Edge of Hunger (15 page)

He took another sip of his soda, set it back in the cup holder, and reached for the pack of cigarettes that sat between the seats. When his hand brushed her knee, she shivered, the reverberation of the slight touch shimmying through her body like a tremor. "Go ahead," he prompted her, lighting the cigarette with the truck's lighter. "I can take it."

Staring at the narrow highway that stretched out before them, Molly took a deep breath and searched for a way to start. "It wasn't always like this...the voices in my sleep. It started my freshman year of high school, when one of my best friends, Sara, committed suicide. I went to her funeral, and the next thing I knew, she was talking to me every time I fell asleep."

"That must have been pretty scary." His tone was low, thoughtful, without any of the derision or disbelief she'd encountered on the few occasions she'd tried to tell this story before.

"Yeah, it was. I was terrified and I didn't want to listen, but she wouldn't stop. Each night, she came to me, begging me to tell someone that her stepfather had been abusing her. Before she died, she'd tried to tell her mother, but the woman accused her of making it up for attention, claiming that Sara was jealous of her happiness. The abuse continued, and that's...that's why she finally took her life."

He cursed something foul under his breath again, and then said, "Jesus, you guys were only kids. What the hell did you do?"

A bitter sound jerked from her throat, that sickening wave of guilt pouring over her like thick, sticky tar, binding her in place. "I did nothing. I was too afraid everyone would think I was crazy. Out of my mind." Her hands fisted in her lap, jaw tight as she scraped out the shameful words. "I wanted so badly to tell my parents, the police..." Her voice trailed off, her throat tight, and then she forced herself to admit the truth. "But I didn't."

"Did she keep contacting you?"

"Yes." Her smile twisted with bitterness as she turned toward him, catching his shuttered gaze when he cut a quick glance in her direction. "And pretty soon, I learned the hard way that I wasn't crazy, after all."

Staring at the muscle ticking in his jaw, Molly explained. "Sara's stepfather was a powerful judge in our county, and I knew no one would ever take my word over his. So I did nothing, and a few months later, a young girl who was in the class beneath us was brutally raped and murdered. Sara came to me, telling me that the judge was responsible." She swallowed against the bile rising in her throat, blinking away the hot sting of tears burning at the backs of her eyes. "And I...I finally found the courage to do something, and went to the police. They thought I was crazy, until I was able to tell them where he'd hidden the rope he'd used to bind the girl. They found it in his basement, along with a bloody lock of her hair that he'd kept as a souvenir, sick bastard that he was."

He cut her another quick, piercing glance, and she could tell by the look in his eye that he knew there was more to the story than what she was telling him. But instead of pushing her, he quietly said, "And so you've listened to the voices ever since." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

"I've tried, and I've managed to help people. But this...this is the first time that lives have been on the line. I wasn't brave enough to make a difference then, but I can't make the same mistake this time. When Elaina first told me what she wanted me to do, I was sick with fear. It took me days to build up the courage to come and find you, but I finally realized that this is it--my chance for atonement. Ever since that first time, I've been nothing but a messenger for the dead, asked time and again to pass on their words from beyond. I'm sorrys and I wish I'd told yous. Apologies. Explanations. But this is the first time since Sara that I've been given the opportunity to truly make a difference." She paused, sending him a sad smile as she said,

"That's why this is so important to me, Ian. After all these years, you're my chance to finally do what's right."

AN HOUR LATER, Molly and Ian were standing waist-high in boxes, the summer heat wave stifling within the small five-by-ten storage unit, the only ventilation the door they'd left open at the far end. They'd been working their way through from front to back, opening boxes and shuffling through the contents, inspecting each one, before moving on. So far, they'd found everything from clothes to dishes to books--but nothing that had caught their attention.

Nothing that jumped out at them and screamed, "I'm it! I'm what you're looking for!"

"Exactly how much time are we supposed to waste rummaging through this crap?" Ian grumbled, wiping the back of his arm over his face. His shirt was damp from the heat, as was the hair around his temples, his dark blue eyes narrowed with frustration, accentuating the tiny, sexy lines that creased the corners.

