“Will you talk to me?” I whispered after a while, relishing the warmth of his embrace. “Please, meet me halfway.”
“It’s my father, Charlotte. He hurt my mother so badly in every manner possible and—I’m afraid I’m becoming just like him. I don’t want to hurt you. Ever.”
He shed no tears, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t crying. Desperation still clung to him, and he was afraid of being a man he could never become. Marcus couldn’t be any more different than his father. In all respects, he was a better man.
“You are nothing like your father.” He shook his head and looked away as if he were too ashamed to meet my eyes. “Look at me. You might not be a perfect man, and someday you might hurt me, but you are perfect for me. You are the man I am willing to risk everything for.”
“Sweet Charlotte,” he sobbed and crushed me to his chest until the air left my lungs, but I did not protest. I loved being in his arms. I loved him.
He stroked the red marks around my wrist absently like he wanted to contradict my statement through his touch, but although the marks adorned my skin for days to come, he had not hurt me.
THE NEXT MORNING, I woke up to find Marcus setting the breakfast table on my balcony. For a rebel, he was a pretty damn good cook and a very observant one. He had noted that I preferred a sweet breakfast, and he had made waffles with some sort of chocolate mousse and fresh berries, completed by ice-cold strawberry lemonade and a steaming pot of coffee.
I ambled to the table, wearing his shirt, while he was only wearing his jeans and nothing else to cover his delectable chest. When he saw me, he put the newspaper he had been reading on the table and opened his arms, waiting for me to fill the emptiness.
“I thought you said you don’t know how to be romantic,” I teased and sat on his lap.
One late night after he took me in the most primal of manners, a dirty, bumpy ride that had me panting for breath and losing my mind, Marcus was lying on his back with an arm under his head and his eyes closed, hugging me to his chest. He had never stopped touching and stroking my body, keeping me warm and sated, but something had shifted in him and turned cold and aloof.
Then he had started speaking, telling me that he did not deserve me, that he had done things he could never take back, that he was terrified of doing those things to me. He had said that most of the time he felt too possessive, just like a beast lacking logic, that he was unable to properly court and romance a woman. He had said that, despite all appearances, he was an undeserving wreck and that he was terrified of the moment I would realize that.
I had all but slapped him for talking poorly about himself—again. Instead, we had ended up making love again, sluggishly like we could never get enough of each other. We both had fears we needed to overcome, but as long as we were together, they seemed to dissipate.
“I’m only feeding you,” he replied and bit my lower lip while we kissed.
“In that case, I’d better move a little farther from you.”
I stood, walking to the seat across from him, and chuckled as Marcus growled and stretched his hand to catch my wrist. His fingers closed around thin air.
“Now, now,” I cautioned. “Behave.”
He resumed reading his paper, and I couldn’t stop cracking a smile at the sight of him. He looked focused, sensual, and just as delicious as the breakfast he had prepared.
Our little bubble burst once my phone chimed the arrival of a message. Marcus covered my hand, caressing my knuckles with his thumb before I even finished reading the words. When I lifted my eyes, he was studying me intently.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
I remembered Sophia’s words that I should not be carrying the burden of Jack’s case alone. In the past, I had never mixed business with pleasure, but Marcus was different. I was different with him, and I trusted him. I trusted him to listen and offer me his unbiased opinion.
“I asked Philip Foster to contact my PI and find someone related to Jack’s case. She was Jennifer Gunnar’s friend, and I think she might know what really happened that night.”
He nodded, but suddenly he was rigid in his chair. He didn’t look pleased.
“Charlotte, I’m going to ask you something that you might not like. Have you considered pulling out of this case?”
“I can’t,” I said and leaned over the table. It was I covering his hand now and trying to comfort him. “I’m too involved now anyway. I need to get to the bottom of all of this.”
“And if Jack is the killer? What then?”
“I will not defend a killer or let them use me as a shield for their cover-up.”
“And after that? What then?” Marcus continued and cocked his head to the side. He was frowning.
“What then?” I mimicked, not understanding what he was getting at.
“Charlotte, can’t you see? You are delving into a world there’s no getting out of. You are not only looking for the truth. You are looking for danger.”
He was upset, and to some extent, his concern flattered me. I went and sat on his lap again, framing his face between my hands. His brows remained furrowed, but his arms went around my waist and pulled me closer.
“I need to do this. It’s not just about finding out if Jack is a murderer anymore. If my theories are correct, Elana Beckham might be killed, just like Jennifer and Rheya Larsson. I need to find her and warn her. Please understand, Marcus, please.”
Marcus sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.
“You need to be careful.”
“I will,” I promised and brushed my lips against his. “As a matter of fact, I told Philip I’d prefer to meet somewhere secure, someplace that has nothing to do with the firm. Just to be careful.”
Marcus smiled a little at the end and nodded his approval. “I think I have the perfect place,” he smirked.
“Oh, really?”
“Mhm. Kai’s workshop.”
KAI’S WORKSHOP WAS worse of a mess than the first time I visited it. I expected him to be indignant at our rude invasion of his space, but when he saw us, he came dashing with open arms and only became more thrilled once Marcus told him why we stopped by.
