different approach first.

Jay reluctantly agreed, but only for the short term.

Meaning that he was putting her plan on the clock. If her
proposed solution
didn’t work out within the week, he was calling it off and going to her family himself. He wanted Violet safe, no matter what.

Violet grudgingly accepted his terms, believing that her way was better and that it would work. Right up to the point of execution.

Now that she was sitting in her car carrying it out, she had her doubts. Serious ones.

She glanced down nervously at the scrap of paper in her hand and then up at the dilapidated-looking building again. It was the right address. She checked the street sign on the corner one more time—maybe she’d misread it and was on the wrong block.

Nope.
Right street, right block.
Damn!

She tried to ignore the prickling reservations about being here by herself after dark as she rubbed the hairs on the back of her neck to stop them from tingling.

It wasn’t exactly what she’d imagined, the location.

Violet had told Jay all about Sara and how she might be able to help, but she’d expected it to be a day or two before she could actually get an appointment. She was surprised, then, when Sara had agreed to meet with her that evening. And even more surprised that they would be meeting at this new place.

She called Jay at work, knowing he’d want to go with her, but explained that things were moving quickly and she needed to go. He offered to leave work, but they both knew the offer was empty; he’d never leave the store unattended.

So here she was, all alone.

Violet stuffed the piece of paper into her purse, trading it for her small can of pepper spray as she shoved her car door open. She positioned her finger on the canister’s trigger. Just in case.

The fact that no one was around should have made Violet feel safer, but it didn’t. It made her feel like bait.

Young, helpless bait armed with a tiny can of pepper spray.

She hurried up the steps to the lit doorway and pressed the chipped button. She heard it buzz from somewhere inside. Her finger remained in ready position on the trigger in her hand.

She jumped when a voice blared from beside her. “Can I help you?”

Violet glared at the black plastic intercom. She already felt like a worm on a hook—the woman’s voice was like slipping a colorful lure around her neck. Definitely baitlike.

“I’m here to see Sara Priest.” She said it as quietly as she could and hoped she could still be heard.

There was a click on the other end, like the machine had gone dead. And then nothing.

Crap!
Violet silently cursed. Maybe she’d written the address down wrong after all. Maybe she
was
in the wrong place.

She thought about pressing the button again, but her sense of self-preservation, and her fear of the woman’s way-too-loud voice, kept her from going near it. Instead she just stood there, growing more and more anxious by the second.

Violet didn’t realize that she’d pressed herself so tightly against the door until it opened from the inside and she stumbled backward.

She fell awkwardly, trying to catch herself as her feet slipped and first she banged her elbow, and then her shoulder—
hard
—against the doorjamb. She heard her can of pepper spray hit the concrete step at her feet as she flailed to find something to grab hold of.

Her back crashed into something solid. Or rather,
someone.
And from behind, she felt strong, unseen arms catch her before she hit the ground. But she was too stunned to react right away.

“You think I can let you go now?” A low voice chuckled in her ear.

Violet was mortified as she glanced clumsily over her shoulder to see who had just saved her from falling.

“Rafe!” she gasped, when she realized she was face-to-face with his deep blue eyes. She jumped up, feeling unexpectedly light-headed as she shrugged out of his grip. Without thinking, and with his name still burning on her lips, she added, “Umm, thanks, I guess.” And then, considering that he
had
just stopped her from landing flat on her butt, she gave it another try. “No . . . yeah, thanks, I mean.”

Flustered, she bent down, trying to avoid his eyes as she grabbed the pepper spray that had slipped from her fingers. She cursed herself for being so clumsy and wondered why she cared that
he
had been the one to catch her. Or why she cared that he was here at all.

She stood up to face him, feeling more composed again, and quickly hid the evidence of her paranoia—the tiny canister—in her purse. She hoped he hadn’t noticed it.

He watched her silently, and she saw the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Violet waited for him to say something or to move aside to let her in. His gaze stripped away her defenses, making her feel even more exposed than when she had been standing alone in the empty street.

She shifted restlessly and finally sighed impatiently. “I have an appointment,” she announced, lifting her eyebrows. “With Sara.”

Her words had the desired effect, and Rafe shrugged, still studying her as he stepped out of her way. But he held the door so she could enter. She brushed past him, stepping into the hallway, as she tried to ignore the fact that she was suddenly sweltering inside her own coat.

She told herself it was just the furnace, though, and had nothing to do with her humiliation over falling. Or with the presence of the brooding dark-haired boy.

When they reached the end of the long hallway, Rafe pulled out a thick plastic card from his back pocket. As he held it in front of the black pad mounted on the wall beside a door, a small red light flickered to green and the door clicked. He pushed it open and led the way through.

Security,
Violet thought.
Whatever it is they do here, they need security.

Violet glanced up and saw a small camera mounted in the corner above the door. If she were Chelsea, she would have flashed the peace sign—
or worse
—a message for whoever was watching on the other end.

