by Jaycee Clark
“I called Gabe. I told you to wait before just barging over here. The world is not the place it used to be, Drayson. Hello, Christian. What’s that?” Geoffery asked.
Gabe? He called Gabe? Well, hell.
Just then the phone rang.
Three a.m. and she was having a party. At least it took her mind off of other things.
It rang again.
“Are you going to get that?” Geoffery asked her.
“No, I’ll just let the machine pick it up.”
On the third ring, her voice echoed from the kitchen. When it clicked, the condo blared with the strains of an opera distorted from the volume. But she recognized it. His song. His song for her, of her. An aria from Puccini’s Tosca.
Chills raced down her spine as her own voice filled her condo.
“What the hell is going on?”
She whirled around to see Gabe standing in her doorway; the music softened, silenced until she heard a chuckle and a click.
Her eyes looked away from the three pairs of questioning ones that stared at her.
“Hello? Did anyone hear me?” Gabe asked again.
Christian fisted her hands to keep them from shaking, but it was no use.
“Not now, Gabe,” Drayson said, walking to her and putting his arm around her. “Can’t you see she’s upset? Christian, luv, you need to sit down. You’re looking a bit pale. Who would call and leave that on a phone machine at this ungodly hour? And that chuckle was beyond polite.”
She stopped and stared at the package against the wall. Shrugging off Drayson, she walked to the present and ripped it open, the brown paper rippling and giving under her nails. The sound of tearing paper rent the air, overshadowing Geoffery’s quiet voice as he tried to explain things to Lieutenant Gabe Morris.
A cop, she had a cop in her house and . . .
“What is that?” Geoffery asked.
That was a painting.
The last of the brown wrapping paper fell to the floor. One large canvas. The colors were dark: grays, blacks, and blues. In the center was an angel, standing with long flowing hair and too-large gray eyes. The angel’s mouth opened on a scream, her arms thrown high and wide. Framing the figure were faces, hands, shoulders, elbows, body parts, bare and naked. But it was the face, the same face. Her face. Gray eyes looking down, looking out, looking back, wide in shock, or narrowed. Her body parts. The macabre disjointed appendages alone were bad; painted strategically together, they framed the canvas and the solitary figure in the center. A morbid frame painted on the canvas.
Black roses fell from the angel’s hand. At first glance, it seemed the angel was standing on orange, red, and yellow flowers, but a closer look showed they were flames. In the flames were faces.
Danny.
Susan.
Papa.
Christian jerked back, her hands flying to her mouth. The trembling started as she stared and understood.
Chapter 4
Brayden pulled away from the window and looked back at the monitor of his notebook. Still nothing from Christian.
What the hell had she been thinking? Answering a door this time of night. It was after three now, and she still wasn’t back on.
Worry fueled his anger.
He strode to the phone and snatched it up. What if everything was fine? What if he made a fool of himself? The phone weighed in his hand.
Did she even have another phone line? Or was she using it for her computer? He’d never thought to ask. Now that seemed really important. Most everyone had wireless, but there were a few holdouts. What if she used dialup?
He shook his head. Who used that anymore? Making himself insane, that was what he was doing.
Quickly he punched her number and waited as it rang, and rang, and rang.
Brayden hated not knowing what was going on. And where Christian was concerned, he was learning there was a whole hell of a lot he didn’t know.
His grunt filled the silent room as he stared at the clock.
Fine, he’d give her a few more minutes. He was probably just overreacting anyway. But the worry didn’t go away. He thrummed his fingers on his thigh. He tried her damned cell as well with no answer. Straight to voice mail.
Forget it, he’d call her again on the way. Stop at her place, then head to the hotel and finally, over to the shop. If everything were fine, he’d simply say he decided to get an early start on the day—it was hardly important that it was only after three. Who the hell needed sleep anyway?
First, he left a note for his parents on their apartment door to please see Tori got to school. One good thing about living in the same house with family, there was always someone there when needed. He checked the clock in his room. He’d give her two more minutes. He’d be dressed by then anyway.
• • •
“It’s almost beautiful in a contradictory, morbid sort of way,” Drayson commented.
“Part celestial, part pagan,” Geoffery agreed.
Evil. It was evil.
She looked to them and noticed they were studying the picture.
Gabe, however, was zeroing in on her with his dark eyes. “It’s weird as hell to me.”
Christian looked back at the painting. A painting she knew he’d done himself. There were others in his private collection. She’d seen them, been forced to pose for them.
But this one was different. This one was new, a reminder of who he was, what he could do, and how he controlled it all.
Her chest vised and she gasped for breath. This time when she closed her eyes, the breathing exercise didn’t help. Her lungs tightened, until she wheezed a breath out.
Patting her side, she realized she didn’t have her inhaler.
“Luv, you’re scaring us. Come on, calm down. Come sit down in the kitchen.” Drayson took her arm to steer her there.
She needed her inhaler. Looking to the stairs, she shrugged him off as her hand rubbed her breastbone. All she could hear was the pound of her heart and the wheezing of her own breath fighting out as her expanded bronchial tissues closed off the escape of carbon monoxide.