“He’s bipolar,” Marcus whispered when Kai didn’t notice and winked secretly. I smiled awkwardly and really hoped he was joking.
Philip arrived less than ten minutes after we did. He had a full report on Elana, including her address and habits, which seemed to have changed dramatically over the last couple of weeks. I arched an eyebrow, and Philip nodded, indicating his own suspicions regarding such a drastic behavioral change.
“She’s completely in the wind,” Philip said with a generous amount of frustration. “No one could account for her whereabouts. No one has seen her in days.”
“Or maybe she’s hiding,” I muttered. If Elana was smart, as I suspected she was, then she knew she was in danger.
“And there’s more,” Philip added and glanced over his shoulder where Marcus and Kai were talking in hushed voices in a corner.
“You can speak freely, Philip. I trust them.”
Philip hesitated, then as if he had connected the dots, he shrugged and handed me a piece of paper—the fingerprints results.
“The fingerprints are Elana’s,” he confirmed. “She has been looking for you too.”
AFTER ALMOST TWO DAYS of puzzling over the information Philip had given me, I decided there was only one way to put an end to the mystery and find answers to my questions.
Had Elana been following me? Did she want to confess what she knew, but no one was willing to listen? Where was she hiding, and what did she know that was so important that her life was at stake?
I drove to the woman’s small house, just outside Washington D.C. Usually, at this time she would have returned from the animal shelter where she volunteered each Wednesday and Friday, but in Philip’s report, it stated clearly that she hadn’t been there in weeks.
My chances to find her were slim, but I had to try. Elana had to know that
I was looking for her too. She had to come out of hiding and talk to me.
I was halfway to my destination when I heard tires screeching and the unpleasant reek of exhaust fumes hit my nostrils. Flashes of almost forgotten nightmares unfolded before my eyes.
A glossy black Ranger Rover appeared in my side mirror, then it sped by, all but scratching the paint off my car. Just like a speeding snake, it veered right and cut me off. I shoved my foot on the brake, surging forward, as my own car came to an abrupt halt.
Though there was nowhere to go, my hands remained tightly clenched around the steering wheel and my eyes were wide and stuck straight ahead. The passenger door of the Range Rover opened, allowing a bald, black-suited man to step out. His movements were deliberately slow, as if every gesture was meant to incite fear in whoever was in his presence.
From a distance, I couldn’t determine if his eyes were light blue or just a bizarre shade of gray, yet they were lethally fixed on me as he reached for the back door and opened it.
As soon as a shiny black shoe connected with the asphalt, I knew it was Mitch Stewart who would come out of that car. And I wasn’t mistaken. Yet, as he fastened his coat and walked determinedly to my car with the leisure of a man taking a stroll in the park, I remained numbly fascinated by the bald man lingering behind. He gave me the impression that he was more than just the mayor’s bodyguard.
The sharp knock at the window echoed like a grenade that went off. I jerked and swallowed heavily before gathering the courage to roll down the window and face Mitch Stewart’s hostile expression.
“I will not inconvenience you for too long, Ms. Burton,” he spoke calmly, a little too calmly. “I am paying you to defend my son. Make sure you do that.”
“I am doing my job.”
“Your job is to protect him,” he reiterated, almost growling. His usual composed countenance slipped for the shortest moment, revealing a scarier man than the one I already knew.
“I am not sure I like the tone of this conversation, Mr. Stewart,” I replied coolly, with a firmness and detachment I didn’t quite feel.
“Believe me, Ms. Burton, I have been only polite and patient with you. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”
And I did believe him. I firmly believed that Mitch Stewart was capable of much worse in order to protect his son and his muddy affairs. After another moment of dominating me with those frighteningly impenetrable eyes of his, he turned to leave.
“What are you trying to tell me, Mr. Stewart?”
The man was too versed and calculated to reveal outright that he was delivering a threat, yet I experienced the foolish need to push him to the point he would admit exactly that.
His steps never faltered as he threw over his shoulder a dry retort. “I do not tolerate liabilities, Ms. Burton. Especially when family is involved.”
They were gone swifter than they had appeared, and I was left there, in the middle of the road, struggling to catch my breath. The event was too fresh and the resulting emotions too chaotic to sort them out. I had just been threatened, and yet, when I convinced my body to react, my fingers curled around the gearshift, and my foot pressed on the gas, driving toward the same destination I had been set on before Mayor Stewart stopped me.
For some reason, Elana’s modest-looking house took me aback. Seeing that she was a simple girl, living in a simple house in a simple neighborhood only strengthened my suspicion that she had been drawn into Jennifer’s circle and didn’t walk out empty-handed. If only she were brave enough to divulge the information she certainly possessed.
My clenched fist connected with the dusty wood of her front door several times before I pressed the doorbell impatiently. The profound silence cloaking the house was discouraging, and it made me question my decision to pay her a visit. If she were hiding, would she remain home where she could be so easily found and potentially killed?
Then I caught a glimpse of a curtain moving and a shadow near the window right by the door.