"This isn't crap. It's someone's life," Molly grumbled right back at him, tired of his pissy attitude, since he'd started complaining not five minutes into the task. The only boon was the fact that his rich, vital scent rose with the heat of his body, filling the cramped space, adding a sensual dimension to a job that was slowly wearing her down. "And don't forget that you're the stubborn ass who won't call his brother to find out what it looks like."

Grunting in response, he propped his broad shoulders against the wall at his back, and watched as she knelt down to search through another box. From the corner of her eye, Molly could see him glaring at the ponytail she'd pulled on top of her head. "What?" she asked.

"You look like a kid when you wear your hair like that," he muttered, sounding as if it was a criminal offense.

"Gee, Ian. I'm really sorry you feel that way," she drawled, blowing a wayward curl out of her eyes. Her shins hurt from kneeling on the floor, and she was just as hot and sticky and as frustrated as he was, but she wasn't going to give up before they'd found what they'd come there for.

Whatever the hell it is.

She understood how difficult it was for Elaina to communicate with her. She really did. But there were times when Molly wished the woman was just a little more precise with the information she doled out.

Like the way she failed to mention that he'd take your blood, a disgruntled voice drawled sarcastically in her mind. Or that whole dream sharing thing. Would've been nice to have had some warning about those two tasty little tidbits. Having a little beforehand knowledge never hurt--

"I still think this is a waste of our time," Ian suddenly growled, interrupting her private rant.

"Whatever she left me, I don't see how it's going to save our asses. Knowing Elaina, it's probably some superstitious, hoodoo-voodoo charm. Something that smells rank, made out of snake eyes and lizard tongues."

With her head and shoulders buried in the box, trying to see what was packed beneath an extra-thick layer of Bubble Wrap on the bottom, Molly called out, "Why don't you just sit down and try to stop complaining for five minutes? I know what I'm looking for."

"Yeah?" He snorted, the sarcastic sound setting her teeth on edge. "What is it, then?"

She finally dug her way through the Bubble Wrap, only to find what looked like a snow-globe collection, of all things. Dammit. Satisfied that this wasn't the box, Molly pushed her upper body free and turned to glare up at him, baring her teeth in a hard smile. "When I find it," she offered sweetly, "I'll be happy to tell you."

"Women," he muttered under his breath, at the same time as she looked for another box to search. A second later, he added, "If you need me, I'll be outside having a smoke."

Molly gave him a friendly little wave goodbye, just to push his buttons, and watched as he made his way through the boxes, out the open door, enjoying the view of his tight backside in the dark jeans. Grumbling to herself about the impossibly sweet, warm sensation of longing in the center of her chest that kept growing with each moment she spent with him, whether he was bitching at her or flirting with her--knowing that it was eventually going to land her in nothing but trouble--Molly turned back to her task. With a groan for her aching muscles, she shoved aside the heavy box of photo albums she'd already gone through, in order to get to the smaller one behind it.

When she'd first found them, Molly had been tempted to open the quilted albums, though she knew Ian would have objected. Still, she would have liked the chance to look through the photos and satisfy her curiosity about the Buchanan family--specifically, the complicated, irritating, thoroughly fascinating man staring at her through the open doorway at the far end of the unit. He had his back propped against the opposite building, a smoldering cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Molly knew she would have known he was there, watching her, even if she hadn't caught a glimpse of him as she'd pushed the box of albums aside. She could feel the press of his stare. Its heat. Its hunger. Its frustration.

He'd been watching her like that all day, keeping her on edge, driving her out of her mind.

Using Ian's truck key to cut through the tape on the unopened box, Molly flipped back the top halves, and almost instantly felt a strange shiver travel up her arms. Her breath quickened with excitement, and she swiftly grabbed several handfuls of wadded packing paper, revealing a sleek, black wooden case that sat on top of a slightly wider cardboard shoe box. Heart pounding, Molly tossed the handfuls of paper onto the floor, reached inside and took hold of the case, carefully transferring it to the top of a nearby packing box. "I think I've found something!" she called out.