“Christian?” Gabe was in front of her.
God, she needed to breathe. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Her gaze locked over his shoulder to the painting standing obscenely against her white walls. The faces in the fire. Black roses from her hand.
Gasp. Wheeze. Gasp. Wheeze.
It was as if he were squeezing the breath from her.
“Calm down,” Gabe said.
She motioned that she needed her inhaler.
“Asthma?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Where is it?” he asked.
She pointed upstairs. His feet pounded up the steps. Geoffery and Drayson led her into the kitchen. Just as they sat her in a chair, Gabe handed her the metered-dose inhaler.
The mist hit the back of her throat and within seconds she felt the bands loosen around her bronchial tubes. Though she was still breathing too hard, she could at least take a breath and not wheeze. She held the inhaler tightly between her palms to try and calm the shakes. But it didn’t help.
The painting.
Her body. His angel bringing death and destruction to those she’d loved.
Susan. Danny. Her own father.
Oh, God.
Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone, let her go?
She hated this. Hated it!
Someone handed her some water and she sipped the cool liquid.
Drayson cupped her hands in his. “Luv, it’s only a painting. I take it you didn’t choose it?”
She just glared at him.
“No,” he continued, “I didn’t think so. Someone’s sick idea of a joke. Don’t let it get to you so. I’m sure they didn’t mean for you to become so upset.”
Oh, yes. Yes, they did—he did. She could see him, sitting calmly in his chair, that smirk playing on his mouth, while his eyes held that look.
A shiver danced down her spine, chilling her blood.
“I
’ll take care of this,” Gabe said. “Why don’t you two go on back to your place.”
Christian just wanted everyone out, but wanted them to stay. She wanted them gone so they wouldn’t see how upset she really was, but didn’t want to be alone either.
She looked at Gabe, and for the first time really saw him. His simple jeans and a T-shirt molded his muscles. Though he had a very nice chest, it was the gun shoved in his waistband that held her attention.
The cops.
What if he was watching and knew there was a cop here?
The faces in the fire.
She’d gone to the police before and no one believed her. No one, but Danny. No one but Susan. If they had . . .
They should all leave. All of them, before she hurt any of them. Or someone else she cared about.
“Did any of you see who delivered the package?” Gabe asked.
She shook her head, as did Drayson and Geoffery.
“We just heard all this knocking,” Geoffery offered. “And then thumps, and we noticed Christian’s lights were on. Drayson decided to make certain she was all right. And in this day and age, you can never tell.”
Gabe’s eyes cut her where she sat. “You didn’t see anyone either, I presume?”
Again she shook her head. Clearing her throat, she tried, “No, I just—someone just knocked on my door. When I went to answer, no one was there, but I saw the package through the window.”
That was mostly the truth.
Though her heart raced and blood pounded through her veins, she held Gabe’s inquisitive stare.
“I don’t think we should leave you alone,” Drayson told her. “After that note on your car tonight at the theater and now this.”
“What note?” Gabe asked.
Damn it.
Drayson shrugged his shoulders. “All it said was ‘My Angel.’ Reminded me of The Phantom, but it was weird. Maybe a jealous undergrad you beat out in casting.” He patted her hand and smiled.
“What?” Gabe asked, confusion clear in the word.
“My Angel. The Phantom?” Drayson rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Gabriel, you need to get out more. The Phantom of the Opera, the Broadway musical, the old 1940s movie. Gaston Leroux’s book? The phantom and his angel.” He launched into the chorus of the Phantom’s song. His baritone voice carried throughout the kitchen.
Christian normally laughed at Drayson’s antics, but now it wasn’t even remotely funny. It was too close to the truth.
The past.
“Josephine, you will be the best.” Long fingers tapped on the piano. She hated his fingers. Hated his hands. Hated him. “Again from the top.”
And as she sang her pieces, his eyes watched her, burned with a fire she didn’t want to name, didn’t want to know. His was a look, a knowledge she feared and burned the pit of her stomach.
Then he smiled and his fingers stilled, the last note of the piano stringing through the air.
“Josephine, my angel. Like the production we saw the other night. Theater isn’t exactly opera, and a high school production is hardly worthy, but I do have a fondness for pieces that spin off Leroux’s work. It’s almost seductive. Wouldn’t you agree?” She didn’t answer and he continued. “The phantom’s angel. Yes. I think I’ll call you my angel, my Josephine. Mine.”
“Christian. Christian!”
She jerked back at her name.
“You didn’t join in,” Drayson said. “Luv, you need some rest. Why don’t you come over to our place and crash?”
She shook her head.
“Drayson’s right, I hate to think of you worrying over here all alone. Joke or no, this is hardly funny,” Geoffery agreed.
Again, she shook her head. “Sorry, you guys. I didn’t mean to wake you up. Or you,” she added to Gabe.
She patted Drayson’s hand. “Thank you for coming over. You’re great, go on home. I just freaked out over that painting and the weird phone call. You’re probably right, Dray, it’s just some flunky. I’ll talk to Gabe and see what we can come up with.”