“Elana, I know you are home,” I called, loud enough to be heard and feeling just a little foolish for talking to a closed door. “My name is Charlotte Burton, and I’m a lawyer, but I think you know that already. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your friend, Jennifer Gunnar. I promise whatever you tell me will not put you in danger. Please, can you open the door?”
Minutes ticked by, and only the wind foreshadowing a storm disrupted the eerie silence. The longer I stayed there, facing the closed door, the more confident I was that Elana was right behind that door, listening and perhaps too scared to come out of her shell.
I was acquainted with fear and the comfort of a protective shell more than anybody else, so I understood her reluctance. It was unwise and potentially dangerous to trust strangers, so to some extent, I even appreciated her reserve.
“I know you have no reason to trust me, Elana,” I spoke quietly as if I was confiding in a friend. I uttered each word deliberately, seeking to offer her the relief she needed to open up and take a tiny step out of her shell. “But I have a suspicion about you, which might be wrong, but if it isn’t, I need you to be brave enough to admit it. I know you were friends with Jennifer and Rheya. You met when you were in kindergarten. I think you were very close, and the night of the party, Jennifer confided something in you and Rheya. Jennifer found out something she shouldn’t have, and for that, she was murdered. Then, after her death, I think Rheya was willing to talk, so whoever killed Jennifer took care of Rheya as well, and now, you are hiding to protect yourself, am I right?”
I walked to the window and peered inside, but there was no other sign of movement, and no noise came from the house. I sighed heavily, waiting for any sign of her presence, but it never came. Whether I was crazy for having spent the last minutes talking to myself, or she was more terrified of getting involved than I had imagined. When nothing else came to mind to earn her trust, I returned to the door and slipped my business card inside.
“But I also think that you want the truth to come to light,” I continued. “You have the information that will help me connect the dots. My private phone number is on the back of the card. Please, Elana, you told me not to give up. Now help me continue searching for the truth. Be brave. Be daring,” I finished, by uttering Marcus’s words and hoped they would motivate her just as they had motivated me.
I hurried to my car as the first drops of water sprinkled my skin. Having uttered my whole theory about Elana’s involvement in Jack’s case made me let out a gasp as the oppressive tension that had seized my lungs for days lifted and allowed me to breathe properly. I might have committed the stupidest of errors by divulging such a dangerous theory to someone who might not even be inclined to help me, but somehow, I hoped that would not be Elana’s case.
A thick veil of pouring water was shrouding the hotel by the time I drove past the barrier and into the subterranean parking lot. I struggled to force all thoughts of murder, suspects, and criminals out of my head as I climbed out of the car, only to realize that I was returning to an empty hotel room, still bearing the dizzying scent of a male who had undeniably gotten under my skin.
Pulling out my phone and dialing Marcus’s number, a small smile curved my lips. I needed to hear him. I needed his low, husky voice to soothe my nerves and carry me to a whole other realm, to a place where I felt strong and cherished and his. I needed to hear him call my name with that special cadence only he managed to inflect to a simple little word.
But the call never connected.
I felt a brutal pain in my thighs and lower back before I saw my phone skidding across the concrete. In the distance, the sound of the rainstorm disappeared, replaced by an inhumane screech and a loud thud. Only when I came face down onto the gasoline-soiled ground and glimpsed the flashing lights of a vehicle, did I realize that the thud had been produced by my body as it collided with the metal frame of the car.
My knees burned, and I felt blood soaking my pants before I checked and saw that the material was ripped
and stained. It wasn’t the pain in my legs preventing me from standing, though, but my faulty spine and the unbearable ache in my lower back. I could hardly breathe, and somehow, I knew I didn’t have long to get out of there.
“Hey, bimbo, where are you going?”
“Come on, hon, don’t run away.”
“You’ll make us think you’re a frigid little one and nobody likes that.”
“We just want to have a chat with you.”
“Now, you’re downright rude—”
It was déjà-vu. I gasped and whimpered in rising fear. Crawling away, I groped for the phone that was nowhere in sight. I almost expected a massive blonde man to come in pursuit. I nearly saw clear, beautiful eyes grow dark, angry, and vicious as he turned into a pitiless attacker. But it wasn’t Brayden attacking me this time. It was a faceless man, all covered in black, tall and relatively muscular. He stalked in my direction and reached for me.
A piercing scream left my lungs the very instant some hidden survival instincts kicked in. Adrenaline numbed the pain in my body as I put all my energy into crawling as fast and as far away as possible from the man hunting me. But I wasn’t fast enough.
Fingers grasped my hair and shoved me back ruthlessly, making my scalp burn in sympathy with the cuts on my knees. I cried in shock and pain, but I could hardly hear my own voice. I could only hear the staccato of my wild heartbeats and the sickening panting of the man behind me.
“Help,” I managed to scream, knowing it would be of no use to plead with him to let me go.
The man hissed furiously and locked a surprisingly powerful arm around my throat, blocking my airway. I panicked, struggling against his tight hold and kicking in vain. Somewhere beyond my fear, I reached a catatonic place where I assessed my attacker.
Darkside Love Affair Page 41