"What is it?" Ian rasped at her side, and she knew he must have hurdled a box or two to have gotten there so quickly.

"I don't know," she said unsteadily, lifting the latch and opening the case. A second later, she gasped, the swift intake of air strangely audible in the stifled silence of the close space, while Ian remained quiet at her side. Nestled inside, on a bed of bloodred velvet, lay an intricately etched Maltese cross fashioned from some type of shiny black metal, attached to a length of black velvet cord.

"Ohmygod," she whispered, at the same time the man standing beside her cursed something hot and gritty under his breath. "I think this is it, Ian. What Elaina wanted us to find. What she left for you. She said I would know it when I saw it. This has to be it."

"There's something taped inside the top of the case," he said in a low voice.

"You're right." Carefully pulling the small square of paper free, she offered it to Ian, but he gestured for her to go ahead. Unfolding the handwritten note, she read aloud.

My Dearest Ian,

I've asked Riley to give you this box upon my death. It's my hope that you'll use the contents wisely and take care of yourself. I know, when the time comes, that you won't give in without a fight. Please wear this talisman for protection. The cross will lend you the power to set things right, when the time of the awakenings begins.

Always know that I love you. I've missed you, but I'll forever be watching over you.

With love,

Mom

Folding the letter back to its original size, Molly laid it inside the top of the case and looked up at Ian. He gazed down at the necklace...the talisman...with fierce intensity, as if its secrets would be revealed the longer he stared, like fog rolling back from a shrouded coastline to reveal the contours of the shore.

His chest stretched the cotton of his shirt as he drew in a deep, audible breath, tension pouring off him like heat, burning and prickly against the surface of her skin. "God," he muttered, rubbing his palm against the hard angle of his jaw. "That woman never changes."

"What do you mean?"

"She thinks some necklace is going to save me," he explained with a wry, shaky burst of laughter that sounded somehow damaged. "That's so like her. Always one bizarre, crazy-ass idea after another."

"It's very beautiful," she said, the words hushed, almost solemn. Molly could feel his bitterness...his resentment, as if the cross somehow signified something important--

something that had stood between him and his mother--though she still didn't understand what that was.

"Yeah, well, it may be beautiful, but that doesn't mean that I want it." He clenched his jaw, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he slanted her a narrow look, his blue eyes glittering and dark. "I know lots of beautiful things that I'd rather not be stuck with at the moment."

Her gaze slid away, focusing back on the necklace, a blush crawling its way up her face like heat building up from the bottom of a pan, pulsing in her cheeks. The way he'd looked at her made it more than clear that he was talking about her.

"Molly," he rasped in a hesitant tone, the low, graveled sound of his voice making her shiver with awareness. "Hell. I didn't--"

Not wanting to hear an explanation, she cut him off, saying, "You know where I've seen this design before, Ian?"

He breathed out a rough sound of impatience at the change in topic. "I wondered how long it would take you to mention that."

"It's an identical match to the cross on your back." Tilting back her head, she stared up at the hard cast of his features. "When you got the tattoo, did you show them a picture of this one?"

"Hell no," he grunted, jerking his chin toward the necklace. "I've never even seen that thing before."

Confused, Molly lifted her shoulders as she asked, "Then how did you pick the design?"

"I didn't. At least not that I remember. I got blind drunk one night, eight or so years ago, when I was about twenty-four, and the next morning it was there." A rough burst of laughter rumbled in his chest, though his expression remained strained. "The woman I woke up beside swore up and down that I walked right into a tattoo joint on Wiltshire, drew the guy a detailed picture, and told him I wanted it at the base of my neck."

"Wow," she said softly, feeling as if they were being spun in a bizarre web of fate that grew increasingly stranger by the moment. "That's...odd."

"You're telling me," he grunted, slanting a wary look at the cross. "And you wanna know what's even creepier? When I was fighting the Casus last night, the bastard said something about how I wasn't wearing the talisman."