But she was Violet, so instead she hurried after Rafe before the door closed and she was locked out.

The room she walked into was like nothing she’d expected, especially after her brief tour of the unremarkable outer hallway. Beyond the secured door, and the camera, was a mammoth space, probably three stories high. Most likely a warehouse that had been converted. But converted in a
big
way.

There was nothing “warehouse” about it now. It was more like a cushy business center. It resembled Violet’s image of what a corporate advertising agency might look like. Spacious, airy, comfortable.

Rather than being portioned off into separate work areas, the room was left as one big, wide-open floor plan, filled with computer stations spread out on long tables. There were individual desks, conference tables, and sitting areas. There was even a large break area, complete with what appeared to be a fully stocked kitchen and vending machines.

And there were cameras. Lots of them.

The only thing missing were windows; there were just a few skylights in the ceiling to allow for natural lighting.

Violet was overwhelmed by the vastness of it.

She didn’t have much time to take it all in before she saw Sara, the agent-who-wasn’t-really-an-agent, sweeping toward her in her starched suit.

Violet tried to muster some enthusiasm. She reminded herself that
she
was the one who had called for this meeting.

“It’s good to see you again, Violet. I’m glad you decided to come. Do you want the tour?”

Violet was worried that there was a sales pitch coming, that Sara had misunderstood her reason for being there. She shook her head. “No, thanks. I was hoping we could just talk.” She was suddenly
very
nervous.

Sara nodded. “Of course.” And then she tipped her head at Rafe, who was still beside them. He took the hint, excusing himself without a word.

Violet watched him go to the kitchen area and grab a can of Coke before dropping onto one of the couches. He practically disappeared into the cushions as he slouched down.

He picked up a remote and flipped through the channels on one of several flat-screen TVs mounted on the walls. Violet was surprised when he stopped at the national news channels, surfing through CNN, MSNBC, FOX News. She’d expected something less . . .
serious
, she supposed. He propped his sneakered feet on the table, making himself at home.

“So what do you think?” Sara asked.

Sara’s voice grabbed Violet’s attention, and Violet realized that she’d been staring at Rafe. Embarrassed, she glanced away, pretending to study the rehabilitated warehouse instead.

Violet had only seen one other person in the building, a girl not much older than her and Rafe, who worked quietly at one of the computers. She never looked up, as though Violet’s presence was unremarkable. The woman—the one with the too-loud voice from the speaker outside—was nowhere to be seen.

“It’s . . .” Violet wasn’t sure exactly
what
to say. “It’s big. And impressive.”

Somehow she’d expected something more like a tiny bookkeeper’s office, a place where Sara could run her
unusual
operation in relative obscurity. She hadn’t expected this kind of oasis, especially not out here, in the middle of the industrial section of the city.

“We get that a lot,” Sara explained, sounding less formal now. “It’s easier to come and go down here without being noticed. And it’s important that we draw as little attention as possible. That’s how our clients prefer it. Discretion, complete and total discretion.” She led Violet away from Rafe and the girl, to where they couldn’t be overheard. “Have a seat.”

Violet sat down on a couch and tried her best not to sink in too deep. The cushions were thick and squishy, and Violet struggled to lean forward so she could be taken seriously.

Sara perched on the edge of an adjacent chair, somehow managing to look as stiff and formal as ever, even within the casual setting.

“You know, we do some amazing things here, Violet. My team is one of the best around. Many of them feel a sense of responsibility to use their
talents
to help others.” She was still smiling, all sales-pitchy, and Violet felt uneasy again. “Which begs the question, did you ever get a chance to look over those files I gave you?”

Violet felt her palms start to sweat.

She’d looked at the files, yes, but that was all she could do. She nodded.

Sara waited for something more and then filled in the blanks herself. “But nothing?”

Violet half-shrugged, half-nodded, not sure of the right way to respond. She realized that she was dangerously close to crossing that line, to admitting more than she wanted to, but she also needed help. And Sara was her best bet right now.

“That’s okay. I want you to know you can trust me, Violet. Whatever you came to discuss stays right here between the two of us.”

This was it, Violet decided. “I need your help,” she blurted out. “Or at least I was hoping I could ask for it.”

Violet watched Sara, wondering at her lack of reaction. Either she really wasn’t surprised that Violet had come to ask for a favor or she had a great poker face. Violet was putting her money on the poker face.

“What is it you think I can help you with?”

Violet shifted closer to the edge of the couch. “I have a problem. At home. Well, not really at home. But with someone who doesn’t seem to like me, I guess you could say.” Words suddenly seemed inadequate. “Someone has been leaving me messages. And hang-up calls.” She paused briefly before confessing the last part. “And a dead cat.”

The poker face cracked, just slightly.

“Are you sure it was left for you? How do you know that you didn’t just happen across it?”

“It was left in a box, next to my car. Whoever put it there did it in the middle of the night so I would find it in the morning.” Violet reached into her purse and pulled out the folded pink paper. “And later, there was a note left for me at school.”