His expression said he was trying to figure out if he should indeed go. But then he glanced to Gabe, to the gun, and back to her.
“All right, if you say so, but you call me. At this rate, you won’t even be rehearsing tomorrow.”
His brow furrowed in what she knew was his “I’m-about-to-lecture-and-be-the-director” mode.
Hurriedly, she said, “I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon like we discussed, just as planned.”
Still he watched her. Finally, he nodded and said, “Fine. But you’re riding with me. Then we won’t have to worry about you getting notes on your car or something else.”
That probably wouldn’t work because she was spending the morning at the shop and then going to rehearsal. “We’ll see. Go on to bed.”
Drayson leaned over and kissed her on the cheek before leaving. As the door clicked shut, she could feel her nerves tightening.
Gabe cleared his throat as he sat across from her. He didn’t say a word, and neither did she, they just stared at each other. He must be a nightmare in an interview or interrogation. With his stare alone criminals probably admitted to fictitious crimes. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“You know, I checked today, and there have been several stalkers reported by women. None of the reports were filed by you.”
She stood and walked to the counter. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Juice?” She fiddled with the canisters waiting for his reply.
“Have you told the Kinncaids? The one you have a thing with?”
“A thing?” Christian turned to face him and leaned back against the counter. “You mean Brayden? There’s not a ‘thing’ with him.” Lie. Lie. Lie. Is that all she did anymore?
Gabe only nodded in that “yeah, right” kind of way. “I thought there was something between you two. Brayden’s the shop owner with the little girl, right?”
His gaze was so intense, she could only hold it for so long. Nodding, she agreed. “Yes, that’s him. Brayden and Gavin are twins. Brayden owns the shop and Gavin is the doctor. I thought there might have been a ‘thing’ too. Maybe there could have been something.” Shrugging, she gave it up. “I don’t know. I just don’t know and now it hardly matters.”
“Well, Brayden is one stupid guy.” At his words, she cocked her head. “That shocks you, I see. I wonder why.”
The phone rang.
Jumping at the sound, she grabbed the cordless before the second ring sounded.
“Hello?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
Softly in the background music played, and she knew.
“Josephine. Josephine. Josephine,” his voice tsked over the phone.
Ice pierced her heart and nausea greased her stomach. She turned her back to Gabe. “My name is Christian. Christian.”
His chuckle did an evil dance in her ear. “So many men this time of night? Shame on you. You know I don’t share. I’ve never shared.”
“I’m not yours to share or otherwise.”
Something clicked through the phone and she imagined him lighting one of those cigars he preferred.
“Leave me alone.” She cursed the tremors of her hands, then stabbed the OFF button.
A glance over her shoulder told her Gabe wasn’t ignoring her conversation. Carefully, she set the phone back on its stand, then turned to face him, just as the phone rang again.
It rang again.
The answering machine picked up.
“I don’t like to be ignored,” he bit out, his voice filling the air around her.
She’d managed to get to him. When angry, his voice flinted to a fine edge.
“But I suppose it’s all been a bit of a shock tonight.” His words, like black oil, slithered from the machine through her kitchen and she started to shake.
“Did you like the painting? Rather good, I thought, considering. I know it’s hardly my best, but I think it served its purpose.” Silence and a huff. She
could imagine him blowing a stream of smoke out. “Those asthma attacks are pesky annoyances, aren’t they?” His gravelly laugh echoed.
Asthma attacks? Her gaze, still riveted on the answering machine, darted around the room. How did he know? How?
Was he that close?
His laugh trailed off. “Worried? You should be.”
The line went dead. He’d hung up.
Her chest tightened and she bumped the table. She grabbed her inhaler and took another puff, fighting the constriction back before it started.
Her hands shook and she couldn’t get past the realization that there was no privacy here. None. There never had been with him.
“You should sit down,” Gabe told her, walking to the machine and staring down at it. “Oh, for the days when there were little tapes to pop in and out.”
The phone rang again; he picked it up from the base. Christian leaned over and grabbed it out of his hand.
She was tired of this. Tired of cowering. She just needed to figure out what to do without telling.
The phone rang again.
Anger and fear warred within her as she threw the phone to the floor. Cursing, she jerked the base away, ripping the cords out of the wall, and heaved it across her kitchen. The plastic shattered, chips and wires exposed, like a childhood radio kit.
“Why won’t he just leave me alone!” she whispered furiously.
She covered her face with her hands, rubbing as if to wipe images from her mind. Sliding her hands back through her hair, she looked at the cop leaning against her doorjamb.
“I really wish you hadn’ta done that. I could’ve taken the base and analyzed the voice. Tell me,” he said, crossing his ankles. “Why haven’t you reported this guy? All the pictures? And if you haven’t reported this, I’m betting the Kinncaids don’t know about any of it. I’m wondering why.” He shrugged. “Maybe you think it’s Brayden or one of the others?”
“What?” Christian propped her hands on her hips. Was he for real? His no-nonsense frown said he was. “This is not Brayden. Or any of the others. It’s not.”
